BLOG POST 10

BUDAPEST, HUNGARY


I was warned not to expect too much from Budapest. Rebuilt from practically nothing after it was demolished in Allied bombing runs during WWII, it supposedly lacked the “old time charm” of Prague and the historical grandeur of more famous European capitals back west. I arrived with low expectations, anticipating a fun but otherwise unmemorable weekend. I was BLOWN AWAY by what I found.

The trip began on a semi-unpleasant note with a 3:30am blaring alarm, a 5am metro, and an early departure on the 6:30am Student Agency bus to Budapest via Brno, Bratislava, and Györ. My seatmate was a middle-aged Czech woman who smelled of burnt toast and kept her legs spread like a trucker the whole ride. We’d barely exchanged a “dobré rano” when I fell asleep, not to awaken til our first stop in good ol’ Brno. Here transpired the most awkward and (in retrospect) entertaining part of the entire bus ride. We shall call it “That Time Stef Really Had to Pee.” Intrigued? Read on.

This bus was equipped with a W.C. and as we were stopped, I figured I should take advantage of the lack of movement and use the facilities. I had the door half closed behind me when I heard a noise. “AHEM.” I peered out the door and found the bus attendant staring back at me, his hand holding the door, preventing it from closing. “AHEM,” he repeated. “Can I help you?”

An odd question. “No thanks, I think I’m all set!” I replied, puzzled, and went to close the door, but he didn’t let go.

“Can I HELP you?!” he repeated, more slowly and louder as though I was having trouble making out his words.

I feel so confused, but I smile – maybe he’s kidding with me? “I’m just – you know – going to the bathroom!” I’m speaking in my sing-songy, “the world is marshmallows and butterflies and rainbows,” voice, trying to turn it into a joke, but he’s not amused. As I try to keep my smile from morphing into a look of terror, he stares me down, not blinking. He says nothing – he just GLARES. Finger by finger he peels his hand from the bathroom door and gives me one last long look of suspicion before snapping around and walking away. I’m so weirded out that I can’t even GO anymore. I hurry back to my seat and spend the rest of the 6 hour bus ride sitting on my foot and avoiding his glances.

By the time we arrive in Budapest at 1:15pm, I am beyond ready to get OFF the bus. The next half hour or so goes by in a blue – we exchange our Czech crowns for Hungarian forints, purchase 3-day transportation passes, and somehow navigate from the bus station through the metro and down Budapest’s windy and insufficiently labeled streets to the Aboriginal Hostel. From the outside, it looks as crumbly and run-down as I was afraid it would be. Inside, however, it’s warm and cozy: there’s a common room with couches and a TV and free tea, and our room is ridiculously large. The bathroom has a HEATED towel rack (genius!) and the water is 100% potable – what more could a girl ask for?

The receptionist is an American from D.C. named Candace and she is a total sweetheart, giving us free maps and drawing all over them to orient us to the city. She’s taking a couple years off from her studies at American University to travel the world – for the past 4 months she’s been living in Budapest and by summer, she’ll be living in a small village in Spain teaching English. Quite the life!

In no time we were back on the metro heading toward the city center looking a wee bit less touristy with our oversized backpacks safely stowed back in the hostel. Our plan was to hit the Museum of Ethnography to get a taste of traditional Hungarian life before a traditional Hungarian dinner, but from the moment we stepped out of the metro stop into the sunlight, our plans went out the window. Totally unexpectedly we’d arrived just across the street from one of Budapest’s most stunning architectural wonders: Parliament. A towering, somewhat foreboding but simultaneously striking building, Parliament lies directly alongside the River Danube. Moving out from Parliament’s shadow, we got our first glimpse of the river bank. I stopped dead in my tracks – it was BEAUTIFUL. I snapped picture after picture, each angle more stunning than the one before. We strolled along the bank and it was like I was in one of those pictures in a calendar. Everything was still and serene and just so – well – photo-worthy! Plenty of couples must have felt the same way because every way we turned we found another pair holding hands or smooching or – in the case of one older couple that must’ve thought they were safely hidden among the bank’s rocks – full on making out. That last couple was actually rather creepy, but the REST of the scene was breathtaking.

