Just southeast of the Czech Republic — my homebase in Europe — lies Hungary, an idiosyncratic Central European nation where the food is a little spicier, the architecture a little more fluid and the smiles a bit broader than its landlocked peers. My compatriots and I ventured to Budapest just after completing a teaching certification course, equal parts exhuasted and eager to explore. Early October treated us to clear, beautiful weather, and we treasured our precious few days. As the search for our hostel was turning out more difficult than we imagined, we came upon an artist collective with this in the courtyard:
We were in the right place, to say the least.
What we call Budapest today was once formally seperated into the cities of Buda and Pest, on the west and east shores of the blue Danube River. A pair of continental plates meets at this intersection as well. Their friction produces naturally occurring hotsprings, which were harnessed into thermal baths by the occupying Turks. The baths are remarkably relaxing; the Gellert, which we visited, was a piece of art nouveau nirvana, the 38 degree C waters draining one’s muscles of tension. If I were to live in town, my skin would be perpetually pruned.
Our first full day was equal parts wonderment and merriment. Eschewing the guidebook, we let our collective intuition lead us away. We crossed over one of several bridges-as-art from Pest into Buda, clambered up a hill and were astonished by the view. Of course, Andy thought it best to to toss the disc on top of town:
Why not?
While Budapest today is vibrant, it has a very rough history, occupied for long stretches of time by first the Turks and later the Soviets. The Communist regime was very harsh, and this can be seen in the art around the city:
A child emerges from a stone womb
I left a piece of my heart in Budapest. Later, on our way out of Prague, my girlfriend and I squeezed in one more day before heading down to Croatia. We wandered down the street that evening until we heard a hum. We walked upstairs into a cafe/bar crammed full of young people, singing along with acoustic melodies. I had no idea what the Hungarian was, but the emotion was palpable. Buda, you’re the best.
On our way back to Prague that first time, we passed by a windfarm. Nothing makes a Midwestern boy happier than seeing energy made on windswept plains, whether it be in Central Illinois or Central Europe. Andy was less impressed.
I’ll see you soon, Budapest.
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