A few days ago I looked at the pavement and saw a couple of chestnuts lying on the ground. How odd to live in a city where you barely notice that it’s getting fall, I thought. Even with bright sunshine, you’ll get chills walking through the streets lined with houses all at least five stories high. After having a falafel at the small park strip on the riverside (the park is so small it’s not even marked in maps) yesterday before class, today we set out for an elaborate picnic on Margaret Island.
Strolling through the dusty, construction-site ridden streets of our neighborhood, the smell of cars, gasoline and city are an awkward but comfortable addition to what you see and feel, but I was hoping to escape some of that on the beautifully green island. In the Central Market Hall, we stocked up on fresh fruits, dried fruits, baked goods, tomatoes, salami, sausages and even fresh pressed orange juice. I still can’t hide my amazement when I stand in front of the huge stands glutting with paprika, apples, eggplants… the list could go on forever. And that’s just one side of the large hall. In the middle there are the butchers with their sausages, salamis, fresh sliced hams, and a lot of raw meat in general that was rather irrelevant and rather unappetizing for today’s purpose. Tram 2 sauntered along the Danube with us as it has done forever it seems (I just read somewhere that the first section of this line was built in 1889). Although we’ve seen all before the sun gave a special flair to the castle and Fishermen’s Bastion in Buda and the Parliament in Pest.
Currently, the only way to access Margitsziget (which is Margaret Island, good guess) is by foot, due to another huge construction on the bridge. So we walked the narrow sidewalk, got overrun by a few cyclists and finally arrived on the island. Immediately we passed a bar, a track stadium and the infamous fountain that bursts out in rhythm to the classical music coming from speakers underneath the street lights. Searching for the perfect picnic spot, we also came by a cotton candy stand with the most enormous cotton candies I’ve seen in my life, and where you can even choose your own flavor. We resisted though, and chose the green to settle down. So there it was. Nature. Or at least something relatively close to it. The smells of the city were still there, but whitewashed by the smell of grass and soil and browning leaves. All around us groups of young and older people, couples, newspaper aficionados sat down too, despite the damp grass. We unpacked our snacks and devoured, enjoying the sun on our faces and the breeze on our skins. We chose the riverside for our way back, which is what you see on the picture. This is where the runners and lovers bustle and where you can see how the blue sky gets a hint of grey over the city skyline.
On my way home from the tram, I decided to go to a Hungarian supermarket, CBA, rather than to Spar. It just seemed logical all of a sudden.
Next to a lonely facade (the rest of the house was down, and only the front view remained intact), Eötvös 10 cultural centre looks extremely modern. Inside, a Spartan hallway brought us to a spartan café. As in any café I’ve been to here before, the bartender did not know what to do when asked for a regular coffee, so we got an Espresso, waiting for ének és gitár (Opera singing and guitar). The concert room was empty before we entered, but that didn’t keep the singer from giving all her heart to the vocals. Even more impressive was the guitar player, who caressed and fondled his guitar like none of us had seen before. With all his heart’s blood he played us ‘Un Sueno en la Floresta’ and ‘Sua Cosa’, with a continuous content smile on his lips.
Impressed by this gem we’d just discovered in the heart of Pest, we wandered through the VII. District towards Szimpla Kert. Have I mentioned the Szimpla before?
Laura, in case you are reading this: The Szimpla is what you and I have been dreaming about. It’s exactly that place. Everything in there is full with paintings and drawings and full with stuff. There is a phone receiver instead of a knob on the ladies’ restroom door, and you can see the electricity cord hanging from the hand dryer. There are video installations and stuff-sculptures, and a Trabi that is re-functioned as a loveseat. You can also take your bike inside because inside is outside and upstairs the former apartments and rooms are opened up as café rooms. The whole thing is half courtyard and garden, half living room and café. A DJ desk is built over the courtyard on the first floor, hanging in the air, and there are carafes and old kitchen utensils randomly dangling on the walls (like on my balcony in Maastricht, just a lot more of it). There are grandma lampshades and wobbly armchairs, and writings on every wall. There is the possibility that you never want to leave this place once you entered.
