Stalin's Retreat

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Delphine, her mother, and I found ourselves sipping tea after lunch in my living room, hunting for cheap flights to anywhere. The tactic was simple. Go to easyjet.com, select "Lyon" (or Paris, or Geneva) as a departure point, and go through the list of possible destinations looking for a place neither Delphine nor I had ever been.

"Seen it", Delphine would say, brushing Prague off like a fly.
"Too cold. Besides, I've been there." I'd say, striking Edinburgh off the list.
"Et Budapest?" Martine, Delphine's mom, threw into the mix.
We checked the upcoming weather for Budapest. Cool but clear. Train tickets to Geneva to get on the flight? Cheap and plenty.
Click, click, nod. We're set.
"So, what is there to do in Budapest?"

* * *

It turned out there was a lot. We rented a private flat (through VRBO.com) and went for seven nights with another couple, Delphine's best friend Laurie and her American boyfriend Nick. The flat worked out great. Spacious and decently equipped, we settled in after a game of rock-paper-scissors (which I lost) into our respective master/not-so-master bedrooms.

As is usually the case, the first couple days were filled with blind wanderings, often split into couples. Those exciting first couple of days are the ones that paint the picture for you of what a city is really like - its true character. Take the metro. You buy tickets from a human being at a small lemonade stand, since everything is done by man as opposed to machine in this economy. You nervously step onto the much-too-fast escalator clanging its way underground. People in faded blue vests check your ticket - no turnstiles, of course - and you wait for the train, which you hear coming long, long before you see it. The train boomed its way into the station, like a string of orange tic-tacs in desperate need of oil. Scrreeeeech...shhhhhh.....BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. The buzz, we learned, was just the signal that the doors were closing... It made the fetal position it left me in all the more embarrassing.

It would not be the last thing to give us a glimpse of the former Soviet occupation. Statues were grand but filthy. The gorgeous architecture sprinkled around the city would always have a cracked window or two, not to mention the grime. Like our taxi driver into the city said "If it's filthy, it's state owned". Turned out he was right.

Don't get the wrong impression: Budapest is gorgeous. I have never seen a city with more interesting architecture than Budapest. Everywhere you go, you can look up and see a decaying masterpiece with a sex shop doing trade on the upper floor and a Kebab stand in the grand hall. It is seriously Bohemian, too. It reminded me a lot of Berlin. I get the impression that when the Soviets finally got out of these places they left them without a definite identity, which is just another way of saying that its a culture with no closed doors. There is no common theme linking one place to another, just unbridled creativity and longing. It's an amazing place.

So the week went on and we saw a lot. Amazing turkish baths in grand locales. Very hip - genuinely hip - bars and cafes. We even saw a ballet in the National Opera. And I can't count the goulashes I downed. More than everything, though, I'll remember the unique scene that a displaced oppressor leaves behind when he gets the boot. That, and the power of eenie, meenie, miny, moe, on easyjet.com.

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Photos

The Danube
Photo taken near the Danube on Pest side

Comments

[Daniel]

beautiful
Wonderful pictures! Looks like an amazing week. Looking forward to seeing you guys in June!

[Lindsay]

The pictures are fabulour and you have such a great way with words,thanks for sharing