Fiume, 1912

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues over the bustling port city of Fiume, I clutched little Ilona’s hand tightly, her tiny fingers barely wrapping around mine.

"Gyere, kislány" – come, baby girl – I whispered to her, my heart swelling with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Mihály, my husband, strode confidently ahead of us, his eyes scanning the throngs of people gathering along the street.

"Várj" – wait – I called out to him, stopping to adjust the shawl draped over Ilona's head. He turned towards us, his dark eyes filled with understanding. "Ne aggódj" – don't worry – he reassured me, reaching out to gently pat Ilona's cheek before continuing onward.

As we walked through the busy streets, I marveled at the cacophony of languages and accents that surrounded us. Families huddled together, speaking in Italian, Croatian, Greek, and many others I couldn't identify. Each group seemed to cling to their own language like a lifeline, a piece of a home they weren't yet willing to let go.

"Katalin," Mihály said, motioning towards a vendor selling fruit. "Nézd" – look – he pointed to the vibrant display. "Talán venni kellene" – maybe we should buy some – he suggested, knowing full well that fresh food would be scarce on our upcoming voyage.

"Jó" – good – I replied, carefully selecting a few ripe apples as Mihály paid the vendor. We exchanged smiles with the man before continuing on our way.

The moment we stepped onto the bustling streets of Fiume, I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. The air was thick with anticipation, as people from all walks of life converged on this port city; it was a veritable melting pot, much like the America we were all striving to reach.

"Look at this place," Mihály marveled, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in the colorful array of shops, street vendors, and the throngs of hopeful immigrants jostling for space. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

"Úgy tűnik, mintha az egész világ itt lenne" – It seems as if the whole world is here – I observed, my blue-green eyes wide with wonder and anxiety. Toddler Ilona clung to my skirts, overwhelmed by the noisy chaos surrounding us.

"Anyukám" – mommy – Ilona's voice pulled me from my thoughts, her wide blue eyes gazing up at me with curiosity. "Where are we going to stay?" Ilona asked, blinking up at me with those big cool eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.

"Somewhere safe and warm," I promised, patting her head gently. I could tell she was exhausted from our long journey, but the prospect of finding a temporary home in this strange new city seemed to buoy her spirits.

"Let's find a boarding house," Mihály suggested, pointing towards a nearby row of buildings. "We'll be able to rest there, while we wait for our ship to arrive."

"Jól hangzik," I replied, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. It had been a grueling trek to Fiume, and my pregnant body longed for the comfort of a soft bed – even if it was only a temporary respite.

We navigate our way through the crowd, desperately trying to find a boarding house where we could stay until it was our turn to embark on the ship bound for America. Our belongings were heavy, and the sun beat down mercilessly on my back as I tried to decipher the unfamiliar Italian street signs.

At last, we find an open house, a narrow, aging building squeezed between a fish market and a bustling café. The proprietor, a stout Italian woman with a stern expression, greeted us in broken English. "Welcome. You stay here?" she asked, eyeing our luggage.

"Mi marad" – We stay – I replied, nodding. She led us up a creaky staircase to a small room furnished with three narrow beds and a single window looking out onto the busy street below.

"Kösz" – thanks – I said as we settled in, unpacking our meager belongings. A Russian woman nearby noticed my growing belly and offered me a pillow to make my sleep more comfortable. "Spasibo" – thank you – I said, gratefully accepting her kind gesture.

"Élvezz" – Enjoy – she said curtly before leaving us alone in the cramped space.

As we settled into the boarding house, we quickly discovered that we shared the limited facilities with several other immigrant families. The communal washroom was always bustling, and the kitchen was a battleground of clashing languages and culinary traditions.

***

Kérsz egy kis" – Would you like some? – a friendly Romanian man named Vasile offered one evening, holding out a steaming bowl of something unidentifiable.

"Kösz," I replied hesitantly, accepting the bowl and taking a cautious bite. His face broke into a smile, and I nodded my approval, much to Vasile's delight.

"Kako se zovete?" – What is your name? – I asked a young woman from a neighboring room one evening, as she cradled her infant son in her arms.

"Ana," she replied with a shy smile. "A vi?"

"Katalin," I responded, extending my hand in friendship. "It's nice to meet you."

"Drago mi je" she murmured, shaking my hand gently. And just like that, another connection was made – a small but significant moment in our shared journey.

Life in the boarding house was not without its mishaps. One morning, as Mihály attempted to shave in the cramped washroom, the door flew open, revealing a flustered Polish woman who quickly began to berate him in her native language.