I haven’t written in a few days. I spent my time puzzling myself what to write about next. I spent a weekend in Transdanubia, which is a fancier way to say we went on a camp near lake Balaton, but nothing exciting or worth noting happened. Apart, perhaps, that I finally drank Pálinka, which is a fruit schnaps-type drink the Hungarians are very proud of.
Yesterday afternoon I sat down on a bench on the campus of Corvinus, where I study, to wait for a friend, and this way, I got a sign. A small, bright green paperclip was laying next to me, right underneath the lettering on the wall that reads
Budapesti
Corvinus
Egyetem
So this is how I realized I hadn’t written about Corvinus University yet. Now that my first week of classes is over, I can try to sum up my first experiences. The Pest Campus is split up into two main building, referred to as the main and the new building. And that is precisely what you get. The main building was first built in the 1870’s. It’s majestically gigantic, looks like a gigantic waiting hall of a train station on the inside and has a courtyard. Also, it has a view on the Danube on one side and you can look into the Central Market Hall on the other. Or into the courtyard, depending on where the classic school-style classrooms lay. Not far away, the new building has recently been used as a movie set and functioned as an airport, which perfectly describes the location. So this is University. Just like the city itself, a strange but charming juxtaposition between old and new, shabby and fancy, I have one class on wooden, the next on cushioned office chairs. I needn’t hesitate before calling this ‘school’ rather than university. Because this is what classes here are like: You listen, answer a few questions at best, and have a small exam about it towards the end of the term. However, there is one course called International Debate that will teach us current events in the form of simulated UN debates. It happens so that for next week, I have to prepare as South Africa for a debate on Climate Change. Also I’ve been lucky to mainly attend courses with native English speakers, because the Hungarian accent in English is only little more comprehensible than Hungarian in the first place. And all my teachers are incredibly motivated and cannot wait to share their knowledge with the ‘listeners’. Because that’s what the Hungarian word for students literally translates to. So I will listen, while marveling at my surrounding, and learn.
So far, I’ve only known Buda from afar. From the tram station around our corner, I can see the Gellért Hotel, the Statue of Liberty and numerous bridges leading to the hilly part of town. But factually, I haven’t seen anything. This was supposed to change today, with a guided tour with Adám, who already gave us a tour through the City Park in Pest yesterday. Adám had tried to convince us that Hungarians are generally both pessimistic and lazy, and based it on the country’s eventful but unsuccessful history. Most Hungarians will point out to you that they haven’t won a war in centuries, but praise their wit and cleverness.
Today, the Hungarian tour guides were leading us with enthusiasm and excitement. After an email informed us that our Buda-tour was changed into a Buda-Caves tour because of the rain, my housemate Senia and I decided to go, packed with rain jackets and umbrellas. It turned out however, that there was no such thing as a tour with mostly indoor attractions. We were already soaking wet when arriving at the Roosevelt ter, where unfortunately I couldn’t understand Adám because of traffic noises. So instead, I watched the setting up of the World Championship Triathlon that will be held right there this weekend. Finally, we arrived at the Basilica, relieved to rest our umbrella-arms for a while and seeing St. Stephen (he is the first – and the greatest – King of Hungary, but only the greatest because he was the first, according to Adám) instead of Jesus above the altar. The church even holds St. Stephen’s 1000 year old right fist, preserved in a little golden shrine.
The red metro line (a soviet relict) then took us deep below the surface of the city, and a warm and steamy old metro train took us underneath the Danube (not that you’d notice) to Buda. Even before reaching the escalator, a strong wind blew in our faces, and really the rain had gotten stronger and it was windier than before. Also, the puddles were deeper and the way to the Fisherman’s Bastion was very steep, compared to Dutch mountain standards. Needless to say, our motivation was down and out, the first umbrellas breaking in the wind and our feet and jeans cold, wet and uncomfortable. And we kept on walking, past numerous more or less relevant houses, like the house where Franz Liszt’s family lived, a statue of a horse with enormous balls that are being polished by graduates of the Technical University every year and the place where the first radio was supposedly invented. Adám was the only one who kept on in a good mood, sharing anecdotes of his life and telling us jokes about the places we passed, that we couldn’t hear because our umbrellas were entangled and we couldn’t stand close together. When we finally reached the Bastion, we could barely see Pest. Seeing Pest is one of the main reasons why people go to the Fisherman’s Bastion so we were somewhat disappointed. It was so foggy over the Danube that the Parliament looked like a haunted castle and the bridges lead to nowhere.