We continued to meander along the Danube, taking our time because the sun was starting to set and we wanted to watch. We passed a piece of art called “Shoes on the River Danube.” It’s as simple as it sounds: cast-iron shoes of all kinds – heels, boots, children’s sandals – lined up ownerless along the river. This is a tribute to the hundreds of Hungarians shot and killed by the Nazis as the liberating Soviets were invading the city. To think that they almost survived the war, that they even heard the sound of liberating gunfire, only to die at Nazi hands like thousands of their friends and family members in the preceding years of deportation and terrorism… it’s heartbreaking.

Just beyond the "Shoes on the River Danube" lay the world’s first suspension bridge, named the “Chain Bridge.” The science geek within wanted desperately to appreciate this engineering wonder, but alas – I just don’t have a smidgeon of affinity for bridges. We crossed the bridge (and oh! what a bridge it was!... no, I can’t even fake it) and found ourselves at the bottom of the steep hill leading to Buda Castle. Rather than pay to ride the funicular to the top, we decided to brave the stairs, and up we went. And up. AND up. Before long we were huffing and puffing (and blowing houses down?), but it was all worth it because at the top we were rewarded with an incredible view. By now the sun had set and only the very last glimmers of sunlight fell upon the city. The lights were beginning to come on and the traffic was picking up over the Chain Bridge as Hungarians rushed home from another work day. Imagine passing these sights every day – how long until you stop noticing the beauty? I know I’m already falling into that trap in Prague, seeing the castle from my classroom window and failing to register the magic of the moment because now it feels everyday and ordinary. I need to make sure I appreciate the beauty of where I am EVERY DAY or soon it will ALL become “ordinary.”

From there the beauty continued. We walked all around the Castle, from the ruins in back to the library within. We ventured further into town eventually stumbling upon St. Matthias Church (supposedly beautiful, but it was under construction so there was very little to see), and Fisherman’s Bastion, a stunning almost mosque-like building that gave us another great vantage point over the city. By now all the lights were on and Parliament and the Chain Bridge were bathed in light. They looked even more magical now than during the day.

Finally the exhaustion caught up with us and we decided to head back to the hostel and call it a day. On the way we stopped at a little Hungarian restaurant called “Háry” (yes, pronounced “hairy”) for dinner. At first the place was a wee bit disconcerting – it was practically deserted and the walls were decorated with hunting tools – traps, weapons, mounted heads, etc. But the food was amazing, especially the meat. It was very… fresh (*shudder*).

The next morning we woke up to the smell of fresh waffles. Turns out they were lukewarm and kinda nasty, but I was able to feast on bread and Nutella, so I was a happy camper.

We had originally planned to tour the Soviet Statue Park that morning but upon learning that it was far on the outskirts of town and the entrance fee was ridiculously expensive, it was back to the drawing board. We’d never actually made it to a museum yesterday, so today we headed first thing for the Hungarian National Museum just down the street. We ended up spending almost 3 hours there, but I have to say that I wasn’t impressed. The museum focused mainly on ancient history – the development of the land, the early ruling dynasties, etc. – but as I’m more a fan of post-19th century history, it just really wasn’t my thing. I loved the few dresses they had displayed from way-back-when (why don’t we dress like that anymore, seriously?!) but sadly that was only a small part of the museum. The rooms progressed chronologically so I got more and more excited as we approached the 20th century, but when we finally arrived I was majorly disappointed. While the majority of a floor was dedicated to ancient history, the 20th century got only 2 rooms – and not even large rooms at that. To give you an example of how much they glossed over history, hear this: there was a total of ONE sentence in the entire museum about the Holocaust. ONE sentence about the event that practically wiped out Hungary’s entire Jewish population. Despicable.

