The Audacity of Hop

Davis's buddy Adam sent photos of his family's pre-Christmas vacation to the beach near Canberra. I don't know what I expected to see on my first view of an Australian beach--maybe a bikini clad beauty carrying a Vegemite sandwich or perhaps strapping young men wearing hats with the brim cocked up on one side. I did not expect to see kangaroos. Nor did I expect that the Tjoelkers could walk right up and pet them. And I certainly didn't think they would feel soft like bunnies instead of coarse like, I don't know, goats.

Well, I kind of got it right about the hats.

And continuing with the hop theme. Davis hopped aboard his transcontinental flight last Saturday and headed home. You already knew that. Do you know what he had in his suitcase [guess now and I will tell you later]?

There is (literally) a grassroots movement in Budapest where people in the parkolas group build littles parks in parkings spaces around the city. They will capture a parking space, fill it with turf and other plants, and temporarily make a little miniature park in the space. Davis witnessed this happening a few weeks ago, and for his support the group gave him his own tulip bulb.

Fast forward to the day the tulip started to sprout, which coincidentally was also the day that Davis left Hungary. When he touched down in Houston, he called us to let us know he made it safely onto Texas soil. He also expressed concern about bringing illegal contraband home in his suitcase. Apparently, he was unwilling to leave his friend the tulip bulb, in a cold, heartless apartment [Did you guess he brought a tulip bulb--that he did not get in Rotterdam--home from Budapest? Were you thinking paprika? Hungarian wine? Lace? A porcelain doll?]. As he explained on the phone, he hoped it would be okay, even though it was a foreign (and thus forbidden) plant, because he had declared it on his customs form.

As soon as he hung up the businessmen who sat around him, eavesdropping on his conversation, wanted to call the flight attendant over and get him a new customs forms, so that he could undeclare the tulip bulb. He refused to try to sneak it in (this is so Davis, and I'm proud that he doesn't have a deceptive bone in his body), and of course it didn't clear customs. Imagine it blooming in a trash can in Bush Airport in Houston.

Anyway, even if the tulip didn't make it to Bryan safely Davis did, which brings us to the final episode of Hop(e).

Davis doesn't ask for much for birthday or Christmas. He lives a "more is less" lifestyle. Shopping for him becomes a challenge (you mothers will understand) because I feel some pressure to keep the stacks approximately even (amount spent, # of gifts, etc., between Erin and Davis). When he told me in November the new fashion color in 2009 was going to be yellow because it stood for optimism and hope, I knew what he would have under the tree:

Return of the Prince: a Pseudo-Photographic Essay

All I can say I'm glad my skill as a photographer is not my main bread-earning talent. I attempted to photograph Davis's first moment on the ground in Bryan last night and ended up with this dark, blurry, indistinguishable, but grainy image [note: the green blob in the bottom corner of the photo is not an olive, but in fact is Erin, waiting as close to the door as security would allow]. At this point, if we rely on photographic evidence, none of us are really sure if this is Davis or some stranger walking up:

Then, I tried to capture the pure joy of my children greeting each other [my hand must have been shaking with joy?]:

Oh well, Davis made it home, whether I have a photographic record of the event or not. The dogs will testify that those blurry images in the pictures actually smelled like Davis.

My mom thought it smelled like him, too.

The only way I truly knew that we had the real Davis, and not some cheap, Eastern European imitation was to take him to Gina's. Since it was the last thing we did before he left, it made sense for it to be the first thing we did when he returned.

The person with us order Los Bomberos (The Firemen's Special). At the end of the meal we were pretty sure the Prince had returned.

Still Counting Down

Davis has finished packing, played his last game of beer pong with his BSM (Budapest Semesters in Mathematics) compadres, done a little Christmas shopping, visited the automatic teller machine for his final batch of forints, and collected all his grades (A pluses in two of his course, woohoo!). I think he leaves for the airport in about ten or twelve hours. His final task: leaving a note for next semester's students who will take his place in the program.

What can you say in a letter to prepare someone for five months in an eastern European city studying math with some renowned professors?

• Directions to the basketball court, the soccer cage, and the ultimate frisbee course.
• Combination to the lock for the bike you are leaving for your successor.
• Advice on local shops and shopkeepers about how to buy shortening (and other delights).

I'm not sure what else, but I'm sure whatever else Davis has to say will be interesting.

Dutch Boy

Did I mention I would only have to wait eleven more days until Davis returned from Hungary and joined the family in their pre-Christmas celebrations?

We missed him at Thanksgiving and had originally planned a week in Budapest and surroundings, just to see him and enjoy the benefit of him studying abroad. Alas, with the uncertainty of Erin's treatments and general health we had to bag that plan. Thanksgiving isn't actually a Hungarian holiday, so Davis didn't have days off from school that would allow him an extended vacation. Our nephew, Matt Taylor, found himself in similar circumstances, far from home on Thanksgiving for the first time and little time off for a vacation (Matt works for Price Waterhouse Coopers in Rotterdam).

Davis boldly made flight plans on Wizz Air (does that name inspire trust? or at least the promise of inflight bathroom facilities?) and took a weekend in another country. Matt took Davis on a walking tour of the city center on Friday night followed by dinner at a Mexican restaurant (I thought Rotterdam was in The Netherlands, not Mexico). On Saturday, being strapping young men, they went to the gym, relaxed a little, then went to see 19 old windmills in Kinderdijk, a small town 25 minutes outside Rotterdam. After seeing the windmills, they cooked Thanksgiving dinner in Matt's apartment and had some friends over.