That summer I and my Italian girlfriend were in a campground on Lake Balaton. There were thousands of Ossis in their Trabis waiting to get out of the DDR via Hungary.

The boyfriend of the campground owners' daughter was a refugee from Ceaucescu's Romania who spoke good English, French, Italian and German. I never forgot what he told me: "This whole thing (regime) won't hold together. The whole game is about to end."

A one hour massage in the four star Park Hotel in Eger cost $2. A six course meal in Budapest restaurant Szondi on what was then named Leninkorut cost $12/person. Wine, dessert, more waiters than customers and all the sobbing violins included.

We were both students and living like rich pensioners for our two weeks in Hungary.