Tag Archives: food

A Walk Around Budapest


Posted by Patrick Okens

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.


Ghost of Games Future


Posted by Patrick Okens

Dec. 17 – Moscow

Not "het" but "nyet".

Having worked for one Olympic and Paralympic Games, I’m in a fraternity that maintains an interest in how the “next guys” will manage. My chats with current Gamers always bring up a mixture of envy, nostalgia and frank relief at not being on the hot seat. I spent today with the woman who is doing for Sochi 2014 the job that I had for Vancouver 2010. There is nothing particularly spectral or sinister about Sasha. We had met when I did a workshop for the Sochi team in the summer, and I was glad to see her again, this time on yet another bleak day here.

Our rendez-vous was at the vast, windswept All Russia Exhibition Centre. For those who know the Canadian National Exhibition, it’s the same concept but  designed along Stalinist lines. Pavilions, arches, immense bronze workers in heroic poses, hammers and sickles aloft. A towering statue of a space-bound rocket honouring the Soviet Union’s cosmonauts. And an array of carnival carousels and food vending booths, sparsely populated at this, the wrong time of the year.

The highlight of the excursion was a ride on “Moscow 850”, the giant Ferris wheel. It may only be half as tall as London’s Eye, but in an open car out in the cold air it’s what the English would call “bracing”. We had gotten on quickly, yammering on about Games, and strapped ourselves in. But it soon dawned we were heading 70 metres above ground and that I didn’t particularly enjoy heights of this kind. Conversation became less fluid, and my grip on the armrests tightened. Photos would have been fun, but I was not interested in letting go to reach for the camera. We finally came full circle. Back where we started and somewhat stressed. A true Games organizer’s metaphor.

No, not "crapdogs" but "Stardogs"

Moscow is renowned for its underground Metro, but it also has a Monorail and we rode it back into the city for a late lunch. Sasha guided us to a diner that served hearty food in Soviet-kitsch décor. We had enormous cheese and meat-filled fried pastries that you eat by hand, and washed them down with sweet Ukrainian red wine served in small glasses. A Soviet blimp had been painted on the wall to my left. On the right were Communist era posters. A cabinet contained CCCP-branded tee shirts and baseball caps for sale. Few of the customers looked old enough to have been adults during Soviet times.

"To you from failing hands we throw the….hot fried pastry". My successor at Winter Games communications is better at handling text.