Luckily the rest of the day was way better. We transferred to the new hostel (“HomePlus Hostel”) where 9 of us would bunk together in one dorm room. The owners – Andrew and Adrienna – were INCREDIBLE; they took care of us like we were their own kids. They sent us to a Hungarian fast food restaurant for lunch, and the food was oddly delectable. Lots of meat and soup as usual, and all of it yummy. We stayed there for a while just hanging out to avoid the rain. As it turns out, I was the only one to bring an umbrella, and man! do I wish I’d just used a raincoat. See, I didn’t realize this at the time, but umbrellas are DANGEROUS. Somehow or another I accidentally poked myself in the eye with an umbrella spoke. Actually, “poked” is an understatement; I STABBED myself in the eye. It hurt but I didn’t realize quite how bad it was til someone pointed out that my eye was bright red. I looked to the right and someone else discovered why: I had a puncture wound in my eye. It was like someone had shot me with a baby pistol. I’m fine now, but that was by far one of the most unusual injuries I’ve ever sustained.

One-eyed and now terrified of my umbrella, I ventured out with the gang across town to some more famous sights: Heroes’ Square, Vajdahunjad Castle (a reconstruction of a Transylvanian castle), and the Széchenyi Baths. Some people stayed to take a dip, but the rest of us returned to the hostel to meet late-comer Adrian (he took the train while the rest of us took the bus) and hit a pizza place for dinner. I was adventurous and ordered a traditional Hungarian pizza: garlic cream sauce, paprika chicken, cheese, and vegetables. It was so incredible that I devoured the entire thing. A few hours later, satiated and bored with the Olympic Games on TV, we passed out.

Saturday morning we woke up bright and early to head to Budapest’s famous flea market. I was expecting something similar to Deerfield’s Farmer’s Market. NOT AT ALL. We stepped through the doors and found ourselves in a cavernous hall filled to the brim with vendors selling everything from vegetables to WWI-era gas masks. There were 3 entire floors awaiting our perusal so we set off to meander the rows and oogle the oddities we found. The first floor was almost exclusively foodstuffs: fruits, vegetables, fresh-baked bread, paprika, paprika, and more paprika, and meat so fresh that the carcasses were hanging out awaiting customers to point at the desired body part. (Ew!) The second floor was more varied: rows upon rows of traditional Hungarian folk costumes, too many bad, punny t-shirts to count, and a huge selection of Soviet-style hats (I took pictures for you, Ian, rather than buy one and run the risk of you ACTUALLY wearing it in public... you know you would :P). The basement was fairly nondescript: less crowded and with far fewer vendors than the floors above, we spent only a couple minutes down here before reemerging into the sunlit hall. Pretty much everyone left the flea market with a souvenir; my favorite was Allie's traditional Hungarian cap which she proceeded to wear for the rest of the trip. Walt and Jake came in a close second for their matching Hungarian soccer jackets, but only because they looked so ridiculous strolling around town MATCHING.

From the flea market we ventured to what turned out to be by far the most thought-provoking and chilling visit of the entire trip. The place was "The Terror House," a museum chronicling the bloody and horrific detainment and punishment tactics used by the Nazi and Soviet regimes. The museum is housed in the actual building used by the Secret Police of both regimes to intern, interrogate, and execute "enemies of the state." The exhibits are downright disturbing, and appropriately so considering the horrors that took place in this very building. Upon entering the museum, the first sight to greet my eyes was a wall covered with pictures of faces -- the last recorded images of the hundreds of prisoners killed while imprisoned here.

Room by room, the horrors continued. I was particularly affected by the real video footage of the events described. There were also videos of the survivors - those who had experienced the brutality of imprisonment and lived to tell the tale. They spoke of fellow prisoners doomed to die; of the back-breaking labor and meager provisions; and of laying on the cold stone floors of their cells and hearing the screams and sobs of their neighbors.

