Confusion in Budapest
No. 2 Son has been inter railing across Europe this last month through what is being described as the worst refugee crisis since the Second World War. He’s traveling with seven of his school friends who all finished their A-levels together in June this year. Starting in Amsterdam, they moved onto Berlin and then started going east; Prague, Budapest and finally Zagreb. Their travels will culminate at the Outlook music festival held on the beaches of Pula, Croatia.
With both of my sons, I learned long ago that the only way to keep my sanity was to operate on the basis of “no news is good news”. I was, therefore, not overly concerned with his sporadic communication. A few days ago though, on Sunday morning, he texted — bad news that came in three parts.
“Hey ma, I’m sorry I lost my credit card and I need money today to pay for a train ticket and accommodation. I have cancelled it but can you please put money in my friend’s account so that he can buy my ticket? We’re at Budapest train station.”
After we worked out the details of his friend’s account, he texted again and said, “I’m feeling super ill as well. I think I need to see a doctor. About to be”
“About to be what?,” I asked. “Sick?” Sinking heart coupled with rising panic emotions surged through my body.
He answered, “Something has just happened at the station so there’s a lot of confusion. I’m”
“I’m what?!?,” I texted back. My numerous texts and attempts at phoning him for the next twenty minutes were, needless to say, met with a blank screen and his voicemail.
So there he was, penniless and unwell, in Budapest’s Keleti Station along with thousands of Syrian refugees, fleeing war and persecution, all trying to get to Germany to seek asylum. And here I was with my active imagination and the internet, which I scoured obsessively and incessantly for any up to date information I could find on just what exactly was happening at that train station. Permanently Jet Lagged Husband and No. 1 Son were more sanguine as they ate their breakfast calmly and told me there was nothing I could do and that I would just have to sit back and wait until we heard from him again.
Three hours later, a text came through saying, “We had to show our passports to prove we were English. On the train to Zagreb now. x”
I was overjoyed that he was safe but saddened by the irony of the situation. While No. 2 Son and friends were enjoying their school leavers’ freedom, they were surrounded by people who could not claim that right because they had the wrong passport. They were left behind.
In the past few days, articles on how to help the refugees who are seeking safety in Europe have been written including these two helpful ones that I read in The Independent and The Guardian. Closer to home, during his secondary school years, No. 2 Son has raised over £2000 by skating in marathons for UK-based The Refugee Council.
N.B.: This post was originally published on My Contents Have Shifted.
Above: No. 2 Son's grandparents, my parents were also refugees. They fled from a war torn China to America where they met each other and were married. Here they are with me, their eldest child of four.
Christine:
Congratulations with your Son’s #2 ‘s graduation, good for him to see the real world. What a nice picture from you and your Mom and Dad! We send our best wishes, good luck with the website.
Best regds
Peter and Sarah Dekker
It’s hard to believe that ten years has gone by so quickly. Thank you for your good thoughts and wishes.
Hi Christine
So glad No. 2 son is safe and hopefully feeling much better.
So excited about your new website! Best wishes and can’t wait for your next post xx Kim
great story! as a fellow fabster- i was riveted by all your same fears for No. 2 son. and i marveled at the ease with which your other men could finish their breakfast without a panic attack in sight! glad No. 2 is safe and sound- and i’m ready to try to channel the Zen energy of your other men during crisis!! how do they do it??
Good question!!! Permanently Jet Lagged Husband lives by the rule that if there is nothing he can do about a situation, he is not going to worry about it. I seem to live by the opposite rule. The less I can do, the more I seem to worry.
that PJLH is my hero. i’d give my eye teeth for that level of zen. as for me, i’m your twin in the worry dept. i think so many of my gal pals are too. i’d love to know more about the “why” of that perplexing attribute. and yet, we outlive those male zen masters- what’s it all about??
Maybe testosterone related.
Give us males a (false?) sense of courage to overcome our fears. It also probably kills us earlier.
Then again, evolutionarily speaking, those men in hunter societies who did not have this false sense of courage would probably have died of starvation first.
Just a surmise
interesting…and stress must not be as much the killer of which it’s been tagged.
My guess is that when the hunter encounters his prey (his next meal), there will still be an adrenalin pumping “fight or flight” moment and decision especially if our prey is vicious and capable of fighting back. Thus, stress and the adrenaline may still play a role in killing men. In other words, testosterone is there to give men the courage to attack a vicious animal (or otherwise face starvation). By choosing to fight, at least there is a chance of eating and surviving. It also gives men the courage to fight and defend their turf against other invading men… Read more »