TravelsEast iii

The sun was shining weakly when we got up on our last day. An easy morning, more tea and the couch. We knew we had seen much but there was much left to see. I do not like to run a trip if I can help it, so I put it to erik where we should go. We would have to return before 2pm, and it was coming on 10, so we had only time enough for one good trek. Even before arriving, erik had expressed desire to see this island dividing the Danube between Buda and Pest, and he repeated this to me then. Coats on and belly's empty we made our way north to pass the parts of the city we had been wandering throughout thus far. Our plan was to find a café and breakfast with old world wood and glass before crossing to the island.

We rounded Koroly Ave for the last time and came back upon the plaza in front of Chain bridge and the majestic art-nouveau hotel across from it. The sun continued to persist through the clouds and the streets were emptier than ever. I don't remember what we talked about, and maybe we didn't talk at all. Erik is good to travel with. He appreciates the experience of a city without needing to visit museums and castles. He shares a passion for food, and you find it easy to be silent around him. There's no need to talk if there's nothing you need to say. We continued north taking whatever streets had intirguing views or attractive corners and began to see great spires above the tops of buildings. Around us the sidewalk transformed to pink marble, and a great space opened up ahead of us. We passed a final building corner on our right and fell into the plaza in front of St. Steven's Basilica. The massive beige recangular stone building shot high into the sky as though it had been hurled down from space and landed with the force of a comet. Statues occupied inlets in the walls and up above the arches and windows were 3 green copper domes, one great and two small. Inside, it was not much darker than the overcast morning and many people sat for mass. Churches always seem harder to appreciate during Sunday mass. It's like going to a car show instead of finding your dream car under a tarp surrounded by dusty parts in a garage. People came in behind us and took pictures and I wanted to leave. The dark green walls and gold accented, polished marble pilasters were no less impressive, but they just didn't have the charm under such exposure. We looked out on the paved plaza before turning away and continuing toward the island.

We came into another plaza and the green grass and dark buildings were nice after the monstrous cathedral. The only remaining soviet monument - a peach stone obelisk topped by a gold 5point star and hammer/sickle - stood at the end of the sqaure and we stopped to consider. directly beyond it to the NorthWest stood the famous Hungarian Parliament building. As soon as I saw the dark red dome and the white stone walls I recalled having seen it in so many architectural history slides. The burgundy dome is ribbed on the outside with black sinews that meet at the apex and stab upward like a great black javelin. We walked over, took some fotos, and laughed to ourselves when we heard some women talking about what would never fly in America. At this point we were hungry and began hunting for a café.

Further north, as the sun began to beat the clouds we stepped into a bright spot with large windows and wooden tables beside a small riverside park. The coffee came almost white in a tall skinny glass like the ones used for cocktails so we opted to eat somewhere a little less strange. Across the street we went into a much more traditional place with yellow walls, large mirrors, and a mezzanine level around the wall. The waitresses all wore some kind of apron/blouse combination uniform and the tall blonde barrista was one of the most beautiful women of the trip. Food here was a mistake. Words we didn't recognize were much more appetizing on paper than plate. I think I got a shit version of a scone and E-rok, a cinnamon roll. They charged me for the butter to spread on my stale butter pastry. Caloric intake out of the way, back into the sun.

We consulted a map and found that Margaret (Margit in Magyar) Island was right in front of us. I think we could see it from the windows of the funny coffe place. Across a bridge and down onto the island among runners, bikers, familys and 4-seater bicycles. We talked about running regularly around the island on the trails provided if we lived there. Another place I've gone to leaving with the desire to reside. That always seems to happen. I used to declare that "I will live here" every time I took a weekend trip from London to Europe. I think I still have 3 or 4 countries that I'm committed to. The other day I was rereading a journal I kept from my days in London and I came upon my first trip to Spain. It was late and the hunt for food and nightlife was a poor success and I had written that it was my first Eurotrip that I would rather not repeat.