These videos were merely a taste of the horrors awaiting us further on in the exhibit. In the basement we saw the prison as it was in its heyday, with operational cells, torture rooms, and even gallows. We were allowed to enter the cells, some normal but most created with the intention of inflicting psychological torture every minute of every day. One room was only 3 feet high so the prisoner could never stand up straight; another was body-sized, like an upright coffin, that kept the prisoner in one, claustrophobia-inducing position for days on end; finally, one was perpetually filled ankle-deep with water, so any time the prisoner sat or lay down he was soaked. Prisoners stayed in these cells for extended periods, isolated from the world and human contact. Over time the confinement and the torture worked their magic and the prisoners - whether guilty or innocent - were driven to confession. Few lived to see the light of day; those not killed by the torture were more often than not sent to the gallows. The museum's final room does something I've never seen before: it lists the victimizers, those responsible for the evils seen here. Along with names, there are pictures and years of birth/death. Many have only one date listed; never convicted for their participation in the Nazi and/or Soviet crimes, they live among the innocent Hungarian populace, guilty but free, to this very day. Unbelievable.

After a quick pit stop at a Turkish restaurant to refuel, we continued the day by climbing to the top of the Citadel for another gorgeous view of the city. We returned to the hostel for a quick rest and before long found ourselves out yet again. This time it was just Allie, Chris, Diego, Adrian, and I, and we were on our way to the famous Széchenyi Baths.

The people who had gone to the Baths yesterday had absolutely loved the experience, so I was excited. It got off to a rather rough start: almost immediately after the boys and girls separated to get changed, Allie slipped on the wet stairs and sprained her left ankle. At this point I was practically blind (I was wearing glasses instead of contacts so as not to further irritate my poor eyeball, amd because the baths were so steamy, I had stored my glasses with my clothes in a locker) so we were not the best pair. I tried to help her walk but couldn't see where to go; sh tried to direct us but obviously couldn't do so physically. Somehow we made it outside to the steaming waters with no further injuries to ourselves or others, and it was GLORIOUS. Apparently it was crowded but everything was a hazy blur to me; it was as though I was in my own Olympic-sized hot tub with not a care in the world. I sat and soaked in the warmth; I played in the whirlpool created by the jet streams; I passed under waterfalls (sometimes unintentionally -- it's hard being blind!). We spent almost 3 hours in the water and by the time we left my skin was hilariously prune-y. I could've stayed all night but the club billed as the "largest in Europe" (I feel like they all say that!) awaited us, so after drying off we met up with the rest of the group and hit the town.

Tonight's destination was a club called "Studio" and I can say with absolutely certainty that it was the CRAZIEST club that I've ever been to. Even the line to get in was crazy. Let me clarify: by "line" I mean clumping mass of pushing and shoving, drunk loonies all clamoring to get through the door, and by "crazy," I mean out-of-control, sometimes painful and quite often scary. Thank goodness Diego was there -- I swear he was the only thing keeping me from getting squashed to smithereens. At one point I was trying to hold on to Kate when the crowd surged forward; I lost her hand and felt my arm twist so hard that I was afriad it would break. We all got through okay but I'm not joking when I say it felt like we were in line for lifeboats on the Titanic, there was so much desperation and urgency. It was truly scary.

Inside, the mood changed from scary-crazy to a more "I love life; let's DANCE!" kind of crazy -- MUCH more my style. The music was pounding and the dance floor full; suspended from the ceiling were girls dressed as angels on swings and boys dressed as sexy devils dancing on high platforms. The DJ was complimented by an entire wall of dancing girls set up Hollywood-Squares style, and throughout the night even more entertainment came out: bodybuilders, strippers (or as close as you can get without being officially naked), even acrobats and men twirling on fabric strips hanging from the ceiling. We danced and danced all night long - it was crazy fun. :)

The next day - our last in Budapest - we slept til almost noon, absolutely worn out from the night before. We ate at McDonald's (why are European fast food places so much classier than American ones?!), said goodbye to our wonderful hostel "parents," and - giant backpacks in tow - ventured to the largest synagogue in Europe (2nd in the world to one in New York). The Dohany Synagogue surprised me in that it looked so much like a church -- it even had an organ! It was beautiful and outside was another touching memorial to the Jewish Holocaust victims.


Suddenly, our adventure was at its end. We boarded the 4:15pm bus to Prague and almost 7.5 hours later arrived back at the Masarykova Kolej. I'd call this - our first independent trip in Europe - a wonderful success.