Our first night in Budapest we sat outside a late-night hookah bar, at a picnic table on the side of a busy road, under an array of red umbrellas. It was a casual place, a warm night, finally– the first of four. Finally, I could put away my sweaters. Finally, somewhere neither of us spoke the language.
Micha went into the bar to order a shisha and came back with a latte. “Your turn,” he said.