Love, lángos, and life in Hungary: A British perspective

Author: Richard Mitchell

Our team is committed to giving a voice to people from abroad who have made Hungary their home – whether for work, family, or other personal reasons. We want to understand what life here is really like for them: the challenges they face, the ways they find to adapt and integrate, and how they view both Hungary and the communities in which they live. To explore these experiences, we have launched a dedicated interview series, in which foreigners living in Hungary share their professional paths, personal stories, and reflections on daily life in their new adopted home.

We invite you to read this article by Richard Mitchell, a British national and English teacher, sharing his insights and experiences of living in Hungary.

I spent a few years happily single in England, pouring my energy into work and the gym, and convincing myself I didn’t have time for relationships. Then one evening my housemate said, “Mitch, it’s your birthday, you’ve got to get out.” Against my better judgment I did, and that’s when I met Edina. It was love at first sight, though believe it or not I was a little reserved. She, on the other hand, wasn’t. She had that fiery Hungarian directness I would come to know so well. Her friend’s birthday turned out to be the start of my whole new life.

We visited Hungary many times together, and each time I felt more at home. Coming from the UK, it was like stepping back into the 80s, and I mean that in the best possible way. It reminded me of my childhood: simpler, slower, with a warmth I’d almost forgotten existed. Edina’s family welcomed me with open arms, and also with pálinka, unicum, goulash, and dishes I was sure had been cooked in heaven. By the end of those trips, I wasn’t just falling in love with her, I was falling in love with Hungary. In February 2008 I met Edina, and in April 2015 I finally made the move.

Of course, no great romance comes without its surprises. One of my earliest restaurant orders was a bowl of soup. At least I thought it would be a bowl. In England soup is a polite starter, the sort of thing you have when you’re sick or dieting. In Hungary, though, it arrived in a container large enough to bathe a small child, with bread, sour cream, and a dusting of paprika that could season a year’s worth of meals. Halfway through I realised I didn’t need a main course. I needed a stretcher. Then there was the morning I wandered through the market and saw people happily tucking into lángos covered in sour cream and cheese for breakfast. That was the precise instant I knew I wasn’t in England anymore.

The language, too, has had its fun with me. Hungarians will tell you their language is logical, and it probably is once you’ve studied it for fifteen years. In the meantime, it provides excellent comic material. When I first moved here, trying to impress, I told people with great confidence “meleg vagyok.” I thought I was saying “I’m hot.” What I actually announced, loudly and proudly, was “I am gay.” The room went quiet for a moment, then everyone burst into laughter, and so did I. It taught me a valuable lesson: in Hungary, never trust your vocabulary book completely. If you are going to make mistakes, at least make them entertaining.

Daily life here is equally full of quirks. In England, you wait for the bus in a polite little queue, inching forward like well-trained penguins. In Hungary, the bus arrives and the scene transforms into something resembling a rugby scrum. Grandmothers with handbags move faster than Olympic sprinters, and by some miracle they always get the seat you were eyeing. Then there are the neighbours. Back home, I was lucky if I got a nod once a year. In Hungary, my neighbour appears at ten in the morning with homemade pálinka and insists I drink it immediately. There’s really no polite way to say “No, thanks, I’m working,” when someone has already poured your glass.

And then there is customer service. In England, the shop assistant will ask about your day, even if they would rather be anywhere else. In Hungary, my first real experience was walking into a shop and saying a polite “jó napot.” The cashier stared back at me as if I had just asked for directions to the moon. No smile, no small talk, just a beep of the scanner and a total on the screen. At first I thought it was unfriendly, but over time I came to love it. It is gloriously honest. Hungarians do not pretend. They may not ask how your day is going, but they will never short-change you and they will bag your groceries with military efficiency. And every Hungarian knows the joy of finally finding a cashier who actually cracks a smile. That is a moment worth celebrating.

Professionally, I’ve spent years teaching English, which in practice meant being a full-time teacher and part-time clown. The thing about Hungarian children is that they actually laughed at my dad jokes. In England, that would be grounds for a police investigation. Here, it felt like a hidden talent finally had its audience. Some students were brutally honest, telling me straight to my face when they thought a lesson was boring, but they still showed up the next week. That sort of loyalty sums up the Hungarian spirit for me.