"Én sajnálom" – I am sorry – Mihály stammered, trying to cover his half–shaven face with a towel, but she continued her tirade until another woman intervened, leading her away with a sympathetic smile.

Despite the challenges, there was a sense of community among our fellow travelers. We were all bound by the same dream, the same hope for a better life in America. And as we gathered each evening anticipating our departure, sharing stories and laughter late into the night, I knew that we had already begun to build our new life, right there in that crowded boarding house in Fiume.

Each day, Mihály and I ventured out into the city, searching for news of our impending departure. It seemed as though time had slowed to a crawl, but as the days passed and we grew ever closer to boarding the ship that would take us to America, I allowed myself to dream of the life that awaited us there.

"Lesz egy új otthon" – we'll have another new home – I said softly one night, the salty sea breeze whipping around us. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving a sky awash in brilliant pinks and oranges, as if Fiume itself was bidding us farewell on our journey to America.

***

"Jó reggelt," I whispered to Ilona as she rubbed her eyes, awakening to the chaotic symphony of foreign voices outside our small room. Mihály stood by the window, watching the hustle and bustle of Fiume's streets. "Milyen csodálatos hely," he muttered under his breath, entranced by the energy that surrounded us.

"Mit mondtál?" I asked, my Hungarian tongue still tripping over the few English words Mihály had taught me. He turned to face me with a smile.

"Csak azt mondtam, hogy csodálatos ez a hely." He gestured towards the window again as I rose from our makeshift beds, holding Ilona in my arms.

"Leszállítják a hajót," he said, pointing at the workers carrying supplies down the streets, towards the massive ships. "Ez az, amelyiken Amerikába utazunk." The excitement in his voice was palpable, but so was the nervousness that fluttered in my chest. We were leaving everything we knew behind for this new life across the ocean.

We ventured out into the boarding house's narrow hallway, brushing past other families who shared the cramped living quarters. Everyone seemed to speak a different language, their excited conversations blending together like a symphony of hope and anticipation. "Buongiorno!" an Italian mother greeted us warmly, her children giggling behind her. "Dzień dobry," replied a Polish father, lifting his hat politely.

"Jó napot kívánok," I offered hesitantly, acutely aware of my own linguistic limitations. These strangers would be our fellow passengers on the journey to America, and I longed to connect with them despite our differences.

In the crowded dining area, we sat down with a diverse group who shared our dreams of a better life. As we exchanged stories and laughter, our accents and unfamiliar words seemed to fade away, replaced by the universal language of camaraderie.

"Quelle est votre histoire?" a French woman asked us, gesturing to her own pregnant belly. I understood her question, but my limited vocabulary failed me.

"Ő is várandós," Mihály answered for me, resting his hand on my slightly swollen stomach. The woman's eyes lit up with understanding and warmth. "Félicitations!" she exclaimed, beaming before launching into an animated tale of her own journey.

"Mi a neved?" – what's your name – asked a young girl, approaching Ilona shyly. She held a ragged doll tightly in her arms.

"Én vagyok Ilona" – I am Ilona – my daughter replied hesitantly, eyeing the girl's doll with interest.

"Eu sunt Elena" – I am Elena – the girl responded, revealing that she spoke Romanian. She held out her doll for Ilona to examine.

Mihály and I exchanged glances, smiling at the sight of our daughter making a new friend despite the language barrier.

As the days passed in Fiume, we embraced the challenges of our temporary home, navigating the shared bathrooms and tight quarters with good humor and patience. We practiced our English with one another, each new word feeling like an accomplishment that brought us closer to our dreams.

"Good morning," I taught Ilona one day as we prepared to leave the boarding house and board the ship that would carry us to America. She repeated the phrase shyly, her voice barely audible over the din of excited voices. But to me, it was the sweetest sound in the world – a gentle reminder that despite the uncertainty and fear, we were taking our first steps towards a new life, together as a family.

***

"Vigyázz, kisasszony!" Mihály called out to me as I tried to navigate the busy streets while holding both Ilona's hand and our paperwork. I glanced at him with a smile, appreciating his concern but secretly proud of my ability to manage both tasks.

"Ne aggódj, szerelmem, ügyes vagyok" I reassured him, juggling my burdens as we approached the medical examination area. My heart pounded in my chest, knowing that our future depended on the results of these tests. As I looked around, I could see the same mix of hope and fear etched on the faces of other immigrants waiting their turn – a racket of voices in various languages filled the air, reflecting the diversity of our fellow travelers.

