America, via a chat room

Somewhere around 1996, my brother informed me that there was a thing called the internet. We went to see a friend's father at the university to witness the miracles of Yahoo, and the fact that you could download a picture of an Audi or a BMW in just two minutes. Unbelievably fast.

Eventually I got the interwebs at home. Dial-up, of course, and in Hungary every single minute online cost money. A lot of money. Like, a lot lot. One phone bill came to more than half of my mom's monthly wage, and to this day she still brings it up.

Either way, I started chatting in an old-school chat room. I'm not even sure emojis existed yet, other than the ones you typed out of characters. That's where I started chatting with a lady from Michigan, and guess what: we kept chatting for two years.

When I graduated, she asked if I wanted to come and see her in the US. I really wanted to go. My mom said absolutely not. But eventually my dad said yes, and I think he even paid for my plane ticket. I got some American Express traveler's cheques and in June 1998 off I went, to Detroit.

We spent almost two months like Bonnie and Clyde, traveling around every corner of Michigan, from Kalamazoo to Mackinac Island. Driving an old Chevy Lumina and often sleeping in Walmart parking lots, I really did feel like Clyde. I even took my first, not exactly legal, job as a strawberry picker, and on my very first day, 16 June 1998, the Detroit Red Wings won the Stanley Cup. Quite an experience for my 18-year-old Eastern European self.

It was also my first ever root beer, my first White Castle, saltwater taffy, sloppy joes and all the other American goodness.

It was an unforgettable time, and it planted the seeds of my love for travel and for getting to know people from all over the world.