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Haverok. Buli. Fanta. -- a Hungarian
soda slogan
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| Dateline: | Thursday 12.8.1999 12:11 |
| Location: | Sörözö a Szent-Jupáthoz, Budapest |
And here I am in Hungary, quaffing a mug of the local brew and awaiting my first helping of -- what else? -- goulash! But let's start by recalling yesterday's events...
My flight was supposed to leave at 19:50, late enough as it is, but at the time I was still standing in the boarding line (along with 200-odd others) and unsurprisingly the plane left half an hour late. We arrived with a bump and, while the brand new Ferihegy airport gets full points for style (even the passport control booths were lined with marble!), cleanliness, clarity of organization and services, it was past 11 by the time I'd passed the gauntlet and so public transport had stopped running.
No problem, I booked a seat on the Airport Minibus, which whisked me straight to the doorstep of the Diaksport Hostel, where I'd made a reservation... right? right? Not according to the register! Fortunately, the girl at the counter was very helpful and managed to locate a bed right next door -- "in a high-school dorm", she informed me ruefully, as if consigning me to the lower pits of hell. So I headed over and was met at the door by a gray-haired fellow who didn't speak a word of anything but Hungarian. Through a combination of sign language and calls next door we managed to get me signed in, and I was led to my room -- and wow! Bathroom and shower included, two beds but only one occupant, locking door and cabinet, quiet location and all this at half the price of a dorm bed at Diaksport. The only negative point was a standard-issue East European cubic-meter pillow evidently stuffed with cabbage, but no complaints. (Although I must say that, unless the owners are making a political statement about the housing conditions of illegal immigrants, calling this place the "Hostel California" is stretching it a little.)
Anyway, arriving late does have a sole advantage: cities always look so much prettier at night, as ugly things are rarely lit. This has worked wonders for my first impressions of Venice and Tunis, and now Budapest as well. Not that the place requires all that much artifical enhancement, by East European standards it's very nice, on occasion downright astounding. Most of the tourist sights have been expertly restored and even most of the rest is plastered with capitalistic neon sauce.
Hungarian is bizarre. The second main branch of the Finno-Ugric language family and hence a very distant relative of Finnish, I find both the spoken and written forms of Hungarian almost entirely incomprehensible... and the bizarre part is that almost. First of all, the intonation of spoken Hungarian matches that of Finnish, to the extent that rapidly spoken Hungarian (and even song lyrics) sound just like Finnish... I just can't understand a word of it! The languages diverged thousands of years ago, but here and there there are still vocabulary matches: the occasional authentic Finno-Ugric root, like ver (blood); parallel evolution, as in juu (yes); and parallel imports, like Russian kassa (cashier) or Latin summa (sum/total). Still, Hungarian retains a host of features that disappeared from Finnish long ago, like a full range of Slavic "s" sounds, and even the orthography with its many non-intuitive letter combinations (sz is plain s, but s is sh, etc) and use of accents to mark long vowels takes some getting used to.
Dateline: Thursday 12.8.1999 18:16 Location: Restaurant Gandhi, Budapest Time for a somewhat less Hungarian meal at Gandhi, a place that out-Indians the Krishnas themselves in decor (yes, there is a Govinda in Budapest, but no, I haven't been there, yet). Let's see what the Sun PlateTM tastes like... [ed. unremarkable]
I spent the day walking around the Castle District on the Buda side of the river, which was nice, with nice ramparts, a nice church, a nice crypt, nice cafés... nothing particularly breathtaking, nothing particularly horrible. Lots of tourists milling about in the main places, but less than Prague and rarely in the way.