"Ne aggódj" – Don't worry – he reassured me, squeezing my hand tightly as we entered the building. A stern–looking man at the entrance directed us to join a long line of people waiting their turn for the medical examinations. Ilona, sensing the tension in the air, clung to my skirts, her wide eyes darting around the crowded room.

Our final hours in Fiume were spent in a makeshift clinic near the docks. The room buzzed with apprehension as families lined up, waiting for their turn to be examined by the stern–faced doctors who determined our fates. I held Ilona close, her small body trembling in my arms, while Mihály stood beside us, his expression unreadable.

As we waited in line, Ilona clung to my leg, her eyes wide with curiosity and fear. The sight of the white–coated doctors and their stern faces was intimidating even for me. I whispered soothing words to her in Hungarian, trying to ease her anxiety.

"Ne félj" – don't be afraid – I stroked her hair, my heart pounding in my chest. "Sve će biti u redu" – Everything will be fine.

"Prossimo!" A stern–faced doctor motioned for us to approach, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. What if they found something wrong with any of us? Would they send us back?

"Nome?" The doctor asked, eyeing us intently as he flipped through his papers. Mihály stepped forward, answering confidently in English as he handed over our documents. I marveled at his command of the language, wishing I could express myself as easily.

The doctor examined us each in turn, checking our eyes, ears, and mouths for any signs of illness. My heartbeat quickened as he listened to my pregnant belly, praying that everything would be fine.

"Készülj fel, kislány" I whispered to Ilona, squeezing her hand gently as the doctor began his examination. He checked her eyes, ears, and throats, asking questions in rapid Italian, which Mihály translated for us. I held my breath as he listened to my pregnant belly, praying that all would be well with our unborn child.

"Gratulálok" – congratulations – the doctor said. "Megfelel" – you pass – he added, marking a significant milestone in our journey to America. He smiled, handing us each a small slip of paper certifying that we were fit for the journey. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, and I embraced Mihály tightly, tears of joy streaming down our faces as little Ilona clapped her hands in delight.

"Kösz," I sighed with relief as we left the examination room, our hearts filled with hope and anticipation for the new life that lay ahead.

"És most?" I asked Mihály quietly as we collected our belongings. "Mi történik most?"

"Most felszállunk a hajóra" He said, his excitement palpable. "Amerika felé.’

With a mixture of pride and relief, I held the health certificate tightly in my hand, as if it were a ticket to an unknown but promising future. The paper was crisp and official, stating that our little family was fit for travel and immigration.

"Kész vagyunk!" I exclaimed, turning to Mihály and Ilona with a broad smile.

"Mi az?" Ilona asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Ready," I replied, gently brushing her wavy dark hair away from her face. "We are ready to go."

"Elkészültünk," Mihály echoed, giving me a knowing glance. He understood the significance of this moment, even if Ilona was still too young to grasp it fully..

As we exited, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. My heart swelled with hope, even as it ached for the life we were leaving behind.

***

In the evenings, after returning to the boarding house, we would gather together with our fellow travelers and share stories of our lives before this journey. The room would come alive with laughter and tears, as each person added their voice to the tapestry of memories.

"Znaš" – You know – a man named Goran told us one night, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Kad stignemo u Ameriku, mislim da ću pokrenuti vlastitu pekaru" – When we get to America, I think I'll start my own bakery.

"Zašto ne" – Why not – I encouraged him, smiling. "Snovi su tu da se ostvare.” Dreams are meant to come true.

"Da,” Ana agreed, her infant son now asleep in her arms. "Mi smo hrabri" – We are all need to hold onto dreams.

In those moments, gathered together in our temporary home, it was easy to forget the challenges that lay ahead of us. For a short while, we were simply a group of friends, bound together by our shared dreams and the promise of a brighter future.

As the day of our departure finally approached, the atmosphere in the boarding house became charged with anticipation and anxiety. We gathered our meager belongings, said our bittersweet farewells, and joined the throng of immigrants making their way to the docks.

As we navigated the bustling port, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer number of people gathered here. Men, women, and children from all corners of Europe, each carrying their own stories and dreams along with their luggage. We were surrounded by languages such as Italian, German, and French, creating a buzz of words that was both beautiful and overwhelming.

"Scusi," said Mihály hesitantly, approaching an older gentleman who looked like he might work at the port. "Dove dobbiamo andare per l'embarco?"

