To say I grew up in a bubble would be putting it mildly. The summer I was 15, I realized everyone in my group of friends, including myself, would be spending some time in Europe during the school vacation. People lived in ridiculously overpriced homes for the luxu...ry of a small town feel, even though this “small town” included Aston Martin, Jaguar, Lexus and BMW dealerships. A trip to the adjacent town’s local mall, our regular hang out, meant a stroll by the always-packed Louis Vuitton and a vaulted and elusive Tiffany’s. I went to college in Orange County, California where my humble Nissan was always surrounded by a swarm of Audis and Lexuses, making me almost embarrassed to point out my car. Grad school saw me to New York City where I picked up extra cash nannying for adorable children of successful authors, doctors, lawyers and actors. While the families I sat for were never ostentatious or vomit-inducing about their wealth, it was always apparent when I took the children to gymnastics class and ended up next to a woman with a $10,000 Hermes bag. Sometimes, I would quietly listen in to conversations when I took the children to an Upper East Side eatery for homework and would overhear talk of jaw-dropping vacations and primary school tuition that rivaled what I already owed to New York University.
Even though I grew up around extreme wealth (my parents had family friends who would charter their own plane to Vegas whenever they had the itch), my family was never of the Chanel bag carrying, jet setting variety. But we weren’t poor either. We took regular vacations. Every driver in my family had a car. I paid for my undergraduate study without loans and I had made it through those coed years without having to work. By the time I was 25, I had been to Europe three times.
Being around all of this extreme wealth as an upper middle-classer certainly rubbed off on me. I developed a sense of fashion (and a taste for the expensive) and began working to pay for coveted red-soled Christian Louboutins and Chanel purses. Like any other pseudo-rich kid, I was spoiled. I had never had to work that hard for anything I had wanted. Although Balenciaga bags didn’t come to me handed on a silver platter and my father didn’t drive a Segue around town (like some of the more famous residents of my childhood home), compared to the rest of the world, I was, indeed spoiled.
As my graduation date from graduate school with a Master’s in Education approached, a stamp of a diagnosis of Lupus SLE and grim job possibilities due to a declining economy, I started to look into teaching English abroad. I had studied in France as an undergraduate and adored the country, but I knew that those in Eastern Europe needed quality English teachers far more. After being accepted to a post in both Strasbourg and Budapest, I reluctantly gave up my love of France and ventured to Budapest.
Before my travels, I hadn’t known much about Eastern Europe. I had no concept about Hungary, only what I had heard from friends who had traveled there and what I’d read about in the history books concerning World War II. Everyone insisted the country wasn’t third world, that racism wasn’t a concern and that Budapest was a beautiful, modern city. Well, maybe on the surface. Traveling for tourism and living somewhere are two hugely different things, and Hungary had a way of keeping tourists on the pristine boulevard of Andrassy utca (complete with a Gucci!) and out of the real aspects of Hungarian life.
The first tip-off that things might be a little different was my salary. When negotiating with my new employer, I was told I was making about $500 a month after taxes (which, after comparing with other American teachers all across the country, I found was the norm). Not only that, but as an American, I was on a tax “holiday” (meaning my tax rate was drastically reduced), my school gave me free rent and electricity. I was to live on $500 a month, which was a stretch, but most Hungarian teachers did it without the benefit of free rent or the tax holiday. After my time in Hungary, I still don’t understand how it is possible.
When I first arrived, I was over-the-moon. Then, the anger stage began. Why was McDonald’s so comparably expensive here? How come sanitary napkins only came four to a pack? Why did my food go bad so quickly? Why did Hungarians wear fanny packs as purses? Why did so many Hungarians seem to wear mismatched and ill-fitted clothing? Why did so many waiters try to rip us off by giving us bills solely in Hungarian or with faint print? With knowledge of the English language growing at a steady pace (although studies show many Hungarians are still monolingual and Hungarian is very difficult for non-natives to master), many of us English speakers were unable to fully immerse ourselves in the environment. Most well-to-do Hungarians were friendly and liked Americans due to their role in the fall of communism. Many less lucky Hungarians hated us due to our perceived wealth and our introduction of capitalism, something the country is still at odds with. Capitalism provides opportunity for the “best to rise”, but in Hungary, those opportunities are still limited to the wealthy.
But as I got to know the country, went months without buying any new clothes, joined a Jewish group full of Hungarians my age and got to know my students, I began to feel a change in myself. I suddenly felt ashamed at all the excuses I’d made about not donating to charity. And I wanted a cheaper pair of high heels to wear to school functions: the Christian Louboutins I had brought over were equivalent to the average Hungarians’ salary for a month and a half. Sometimes people there ripped us off because they needed the money. And maybe so many Hungarians wore “weird clothing” (in my American point of view) because they just didn’t have the money to buy new clothes very often. A simple jaunt to H&M could set them back 1/5 of their salary for the month and is almost but unthinkable.
