Budapest 2004

April 19, 2014

September 24, 2004

Call off the search dogs, I’m home safe and sound. I’m happy to report that GoulashFest 2004 was quite a delightful odyssey.

Since you last heard from me, I have an improved impression of Bratislava, Slovakia’s sleepy capital. My first night there, I couldn’t help but think what a (sort of) backwards town it was. Well, after venturing into the heart of town, I found it better than my initial impression.

Now I wouldn’t go far to say that it’s great and worth a visit. It’s still a slightly crap-ass town, but it does have a nice building or two, a castle on a hill (didn’t have time to visit it) and a happening Irish pub called The Dubliner (which we entered on, of all nights, karaoke night) in the Old Town district.

That said, Slovakia has unfairly beautiful women and the best goulash I’ve ever tasted. The ladies are ridiculously friendly to boot (I sat next to a Slovak beauty on the flight from London to Prague. She gave me her number and said to call and she’s take us around. I don’t think one bit that she was trying to hit on me. I believe these women are really that nice.)

Our first night in Slovakia went without incident even though our newfound friend Paul seemed primed for trouble. We had a delicious supper at the Altstadt restaurant in Bratislava’s Stare Mesto, then beers at the Dubliner. Everyone passed out early.

Partypoopers.

The next day, we rose ungodly early to catch the 9 a.m. train to Budapest. You know, train rides always remind me of Harry Potter and his first journey to Hogwarts. Yes, quite dorky and there are far more sophisticated trains-in-movies reference, like “Some Like it Hot” or “Murder on the Orient Express” or even “Before Sunrise”, but no… every train ride brings up the image of Harry Potter, in all his bright-eyed wonderment, making friends and discovering magic on his first train ride to school. I keep expecting a Hermione- or Ron-type to barge into the compartment eager to make titillating conversation. Call me a geek.

We arrived in Budapest a little after noon, and after getting scammed at the train station currency exchange, decided to have lunch before checking into our hotel. My “Lonely Planet “guidebook had recommended a restaurant off the beaten track that served “gargantuan proportions at rock-bottom prices” and though it was a trek getting there, what with all our luggage and all (Paul and I had left our suitcases in Warsaw and Bratislava respectively, taking along only backpacks for our two-day sojourn here; Alfie was the smart one and brought the rollaway luggage), the struggle was worth it, as lunch was undeniably delicious and reasonably cheap. We even had enough leftovers for dinner and breakfast the next day.

Our hotel (the Radio Inn Apartment) turned out to be a wonderful little place. As of the morning of my departure from the U.S., Alfie had had no luck finding accommodations for our stay in Budapest and had delegated the task to me. (We were supposed to stay at a boat hotel, but there was no availability.) I booked the best I could find on hotels.com for less than $200/night. The hotel is located in outer Pest, in the embassy district. Alfie had thought that the location was sketchy, but looking down into the tree-lined street below us and seeing BMW after BMW after BMW after Benz after BMW, we figured we were in a good neighborhood. (Of course, I had to put out of my mind the fact that foreign embassies are often bombing targets.)

It was spacious two-bedroom apartment-style lodging with a living room and kitchen (housekeeping even cleaned the dishes we left in the sink!) and of course, my favorite amenity anywhere & anytime: the handheld shower. Although, you still had to pull a little string to flush the toilet, and I still can’t quite understand the reasoning behind keeping the toilet in its own room, far away from a sink, but hey, I count myself lucky just to have hot running water and actual porcelain toilets to sit on. And we were even provided lots and lots of towels.

“Lonely Planet” describes Budapest as “more cosmopolitan than Prague and far more beautiful than Paris” and I have to concur. While Prague is pretty in that quaint, adorable, bewitching-with-its-narrow-winding-cobblestoned-streets kind of way, Budapest is very much like a Paris or Vienna: grand, ostentatious, and intimidatingly beautiful.