"Ah, siete pronti per partire?" he asked with a smile, pointing towards a large ship docked nearby. "Seguite quella fila di persone, vi porteranno al vostro posto sulla nave."

“Gracias,” he replied.

"Készen állsz?" Mihály asked, his hand gripping mine tightly. As I looked up at him, I saw the excitement and worry etched on his face as we turned to face the grand Cunard Line ship. Ilona clung to my other hand, her tiny fingers gripping with a strength that belied her age.

"Készen" – ready – I replied, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady my nerves. The air was filled with a cacophony of languages as hundreds of passengers joined us on their journey across the Atlantic. Italian, French, German, and many others languages melded together in anticipation and anxiety.

The Cunnard line ship loomed before us in the harbor like a mountain rising out of the sea. It was there to carry us, along with hundreds of other souls, across the vast Atlantic to the shores of America.

"Jól vagy, Katalin, Ilona?" Mihály asked me as I clung to our daughter. Her piercing eyes met mine, and she nodded, her long dark hair whipping around her face in the wind. We were both nervous, but I could see the resilience that lived within her.

"Jó, Mihály" I replied, my voice steady. "Megcsináljuk ezt" – We will do this.

"Volim vas" (I love you), I whispered to Mihály and Ilona as we stood at the water's edge, taking one last look at the city that had been our shelter for these past few weeks.

"Mi smo zajedno" – We are together – Mihály replied, his arm around my shoulders as Ilona clung to my hand. "To je sve što nam treba." That's all we need.

The sun glared down on us as we stepped onto the gangway, each wooden plank creaking beneath our feet. I squinted up at the massive ship before us, its towering smokestacks and glistening hull a symbol of the new world that awaited us across the ocean. As we climbed the gangplank, I couldn't help but think of all that lay ahead. Our voyage across the Atlantic would be filled with challenges and uncertainties, but also with the promise of a new life in America. Hand in hand with Mihály and Ilona, our little family took the first steps towards our future, leaving behind the familiar shores of Europe for the unknown adventures that awaited us.

"Én is" I whispered, gripping Ilona's tiny hand in mine. The toddler, sensing the change in atmosphere, clung to my skirts with wide eyes, her limited English vocabulary failing her in the face of the din of noises surrounding us.

"Ne félj" I murmured soothingly, guiding her along as we made our way up the gangway. Around us, fellow passengers chattered nervously in their native tongues, the air alive with anticipation and anxiety.

"Buongiorno" – good morning – a young Italian couple greeted us as they passed by, their faces alight with hope. I smiled back, but my stomach churned at the thought of leaving our homeland behind.

"Jó reggelt" – good morning – I responded hesitantly, trying out one of the few Italian phrases I knew. They flashed warm smiles before continuing their way up the gangplank.

I clutched our health certificates tightly in my hand. The crisp paper seemed like a fragile key to our future, and I couldn't help but worry that some unseen force might snatch it away at any moment. I glanced over at Mihály, who now held Ilona in his arms, their eyes both wide with excitement and apprehension. I knew they were counting on me to center us safely in our new home, and I was determined not to let them down.

"Mi van a kezében, apa?" Ilona asked in Hungarian, reaching out her tiny hand towards the certificates.

"Útlevél," I replied, trying to explain the importance of the documents to our two–year–old daughter. "Very important for America."

"Amrika," she echoed, giggling. "Amrika!"

We joined the queue of other passengers waiting to board. As I looked around, I saw people from all walks of life, each carrying their own dreams and fears onto the ship. An elderly Italian couple stood nearby, clutching their rosary beads and praying fervently. A group of young German men laughed and joked, slapping one another on the back in camaraderie. And a French family huddled together, whispering softly as they stared at the massive vessel before us.

The queue inched forward, a sea of huddled bodies and whispered voices, an array of unfamiliar languages that seemed to blend together into one unintelligible melody. I clutched our travel documents tightly in my other hand, the worn edges testament to how far we'd come just to reach this point.

As I held onto Mihály’s hand, my heart pounded with anticipation and uncertainty.

"Következő!" The customs officer called out, and I ushered our little family forward. My stomach tightened as we approached; this was the moment that could make or break our dreams.

Our belongings were heaped on the table, a haphazard collection of suitcases and bags that held everything we owned in this world. I could feel the weight of the officer's eyes as he scrutinized each item, and my heart pounded with anticipation.

"Mit keresel?" I asked quietly, trying to keep my voice steady despite my nerves.