But -- as in Rome -- for me the most interesting place was a museum. (No, this is not typical for me.) The Budapest History Museam isn't bad in itself: while the subject matter of most exhibits is less than enthralling, the presentations were mostly quite good and usually even labeled in English, and some parts of the castle that now houses the museum are quite impressive. But what I liked best was an entirely unexpected bonus, a temporary exhibit devoted to the history of... sound recording! They had lots of old machines, lucid explanations and, best of all, samples on CD. As a long-time fan of industrial music, I was shocked to realize that all those bizarre electronic wheezes on Laibach's Ljubljana-Zagreb-Beograd result from feeding the signal through a tube radio, and that those sinister Christmas jingles on NON's Might are from a Polyphon machine! The exhibit also had famous radio broadcasts, covering everything from Stalin to spacewalks and Pearl Harbor to Hitler; a complete and functional quadraphonic setup; and as a crowning touch the exit tunnel was painted black, covered in graffiti, lit by a strobe and playing the music of the future... techno! UG!
Oh, and the exhibition also had some absolutely brilliant Communist-era propaganda for NÉPRÁDIO, which translates to "The People's Radio" according to my flimsy grasp of Hungarian, but which also happens to sound (and look) very much like the official party line of the People's Entropic Party, better (if not exactly well) known by its Slovenian initials NEP. Oblast je pri nas ljudska!
Rugged as a snug bugDateline: Friday 13.8.1999 12:18 Location: Pincehely station, the boondocks My efforts to reach this year's biggest (which may, or may not, equate to the best) goa party keep running into obstacles. I managed to reach the train for Simontornya in the nick of time, albeit without a ticket, but fortunately the conductor was conned by my InterRail pass (which should be good for only 50% off in Hungary!). I paid penance for this sin by being forced to devour a deep-fried gristlewich for breakfast. The morning started ominously cloudy, and it started raining along the way, hard. Due to the abysmal standard of Hungarian station labeling we (I had run into a few Frenchmen also heading my way) drove right past Simontornya, so now we (a yet larger group of Solipse-wannabes) sit here at Pincehely, waiting for a bus that may, or may not, appear at 12:50. All my attempts to reach the Finnish multitudes attending have been unsuccessful, and the person who was supposed to bring my sleeping bag said they're leaving today... or maybe even yesterday. The rain continues, and as Nicolas said, "It's going to be Mudstock..."
Dateline: Friday 13.8.1999 16:22 Location: Base camp, "Solipse", Ozora
A drenched and sweaty Jani despondently slogged through the rain and mud, looking for a dry place. He spotted a familiar face; why, that guy looks just like Antti, it's a shame he can't be because he's not here... or is he? whah? it IS him! Wow! 10,000 people and I run into one of the 5 or so I know, on his way to the main camp, in fact, because he is about to leave! I follow him to the camp, where I meet the rest, find my sleeping bag and am even assigned my very own tent, complete with a mattress. I lay my soaked stuff (including the paper copy of this journal) out to dry and wallow in the sheer luxury of it all -- I'd been very close to calling it quits.
The rain kept pouring and some tentfuls left, so we started to improve the hastily constructed tarpaulin "roof" covering the tents. Soon enough all major leaks were patched and I set off to the "supermarket" tent to buy a bite to eat. Fresh bread, ripe tomatoes, canned tuna -- gradually even the rain started to taper off as the sun crept towards the horizon.
There are many rules. The main one is: there are no rules.Dateline: Saturday 14.8.1999 8:25 Location: Base camp, "Solipse", Ozora
Obscure Ottoman administrative terms keep running through my head: mutafilliq. mutasarrik. In the nearly total darkness two figures passed by, the other gesticulating and explaining: "There are many rules. The main one is: there are no rules." The lights of dozens of tents, camps and shacks flickered in the night, people flowing amidst them. Techno beat and organic equivalents blossomed here and there, ringing out the loudest in the two giant tents in the center of the area. At the other end, almost 2 kilometers from our campsite, was the main stage: thousands of freaks dancing within the thousands of watts of energy poured forth. Ultraviolet figures and paintings glowed by the side, and -- in the sole incongruous touch -- two powerful spotlights were aimed straight into the crowd. Above, a moonless sky with thousands of stars...
