The Christmas Markets in Budapest bring together thousands of people from the world over.
There were stalls. And people. And sellers trying to stay warm. And more people. And colorful puppets. And kürtőskalács. And glühwein. And souvenirs. And Flódni. And wreaths made of dried fruit and spices. And gingerbread.
People bundled up against the cold. Red-tinged noses everywhere.
Just one really red nose in the midst of them all.
A red nose that broke out of a backpack and onto my face to join the fun at the Christmas Market, outside St. Stephen's Basilica.
This was not a show. Or a busking performance. It was just me, Oshi, taking part in the experience.
The kürtőskalács stalls beckoned crowds. The sweet smells of dough and sugar and cinnamon.
I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to have a photo at the kürtőskalács stall.
So, I asked the bakers – while pointing at a red nose and using sign language -- if they’d let me stand behind the open oven.
They laughed. And nodded.
And showed me how to get inside their stall. And, of course, it didn’t go smoothly.
I was dressed in layers of regular clothing. Nothing outlandish.
But the moment I put on the world’s smallest mask, there was no denying the sense of wonder in what was happening.
Red nose on.
Standing behind the oven.
A thrill of really seeing the passersby.
I smiled. The vendors smiled. The passersby smiled.
A collective deep breath in and deep breath out.
A collective chuckle.
I can’t speak Hungarian. I can speak clown.
From the bakers I continued to other parts of the market.
I met a puppet maker. And we shared a laugh. And took photos. And, here too, I made friends with passersby.
I met the stall owner at a souvenir stand. Her face lit up upon seeing me. I was happier to see her. I took photos at her stand, too.
Red nose on. Momentary instant friends all around.
Everyone at the Christmas Market was there to enjoy.
No one, especially not me, expected Oshi.
But my nose led the way and my facial expressions followed and impulses thrived.
Usually, I’m a verbal clown. At the Christmas Market, there was sign language and clown language. Barely a word spoken. No ridiculous antics. Definitely confusion. Fun play. Big smiles.
I loved the smells and the sights and all the sparkly things.
Even the shiny Christmas tree asked to pose for a photo with me.
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