The Grass Really Is Greener on the Other Side

How I visited Ireland twice, and found a sense of home in a place I don’t live in

Photo by author

There’s a certain, slightly romantic mood that comes with a memory that lingers. As I sit here in Budapest, sipping my morning tea — carefully stirring in a tiny spoonful of brown sugar and adding a dash of milk — I take a deep breath. The warmth of the cup, the scent of Barry’s tea, and the strong taste instantly transport me back to Ireland. I see the evergreen fields, catch the crisp, salty air of the ocean, and for a second, I’m not sure whether to smile, tear up or dramatically stare into the distance like I’m in a movie — probably all three.

I sit at home — but by home, I don’t mean the city or the country, just this tiny space around me in the living room, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito of emotions. Even though I’ve spent my whole life in Hungary, I’ve never felt that deep, cozy, heartwarming sense of belonging that I imagine a hometown should bring.

I know City Park and the neighbourhood where I grew up inside and out. I’ve walked Budapest’s streets a thousand times, watched them change, and memorized their best and worst corners. I’ve spent countless hours on public transport, staring at the architecture, commuting back and forth to work. It’s both beautiful and…