Budapest to Brussels
Bliss in Brussels...From Zagreb to Budapest felt like being in a straight-jacket for 5 days. I feel like I did in Sarajevo: alive among the living. To some extent that means smoking is allowed inside. More civilized.
I left Budapest on the 30th - whatever day that was. My travel companion Mats the Swede parted ways after a day of sightseeing in Buda. First, we trapsed out to the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold to a park full of retired Soviet statues. The Hungarians put them as far out of sight as possible. Tells you a little about their transition from communism: moderation and relief. Just get rid of the bastards and move on by sticking their vertical likenesses in an appropriately desolate spot. Anyone willing to travel the hour or so by tram and bus can get to know the despised Soviets who sat on the Hungarians for 50 some years. Hungary has been an EU member since last year...they weren't taking any chances after what happened in 1956.
Of course, I speak not of experience but from reading and listening to people there. I felt sorry for the old lady running the concession stand (red Lenin candles, Trabi models and tins with labels reading "The last breath of communism") bc she has to listen to Soviet propoganda songs all day. No wonder she was so surly the second time I asked for the bathroom key. She snarled something in Hungarian that I interpreted to mean, "What do you need the bathroom for again. You already went once since you got here." She seemed to think I was on a personal mission to inconvenience her.
After freezing at the remnant sale of the iron curtain we headed over to the famous Gellert thermal baths. What a contrast. Not as hot as expected but who can knock bathing in the equivalent of the Taj Mahal with an open air view of the rain above. I thought people were staring at my new tattoo, but after looking at a photo I begged an Australian to take (oh how tourist!) I think it might have been the fact that my rented swimsuit (500 florint = $2.50) was practically transparent when wet. That is, the 3 hours we were there. So they were getting a peep show instead of a taste of American feminism. All I can say is that couples alone should visit such a romantic place.
We ended up at Katapult cafe around the corner from the flat for a bottle of Ergi Bekaver, Hungary's famous Bull's Blood wine. It is red, hearty and ubiquitous. After Mats had to leave for the airport a young jazz musician escorted me to hear some of the cities best jazz musicians. He said the jazz scene is ruled by gypsies - the first time they are on top of anything but people's shit lists.
The next day I wandered all over the city. Hopefully one day my feet will recover. I really don't know why, but for some reason orange hair is the rage in Budapest. So is smooching in the parks. Dogs are also quite popular, as are the homeless and completely destitute. Amazing what 15 years of capitalism can do for a place. I guess those folks camped out around all the ridiculously chic restaurants did not see any of the $20 billion that the US, Europeans and Asians pumped in since 1995.
Finally on the 30th I jumped on the Metro to the bus station to catch my coach to Brussels. It was hard to leave bc Budapest was the final station for me in East Europe. I considered hopping on a bus to Sarajevo. I didn't and could feel the strings being cut as the bus pulled out of the station with a doddering old woman talking at the top of her lungs, a crazy, smelly man who kept playing air trumpet and two extraordinarily loud Hungarians chatting - all in the immediately surrounding seats. The voyage only got worse the next morning. But I have mastered the Balkan art of coffee drinking, at last. I am proud to report that I drank a cappucino and promptly fell asleep.
I left Budapest on the 30th - whatever day that was. My travel companion Mats the Swede parted ways after a day of sightseeing in Buda. First, we trapsed out to the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold to a park full of retired Soviet statues. The Hungarians put them as far out of sight as possible. Tells you a little about their transition from communism: moderation and relief. Just get rid of the bastards and move on by sticking their vertical likenesses in an appropriately desolate spot. Anyone willing to travel the hour or so by tram and bus can get to know the despised Soviets who sat on the Hungarians for 50 some years. Hungary has been an EU member since last year...they weren't taking any chances after what happened in 1956.
Of course, I speak not of experience but from reading and listening to people there. I felt sorry for the old lady running the concession stand (red Lenin candles, Trabi models and tins with labels reading "The last breath of communism") bc she has to listen to Soviet propoganda songs all day. No wonder she was so surly the second time I asked for the bathroom key. She snarled something in Hungarian that I interpreted to mean, "What do you need the bathroom for again. You already went once since you got here." She seemed to think I was on a personal mission to inconvenience her.
After freezing at the remnant sale of the iron curtain we headed over to the famous Gellert thermal baths. What a contrast. Not as hot as expected but who can knock bathing in the equivalent of the Taj Mahal with an open air view of the rain above. I thought people were staring at my new tattoo, but after looking at a photo I begged an Australian to take (oh how tourist!) I think it might have been the fact that my rented swimsuit (500 florint = $2.50) was practically transparent when wet. That is, the 3 hours we were there. So they were getting a peep show instead of a taste of American feminism. All I can say is that couples alone should visit such a romantic place.
We ended up at Katapult cafe around the corner from the flat for a bottle of Ergi Bekaver, Hungary's famous Bull's Blood wine. It is red, hearty and ubiquitous. After Mats had to leave for the airport a young jazz musician escorted me to hear some of the cities best jazz musicians. He said the jazz scene is ruled by gypsies - the first time they are on top of anything but people's shit lists.
The next day I wandered all over the city. Hopefully one day my feet will recover. I really don't know why, but for some reason orange hair is the rage in Budapest. So is smooching in the parks. Dogs are also quite popular, as are the homeless and completely destitute. Amazing what 15 years of capitalism can do for a place. I guess those folks camped out around all the ridiculously chic restaurants did not see any of the $20 billion that the US, Europeans and Asians pumped in since 1995.
Finally on the 30th I jumped on the Metro to the bus station to catch my coach to Brussels. It was hard to leave bc Budapest was the final station for me in East Europe. I considered hopping on a bus to Sarajevo. I didn't and could feel the strings being cut as the bus pulled out of the station with a doddering old woman talking at the top of her lungs, a crazy, smelly man who kept playing air trumpet and two extraordinarily loud Hungarians chatting - all in the immediately surrounding seats. The voyage only got worse the next morning. But I have mastered the Balkan art of coffee drinking, at last. I am proud to report that I drank a cappucino and promptly fell asleep.
posted by A.W. Woodall at 2:38 AM
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