After getting ourselves settled into our suite, we headed out to nearby City Park, where we took pictures of Hero’s Square and surrounding museums. Young Hungarian skater dudes dotted the vast plaza, as did rollerbladers young and old. The tourists were few and far between, which was quite welcome after the claustrophobic throngs of pushy foreigners in Prague. Here we were, in a magnificent city with its neoclassical and Byzantine-inspired architecture (I was in heaven), and we found ourselves among the natives trying to enjoy a warm, gorgeous September Sunday.

We strolled through the park, which had even more pretty buildings to photograph, and still, the tourists were not as crammed into this place as they were in Prague. It was an extremely enjoyable, slightly unnerving experience. Somewhere in the park, someone was blaring “What a Wonderful World” (it sounded like Ray Charles) and we parked our arses on the side of a lake to watch families and lovers enjoy a day at the park.

We made our way to the Schezenyi (thermal) Baths and found that we couldn’t take pictures inside. We decided to return on Monday morning before we left for good and perhaps go for a swim then. (When in Rome…)

We left City Park and continued to walk down Andrassy Utca, one of the city’s main thoroughfares, which is closed off every Sunday, we’re told. About half a mile into our walk, we saw that a stage had been set up in the middle of the street for a concert. After quite a bit of walking, we stopped for astronomically expensive ice cream sundaes, before continuing our walk to the river, where we took night-time shots of Parliament, the Chain Bridge, and other interesting sights.

(I miss Jan’s tripod, and had to make do with ledges and whatever solid piece of rock I could set my camera on, and thankfully, my pictures came out ok.)

Budapest at night, all lit up, is quite breathtaking.

It is laid out similar to Prague. A river (in this case, the Danube) splits the city, and a castle district rests on a hill on the western side of the river. In this case, the west side of the Danube is Buda, and its famous Castle Hill is found here.

On the other side is Pest, where you can find the commercial, cultural and political heart of the city/country. It was a huge effort to get back over the bridge, as we were tired, and took a taxi back to the hotel. Though we felt the taxi fare to be an immense rip-off (beware of taxis in Budapest – even the guidebooks will tell you so, it was almost worth every overpriced Forint to not have to walk the last mile or two back to Radio Inn.

The next day, we figured out how to use the public transportation system. Either Budapest has a truly awesome one or Hungarians simply know how to print great maps, because we had far better luck navigating here than in Prague, even though the language was still alien to us. We took the metro, and subsequently tram & bus, across the Danube into Buda, and found our way up to Castle Hill, where we spent the morning in glorious sunshine, enjoying the magnificent sights.

I popped into a little store to buy some film, and it turned out that they had excellent prices on wine, pate, and other Hungarian goodies. (Their prices on film, however, were scandalous. $20 for 2 rolls of film!!!) The cashier, a lovely young lady named Edith, was quite helpful, telling us where we could get the best deals on pate and caviar in town, even though her store had competitive prices. (I’d have returned the film, but she was just too nice, even offering us free chocolate cordials.)

Afterwards, we had lunch at Cafe Miro, a cute little corner cafe with surrealist-inspired furniture (it must have had the prettiest toilet I have ever had the pleasure of peeing in), and where the ambiance was far better than the taste of their food (the three of us had passable goulash soup and split a mediocre tiramisu).

After lunch, more walking and picture-taking around Castle Hill, we made our way to the market across the river. The market, forgive me for forgetting the name because it’s long, Hungarian, and I really can’t spell it to save my life (and that says something), is housed in a building built of majolica tile, brick, iron, and glass, and reminds me of the Spitalfields market in London.

We bought loads of wine, pate, caviar and paprika, and found ourselves a most delightful, fulfilling, very early supper. I enjoyed a dish called Gorogbab, a concoction of beef and oversized lima beans, with a side of rice and spaghetti (no top-10er, but it wasn’t bad.) Paul and Alfie indulged in other beef dishes, and by the time we were done eating, we couldn’t be happier.

After the market, Alfie and I went to the Opera House to get tickets for that night’s Brahms symphony, while Paul went to the train station to check on his ride to Vienna the next day. And good thing he did, because when he arrived at the hotel two hours later than we had expected, we learned that the trains we all needed to board to leave Budapest did not leave from the station we had arrived at. (It appears there are four different stations in town.)