"Csak ellenőrzöm" he replied gruffly, his hands moving methodically through our things. He pulled out one of my dresses, holding it up to examine the stitching. Ilona let out a small giggle at the sight, her eyes shining with curiosity.

"Ne aggódj" I whispered to her, giving her a reassuring smile as the officer continued his inspection. My mind raced with thoughts of what might happen if something was amiss, but I forced myself to push those fears aside. We had come so far already, and I knew that we would overcome whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

"Passports and tickets, please," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. I handed over our papers, watching as his eyes scanned each page, searching for any discrepancies that could send us back from whence we came.

He inspected, checking for any signs of forgery or issues that might prevent us from entering the United States. My heart raced as I watched them scrutinize our papers, my hands damp with sweat.

"Te vagy... Mihály?" he asked, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes. Mihály nodded, trying to suppress the tremor in his voice. "Igen, én vagyok."

"Rendben" the officer finally said, nodding his approval as he returned my dress to the suitcase. "Mehetsz" he waved us onward, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We gathered our belongings and moved toward the narrow gangway that led onto the ship, we had made it through the first hurdle.

"Come, Ilona," I said softly, urging our toddler forward as we followed the flow of passengers toward the entrance of the ship. She stared up at me with wide eyes, her small hand clutching a worn stuffed rabbit, a gift from her Romanian friend. "Amerikába megyünk" I told her, trying to instill a sense of excitement in my voice despite the knot of anxiety that still twisted within me.

"Vezess," Mihály said firmly, patting my shoulder reassuringly as we reached the top of the gangway and stepped onto the deck of the Cunard line ship. A crew member hurried forward, shouting directions in broken Hungarian mixed with various European languages, somehow managing to guide the throng of immigrants toward their assigned sleeping quarters.

"Remélem" I thought to myself as we followed the crowd, "that this journey will be worth the hardships we have already faced." I glanced at Ilona, her cool eyes wide with awe as she stared around the bustling deck, and felt a surge of determination flood through me. This was for her, for all of us—to find a better life, free from war and famine, in a land of opportunity.

***

"Velkommen ombord" – welcome aboard – a Norwegian crew member greeted us, pointing us towards the luggage area where our belongings would be thoroughly checked to comply with immigration regulations and customs. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as I glanced at our meager possessions, wondering if they would be enough to build a new life in America.

"Gràcies" – thank you – Mihály replied, his voice betraying both gratitude and apprehension. We followed the crew member's directions, our footsteps echoing against the polished wooden deck of the ship.

"Kijk uit" – watch out – a Dutch woman called as her young son darted in front of us, nearly tripping Ilona. I caught her just in time, my heart pounding in my chest. The woman apologized profusely, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Semmi gond" – no problem – I assured her, smiling despite my own fear. It seemed that we were all navigating this new world together, united by our shared dreams of a better future.

As we stepped onto the ship, I couldn't help but be awed by its sheer size and grandeur. We found ourselves swept up in a tide of passengers, all jostling to find their accommodations and get settled in before the ship set sail. The air was thick with a mix of languages, creating clamor that was at once thrilling and overwhelming. And with that, we stepped onto the ship that would carry us across the ocean to our new life – a journey filled with both hope and uncertainty, but one that we would face together, as a family

"Figyelem!" barked a crew member, his voice cutting through the echoing in the cramped steerage quarters. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to decipher his instructions, but his rapid Italian left me disoriented. My eyes darted around, searching for any indication of where we were supposed to go. A hand–painted sign on the wall caught my attention: "Third class" it read, accompanied by an arrow pointing down a narrow hallway.

"Úgy tűnik, hogy erre" I said, nudging Mihály and nodding towards the sign. He grunted in agreement, hoisting our meager belongings higher onto his shoulder before gesturing for us to follow.

As we navigated the dimly lit passageways, I couldn't help but feel a peculiar mixture of trepidation and curiosity. The ship was alive with the hum of countless conversations in various languages: Lithuanian, Croatian, Russian, Greek, and so many others I couldn't even begin to recognize.

"Zavart" I muttered, my brow furrowed as I tried to keep a firm grip on Ilona's hand amidst the chaotic swarm of passengers.

"Lehet" Mihály agreed, pausing momentarily to take in the disarray around us. "De van benne valami izgalmas"

I couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through me, knowing that each person surrounding us had their own unique story, their reasons for leaving behind their homes in search of something better.

"Csak azt szeretném, ha már ott lennénk" Mihály sighed, his eyes betraying a hint of weariness. I squeezed his arm reassuringly, offering him a small smile.

