Christmas is upon us, and it’s time for the Dancing Girls to head back home. They’ve been working hard abroad, and have come back for some rest and relaxation. And to dispense presents to their family members. Presents they worked hard for, and there’s no sarcasm there. With an average wage of three times less than your peer anywhere else in Europe, it’s not surprising that so many are leaving. It’s also not surprising that some would try to make a bit extra with the old tried and tested method of what sells, has always sold, and will always sell best: s – e – x. I’m not judging them, people will do what they think needs to be done to afford a lifestyle they desire. It’s just an interesting sight this time of year, girls in all shapes and sizes, returning with their rolling suitcases they most likely use as hand luggage. Big enough for the presents, small enough to signify I’m just staying for a few days. The Dancing Girls (and some make their money in an even harder way) betray nothing. They smile no more or less than their peers who stayed in the country. Their clothes give nothing away either. All that gives off any sort of clue is when they references the places in which they were dancing, or in which they plan to go dancing. The Dancing Girls are probably happy to be back, but soon they’ll be leaving, flying away to greener pastures. Which says more about Hungary than those green pastures themselves.
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Hungarians hate anything foreign, we’ve already established that. Yet they are eager for foreigners to come spend their money in various places. The Christmas markets are perfect, and so they must be protected. In actual fact, no Hungarian really cares about what might afflict any foreigner, they just don’t want to be bothered with cleaning up the mess. Plus, it gives them a chance to be self-important. Hence all the blocks around every market with writing to signify this is police territory. And to really drive home the fact that “all that pertains to Christianity must and will be protected,” there is even a tank in front of the Basilica, which boasts the “prettiest Christmas market there is.” That last part is actually true. The tank comes with an armed guard, and while the display of über-masculinity and (false) bravado might be reassuring to kids who like tanks (and here I mean kids of all ages), it does nothing to reassure a normal thinking person. All this posturing and bravado only brings to mind a certain proverb: dogs that bark don’t bite, and what this translates to in reality is this: if there really were an attack, these “terror fighters” would not only not know what to do (you can’t kick a terrorist when all that’s left of him are blown up pieces), they’d actually hinder the process of getting help.
Disclaimer. I’m not advocating a let’s-see-what happens attitude. But trained undercover agents, who actually know what they’re doing, are by far more effective than self-important alpha male wannabes posturing for God.
