Rod Dreher spent four years living in Budapest. In his piece for us last week, Rod reckoned with what he learned in Europe. On the eve of America’s 250th birthday, he picks up the story after coming home to Alabama, to sticker shock at the grocery store, and to a South he’d almost forgotten how much he missed. Ahead of Fourth of July weekend, we thought it was worth hearing from Rod on what it’s like to see your own country again with fresh eyes, and why, for all its chaos, dysfunction, and expensive groceries, there’s no place he’d rather be. —The Editors
As the genial repairman at my apartment complex in suburban Birmingham, Alabama, was fiddling with the wonky dial on my washing machine, I couldn’t help complaining.
“I just got back from Publix,” I whined. “Came out of there with three little bags. Not even any meat! Cost me $114. Can you believe that?”
He stood and smiled. “Welcome home.”
After four years living in Europe—in Hungary, the cheaper side of the continent—the cost of living in America has been the most shocking thing. Everybody talks about it, and I mean everybody. The Iran war? Mass migration? No, man, it’s all about the grinding cost of daily life.
As I was packing my bags in Budapest, I imagined that after landing in America, I would lease a European sedan, as befits my middle-aged writerly dignity. Ha! After two days of hearing my buddies gripe about spending over a hundred bucks every time they fill up their Tahoes or F-150s, I bought a Honda Civic hybrid. It gets 46 miles per gallon—a generous compensation for my aesthetic loss, I tell you what.
The second thing I did: motored over to Costco and got a membership. Since the World Cup games started, my X feed has been filled with European tourists marveling at everyday life in the consumer’s paradise we call home. Taste this barbecue—mein Gott! Can you believe this Walmart?! And so forth.
