Budapest, Day One - MATT SHELLEY

Originally posted Thursday, July 3, 2014

Departing for Paris, I sat next to a young Palestinian man (I didnt take his picture, but he seriously was the Palestinian SeaNanners). AirFrance provided him with a special meal, so it got brought out sooner than the rest. As he was observing Ramadan, he had to wait until the sun set before he could eat. Thing is, our route, spped, and heading meant that while we saw sunset, it never set fully and pretty soon the Canadian sun was gone and immediately replaced with a fresh Greenland morning. He sighed, sick of asking me to open the window to check, performed his prayer, and tucked in. He wanted to explain it to me, but was relieved and less embrassed I think to find I was familiar with the observance. We spoke a lot, but on a trip that long, you just gotta shut up and sleep. Across the aisle from us was this very old, very adorable Orthodox Jewish couple who kibbitzed most of the ride. As we disembarked, the young man jumped to his feet and got down the overhead baggage for the elderly couple, who were very grateful, shaking hands. So as I saw Israel and Palestine being nicer than most Americans are to literally everyone else in the world (including other Americans) I thought for a moment: “The world is good.”

The flight kept us informed of our location, eta, distance travelled, outside temperature, altitude, and had a cool GPS map deal, showing where we were in a cool Indiana Jones red line, although slower than in the movies (dammit).

Taking the shuttle from the airport in Budapest was harrowing. Driving seems to be a casual element of urban life, the roads an endless morass of stopped cars, while past them zoom people on bicycles, razor scooters, all manner of self propelled vehicles. As we drove I snapped a few shots out the windows.

This is where the shuttle came to an abrupt stop, the driver said something in Hungarian, eyed us both and said “You.” We climbed out, eager to arrive somewhere even if not the conclusion, and the driver, though overall polite, disappeared. Heather and I stood on the street, dumbfounded, luggage in hand, with no idea where to go. There were no big signs, no indication except when we spotted this little sign hung in a doorway. Beside it was a call button, which answered with a bright and pleasantly American accented voice saying “Matt?” You likely have little idea how relieving it is to be in a foreign city and have someone call your name. Hawaii buzzed us in, and we then had to climb 6 flights of stairs (I later counted the steps and immediately regretted doing so). Hawaii came to help with the smaller bags, but we did make it to the top, where we sat and rehydrated while she illuminated the various hotspots of this ancient place. Booze Cruises, Pub Crawls, Bicycle Tours, WWII museums, Communist museums, so many wonders and all either of us could think was “SLEEP.” But before we could do that we had to make the 2km walk to the train depot (deh-poe) to take care of some ticketing issues (as in, not having any) during which we got at least a tiny feel for this city. (There are 130 steps, I’m sure you were wondering.)

Hungarian Pizza! Hawaii and Maddie at the hostel said there was a pizza place, across the street, that was widely considered the best in Budapest. That’s a mighty claim. Each slice cost 200 Forints, which is about $0.90, so why not give it a shot? Its quite different from most pizzas… SUPER thick dough, thickly sliced pepperonis, not a lot of cheese, and a strange, spicy sauce. Definitely Forints well spent.

Trams, or trolleys, crisscross the city as densely as the cables that power them.

A discussion about something got these two old men fired up in front of the gigantic church beside our hostel

These Pan (or Satan if you really like the Church Lady more than Greek history) statues go on for blocks. They are full bodied statues (anatomically represented) affixed to some of the more stoic buildings, and they hold aloft lamp globes for nighttime sidewalking.

Also on the same building were a group of these astonishing sculptures of four men who seemed unenthusiastic about being pillars.

In the kitchen of Penthouse Privates is this handy cheatsheet.

Budapest is a very Western city, with pizza shops, bodegas, fast food (there is a KFC around the corner from here, I wonder if they have a local Paprika Chicken?) yet it is riddled with marks of its past. The city remains divided not only from the days of Buda and Pesht, but also from the districting of its years of occupation; first the Nazi German forces and then the Soviet “relief” forces, both of whom employed violence and fear for their ends. The people are very modern, with modern dress styles, displays of affection (both hetero and same sex), advertising (funny seeing the same StockPhoto images we associate in the US being used for drastically different products or services) and a mix of extractions difficult to find outside of the US. Despite the stereotypes Westerners have for this region, there is nothing backwards or misguided about these people, no villagers with pitchforks or shellshocked survivors of the Soviet era clinging to a crust of bread. At least, not in Budapest. English is so commonly spoken that you would actually be hard pressed to find a clerk who doesnt speak at least a smattering of it, even if its just enough to get through a simple transaction (320HUF for a half liter of Coca Cola….the ubiquitous drink here.)

Back in the hostel room, the booze cruise has returned and with it, jovial voices fill the building. Nobody but Heather seems to notice the illuminated church steeple on the horizon has a strange flock of objects moving about it with intent, like moths around an open flame, yet so far away it is difficult to imagine what they are. If they are birds, they must each be gigantic to be seen so clearly from so far away. As the evening rolls on and I write this, the flock continues unabated, fluttering or hovering around the steeple, but always moving.

Freaky.

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