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Budapest, HungaryGetting off the train in Budapest I felt instantly on my guard, as a plethora of sellers gathered quickly around me like vultures over carrion. Old women barked at me and tried to sell rooms, taxi drivers hawked the scene and tried to sell rides, all before I'd reached the end of the platform. I made my escape and headed for the hostel. Arriving there a half hour later to find it deserted, I was informed by the (Cockney) shop owner next door that it was shut for renovations. He gave me a city map and circled another hostel around the touristy Vaci utca down by the Danube that he had heard was good. With no plan B in mind, I thanked him and headed off in search of it. I arrived there after a twenty minute walk and, after initially failing to spot it, I realised to my dismay that it was inside a dilapidated building right in front of me. I looked around and saw no signs of life and, unimpressed by the wrecked facade of this town house and unconvinced the hostel was even open, I decided I'd take my chances elsewhere. I picked out a couple of alternatives from the guide and headed off toward their general vicinity. My efforts eventually brought me towards the city's other train station, a built-up and commercial area that seemed less well-located than the previous areas. After another frustrating hour of searching, and with the light now fading, I found a hostel. It was as obscurely located as the previous one, similarly occupying a single floor of an old town house. As I made my way up the dank stairwell, it dawned on me that this town house style of hostel was very much the norm for Budapest, and I regretted having not just stayed at the first one and saved myself two hours of sweaty anxiety and frustration.
Inside, the hostel itself was very homely and clean. Too much so in fact, as it felt rather like I was intruding in someone's own living space and it was all rather too quiet. I dumped my bags in the dorm and, as I looked out the window into the cold evening darkness, I let out a long sigh of relief that I had a roof over my head at last. I took a long shower to wash away my little ordeal, and found upon my return to the dorm a room mate. I offered him an enthusiastic hello, but received in return only a cold silence and a look that said "don't you know this a hostel for people with absolutely no social skills?" I sat on my bed and observed the implied silence. Outside, a chilly wind was stirring, and I wondered if it might offer me more warmth than this unfriendly dorm. After an unproductive little wander around the city that first evening, I returned to the hostel and retired early to bed with my Theroux. It was a lonely existence, and would come to characterise my time in Budapest and much of the rest of trip.
I awoke the next morning to a sterile winter sky, but was determined to make this my day of sight-seeing. Of all the cities I visited on the trip, Budapest's sights seemed farthest and widest spread. And while I had grown fond of aimless wanderings, so too had nine days of endless walking taken their toll on my limbs. I still covered fair distances by foot in my two and a half days, but I also indulged heavily in the city's superb public transport system, which I found to be a delight of convenience and reliability. Such wanderings that first morning brought me to the Great Synagogue. Despite its inauspicious surroundings next to a large and busy traffic junction, inside it maintained a silent elegance, while the adjoining museum housed a harrowing photographic account of the Holocaust. I felt rather like an imposter, though, having been instructed to wear a skullcap inside the synagogue.
For lunch I headed to the Great Market, which a Hungarian friend back home had recommended as a good place to get a cheap and authentic meal. This grand indoor market lacked the elegance and labyrinthine intrigue of the bazaars and souqs of the Middle East (to which I have become so accustomed), but it captured within its harsh metallic shell the sounds, smells and routines of local life, and I floated gratefully within it. As I sat enthusiastically slurping my goulash, I noticed too that I seemed to be the only tourist in the market, which in that moment was a welcome change.
In the afternoon I headed across the Danube to Buda, the picturesque half of the city. There, in spite of a sterile sky as its canvass, the city seduced me for the first time. The beeping sounds of city traffic and the nagging pollution it brings were replaced by the serenity of the Old Town, its narrow roads spared of cars and people, its monuments and palaces stood in perfect stillness and its air as clean and crisp as the lush mountainside on which it stood. Even commercial Pest, from Buda's towering eyes, inspired a prolonged gaze; the city's many landmarks rising like grand reflections from the Danube. The Chain Bridge, elegant and historic, joined the city as one, and beyond it rose the great dome of St Stephen's Basilica; further along the river bank stood the Houses of Parliament, their neo-gothic turrets strangely reminiscent of Westminster; and perched in the depths of the Danube was Margaret Island, wintered but inviting, literally half-way between the old and the new, between history and modernity.
I spent the remaining daylight in an aimless ramble around Margaret Island. My feet were shot by this stage, but the sheer enjoyment of feeling so far from the big city (yet only five minutes from it) spurred me on through its considerable depths. My only regret was that I was not there in spring when the park would regain its life and colour and I could have lay down amid its vast spread. But I contented myself in the contentment of others; kids playing football, hand-clasped couples in their own worlds, winter-clad pensioners wiling away the hours with chatter. It was beautiful scene.