We made it to the Opera House, a stunning, stately piece of work, with just two minutes to spare. We loved the concert, performed by the Budapest Philharmonic Orchestra. And even though the seats were tight and uncomfortable, we enjoyed ourselves tremendously.

Too pooped to do anything else after the symphony, we called it an early night. I stayed up for a while watching TV. There was an all-too-interesting BBC/Discovery Channel documentary titled “Sex B.C.”, too intriguing to pass up, about sexual roles in ancient Greece and Rome. And you thought TV was a vast wasteland.

We awoke early again the next day, hoping to get a power-packed morning of sightseeing before heading back to Bratislava. We arrived at the thermal baths to find out that the entry rates were much, much more than what the guide book had said. Even their own price board mirrored the guidebook rates, but the slightly bitchy cashier lady was determined to overrule all published rates. (I wonder if she pocketed the difference?)

We eventually passed on trying the baths after considering contagious skin disorders, bacterial menengitis, and all that good stuff, and rued the fact that we could have saved the time and taken an extra couple hours of sleep. So we headed back in the direction of central Pest, found a cafe to have breakfast, then checked out the glorious St. Stephen’s Basilica.

Alfie had wanted to go into Parliament, but the line was too long and we didn’t have enough time. At this point, I had tired of picture-taking and walking, so while Alfie and Paul tried to queue up for tickets, I made friends with some 10- and 11-year-olds out on a school field trip.

I tried to practice some Hungarian phrases, which sent the kids into a fit of giggles. When Paul and Alfie had given up on trying to get in, we headed back to the hotel to check out, and then parted ways. Paul, whose train was leaving much later than ours, had decided to do a little more sightseeing. We had a great time with him; it’s a rare thing to find such personable traveling companions.

After a slight delay, we boarded the train back to Bratislava. I was seriously bummed leaving Hungary behind as its charming countryside, with its red-tiled “cottages”, whizzed by. I hadn’t expected it to be that pretty, nor like it as much as I did. But the Diva of the Danube had tugged on my heart strings and has not let go.

We arrived in Bratislava in the afternoon to find it unbearably hot and muggy. After dumping our stuff at our host’s apartment, we set off for town, barely managing to get on the right tram. We regretted the decision to leave our coats at the apartment since it had been so hot, and of course, it started to sprinkle while we were waiting for our ride.

Thankfully, a full-fledged rain never materialized, and we had a quick stroll around the Stare Mesto (Alfie had insisted on walking to the river, so I can say “There. I’ve seen the Danube from the Bratislava side.”) Though the rain never came, the wind picked up and the chill became unbearable. We hurried to the Altstadt Cafe to have dinner as we were starving – more goulash for me! Our host Maita met us there later, and then even much later, a few more of Alfie’s former cronies met us for drinks.

We started at the Dubliner, then made our way down to a riverboat anchored on the Danube. It was a bar/discotheque which was usually hopping on the weekends, but since it was Thursday, it was dead. Maita and I left a little early so Alfie could catch up with her Slovak friends and so I could pack. I really should have just stayed up and never gone to bed, because it was past midnight by the time I was done, and I had to get up early to catch the 5 a.m. bus to Vienna Swechat flaughfargfigneugen.

The journey home was long and dreary, and while I had a grand old time on this holiday, I was glad the moment came. I finally understood why I like my vacations short: I LOVE my bed. It’s easy to take for granted the warm, fuggy embrace of a good down comforter and Egyptian cotton sheets until you’re away from it.

Always make room in your luggage for the biggest towel that you can pack.

And that’s not the only lesson I learned from this trip. “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” advises every intergalactic traveler to carry a towel. I’ve just realized how essential that is. For most European hotels, their idea of a bath towel is my idea of a hand towel. With thighs as big as mine, I needed three or four towels to dry off.

And perhaps the most important lesson I learned on this journey is, no matter how hard a foreign language is to discern, always, always, ALWAYS learn to say “Thank You” in the local language. A smile and a “Thank You” in any language goes a very, very long way.

 

# # # # # # # # #