That was at 4:30, now the sun has risen and it's morning. I'd slept a little fitfully but very comfortably in the warm tent. The lazy rhythms of ambient dub compete with James Brown singing about sex machines. I chow down on salt-covered Turkish bread with yoghurt and a tomato, then go for a refreshing blast of ice-cold water in the open-air shower stalls. Janne and Mikko pack up their van (including my borrowed tent), necessitating a restructuring of the camp. With that done, I go for a walk and then laze about in the shade. There's still all the time in the world before tonight's parties...
"You see, there is no way to tell what's real and what's not", explained the hippie to his friend. The blisteringly hot day turned into a freezingly cold night -- but not too cold if you keep moving! The night's main attraction (for me at least) was the French team "Hilight Tribe", an acoustic (!) goa group (although tonight they were amplified, quite understandable given the size of the audience). The show started off simply with tabla drumming and rattles, quite tribal and un-goa in sound, with a belly dancer swaying to the tunes. But then they added a didgeridoo, a "western" drum set and finally an electric guitar, which produced some amazingly synth-like goa sounds. By now it was "like" goa, only better, as it was absolutely live, largely improvised and very enthusiastic! It was obvious that the players themselves loved it and, after a slow start, the crowd started to catch on and dance wildly. The parallels to Kodô were clear and downright uncanny. Still, Hilight Tribe's drums plaed by comparison, maybe there's yet hope for an even better fusion...
Köszöntjuk városunkban-- from the Pécs welcome brochureDateline: Sunday 15.8.1999 17:37 Location: 4 Attila utca, Pécs
Wake up, pack and join the pulsating ever-growing crowd waiting for the promised free shuttle buses. The first was supposed to leave at 9, it was 9:45. How much for a taxi to Simontornya? "6000 F." Ok, Ozora? "2500 F." Get real! But lo, a van marked "private" had evidently suffered the same fate in reverse with its assigned party failing to show up, so we got a ride for a more tolerable 400 F. (Needless to say, the free buses showed up about 15 minutes later.)
Most people were heading back to Budapest, but we thought this unwise on a summer Sunday when the Formula races were in town, so we headed down south to Pécs. A pleasant if mostly unremarkable university town of 180,000 somewhat off the beaten track, we figured it'd be easier to find a place there. The truth wasn't quite that simple: it being Sunday, all the travel agencies that relay private rooms and apartments (which we wanted for our group of 5) were closed. Fortunately the tourist police station was open and they gave us some directions. The first hostel we checked out (way in the boondocks) was rather uninviting and entirely full, and we were starting to think about (illegal) camping in the woods, when my cellphone beeped with a message from Nina & Markus: "2-person room/4000 F! Come quick!"
Sure enough, there was also a 3-person room left for the same price per head, with all the mod cons (bathroom with shower, black & white TV, groovy 70's DDR decor, inner courtyard), but above all real beds with pillows and everything. Such effete luxury after a week of camping! Maybe this requires some counterbalancing... by, say, eating a meal at the cozy prison-decor Cellarium?
Dateline: Monday 16.8.1999 14:26 Location: 4 Attila utca, Pécs
Budapest is nice, but Pécs is very nice. It's a university town, so it has mostly escaped the ravages of heayv industry that blight most east European cities; it's touristy enough to have all the required services, but not so touristy that it's overflowing with them (far from it, we often felt like we were the only ones around); it's small enough to comfortably get around on foot... just about everything is just right!
After a brief circuit of the city's attractions (the most interesting one being the Mosque Church, a mosque-cum-church featuring Jesus bolted directly above the mihrab, which is the prayer niche pointing the way to Mecca) we stopped for lunch at a trendy restaurant, where I set a personal record of 250 F (~$1) for soup and main course, plus 100 F extra for a large glass of decent wine.
DoubleplusegészségedreDateline: Tuesday 17.8.1999 13:09 Location: Ex 815, Pécs -> Budapest (stalled at Kurd)
A bottle of champagne straight from the factory, a meal at a swanky restaurant (where the poor vegetarian contingent was, yet again, forced to eat deep-fried cheese with rice for the third time in two days), cheese, wine and standardized Buns of Victory straight out of 1984, lots of inebriated attempts at "Egészségedre!" (Cheers!) and another well-slept night later it was time to set off back to the twin cities of Buda and Pest, escaping an imminent storm front. This stretch of rail is partly only single-tracked and an accident somewhere along the line has stranded us at the aptly named provincial village of Kurd for over an hour, and counting. Poor Nina has been struck with a horrible cough, but now the train just started moving again...