Of course, the points are only really grazing the surface of Hungary’s changing economy and the people who live in it. The switch from communism to capitalism is a huge subject that could take volumes to explain. But being in Hungary in such a pivotal time, I came back to America with a new realization. Maybe money wasn’t actually everything. Maybe I could actually live without Prada sunglasses. And maybe I could travel without staying in a four-star joint. I was always grateful for what I had, but sometimes you can’t really see the magnitude of what you have until leave your own backyard. I have never wanted for food, clothing or shelter (besides wanting something bigger and better). And now, I go forward with the realization (and concrete evidence, which is more than a pithy saying) that money doesn’t actually buy you happiness.
by Anna Scanlon
Being around all of this extreme wealth as an upper middle-classer certainly rubbed off on me. I developed a sense of fashion (and a taste for the expensive) and began working to pay for coveted red-soled Christian Louboutins and Chanel purses. Like any other pseudo-rich kid, I was spoiled. I had never had to work that hard for anything I had wanted. Although Balenciaga bags didn’t come to me handed on a silver platter and my father didn’t drive a Segue around town (like some of the more famous residents of my childhood home), compared to the rest of the world, I was, indeed spoiled.
As my graduation date from graduate school with a Master’s in Education approached, a stamp of a diagnosis of Lupus SLE and grim job possibilities due to a declining economy, I started to look into teaching English abroad. I had studied in France as an undergraduate and adored the country, but I knew that those in Eastern Europe needed quality English teachers far more. After being accepted to a post in both Strasbourg and Budapest, I reluctantly gave up my love of France and ventured to Budapest.
Before my travels, I hadn’t known much about Eastern Europe. I had no concept about Hungary, only what I had heard from friends who had traveled there and what I’d read about in the history books concerning World War II. Everyone insisted the country wasn’t third world, that racism wasn’t a concern and that Budapest was a beautiful, modern city. Well, maybe on the surface. Traveling for tourism and living somewhere are two hugely different things, and Hungary had a way of keeping tourists on the pristine boulevard of Andrassy utca (complete with a Gucci!) and out of the real aspects of Hungarian life.
The first tip-off that things might be a little different was my salary. When negotiating with my new employer, I was told I was making about $500 a month after taxes (which, after comparing with other American teachers all across the country, I found was the norm). Not only that, but as an American, I was on a tax “holiday” (meaning my tax rate was drastically reduced), my school gave me free rent and electricity. I was to live on $500 a month, which was a stretch, but most Hungarian teachers did it without the benefit of free rent or the tax holiday. After my time in Hungary, I still don’t understand how it is possible.
When I first arrived, I was over-the-moon. Then, the anger stage began. Why was McDonald’s so comparably expensive here? How come sanitary napkins only came four to a pack? Why did my food go bad so quickly? Why did Hungarians wear fanny packs as purses? Why did so many Hungarians seem to wear mismatched and ill-fitted clothing? Why did so many waiters try to rip us off by giving us bills solely in Hungarian or with faint print? With knowledge of the English language growing at a steady pace (although studies show many Hungarians are still monolingual and Hungarian is very difficult for non-natives to master), many of us English speakers were unable to fully immerse ourselves in the environment. Most well-to-do Hungarians were friendly and liked Americans due to their role in the fall of communism. Many less lucky Hungarians hated us due to our perceived wealth and our introduction of capitalism, something the country is still at odds with. Capitalism provides opportunity for the “best to rise”, but in Hungary, those opportunities are still limited to the wealthy.
But as I got to know the country, went months without buying any new clothes, joined a Jewish group full of Hungarians my age and got to know my students, I began to feel a change in myself. I suddenly felt ashamed at all the excuses I’d made about not donating to charity. And I wanted a cheaper pair of high heels to wear to school functions: the Christian Louboutins I had brought over were equivalent to the average Hungarians’ salary for a month and a half. Sometimes people there ripped us off because they needed the money. And maybe so many Hungarians wore “weird clothing” (in my American point of view) because they just didn’t have the money to buy new clothes very often. A simple jaunt to H&M could set them back 1/5 of their salary for the month and is almost but unthinkable.
Of course, the points are only really grazing the surface of Hungary’s changing economy and the people who live in it. The switch from communism to capitalism is a huge subject that could take volumes to explain. But being in Hungary in such a pivotal time, I came back to America with a new realization. Maybe money wasn’t actually everything. Maybe I could actually live without Prada sunglasses. And maybe I could travel without staying in a four-star joint. I was always grateful for what I had, but sometimes you can’t really see the magnitude of what you have until leave your own backyard. I have never wanted for food, clothing or shelter (besides wanting something bigger and better). And now, I go forward with the realization (and concrete evidence, which is more than a pithy saying) that money doesn’t actually buy you happiness.
by Anna Scanlon
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