Margit is a long, narrow isle straddled by the Danube amid the northern areas of Buda and Pest. It is mostly fields and trees but it contains some strange structures and places of dubious appearance. Trails encircle and interweave throughout, and along them vendors sell the delicious hot red wine and the less so but still good hot white version. There's food too, maybe corn. or roasted nuts. Probably would have been better than the scone. In the fields people kick soccer balls and throw things to one another, and run with dogs or sticks or children. You may pass low, moss and mold covered concrete structures that appear out of use. The mold is because the island is wet. The dirt gives way under your feet like right after rain, and now I recall that it did rain the previous day. By now the sun had lost to the clouds and the wetness felt wetter under the lead sky. After watching brothers and sisters struggle for control over multi-person cycles and children struggle through mud in small and annoying motorised cars we came upon a zoo. Just sitting there. All we saw were birds, I guess making it an aviary, and they were the standard fare. Fowls, eagles, peacocks. The strange thing was the style of duck or rooster. Same bird, but totally different appearance. Like a futuristic catwalk. Everyone crowded at one corner around a peacock exposing the full power of his plummage to a completely indifferent female. We passed an old stone church that smelled of cellar inside and a small settlement of stone wall ruins preserved with cement. Some park complex with a tower that was closed off and then a hotel restaurant at the far end. Before leaving we passed some scary looking motel recreation center on the Buda-facing side that looked to have been abandoned years ago. Horror films could be shot there.

Back on the bridge we took to the island we marvelled at the view of the parliament riverside facade. What began as a move to get a better angle became a decision to head back on the Buda side, as it was now time to retrieve our things from the bubble. This time we stayed low, along the river and below castle hill. Some amazing views of what has become one of my favorite buildings in the continent mixed with street views of the older half of BP. Something about the colder European architecture attracts me. It's tall. It's less uniform in colors of cream, white, or peach. In Buda it's uneven and fitted into the sharply rising hillside. Bars beckon with signs of good beer and pancake houses wail like sirens. It's old and calm, textured and colored. Not assuming airs of majesty or preeminence. Just a cohabitation meant to be somewhat efficient and very pleasant.

Crossed chain bridge for the last time and looked down at the wide river below. By now the feeling of departure was set and work was on the mind. We both wanted to stay and eat more pork and drink more palinka (hungarian brandy that will destroy your palate and gullet), but neither of us spoke about it. We mostly walked back in silence, noting that a strange aspect of Pest is how new so much of it looks within what Olga told us were the old city walls. Then I remembered reading about how much of the city was bombed during the last world war, and again we fell silent. How such a place could be treated as a commodity or casualty of war. It's like were always children, never seeing beyond the scrapes on our knees no matter how old we or the world seems to get. We stepped into a famous café that Erik had wanted to see and felt the cold indifference of commercialism. The place had a history and capitalised on that to stifiling degree. I think only tourists and madonna go in there. Back at the hostel, we picked up our things. I wrote a short note poorly expressing my appreciation for all the Olga had done, but she turned up just as we were about to take off so there were hugs and sadfaces. Out the door, a breif moment of panic in the metro as we realized we had no clue about the direction, standing in the dark grey rain by the construction site we had cheerily viewed days earlier in the sun, and into the airport for some buffet salad and duty free liquor.

...

That was our first trip outside Spain since arriving on the anniversary of Columbus' big day. It had been four months in Madrid. Within four months we all met our present group of friends, cohabitants, and coworkers. We went to school again and graduated again. We started our present careers. New barrios became known, good friends flew home, and we occasionally made our way to different ciudades in Spain. The Hungarian trip was healthy. We didn't go there to party, and we didn't go in a large group. I'm not even sure we would have gone together if we were back in our familiar homes. For me, the draw to eastern Europe had been present for at least 2 years. I don't recall what set it off, maybe reading Bulgakov or Dostoevsky, maybe just tiring of western osmosis. Maybe it was hearing that women from those countries love American men, or even playing Goldeneye as a teenager. Either way, that drive has been an influential force in my life for a while now. It's a large part of the reason I'm in Spain now. Bulgaria was my first choice. For Erik, this whole time has been his first trip from the patria and I imagine it has been inside him for some time as well. We were two, then, bound by a common desire to experience something fresh. We spent 48 hours feeling the city with our eyes and looking for something with our legs. Neither of us could have said what, and I don't think we could now. But it was good to get out of Spain. Good to get away from our jobs and our flats and our gang. Good to get away from tapas and Mahou. The taste of the food, the smell of the air, the sound of our steps echoing off the heavy stone walls is all gone, but it made a difference. I go back there at times, and I'm back there now. As with every place I have ever been. Even hospital beds and jail cells. The faces of the people I met are still smiling in my mnd, though they may be sleeping or crying today. I left Budapest with a feeling of accomplishment and affirmation, but incomplete. I felt foreign there and I desired to be at home. But at home there. I walked the streets thinking about what I would be saying to or where I would be leading the person I brought back with me. Do all these things, to do them again. As I try and draw some concrete conclusion about travels from this lengthy account, I'm reaching. Maybe that's what it always is. Reaching even when I'm there or have been there. Reaching back for the first time since the last time. I don't know where it will take me but it feels right and, either way, I just can't stop.