Our wet feet and jackets and hair and cold hands were only longing for something else though, but we missed the bus to Pest. While waiting at Café Miró, with Miro-style interior, we learned that you tip 10% here and not less.
We had another short walk home, with the rain getting stronger every minute. Our tour today consisted of being inside exactly one building, one tram and two metro’s. There are no indoor tours around here. Also, Buda is still unknown to me, there was not much to see from underneath a sea of umbrellas. Needless to say, it stopped raining when we got home.
The Central Market Hall of Budapest happens to be a joyful 5-minute walk away from the apartment where I live. Also, it is right in the middle of the new and old campus of Corvinus University. And as if that wasn’t enough, it’s also very beautiful from the outside and interesting inside. On the ground floor you find it smells of meat and salami when you pass the numerous butcher stands who praise their salamis and sell what appears to be every kind of meat you can think of, including raw or fried pork skins. On the sides however there are vegetable and fruit stands, bakeries, pastries, and herb stands, where you can buy Hungarian garlic and – most importantly – paprika. Because the building is so big, a second story allows for purse stands and souvenir stands, embroidered tablecloths and baby dresses on one side – and a food row on the other. This is where I found the first paperclip. In front of a snack bar that served sausages, goulash, bell peppers filled with cabbage, cabbage leaves filled with meat, soups, stews, breads and cakes. Behind me, a few elderly Hungarian men were eating their paprika dishes and behind them, you could see the roofs of the stands below, people walking a stopping, inspecting and buying vegetables. I thought, a weird spot for a paperclip. But definitely a good spot.
There are places in the world in which time seems to be moving differently than elsewhere. I arrived in Budapest one week ago and it also feels like one week. Time didn’t have time to settle in with me, as the first Erasmus parties were already waiting, and I stumbled into a rhythm of going out vs. sightseeing, without sleeping much in between. Within what felt like nothing, I got to remember the places I’ve seen here before, went to a number of nice and less nice clubs, saw places I’ve never seen before and tumbled through this lively yet calm, grey and colorful city.
A few days ago, everything started to slow down. After settling into the apartment and finishing off the first weekend, time seemed to relax. I thought that was rather annoying at first – why are events scheduled at 1pm and start at 2pm? Why are the lines so long and general organization not working? When I realized that even myself moved slower (if I can be at university on time in 5 minutes, I might as well take 10, right?). Time, in Budapest, is slower. This city is full of spas and thermal baths, and this is also where everyone from tourist to inhabitant goes to shake of the burden of time and just – hangout. Yesterday, we went to the Széchenyi bath in the City Park, where there is one little-used swimming pool and a great number of little tubs and basins where people either play chess or do nothing. Here, time barely moved while it rushed away simultaneously. For tourists, this is a way to relax after running up and down Buda and Pest until they actually get to the City Park, while Budapestensians made sure not to move while they grinned at all the quirky and excited tourists (us) around them. Budapest time runs different, and if it’s not slow motion, you might mistake it for running backwards, in a sympathetic way.
Last night, Gödör Klub hosted a Bonobo concert. We arrived a little early but the terrace of Gödör was already packed with skaters, bikers, coffee drinkers and beer lovers. The line at the wardrobe was amazingly long, and while waiting it out, we couldn’t help complaining. But probably, we were the only ones. Waiting time isn’t important either. It is also not important when you have to wait at the bar to get your drinks. It was also still not important when, an hour after the scheduled time, the door opened to let us into the actual concert venue. It only got important when inside, no one could move anymore because it was so stuffed, and the band had us waiting for another hour before showing up on stage. That hour was when even the Hungarians got a little bit impatient. But who cares about that brief moment when you can forget about time again once the music started?
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