Gwendolyn and I are back from a few days in Budapest, where we spent New Year's Eve in the relative luxury of the Four Seasons Hotel. We decided to splurge for this, our outgoing European New Year's, and the accommodations certainly didn't disappoint even though my eyes widened just slightly upon receiving the bill. (Luckily my immediate comprehension of the total figure was shrouded to some extent by the odd conversion of about 187 Hungarian Florent to a single US dollar. This made everything we paid for over the few days seem like it cost either a million dollars or about six and I repeatedly found myself asking, "Wait, how many zeros are on that thing?")
The city of Budapest, is actually two cities side by side, Buda and Pest, split down the middle by the brilliant Blue Danube, a fact I hammered home to poor Gwendolyn by constantly humming
the Blue Danube Waltz, made famous in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. It's gleaming waters served a fitting backdrop for any New Year's party, and I caught myself repeatedly staring out at the dizzying views of the river from our hotel, who's location simply could not be beat for any prospective visitor to this city.
Budapest is in Hungary, something I had to constantly remind myself of because I kept thinking that we were, in fact, in Turkey. I don't know why, but it probably has something to do with the fact that when I was a kid and looking with naive wonder at the globe I probably giggled constantly at the countries "Turkey" and "Hungry", possibly even in a Thanksgiving setting. Throw in the fact that they are right next to each other and is it really my fault? I'm sure the Hungarians and the Turks are also making the same mistake on a daily basis.
We arrived on New Year's Eve, basically landing in just enough time to taxi to the hotel, nap, and then "suit up" for our fancy-pants New Year's Dinner at the hotel restaurant, which was divine, if again, a bit pricey (a theme for this trip). It was also amusing to spend New Year's in the general company of a significant amount of old British Money, with multiple older ladies donning furs
by the flock as if there were a contest for who could amass the most dead animals on them at once; I kept my head on a swivel waiting for a live version of the monopoly guy to show up and judge the competition, though it didn't happen.
After dinner on New Year's Eve we sort of hung around the lobby and bar of the hotel which was turned into a stage, occupied for the night by a rather ho-hum cover band which was fronted by an obscene "Euro Guy" who sported a pot-belly, a disturbing crotch bulge owing to way-too-tight slacks, a checkered suit over an orange shirt, and a mullet fit for a king. If this imagery seems too good to be true, it turns out it is, because the man also apparently wielded a predator-like cloaking system which made him immune to all forms of photography despite our repeated giggly attempts. In an effort to be halfway discrete every shot we took was blurry, sideways, or way off-center. Though in looking back, I remain disappointed I couldn't get a good shot of this guy. He sort of deserved it, especially after asking the crowd if they liked Barry White only to follow it up with a disturbing cover of "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe" that was about six octaves too high and had way too much pelvis in the interpretive dance.
(In general it's probably not a good sign for a musician if every time the band takes a break and the DJ takes over the dance floor fills up quickly only to be emptied twenty minutes later when the band resumes playing. Don't get me wrong, there was definitely entertainment value there, just not the intended kind.)
Gwendolyn and I rang in the New Year's with Euro Guy and his band and pricey cocktails and a little dancing and generally had a good time. We thought about going outside at New Year's to watch the fireworks in the open air along the beautiful Danube until someone opened the door and it was about negative two-hundred degrees outside and so we quickly changed our minds and remained behind the relative safety of the glass.
(Which brings up a greater point. When many years from now I look back on my holiday times in Europe, I will remember much good, but a central coexisting theme will almost certainly be the pervasive, unending, and bone-chilling
COLD which descends on Europe like a plague at this time of year. Whether it was New Year's in Berlin 2006, Stasbourg in France with my parents in 2007, or Budapest New Year's in 2008, all my memories will include a biting, stinging, arctic blast component. And though in reality simple layering, gloves and hats are all that is needed to combat such an enemy, and it probably wasn't too big a deal, I will still one day tell stories to my grandchildren about my time in "Winter Europe" and the days spent trudging about in mounds of snow, wrapped heavily in the cured fur of several musk oxen, and losing digits left and right to the "Frostbite of '07" and the like.)
On New Year's Day Gwendolyn and I set out to explore the city, spending the bulk of the day on Castle Hill and touring the royal buildings there. The entire Castle Complex makes for an impressive scene, standing tall over the Danube, and once again I found myself thinking how cool it is to wander around in a picturesque place with so much freakin' history behind it. Did a King stand here, imploring his subjects? Did archers stave off invaders there? These are the questions I delight myself with as I tour Churches and walk parapets. A light snow fell most of the day to add to the winter wonderland imagery.
One of the local specialties in Budapest is Goulash (meat soup), which I managed to dine on at least a couple of times, coming away impressed each time. Actually, for what we didn't consider a "food city", the food in Budapest overall was very good. It didn't hurt that we were staying at the Four Seasons, a lodging facility replete with several good restaurants, or that one day we stopped in for a quick bite of lunch at what we thought was a tavern but happened to be a one-star Michelin restaurant as well. Once seated and in realization of our error too late, what is one to do besides order the goose liver appetizer and move on?
On the evening of the 1st Gwen and I took advantage of the Hotel's "extras", bringing in the New Year with a trip to the spa complete with a 30-minute back and shoulder massage. I've had about four formal massages in my life to this point, and after every one I always think "I should do these more often".
On January 2nd Gwendolyn and I headed east, further into Pest, for a "Happy Fun" afternoon with the
House of Terror, a museum dedicated to the horrific occupations suffered by the Hungarians at the hands of the Nazis and later the Soviets. (I don't know what it says about me, but every time I visit a city I manage to seek out the Nazi (or other) related places of soul-crushing despair - and enjoy them very much). Through a series of twisting rooms and vivid photography Gwendolyn and I learned that the occupying Commies were really no better than the Nazis, with the minor caveat being that if you were Jewish the Nazis were probably a hair worse.
The Museum itself was incredible visually - probably one of the best museums style-wise I have ever been to. Unfortunately, the audio-guide was a rambly mess, taking a fairly gripping subject and turning into something akin to boring lecture on photosynthesis. Still, the museum was definitely worth the visit and I'm glad we went.
After the museum we meandered about some other parts of the city, stopping to buy a souvenir coffee mug (I've been collecting coffee mugs from every city we visit - it all started back in 2005 when I laid eyes on a mug that said "Prague: Czech me out!" and simply couldn't resist) and to get a shot-glass for Gwendolyn, who has a similar collection. (I like coffee, she likes booze - that's how it is.) That night we had a decent-if-not-stellar seafood dinner and then retreated back to the warmth of the hotel. The next day we flew home, back to Stuttgart, and our drive home was mired by ridiculous German traffic which had us both cursing up a storm at the damn Germans, their driving habits, and their never-ending road construction.
(Luckily, we're moving to Southern California where this sort of thing - traffic - doesn't happen.)
So another good trip is in the books. With the New Year's arrived, and only six months officially left on this European Tour, I wonder just how many we have left.
And here below are the pics, comments provided by Gwendolyn.