"Hamorosan" I promised, although in truth, I had no idea how long our journey would actually last.

"Jó útra" Mihály murmured, his eyes scanning the crowd as we descended into the ship. His English was more proficient than mine, though I had been picking up words here and there since we left Hungary. But even with our limited knowledge, communication with the other passengers proved challenging.

"Bonjour" a French woman greeted us as we passed, her eyes crinkling in a smile. "Guten Tag" a German family chimed in, their children staring at Ilona with wide–eyed curiosity.

"Üdv" I replied hesitantly, trying my best to acknowledge each greeting with a smile and a nod, though the foreign words felt clumsy on my tongue. As we made our way further into the ship, the reality of our situation began to sink in—we were truly leaving our homeland behind, setting sail toward a future filled with both excitement and uncertainty.

I held Ilona's hand tightly, afraid to lose her in the sea of strangers. Beside me, Mihály carried our bags, his face stern and determined.

"Come on, Katalin, let's find our bunks," he said, pushing through the crowd. We slowly made our way to the lower decks of the ship, where the steerage accommodations awaited us.

"Merre?" Mihály asked uncertainly as we paused before another narrow corridor. I bit my lip, studying the crude map that had been handed to us upon boarding, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar layout.

"Erre" I said finally, pointing down a dimly–lit corridor. "A hálókabinok erre vannak" We exchanged a brief look of resolve before plunging forward, our hearts heavy with the weight of our dreams and fears as we embarked on the long journey to America.

As we moved further into the belly of the ship, I couldn't help but marvel again at the sheer number of people surrounding us. Men and women from all corners of Europe, each carrying their own dreams of a better life in this new world; it was both humbling and inspiring. And amidst them all, our little family, united by love and determination, embarking on a journey that would shape not only our lives but those of generations to come.

"Madame, s'il vous plaît" A young crew member noticed our confusion and gestured for us to follow him to our assigned sleeping quarters, his French accent thick. The steerage area was cramped and noisy, filled with families just like ours who were embarking on this incredible journey together.

As we descended further into the ship's belly, the air grew colder and heavier as we made our way to the steerage accommodations. The corridor was dimly lit and narrow, pressing us closer together, a throng of strangers bound by hope and uncertainty.

We entered the cramped room and the scent of unwashed bodies mingled with the stench of stale air assaulted my nostrils. I looked around at the narrow bunk beds lined up against the walls, shared by families and individuals alike. The lack of privacy and the close proximity to strangers would take some getting used to.

"Ó, Istenem" I muttered under my breath as we stepped into the dimly lit steerage area. The smell of sweat and stale air mingled with the faint scent of saltwater, a constant reminder of the vast ocean that separated us from our old lives.

"Anyu,'' Ilona tugged at my skirt, her wide eyes taking in the scene before us. "Hol alszunk?"

"Rendben van" I reassured her, patting her head and glancing around the room. Families huddled together, speaking in hushed tones while children already began playing makeshift games to pass the time.

"Voici vos lits" The crew member indicated a row of narrow bunk beds stacked three high, and I felt a pang of concern for Ilona's safety. "Soyez prudents" he added, sensing my unease.

We weaved through the narrow gaps between the bunk beds, searching for open sleeping quarters.

"Íme," Mihály finally said, motioning towards a small space near one of the walls, where three bunks were stacked closely together. With a sigh, I hoisted Ilona onto the middle bunk and climbed up after her, feeling the rough, thin mattress beneath me.

"Kényelmes" I whispered sarcastically to Mihály, who chuckled in response.

"Legalább" he replied, winking at me as he settled into the bunk below ours. "Nem kell aggódnunk a közönségről." He gestured at the curtain hanging by the side of each bunk, offering a semblance of privacy.

"Üdvözöljük" A friendly voice interrupted our quiet exchange, drawing our attention to the bunk across from us. A young woman with a warm smile introduced herself as Maria, her Italian accent thick and melodic. "Sono contenta di conoscerti" she said, extending a hand in greeting.

"Katalin" I replied, shaking her hand hesitantly, unsure of the proper etiquette in this unfamiliar environment. "És," I pointed to Mihály and Ilona, beckoning to introduce themselves as well.

"And this is Ilona,” Mihály began, switching to broken English in an attempt to bridge the language gap. "Happy meet you" Maria's smile widened, and she nodded in understanding.

"Same" she replied, her eyes sparkling with warmth and curiosity. And just like that, we had formed our first connection in this strange new world.