Season one - Mentoring Bali: A Story That Came Full Circle (A Side story)

Meeting Bali in America
When I think about why I loved teaching, my mind almost always returns to students like Balázs Balassa—“Bali,” as everyone called him.

I first met Bali in the fall of 2019. He was just 18 years old, a freshman from Budapest, stepping into my International Communication Principles class. Even then, there was something distinct about him. He was quiet and mild-mannered, always polite and respectful, yet genuinely interested in connecting with others. Students were drawn to him. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice how the tone in the room shifted whenever the girls spoke with him—they didn’t just talk, they swooned. Tall, athletic, and ruggedly handsome with a Scandinavian look, Bali had a presence that was hard to ignore.

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What impressed me most wasn’t his appearance or even the fact that he had been a national tennis champion in high school—it was his character. Bali was disciplined, diligent, and serious about improving himself. He was the kind of student every teacher hopes for: mature enough to understand what it takes to grow, and committed enough to do the work. I’ve always loved mentoring students like that, and Bali was exactly that kind of student.

I remember showing him around our communication department's array of media outlets and what fun working in the Mass Comm industry had been for me.  By his second semester at Harding, Bali declared a major in Electronic Media Production. That decision proved to be a perfect fit. He quickly developed into a gifted photographer, videographer, and storyteller. When he walked into my Intro to Advertising class in the spring of 2020, I was genuinely glad to see him again, knowing the potential he carried.

One moment I’ll never forget was his reaction when I announced my retirement. There was a sincerity in his gratitude—a warmth that reminded me why teaching had mattered so much to me. He thanked me for helping him get started, but the truth is, students like Bali gave just as much back.

Over the next few years, we stayed in touch through the occasional email, text, or Facebook post. I wasn’t surprised at all when I learned that he had been named Communication Student of the Year in 2023.  It felt like a natural outcome for someone with his drive and talent.

After graduating, Bali returned home to Budapest and stepped into an exciting role as Director of Media Content for the Hungarian Olympic team—exactly the kind of path he had envisioned from the beginning.

Then came a full-circle moment. As Donna and I planned our 2025 Eastern European anniversary trip, which included two days in Budapest, I reached out to Bali. I asked if he might be willing to meet us and perhaps give us a “private tour” of his city, and that I'd like to meet his family and take them out to dinner?

His answer came immediately: Yes!

Even months in advance, he continued to check back with me in to make sure our plans were still on. That simple gesture said everything—it reflected the same thoughtful, intentional young man I had met years before.

And as the trip drew closer, I realized something: I wasn’t sure who was more excited about the reunion—Bali, or me.

Meeting Bali in Budapest
The morning, we were scheduled to meet Bali felt different from the start. There was a sense of anticipation—not unlike the first day of class years earlier—but this time, I wasn’t the professor waiting at the front of the room. I was the one eager to reconnect, to see what time and experience had shaped in a former student I had always believed in.
 
Over the previous couple of days we exchanged messages to settle on a place to meet. Bali suggested his office, and assured me it would be simple—just show the address to a taxi or Uber driver, and we’d be taken right there. True to form, he made it easy and thoughtful as ever. With his directions in hand Donna and I set out through Budapest confident everything would unfold just as planned.
 
For the most part, it did—though not without a small moment of uncertainty. Our driver hesitated as we approached the destination, unsure of the exact building. There was no clearly marked Hungarian Olympic Center office, at least not to our eyes. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Bali’s workplace was tucked within the University of Budapest campus, specifically inside the Sports and Medicine Hall.
 
We were dropped off there, slightly unsure but not concerned. So, we did what travelers—and perhaps former professors—sometimes do best: we paused. We found a bench on campus and sat, taking in the moment, scanning faces, wondering which direction Bali might come from.
And then, almost comically, the moment found us.
 
Within five minutes, Bali walked right past us.
 
I’m not sure he recognized us at first, but I recognized him instantly. Some things—his posture, his presence—hadn’t changed at all. I stood up and called out, “Bali!”
 
He turned quickly, studied us for just a brief second, and then his face lit up. “Professor Shaner!”
Just like that, the years in between seemed to disappear.
 
After the greetings, handshakes, and genuine expressions of excitement, Bali smiled and asked a simple question: “Are you hungry? I am.” It felt perfectly natural—like the beginning of a day that had already been carefully, thoughtfully considered.
 
