Budapest and back to Vienna

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July 17th 9:20pm on our way back to Vienna
Our trip to Budapest was much too short but we packed everything that was humanly possible while still taking time to enjoy the incredibly warm and welcoming people we met along the way. When we arrived at the station we immediately checked out the “real” tourist information office for our Hop On Hop Off tickets, information on the walking tour, and the rest. Ramahim gave us an extra map and Aida even walked with us to the bank machine so that we wouldn’t get lost! We were going to tube it to the hotel but met a taxi driver who assured us that he wouldn’t rip us off and that the “Taliban” hanging around the tourist office didn’t know what they were talking about when they said that the taxis were expensive and that he would give us a “special price.” It was already after noon so we agreed to his special price and were on our way. We made our way to the King Apartments office and Bita and Andi took us right to our place. We paid an extra 10 Euro for air conditioning which made our total 78 headed to our apartment. The building had been remodeled to perfection and our apartment was absolutely beautiful. The beds for the kids had already been made in the living room and our bedroom looked so inviting that it was hard not to tell everyone to crawl in to take a nap for a few hours. The place had all of the amenities including a washing machine, microwave, etc… and the kids were so happy it was hard to convince them that we needed to leave immediately to make the most of our two days.

We turned on the air for later and headed out into the smoldering heat to make our first “hop on.” We decided to head to the Buda side and the Castle district to the funicular and accidentally bought the up and down tickets-which we never used the second half of (thankfully the down part was cheaper so it wasn’t much of a waste). We went to the museum, took pictures of the City, and saw some of the paintings and stone relics in the museum. The major realization for those of us who haven’t studied Hungarian history is the scarcity of years that Hungarians have been in control of their own nation, and just how this fact has resulted in the development of incredible taste, zest for life and a hunger for art and culture. Everywhere we turned great musicians were playing diverse types of music from Hungarian folk music with a “hurty gurty” to masterful classical pieces. The view of the city was spectacular-literally breathtaking with the Parliament, the churches, the old refurbished hotels, etc… We hung out for a bit, assuaged Itzel’s nerves and heat reddened face with some gelato and made our way to the hop on spot to head down to “hop on” to the river cruise of the Danube. Unfortunately we missed out on about half of it as each and every one of us was lulled to sleep by the water. After hopping off we decided to walk through the city through Andrassy Street and the old district. Itzel by this point was crying, exhausted and overheated and had it not been for a shop owner’s yorkie that she kept on going back to pet we wouldn’t have made it. We stopped at Paul’s pub, strategically located close to the Yorkie, for some delicious fresh lemonade with mint, which turned into scrumptious stuffed cabbage, goulash soup, Wiener schnitzel, etc… The break and the food made all of the difference and Enrique discovered Hungarian beer-which he will continue to order wherever we can get it. We decided to walk home and stopped for a while at the National Hole to listen to the band and people watch. The National Hole resembles a large outdoor pub and beer garden where concerts take place regularly. It started as a failed theater project, which once resumed was halted again by the frequent changes in control of the Hungarian government. By the end of 25 years of government change and failed and halted attempts to fill the gaping chasm in the belly of Budapest, the Hungarian people had fallen in love with the national hole and turned it into a large beer garden and underground concert space.

On the way home we stopped at a convenience store for some juice and Enrique, looking as-Turkish-as-ever got accused of shoplifting. After I gently lectured the shop keeper, who happened to look more Turkish than Enrique, about the fatal errors of phenotyping in English-which come to think of it was probably useless-we headed home. Enrique, now quick to the ways of his fellow “Turks”, halted an attempt on my purse in the train station and we made it home with no further ado. The wily youth had a floor length silk scarf tied to front belt loop-when I felt the silk on the back of my leg I bent back and he started to reach for my purse only to have his adopted Turk brother, Enrique, yell in Spanish “¡Para!” Arriving at our air-conditioned paradise we quickly fell fast asleep.

The next day we woke early, showered, reluctantly packed-up our things and left for the Budapest Walking Tour. I did notice that Enrique had double-shaved to diminish his Turkish-ness We left our things in the apartment, assured by Bitta that they would be taken to the main office and headed up the road. Our apartment was perfectly and centrally located, close to Deak Square and the starting point to get us Hopping. We were greeted by our beautiful and highly intelligent but sharp- toothed guide Marti, and, after I assured a frowning and almost cowering Itzél that she wasn’t of blood-seeking lineage, we headed out for a real walking tour, in the scorching heat. Accompanied by a film squad from the BBC shooting a program for North Ireland to air in November, we set out for the Heroes Monument and Turkish baths. Budapest from Opera to Parliament is nothing less than grand and the people made it all the more meaningful. The Hungarian’s felt like the kind of folks that would she the shirt off their backs if you needed it more than them. We were the only people on the tour with children and got nothing but smiles and kind eyes everywhere we looked….even when Itzél almost had a blowout crossing the bridge (which we quickly eased with a gelato once we got to the President’s residence at the top of the hill). We learned much more than I can remember and finished the tour at the Fisherman’s Monument in front of St. Matais’ Church and said goodbye to my newfound American friend Katherine, also here for the AIDS conference from Philly and her partner Mark-(who promised to send me a photo of a Speedo- clad ancient from the Turkish baths so that I could secretly load it to Xóchitl’s screen-saver before the first day of school), some great New Zealanders, a Canadian archery Champion (3rd in the country), some wonderful retired British nurses, and the other great folks we met. Before the tour ended Xóchitl came back with the chisme (gossip). Beautiful, sharp-toothed, Martie had been asked out by one of the single men in the group!

We decided to skip the long line in front of the recommended restaurant and take our chances on another across the street. Again, the food was absolutely delicious and the salads we had were some of the best we had ever tasted. We made our way into the St. Matthais, a beautiful tile-roofed church but were waylaid in an incredible antique store, where Quique purchased a Soviet Medal, an ancient Franz Josef the I medal sold to us by the lovely ancient shopkeeper-see picture), and a Nazi stamp for Grandpa (war buff). The church was followed by a through the ancient labyrinth-it was a cool and eerie respite from the temperature and just what we needed to lower our body temperatures enough to make the run for the bus to grab our things from the apartment administration and reluctantly head for the train station.

The train back was fairly uneventful-we slept, recapped the day, and watched the rain cascade of the side of the train with a lightening show for affect. We arrived at about 10pm to an incredible storm. Nick, our taxi driver, took us to the Steigenberger Herrenhof Hotel, which was to be our home for the next week. The room had all of our beds made with sumptuous bedding, and gratefully much larger than I had expected.

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