Later on I headed to the Terror House, a kind of interactive museum documenting Hungary's fraught past under occupation. My general policy at museums in the past has been to take the cheap option and avoid audio-guides. Yet, I found myself convinced by the ticket-man into paying extra for such an audio guide on this occasion, a decision I would come to bitterly regret. I found the whole experience of the museum deeply frustrating. On the one hand, it was highly innovative, interesting and informative, and each room of the museum documented the various stages of Nazi and Soviet occupation, and offered succinct worksheets to read as supplements (which off-set the need for the audio-guide). On the other hand, the 'interactive' elements of the museum, the noises, video footage and archive tapes, simply gave me a headache when combined with the audio-guide I'd been duped into purchasing. It just turned into an assault on my senses. If I could go again, I would steer clear of the audio-guide, read the worksheets instead and fully appreciate the aural and visual accompaniment of the museum.
Back at the hostel that evening, I hoped to find more stimulating company than the loser of the previous night, but none was forthcoming. I dined alone again and, after taking some notes for my blog, I retired to bed once again with my Theroux and, as I read, found myself enviously wondering how it was he always found himself in stimulating company. The complete lack of companionship was the bitter disappointment of my time in Budapest, as it is a city known for its nightlife; yet without initial company from the hostel, I never felt confident to go out and sample such a scene.
The next day, awaking to a perfect blue sky, I had only one firm priority: to sooth my aching body at a thermal spa. First, though, I headed to St Stephen's Basilica to see it from the inside, having seen its beauty from distant Buda the previous afternoon. Afterwards, I headed back down to the Great Market for another generous portion of Goulash. As I sat with my head buried like a cave man in my bucket of goulash, I heard the broad Canadian tones of Saskatchewan. I looked up with pleasure to find both him and CSI-bashing Brummie Mike (whom I had last seen at a wine bar in Vienna) standing over me. It was such a welcome relief to see some familiar faces from my travels. I had known that Saskatchewan was in town, as he was following me to Budapest after an extra day in Bratislava, but Mike's presence was unexpected. My pleasure at seeing them, though, was tempered by my disappointment that I only met them on my final day - had the original hostel (which we'd made tentative plans to meet at) been open, I would have had Saskatchewan's company sooner, and could perhaps have enjoyed a real night out in Budapest. We sat and talked a while, and it transpired that they'd bumped into each other at a different hostel and had arranged this day to go on a caving expedition. My disappointment deepened, as I knew I couldn't realistically go on this trip and be back in time for my train. We said our good-byes for the final time, and I headed off to Heroes Square and to City Park beyond it where lay waiting the thermal spa.
Heroes Square, with its arched monument and grand museums, was a picture. Later, when I passed back through it after the spa, I found the sun setting in the distance, and the square basked in the unmistakable amber-purple of a dying winter sun. City Park too was inspiring, housing at it's centre the kind of castle conceived of a child's imagination. And from a distance, vast puddles of melted snow drew perfect reflections of the castle, and added to its fairy tale mystique.
Within the park lay the thermal spa I had picked out. It was one of the more expensive options in a city replete with spas, but I had taken one look at it in a brochure and vowed to go. It did not disappoint. And, for once on this Euro trip, the winter setting seemed to add rather than detract from its beauty, as outside the harsh air created clouds of steam from the hot pools, while the low sun bounced effortlessly off the yellow facade of this grand building. As I crouched in the warm water and watched the steam build around me, I was awash with childhood memories of trips to Centre Parcs. They seemed apt recollections, as those trips had always been shared with my closest and oldest friends, who are themselves of Hungarian dissent. I spent several hours soothing myself back to health in the 15 or so pools, as well as the steam rooms and saunas. It really could not have come at a better time, as I was truly exhausted physically from my trek thus far through Europe and the ten-plus days of continual walking.
Both the spa and its idyllic setting were a perfect end to my time in Budapest, but in truth I did not enjoy my time in the city as much as I had hoped. Perhaps beyond all other destinations on my itinerary, I had most been looking forward to Budapest; but it left me feeling slightly disappointed and underwhelmed. However, I would attribute my disappointment more to my lack of companionship than to the city itself, though the entirely incomprehensible language added to my sense of isolation. In terms of the city itself, I felt most content when in the higher reaches of Buda away from the bustle and the throng, rather than the noisy, often-unattractive streets of Pest. But, should I go back (and I would love to do so again with friends), it is the noisier aspect of it, and Pest's social scene, that I would wish to sample next time around.
