Gotta start somewhere...
Why not in Siófok?
I’ve decided to begin my travel blog with this trip to Hungary.
Whenever I travel for something other than a vacation, I usually tack on a few extra days so I can explore and get to know the area. My daughter is getting married in Budapest on Saturday, so I arrived a few days early.
I’m currently at Lake Balaton, southwest of Budapest, near a town called Siófok—at least, according to my weather app.
The funny thing is, I thought I had booked a place at Lake Velence, which is only about an hour from the city. Normally, Lake Balaton would have been my first choice, but I was feeling a little concerned about money, what with the wedding and all. Plus, my addiction to true-crime television has finally caused me to think twice about some of the things I do, so I had decided it might be wiser to stay closer to Budapest.
But in true God form, He knew what I really wanted, and I accidentally booked this place at Lake Balaton instead.
So here I am.
I’ve been deep in thought since I arrived, reflecting on many of the things that have happened in my life. Don’t worry—I won’t bore you with all of that just yet. But yes, some of this blog will branch into other areas.
Hence the title: Susan Goes There.
And I don’t necessarily mean geographically.
What finally prompted me to take the leap was a post I made on Instagram featuring pictures of the lake. I found myself wanting the post to feel more meaningful—and more honest.
After waking from a carefully timed nap so I wouldn’t miss the sunset, I sat on the couch and stared out at the lake. Then I added the one word that came to mind as I looked at this beautiful place:
Wondrous.
It’s awe-inspiring—so bizarrely unreal that it almost feels like a dream.
I say that not only because the lake is beautiful and pristine, but because everything around it feels like a picture-perfect representation of what is good in life: families and children, dogs and flowers, windsurfers and swimmers, lovers and picnics.
Swans float across the lake as if they are showing off—just to drive home the point that, yes, this really is paradise. Ducks fly overhead in formation, perfectly on cue, while dogs run happily off-leash because, of course, they are apparently the best-behaved dogs in the world.
Sitting here, I find myself thinking about how thankful I am to God for everything in my life. In a place this beautiful, it is easy to feel grateful. It is easy to look at the lake, feel full of love, and thank God for all of it.
Then I think about the children in Gaza. I think about babies and toddlers in detention centers, and about all the people in the world who are addicted, desperately poor, abused, or seriously ill.
I wonder how they manage to remain thankful to God.
Logically, it must be much harder to thank God for what you have when you are imprisoned, frightened, hungry, or being mistreated by the very people who are supposed to protect you.
How do people do it?
I genuinely want to understand.
That led me to think about all the things that happened on my way here.
In the larger scheme of life, they were ridiculously minor. Still, any one of them could have felt like a very big deal in the moment.
I had to pay an extra hundred dollars because my suitcase was eight pounds overweight. I could have moved my shoes into my carry-on, but I didn’t want to risk crushing the dress I was bringing for the wedding.
Then I bought a seven-dollar venti coffee from Starbucks and promptly spilled the entire thing on the carpet at the airport gate.
When I arrived to pick up my rental car, I dragged my 58-pound suitcase and carry-on about a quarter of a mile through the hot sun to a portable office that was supposedly “just around the corner.”
I walked about 30 steps, stopped to rest, and then repeated the process. By the time I finally reached the rental office, I informed the man working there that he would need to bring the car to me because I was absolutely not walking another step.
Essentially, I told him that he was going to help this not-so-little, not-so-old lady whether he liked it or not.
He was gracious and helpful, and I was genuinely thankful because I could not have gone another step.
My first stop was McDonald’s. I checked in with my daughter, who was still in Dubai with Ronak finishing the last of the wedding preparations. I let her know I was okay, and then I headed down the road.
After a while, I realized I was not going to Lake Velence.
I hadn’t seen a single sign for it. I had entered the address into the GPS and simply started driving. I was daydreaming and not paying much attention to the time until it dawned on me that I had been driving for much longer than an hour.
