Dec. 28 – Budapest, Hungary

Would you rather room with people half your age or twice your age? For me, the question is moot. I’m in a mixed-gender eight-person hostel dorm, yesterday with Korean university students and today with Chinese. It’s a cheap backpackers’ place in central Pest, loud and lively. I feel like Father Time, but I’m not ready to say “I’m too old for this”.

This morning, pathetically elated to not be hungover, I left my dorm mates slumbering in their bunks and headed into the city on foot. It wasn’t particularly early, but Budapest is a slow riser during the Christmas holiday. Vendors were opening their booths in the market square, tourists were eating their continental breakfasts and watching CNN in the business hotels. I reached Hungary’s parliament through a canyon of sand-coloured buildings, all six or seven stories tall. There were tour groups in front, a few lonely sentries, a small nativity scene, a photographic display of Christmas in Hungary. Over the course of the day, I formed an impression that Budapest’s is a faded sort of beauty. Too many old, elegant buildings for Hungary’s small economy to maintain.

I went to the Nagy Vasarcsarnok market hall. Its brick walls, metal girders, stalls overflowing with produce and other food staples look like others I have seen in Europe, Toronto, Vancouver. But this market also had Hungarian particularities – slaughtered piglets, sprawled grinning over counters, garlands of peppers, and salami, bags of paprika. I had two meals – a generous assortment of grilled sausages with red cabbage, and a heaping helping of stuffed white cabbage. As I munched through the second plate, I reflected that I’ve eaten well everywhere on the journey.

Filled to the brim with Hungarian calories, I ambled over the green-painted Szabadsag bridge spanning the Danube. I went into the famous Gellert Baths (I’ll have more to say about this tomorrow), then climbed to the citadel that overlooks the city on the steep, rocky Gellert hill.  Graffiti-scarred though it is, the citadel afforded a fantastic view, mainly to tourists and a few huffing joggers.

I crossed the Danube back to the hostel, looking at signage. Hungarian, as a language, is humorously undecipherable. The only thing I’ve grasped is that Hungarians love the letter “z”. Only a few words cross the linguistic divide. You can get a szendvics for a szuper diszkont at a bisztro, and hope for great szerviz at a szolarium and massazsagy.