Diabetic Salty Potatoes With Parsley-- an item on the menu of Ráb RabyDateline: Wednesday 18.8.1999 12:33 Location: HÉV local, Budapest <-> Szentendre
Finding a place to stay was again a bit of a problem, but we managed to run into a private room dealer who arranged a centrally located apartment in Buda (next to Margaret Bridge) for 2000 F per person -- the same price as in Pécs, and less than Hostelling International wanted for a dorm bed! After a truly excellent meal at the Krishna-run Govinda (and remember that this compliment is coming from a carnivore), we all (except Nina) headed off to hunt for a borozó (wine bar). Much to our surprise it took almost an hour to find one, as it seems the locals drink a lot more beer than the Pécsians, but once we did spot one it was excellent. A loud, smoky, wood-paneled cellar with wine ladeled out at 240 Ft ($1) per 1L bottle! We engaged in civilized conversation and downed two, then wobbled home and bought a 3rd of Egri Bikaver (which means in Egri Bull's Blood, but is better known in Finnish as Erkin Pikakivääri, ie. Eric's Rapid-Action Rifle) plus some cheese on the way. And to top it all off, I woke up the next morning without even a hint of a hangover.
But after yet another tedious mini-adventure involving getting travelers' checks exchanged and construction work on the HÉV line, here I am sitting at yet another swanky tourist restaurant, Ráb Raby to be precise, in the riverside town of Szentendre. Excellent gulyas (goulash) soup served in a tiny kettle kept warm by a flame at the table and served with a bowl of crushed dry chilis... but this time I'm alone, as the others elected to spend the day exploring Budapest. Tomorrow it'll be their turn to leave for Finland, and I'll also take my leave from Budapest. <sigh> It's been fun, and I'm starting to get tired of traveling alone...
Turkey-Rubbermeat mit Pommes Frites-- a appetizing menu item from BalatonfüredDateline: Thursday 19.8.1999 Location: Budapest -> Balatonfüred local I returned to Budapest and located a pleasant cybercafé where I checked my mail. My application to Tokyo U. seems to be on track and my roommate managed to locate my Certificate of Proficiency in English (would a copy of this be an acceptable substitute?) from the arcane depths of my filing cabinet. In fact, the only unknown in the equation is whether my friend in London is around -- still no word from her. Currently I'm planning to arrive in Geneva on Monday the 23rd, and I have to be back in Finland by the first week of September, but what will I do for those two weeks in the middle? We'll see...
We wanted to go eat Real Hungarian FoodTM at Fátal on our last night out, and the veggies even found veg-goulash on the menu, but lo -- it was full and they wouldn't even let us wait without a reservation. Stop, advertised in Lonely Planet as having main courses for 300-400 Ft, had hiked its rates 3-4x higher. With Old Man Hunger gnawing at our bellies we decided to return to Govinda, which was less otherworldly (but still good!) the second time around. The Great Borozó Hunt II discovered that they all close at 22 (or earlier), the 2L of Tokaji we did score was less than extraordinary and the Cartoon Channel wasn't even showing the Power Puff Girls anymore. Sniff.
So after a night's sleep, a hasty breakfast (gooseliverwurst and People's Bread, mmm!) and some even hastier packing (which resulted me in accidentally donating a bag full of dirty underwear to Jari & Emma -- whoops!) it was time to say goodbye and rush off to Déli station to catch a train to Lake Balaton. I've been using my IR to flit around Hungary for free, when I should be paying 50%, but today's conductor refused to even look at the ticket after spotting the words "Inter Rail", much less stamp it. I think I'll supplement my meager supply of forints by getting a refund on that ticket Ibusz forced me to buy...