He led us to a nearby campus dining hall. It wasn’t the kind of student cafeteria I might have expected, but rather a space designed for faculty and staff—orderly, efficient, and quietly inviting. With Bali guiding us through the Hungarian menu, suggesting local dishes and explaining each one, we shared a relaxed and enjoyable meal. It struck me more than once how the roles had subtly shifted. The student I once guided was now the one leading, recommending, and hosting.
 
When lunch came to an end, Bali outlined the plan for the rest of the day. First, he would take us through his workplace, giving us a glimpse into his professional world. Then, he would guide us through some of the historic landmarks of Budapest. And finally, he had arranged for us to have dinner that evening with his mother—a personal touch that spoke volumes about the kind of man he had become.
 
His father, he explained, wouldn’t be able to join us due to work. But even so, the invitation felt deeply meaningful.

As I listened to him lay out the day, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of pride. This wasn’t just a reunion—it was the continuation of a story that had begun in a classroom and had now found its way back to where Bali’s journey first started.
 
Bali in the Olympic Center
From the dining hall, it was only a short walk to Bali’s office. Just a few buildings away, we arrived at what I had imagined in my mind as something grand and sprawling—yet, it was more understated, tucked neatly within the campus of the University of Budapest. Still, as we approached, I found myself pausing to take pictures of the signage, quietly marveling at the moment. This was Bali—my former student—now working in media content management for his home country’s Olympic team!
 
It struck me as an extraordinary professional opportunity. And yet, for Bali, perhaps it felt like a natural progression. After all, he had once been a national tennis champion here. In some ways, this wasn’t just a job—it was a continuation of a story already in motion long before he ever stepped into my classroom.
 
The moment we walked inside, I sensed a shift. People looked up. Conversations paused. For a brief second, I wondered if we stood out as obvious tourists—but that wasn’t it at all. Bali had told them about us. He had told them that his professor from the United States was visiting, and that he would be bringing us by.
 
They welcomed us—not just politely, but enthusiastically. One by one, they approached, eager to meet us, and even more eager to speak about Bali. They praised his work ethic, his creativity, his talent, his professionalism. It was clear that he wasn’t just doing his job—he was excelling in it, becoming exactly what they needed.
 
As I listened, I had a quiet realization: It’s one thing to believe in a student’s potential—it’s another to watch the world affirm it.
 
Introductions followed, and I found myself in the unexpected but rewarding position of being introduced as “his professor.” I was quick to clarify that while I may have helped him get started at Harding, the talent they were praising was his alone. Still, I’ll admit—it felt pretty special to be even a small part of his story.
 
One of the most fascinating parts of the visit was a display room dedicated to Olympic history. Inside were shelves of Olympic torches—far more than I would have ever expected. I had always assumed there was just one torch that made its journey around the world. But Bali explained how each country often creates and carries its own version once the flame arrives, preserving it as part of their national story. Seeing those torches, lined up like treasured artifacts, was both surprising and incredibly powerful.
 
He also showed us his workspace—the place where his creativity came to life. This was where he recorded podcasts, produced video content, and contributed to the Hungarian Olympic media channels. I had seen glimpses of his work before, watching his videos, even though I couldn’t understand the Hungarian language. But standing there, seeing the environment where it all happened, gave it a new level of appreciation. He wasn’t just participating—he was helping shape the stories of Hungary’s top athletes.
 
Before we left, we were introduced to one final colleague, likely a supervisor or department head, who had pulled out a small gift for us—a Hungarian Olympic lapel pin. It was such a thoughtful gesture. Then Bali added a couple of his own. One, in particular, stood out: a Rubik’s Cube with the Hungarian Olympic logo. He smiled as he explained that the cube itself was invented by a Hungarian, something I had never known. It felt like the perfect symbol—clever, creative, and deeply tied to his country’s identity.
 
As we wrapped up our visit and made our way back out, I took one last look around. The office itself wasn’t massive or extravagant, but that didn’t matter. What made it remarkable was what it represented.
 
I had never been inside an Olympic office in the United States, much less in Hungary. And yet here I was, standing in one, being guided by a former student who now belonged there.
 
Before we left, I asked Bali one final question—what exactly did his role as Media Content Director involve? I had my assumptions, of course. He confirmed many of them, describing his work in content creation, storytelling, and production. But then he paused, smiled, and added with a laugh, “Honestly, I do a lot of things… usually what everyone else can’t.”
 
I asked for an example. “Well,” he said, “some people can’t even convert a Word document to a PDF.”

We all laughed—one of those moments that felt instantly familiar, no matter the country. We joked about how, at 27, he had become the go-to for anything digital among colleagues a decade or two older. And the truth was, it sounded exactly like what happens back home. Some things, it seems, are universal.
 