Eventually, I began seeing signs containing the word “Balaton,” or something close to it. Everything was in Hungarian, so I could not be completely sure, but between the signs and the GPS, I decided to keep going and see where I ended up.
When I reached the address listed on the booking website, I found a collection of old, dilapidated-looking buildings. I knew—or at least desperately hoped—that this was not the place.
I called the rental office. Through my nonexistent Hungarian and the woman’s limited English, I managed to pick out enough useful information to find my way there.
I’m getting tired just recounting all of this, but it continued.
In fairly short order, the toilet clogged. Then all the lights went out, probably because I flipped a breaker after turning on every burner on the stove in an effort to stay warm.
There were a few more minor mishaps: accepting an embarrassingly bad exchange rate at the airport, trying to figure out the espresso machine, and realizing I had brought no cold-weather clothing other than one sweater.
And yet, here I sit, staring at the sunset.
For some people, any one of those things might contribute to what they would consider a failed trip.
I am beginning to realize that my intended new side-career as an explorer and foodie will require patience, flexibility, and a fairly high tolerance for inconvenience. I may have to dismiss these things as inconsequential, to-be-expected, travel complications.
Well, perhaps not the exchange rate. I should have known better.
I bought a loaf of thick, crusty bread and a bottle of amazing grapeseed oil infused with herbs. I also bought some enormous fresh eggs, meat that I believe is turkey, and Gouda cheese because the other labels were in Hungarian and I had no idea what kind of cheese they were describing.
The oil contains basil, marjoram, oregano, sage, yarrow, thyme, rosemary, and mint. You simply pour it onto a plate, break off a piece of the crusty bread, and dip it into the oil.
So delicious. Ok great. Now we’re on the way!
Then the big one.
My computer had been nagging me to install its latest updates, so I finally gave in. When it restarted, it could no longer find the hardware it needed to connect to the internet.
That was the problem that finally set my hamster wheel spinning.
Off I went:
What the hell is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t feel anxious. I need to be grateful. Look at this incredible place.
Why do I do this? Why do I talk to myself this way? Why do I narrate my entire life? Why do I do all these crazy things? What makes me think I can travel around the world, work, and survive?
I can’t work without a freaking computer.
Now I’m going to have to buy a new one. I can’t afford a new computer, and I certainly don’t want to buy one in Hungary, where I don’t speak the language.
Suddenly, I began doubting whether this new “career goal” was remotely viable.
Then I realized that I was sitting in Hungary, doing one of the things I have wanted to do for much of my life: traveling, seeing wondrous places, and eating good food.
And now I was taking it one step further by beginning my own travel and food blog.
Except I couldn’t work because I couldn’t get online.
So, I began frantically working on the computer. I reinstalled Windows, ran a virus scan, and worked through every diagnostic process I could find.
Two hours. Three hours. Four hours.
Everything appeared to be fine. The computer did not seem to think anything was missing. In fact, it appeared completely unaware that it could not connect to the internet.
As a last-ditch effort, I reactivated all my startup programs because the computer had been operating in diagnostic mode.
And then—voilà.
The internet connection simply returned.
I have absolutely no idea why.
And once again, I thought: Just be grateful.
I’m grateful.
I am grateful.
My heart sang a little because, in spite of everything, it finally hit me:
I am doing the thing I have always wanted to do.
The funny thing is that as soon as I said it aloud, the wind picked up and whipped around.
It felt almost as though God were listening.
Then, when I said aloud that God was listening, the wind grew even stronger.
And I knew what He was telling me:
Keep going, girl. You can do it.
Do what you want to do.
For now, it will have to be a dream on a budget—but this is the direction I want to go.
Maybe the title should be Dreams on a Budget.
That is my entry for today. I think it is Day Three, although I’m not even entirely sure what day it is anymore.
My daughter’s wedding is the real event.
This is simply the unexpected beginning of something else.
June 11, 2026, I think.