Dateline: Thursday 19.8.1999 19:16 Location: Halászkert étterem, Balatonfüred
Finding a bed was -- yet again -- a hassle, I ended up at Széchenyi Szarkepsö Iskola Kollegima, whose intimidating name belies its equally intimidating location 3 km (on foot) from the center and most of that uphill. A decaying Commie-era high school dorm usually inhabited by Polish tour groups and currently occupied by fossilized pastry in the cupboard, the price of 1600 Ft/night was tolerable. I even got to practice my (non-existent) German with the staff of one, an old fellow who spent 10 minutes inspecting my passport -- not just admiring my Jordanian visas, as it turned out, but looking for my Hungarian entry stamp. Fortunately, it was deemed not obligatory.I decided to bypass the Turkey-Rubbermeat offered on the aforequoted menu and headed for Halászkert for some of their famous drunkard's fish soup (korhely halászlé), reportedly the best in Hungary. I found it to consist of carp skin, fat and bones in a strange but admittedly quite delicious paprika-sour cream-mustard stock, but 170 Ft for a plate of sliced red bell pepper (sold outside for 50 Ft/kg) with a dash of vinegar was a bit too much. Ah well, it was still a welcome change from the usual gulyas and pörkölt...
Mein Gott. LP compliments Balatonfüred on its "easy-going grace that highly commercialized Siófok [...] totally lacks", but if this place is not highly commercialized, then what is? Everything is written in German, there are hordes of blonde Teutons stomping about, the place is full of staples of Hungarian village life like 24h tattoo parlors... the town is nice enough, especially at dusk, but nothing to write home about (hi Mom & Dad!). I wonder what Rabindranath Tagore would think about Balatonfüred's current incarnation...
I came to Balatonfüred to cut down on the length of the trip to Slovenia, but I wasn't counting on the connections being this bad: to catch IC 242, I'll have to be at the station by 5:50 in the morning and even then I'll arrive at Székesfehérvár with only a 15-minute window. But at least I'll get to Ljubljana at 14:30 and Lake Bled an hour or so later, whereas the only other option would involve a detour through Zagreb, Croatia, with the earliest possible arrival in Ljubljana being around 21. <sigh> It's no fun traveling in a hurry...
Promise of a new day-- Paula AbdulDateline: Friday 20.8.1999 05:58 Location: Balatonarács -> Székesfehérvár local
That was surprisingly painless (check the dateline!). I woke up at 5 AM on the dot, got up, packed up my bag and myself with slow deliberation, and walked the few hundred meters (downhill for once) to a tiny station that the train will also stop at. The train arrived almost on time and here I am, flying past the shores of Lake Balaton at sunrise... now let's see if I can reserve my seat at Székesfehérvár and if Croatia will let me transit without a visa.
As I was returning to the hostel yesterday, I heard a shout from behind me. "Hey! You Finnish?" Well, that is what my passport says, and the person shouting seemed to be a Finn too -- and that's how I met Immu. Like me, he'd been duped by Lonely Planet's promises of small-town charm; like me, he had ended up at the same hostel; like me, he was getting the hell out of there in the morning -- but heading in the opposite direction, towards Györ and Slovakia. We dropped in a nearby borozó (this one filled with Germans) and chatted over half a liter of red grape juice. Oh, and Immu most probably saved me from major problems today by exchanging the 4 DM I needed for an international reservation -- according to LP I was all of 40 forints short!
The man in the compartment in front of me sounds exactly like a radio talk show. (I know he isn't, because the woman he is talking with doesn't.) And again the conductor refuses to even look at my Inter Rail pass...
Fuck. Shit. Dick. Low muthafucka. Take the tape out now...Despite that supposed 15-minute window, there I was, sitting on a siding all of 200 meters from Székesfehérvár station, dully watching IC 242 "Drava" trundle by on its way to Ljubljana. Waking up at 5 AM was thus useless. I think I'll return to Budapest, go sip a coffee in Wien and take the night train to Ljubljana.
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