As we stepped back out into the day, I realized it wasn’t just impressive—it was deeply personal. Watching Bali in his element, respected and thriving, was more than I could have hoped for.
 
In a trip filled with remarkable experiences, this just might have been the highlight.

Bali – The Tour Guide
It was an easy stroll across the campus to the old historic area of: Buda-and-Pest.  The name of the city is one word, BUDAPEST.  But it wasn’t always that way.  Many years ago, it was two cities, divided by the Danube River. In 1873 Buda to the west (and partly north-west) bank of the Danube; and Pest on the east (and partly south-east) bank, came together as one city. Pest lies on the flat lowlands on the east bank; Buda is considered the foothills of the Transdanubian Mountains, sometimes called the Buda–Visegrád Hills on the west banks of the Danube.
 
We walked through the historic district with new and old buildings…  Of course, new in Europe means 200-300 or more years old. We strolled along the shaded paths of the park, Bali slowed down and pointed toward the castle rising across the water.
 
The Vajdahunyad Castle:
“Now this,” he said with a smile, “is Vajdahunyad Castle—and it may look like it’s been standing here since the Middle Ages… but don’t let it fool you. This entire castle was actually built in 1896,” he continued, “for a grand celebration marking one thousand years of Hungarian history. The first version was made of wood and even cardboard. But people loved it so much that they rebuilt it in stone just a few years later. The architect wanted to bring together the various architectural stories of Hungary all in one place.”
 
“You’ll notice something familiar about that tall tower. It’s inspired by a castle in Transylvania.  This Castle is one of the most photographed figures in Budapest.”
 
We paused along the water’s edge, where the reflection of the castle shimmered in the lake.
 
“And where we’re standing is the Városliget City Park.  In the summer, you get this peaceful lake. But in winter, it transforms into one of Europe’s largest outdoor ice rinks. The bridges and water give the whole place that fairy tale feeling.”
 
The Parliament Building.
“And now,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the riverbank, “this is the pride of Hungary—the Hungarian Parliament Building… or as we call it, Országház—the House of the Country.”
We stood there for a moment, taking it in—the sheer size of the building stretching along the water was amazing.
 
“You’ll notice,” he explained, “we’re on the Pest side of the Danube, directly across from Buda Castle. That open space in front is Kossuth Lajos Square—it’s where national events and ceremonies often take place.”
 
This building is Hungary’s National Assembly Hall, and one of the most recognizable landmarks in all of Europe. It was built and completed in the early 1900s.
 
The statue in front of it (the man on horseback) is a monument to Hungarian statesman Gyula Andrássy, which stands in the square in front of the building.
 
My photo shown here was taken from the lawn area facing the main face.  I was told it is another one of the most classic and photographed viewpoints in Budapest.
 
“This building is one of the largest and most beautiful parliament buildings in the world.
 
Bali pointed up toward the intricate spires and the towering dome.
 
We began walking again as he continued sharing details, almost like he was letting us in on secrets.
 
As we approached closer, he pointed toward the entrance.
 
“Inside, you’ll find the Hungarian Parliament meeting room, along with museums… and most importantly, the Holy Crown of Hungary—one of the nation’s most treasured relics.”
 
“And those lions,” he said, “they’re the work of sculptor János Fadrusz. They’ve been guarding these steps for over a century.”
 
“You’ll also see both the Hungarian flag and the European Union flag flying here,” he added. “A reminder of where Hungary has been… and where it is now.”
 
“And if you get the chance, come back at night. Or see it from your Riverboat on the Danube. That’s when it really feels alive.”
 
Overlook Scenic Views of Budapest
Bali then drove us a little outside the city to an overlook where we could see the city from a panoramic view – It was beautiful.

As we made our way up the winding paths, Bali slowed and turned toward us, “So,” he said, gesturing around us, “Welcome to Gellért Hill—or Gellért-hegy, as we call it. This is one of the best views in all of Budapest,” As he pointed back down toward the river below.

“We’re now on the Buda side of the Danube. The hill is named after Saint Gerard—Gellért—a bishop who, according to legend, met his fate right here. So yes,” he added with a slight grin, “beautiful views… and a bit of dramatic history too.”
 
As we stood among the trees, he motioned to the paths winding around us.
 
“This whole hill isn’t just one park—it’s a protected natural area. Locals come here to walk, picnic, and escape the city without ever leaving it. And scattered across the hill, you’ll find some important landmarks—the Citadella up above us, the Liberty Statue standing tall, and even a hidden church carved into the rock—the Cave Church.”
 
