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Friday
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After exchanging my £100 for 30,000 forint and a two hour flight, we rode through the streets of Budapest in a taxi, staring out the window trying let the Budapest-ness saturate our memories. The first thing I noticed: colorful buildings, the deep yellows and orange cement. Architecture was a main focus last weekend, the intricately carved buildings, the paintings and frescos, the towers and dilapidated old homes that fall back to the Communism era. It was gorgeous in a washed out, well-worn, cultured sort of way. Since joining the EU, it has also become a juxtaposition of old and new. Next to the crumbling cathedrals, there were Burger Kings and H&M. It was still early when we checked into the Atlas hotel with a private Jacuzzi and a beautiful room.
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.Friday
.
After exchanging my £100 for 30,000 forint and a two hour flight, we rode through the streets of Budapest in a taxi, staring out the window trying let the Budapest-ness saturate our memories. The first thing I noticed: colorful buildings, the deep yellows and orange cement. Architecture was a main focus last weekend, the intricately carved buildings, the paintings and frescos, the towers and dilapidated old homes that fall back to the Communism era. It was gorgeous in a washed out, well-worn, cultured sort of way. Since joining the EU, it has also become a juxtaposition of old and new. Next to the crumbling cathedrals, there were Burger Kings and H&M. It was still early when we checked into the Atlas hotel with a private Jacuzzi and a beautiful room.
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We stopped in an underground tunnel to order gelato and communicate in simple English with a Hungarian woman who scooped different colors while her young daughter stared at us and wrapped napkins around the cones. Budapest was nearly eerily quiet, perhaps because it was Easter weekend, but most shops were closed and there were not so many pubs to sit inside and while away the hours. And so we wandered. Which was fine.
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. .
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After dwelling in the warmth of an empty Irish pub for a while, we ventured along the Danube River, freezing, past the massive structure of the parliament building and over the famous chain bridge. The sun set over the water and the view from the top of the hills we climbed was immaculate.
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.We ate dinner in a cave restaurant called Marquis de Sade. The man himself was a French aristocrat and revolutionary, a man who wrote pornography that was often violent yet laden with philosophy. Pursuit of pleasure was his highest principle and he spent 32 years of his life in an insane asylum. And while there was no pornography in the restaurant there was a great deal of pleasure.
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The menu was a mix of Azerbaijani, Russian and Hungarian food, served to us while we sat on couches under crumbling tunnel walls, a candle lit beside us. I ordered a soup with lamb filled dumplings, a pot of tea and a chicken dish topped with apricots, prunes, raisins and a Tojaki wine sauce famous in Budapest. I brought a bottle of the sweet dessert wine home. It was served with salad and sticky rice.
.
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.The menu was a mix of Azerbaijani, Russian and Hungarian food, served to us while we sat on couches under crumbling tunnel walls, a candle lit beside us. I ordered a soup with lamb filled dumplings, a pot of tea and a chicken dish topped with apricots, prunes, raisins and a Tojaki wine sauce famous in Budapest. I brought a bottle of the sweet dessert wine home. It was served with salad and sticky rice.
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.Saturday
.
.After two hours of searching unsuccessfully for the weekend flea market that was supposed to sell a mix of Soviet antiques, clothing and rock and roll records, we decided on lunch. Well, breakfast really as we hadn’t eaten yet. And it would be 6pm before we put anything into our growling stomachs.
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.We got distracted by the transport museum.
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.By a giant time wheel that sat on rollers and was rotated 180 degrees manually every year, sand dripping down the hour glass, a reminder that time is slipping through the cracks.
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.By a castle and table tennis in the middle of a park.
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By mad elephants swaying from side to side behind bars.
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By mad elephants swaying from side to side behind bars.
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.By a gigantic bath house.
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By Hero’s Square and art museums and a museum of terror.
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And finally, we came to a small market where we bought slices of something like pizza baked in a round wobbly oven by a large man with giant oven gloves.
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By a giant pillow fight.
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By Vaci Utca, a famous street of shops and bars and then we came to another market, a large open space with wooden stands, mulled wine, a gypsy band and a lot of meat. We shared langos, something like fried dough smothered in sour cream and cheese. Beautiful and traditional. A wine cave next. We shared an octopus salad.
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And then to a place down a small alley called 1,000 teas. They really did serve 1,000 teas. We each got a pot. I got a spicy chai from somewhere in Africa and S ordered a smooth green tea that I ended up buying in loose leaf form to bring home. There were small wicker chairs and carved tables with glass on top, or places to sit on cushions. No shoes allowed. On the walk back to our hotel, we ran into a wine festival, bought some tickets, got some free shots and bought another bottle of wine for the hotel and some huge pretzels.
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Sunday
.
Sunday, we had just a few hours. The sun was shining. The streets were empty. Everything was closed. At 9, we woke up and had buffet breakfast in the hotel lobby, checked out and left our bags in a small room.
.
.
In total, I only spent £100 all weekend and these last few hours were about using up the remainder of our forint change. And so we wandered again down Vaci Utca, bought some souvineers, some bottles of Unicum, the famous drink in the area, then around the market stalls once more.
.
.
I bought bits of creamy chicken and mushroom in a hard round roll similar to chicken stew in a bread bowl from Tim Hortons. Delicious.
.
.
And too soon, it was time to drag our bags through the airport, be transported back to London by Malev airlines who gave us little chocolate buttons that said Happy Easter.
.
.
.By Hero’s Square and art museums and a museum of terror.
.
.And finally, we came to a small market where we bought slices of something like pizza baked in a round wobbly oven by a large man with giant oven gloves.
.
.By a giant pillow fight.
.
.By Vaci Utca, a famous street of shops and bars and then we came to another market, a large open space with wooden stands, mulled wine, a gypsy band and a lot of meat. We shared langos, something like fried dough smothered in sour cream and cheese. Beautiful and traditional. A wine cave next. We shared an octopus salad.
.
.And then to a place down a small alley called 1,000 teas. They really did serve 1,000 teas. We each got a pot. I got a spicy chai from somewhere in Africa and S ordered a smooth green tea that I ended up buying in loose leaf form to bring home. There were small wicker chairs and carved tables with glass on top, or places to sit on cushions. No shoes allowed. On the walk back to our hotel, we ran into a wine festival, bought some tickets, got some free shots and bought another bottle of wine for the hotel and some huge pretzels.
.
.Sunday
.
Sunday, we had just a few hours. The sun was shining. The streets were empty. Everything was closed. At 9, we woke up and had buffet breakfast in the hotel lobby, checked out and left our bags in a small room.
.
.In total, I only spent £100 all weekend and these last few hours were about using up the remainder of our forint change. And so we wandered again down Vaci Utca, bought some souvineers, some bottles of Unicum, the famous drink in the area, then around the market stalls once more.
.
.I bought bits of creamy chicken and mushroom in a hard round roll similar to chicken stew in a bread bowl from Tim Hortons. Delicious.
.
.And too soon, it was time to drag our bags through the airport, be transported back to London by Malev airlines who gave us little chocolate buttons that said Happy Easter.
.
