Ring a ding ding

I AM WALKING around Budapest, Hungary, admiring old, beautiful buildings that are crumbling just enough to give the city great charm and character. It is a terrific city for sightseeing on foot. A Hungarian man riding a bicycle is heading in my direction. He is elderly, nattily dressed in a coat and tie, wearing a hat, looking like he stepped out of the 1940s. He glances at me, so obviously a tourist, a stranger in his neighborhood.

He rings the bell on his bicycle twice as he passes by me, raising his eyebrows and grinning, but the grin is really more ogle than smile. I am not blocking his path, he is just ringing the bell to catch my eye. I start laughing. Never have I been dinged like this.

I’ve been whistled at, commented upon, endured the stares of strangers, but never before has a man rung his bicycle bell at me!