“Look over there—that’s the Pest side. You can see the green dome of St. Stephen's Basilica, one of the most important churches in Hungary. Just nearby is the Ferris wheel—the Budapest Eye—and beyond that, the city just keeps going.”
 
“And here’s the Danube… the heart of the city. That bridge in front of you is the Széchenyi Chain Bridge—the first permanent bridge connecting Buda and Pest. Just beyond it, you can see where we just were, the Hungarian Parliament Building—stretching along the riverbank.”
 
We could see boats moving slowly along the water, the city unfolding in every direction.
 
He paused, “If you come here at sunrise or sunset,” he added, “the whole city changes. The light hits the river; the buildings start to glow… it’s so cool.”

Dinner with Marianna Major, (Bali’s mother)
It was late afternoon the sun was starting to set over the Danube river. I really wanted to see that sunset, but it was time to leave for the last agenda item for the day, going to dinner with Bali and his family.

Going to dinner with one of my former student’s family in their hometown was always a pleasure for me, but even more so when it was a foreign country.  Getting a sense of home-life and family culture was always such an intrigue experience for me to understand my students better.  I had been hoping and anticipating this meeting ever since I first found out we were going to Budapest.

Bali had already explained that his father was not going to be able to join us because he had to work, but I found out then he did not have any siblings, he was an only child. He told us that his mother was very anxious to meet us, and we were just as excited to meet her. When I inquired where we were planning on meeting her, he said,

“First, we're going to go pick up my mom where we live, and she probably has some good ideas where we can go to eat. She works as an event coordinator for several venues in town.”

We drove across town to their apartment building. They lived on the ground floor on what appeared to be an eight-story apartment complex.  We waited in the car as he went in to get her. A few minutes later this very young-looking blonde-haired woman, that I thought might be his sister came out with him. After remembering that he had no siblings, she introduced herself is Bali's mom, Marianna Major.

Because Marianna’s English was surprisingly good, we were able to quickly send each other greetings, welcomes, and thanks for this unique experience. 

As we all piled into the car, we started heading toward a part of town known for its restaurants. Almost immediately, Bali and his mom, Marianna Major, slipped into Hungarian. I must have looked a little confused because Bali laughed and said, “Okay, okay—I’ll switch to English.”

Bali went on to explain that his mom was an event planner and knew just about every good restaurant in the city. So naturally, she turned to us and asked what we wanted to eat.
We gave the only answer that made sense: “Wherever you want to take us is perfect—but we’d love a truly Hungarian experience.”

That’s when Marianna smiled—one of those I’ve got just the place smiles—and said she knew exactly where to go.

A few minutes later, we parked and walked up to Tüköry Étterem. It was everything you’d hope for—classic, unpretentious, and full of character. There was seating inside, but the outdoor area felt even more inviting, like we were stepping into something authentically local.

When the menus came out, they were entirely in Hungarian. Thankfully, Bali and Marianna walked us through everything, translating, explaining, and adding their own recommendations along the way.

After a bit of discussion—and plenty of curiosity—we ordered.

We started with a shared cold platter, the Magyaros Ízelítő. It came loaded with kolbász, crispy pork bites, cheeses, fresh peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and bread. It was the perfect way to begin—simple, flavorful, and meant to be enjoyed together.

Then came the goulash soup--Gulyásleves. This wasn’t the thick stew I had always imagined, but a rich, paprika-spiced broth filled with tender beef, potatoes, carrots, and vegetables. Served with a hearty roll, it was comforting in every sense of the word.

For the main course, we had savory stuffed pancakes--palacsinta—filled with seasoned meat and covered in a creamy paprika sauce with a drizzle of sour cream. It was sliced open to reveal the filling, and every bite carried that warm, unmistakable Hungarian flavor.

What struck me most was how familiar each element felt on its own—nothing wildly exotic—but together, it became something special. Sharing the platter, savoring the soup, and digging into that rich, comforting main dish turned the whole meal into something that felt almost gourmet.

After dinner, we wandered down a nearby street and stumbled into a lively festival—something like a beer garden celebration. Even without grabbing a drink, we soaked it all in: the music, the laughter, the energy of people simply enjoying life together.

Eventually, it was time to say goodbye. There was a genuine warmth in that moment. Marianna, especially, seemed touched that we had played even a small role in her son’s life while he was away at school. You could see how proud she was of him—and how grateful she was that we saw the same things in him that she did.

Bali drove us back across the river to our Viking cruise dock. We said our goodbyes, waved, and watched him drive away.  And as the day came to a close, I couldn’t help but think—what an incredible day it had been.