How to Hungary ebook

Chapter 1

Welcome to HOW TO HUNGARY: Budapest and Beyond – your trusted companion for navigating life, work, or even just a long stay in this vibrant, complex, and endlessly fascinating country.

Whether you’re setting up a holiday home, moving here for good, or simply testing the waters, this guide is here to walk beside you, offering the kind of insight only someone who’s stumbled, laughed, and learned through it all can share.

Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Anikó—a name that might sound exotic abroad but here in Hungary, it’s as common as cherry strudel at a Sunday market. If you’ve ever met another Anikó, you’ll know we’re a spirited bunch, often armed with strong opinions and even stronger coffee. My roots here run deep, though our family’s journey was anything but straightforward.

My mother was born in a refugee camp on the Austrian border after World War II – a tiny heartbeat amid the chaos of displacement. At just four years old, she crossed the Atlantic on a refugee boat, beginning a new life in Canada with her family, far from the home they had lost in Hungary. My father, meanwhile, grew up in Budapest, studying and working during the city’s postwar rebirth. In the 1960s, he too left Hungary behind, swapping its cobblestone streets for the vast horizons of Canada, chasing freedom and a fresh start. And it was there, in a country neither of them were born in but both called home, that my parents met.

Though most of my family scattered across the globe, Hungary never loosened its grip on our hearts. It lingered in the paprika-dusted recipes my grandmothers cooked, the folk songs hummed at family gatherings, and the quiet pride of our heritage. By 2021, in a twist of fate that still feels surreal, we all found our way back—my parents, my sister and her husband, and Andrew and me—reunited under Hungary’s sprawling skies.

I was born and raised in Canada, far from the sunflower fields and thermal baths of my ancestors. My Hungarian was limited to the phrases my parents tossed my way – “Where are your slippers?” – and my understanding of the culture came in fragments: holiday traditions, family lore, and the many dinners of homemade túrós csusza. I visited Hungary often, of course, soaking up summer nights at Lake Balaton or Christmas markets in Budapest. But moving here as a resident? That was like swapping a postcard for a puzzle—one where half the pieces seemed to be missing. Decades had passed since my parents called Hungary home, and while their stories painted a vivid portrait of the past, they didn’t prepare me for the quirks of modern life. How do you argue with a grumpy postal clerk? Why does every form require three stamps and a prayer? And where, please, does one find gluten-free cake in a country obsessed with flour?

My adventure truly began in 2017 when my British husband, Andrew, and I packed up our life in Canada, stuffed our brave yorkie-poo, Lucy, into a travel crate, and took a leap of faith. Timing, as they say, is everything. With Brexit looming, the thought of untangling Andrew’s residency paperwork post-Brexit still gives me nightmares.

I arrived with Hungarian citizenship by birthright but almost zero language skills and no clue how to navigate the bureaucracy. I learned the word hivatal (office) quickly—along with a few less polite phrases. The first year was a blur of missteps: I once spent an entire afternoon chasing a stamp for a document, only to realise I was in the wrong building. Another time, I accidentally insulted a shopkeeper by mispronouncing köszönöm (thank you) as kocsog (jerk).

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