Teaching has been more than just a job. It gave me the chance to open a small family-run language school with Edina in the 4th district of Budapest. It is not a big institution with faceless teachers, it is personal. We care about every child who comes through the door, the same way I care about teaching my own son. Hungarian parents want their children to do more than just pass exams. They want them to actually use English, to speak it confidently, to have it as a skill they can carry through life. That is exactly what we work on. We keep lessons lively and full of humour, because when children laugh they forget to be shy, and when they forget to be shy, they speak. The look on a child’s face when they manage their first conversation in English is priceless. Parents often tell us they are surprised at how quickly their children begin to speak, and for me that is the greatest reward. We are a small school, but we care deeply, and that makes all the difference. If anyone is curious, you can always find us at www.kaposztasmegyerinyelviskola.com.

Hungary also taught me a few lessons outside the classroom. The bureaucracy could qualify as an Olympic sport. In Britain, paperwork is dull but manageable. Here, forms appear in triplicate, stamped in triplicate, and filed in an office that only opens between 10:04 and 10:07 on alternate Tuesdays. Yet somehow, despite the paperwork and the occasional confusion, I found myself embracing the country more and more.

Healthcare also gave me plenty to think about, but mostly in a positive way. Many of the doctors I’ve met seem to have decades of experience under their belts, which is reassuring when you are trying to explain symptoms with a mixture of broken Hungarian and frantic hand gestures. They always appreciate the effort, and more often than not switch to English to make sure nothing is lost in translation. At first it surprised me when people said you could pay doctors for better service.

That felt unusual for an Englishman, where the NHS doesn’t work like that. Thankfully that practice has now been stopped, and rightly so. What remains is a system that is better than many outsiders might expect. Waiting times are not worse than in England, sometimes better, and if you need things done quickly the private system is excellent. The clinics are modern and efficient, equal to anything in Western Europe. The state hospitals do look like they could use a facelift, but the government has promised to invest in them, and everyone is eager to see the results. In the meantime, having both public and private options gives a sense of security, and for me that is a real strength.

In 2022 I became a Hungarian citizen, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life. It is hard to describe the feeling of standing there and realising that Hungary, the country I had grown to love, had just officially accepted me as one of its own. It felt like being welcomed into a family you had already been part of for years, but now someone had finally handed you the front door key. For me it was more than a ceremony, it was an honour. I am proud to call myself a Hungarian citizen, and I carry that pride with me every day.

That sense of belonging became even more important recently. This summer my father passed away after forty-six years with my mother. They had the kind of bond that defined loyalty, and it taught me what real commitment looks like. Now my mother, who has been left alone in England, will be moving here to live with us in the near future. Hungary will become her home too, and I cannot think of anything more comforting. She will find the same warmth and community here that I did, although she might need a little convincing when someone tries to hand her pálinka at ten in the morning.

It strikes me often that my parents’ story of togetherness and loyalty mirrors what I have found here. Hungary is not perfect, but neither is any other country, and that is exactly the point. Every place has its flaws, but here I have found passion, loyalty, and a sense of belonging that makes up for the rest. And if the buses are a bit chaotic or the paperwork a bit confusing, well, that is just part of the charm.

So what is life here really like? The good is very good. The food, the wine, the festivals, and above all the sense of community make life richer. Hungary is family orientated, safe, and welcoming.

There is something beautiful about the way every season has its celebration, usually involving pork in some shape or form. People are loyal and once you are in their circle, they stand by you for life. The challenges are real: the language, the winters, the paperwork. But none of those outweigh the joy of being here. Thermal baths make the winters bearable, humour makes the language manageable, and pálinka helps with the paperwork.

If I have any tips for foreigners considering Hungary, they’re simple. Learn a few words, laugh at your mistakes, buy trousers with elastic waistbands, and never underestimate a Hungarian grandmother. And above all, accept every invitation, whether it is to a meal, a festival, or a neighbour’s ten a.m. pálinka session. That is where you will find the heart of this country.

For me, Hungary is no longer just where Edina comes from. It is where we live, where I teach, where I laugh, and where I will grow old. It is where my son will grow up safe, surrounded by love, and with great friends. It is where we share family experiences that bond us with the Hungarian community, from festivals in the square to neighbours turning up with cakes and stories. I came here for love, but I stayed because the country itself became a love story of its own.