"I'm sorry, but I have other plans for you." The words were like a song I'd been playing on repeat in my head for the past week or so.
I was now on the train to Budapest, talking to this lady in her fifties about leech therapy and zodiac signs. She knew nothing about phones, and although she said she'd traveled a lot, she didn't seem to know a lot about that, either. Romanian was not her first language; I couldn't figure out what it was, because my fear of awkward situations prevented me from asking (this fear will become a recurring theme throughout this story - fair warning to you, reader). She was really nice - bordering on intrusive. Asking me how long I was going to stay in Budapest and where. I told her about hostels and she seemed to have the biggest Eureka moment of her life, realizing that for the price of sharing a room with 4 or more strangers, you could get a roof over your head for the fraction of what you would pay at a hotel. I feel like I've changed her life.
Finding my hostel in Budapest was a matter of walking up and down Rákóczi street, finding, fist the street that I had set as a landmark telling me I'd gone too far, and then the street I should have known came before the one I was looking for. Finally I found my street, and walking along it gave me the best feeling I'd had in a long time. It was full of cafes and pubs and bars and restaurants, each with its own personality and a representative crowd of people in front. Street singers, languages I kind of understood, languages I recognized and languages I had never heard before - all spoken by young people in colorful clothing, smiling and going... God knows where. And the hostel itself? Just... wow. Friendly staff, a guitar hung up on the wall, a bookshelf with a sign on it that said "Take one & give one", beanbags everywhere, and the beds - each, a room in itself, a little shelf with a drape towards the room, so you could create your own tiny universe to read, write or sleep to your hearts content. There wasn't much socializing among room sharers. But that's okay. Only the guy in the bed below mine (I was bed 7, by the way) was quite talkative - both online and with whoever was around him and awake at the time. No matter, I fell asleep like a baby that night, after a long walk.
I crossed Elisabeth bridge, and I swear, the Danube worked wonders with the hills/mountains around here, and then the Hungarians worked wonders along its banks. I mean, look at this view! I was greeted by this wonder before I even got to the bridge.
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| Ignore the ladies in front. I did. :) |
And after crossing, there was a waterfall with some stairs around it. Climbing the stairs was fun, I found these little gems along the way:
You can't really see, but in the picture on the left, some passer by (I wandered if they were tourists or they lived around here) left a glass bottle upside down on that wall.
And on the right - well... a picture speaks a thousand words, I think that's what they say...
When I got to the top of the stairs, I was so glad I had taken that little detour (the plan had been to walk upstream, to Margaret bridge, passing the famous Chain Bridge along the way, and return on the other bank). This was the view from up there:
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| Looking to the right... |
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| ... and to the left. You can see the bridge I had just crossed. |
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I just gave up on taking pictures after that. I remembered that the Internet is full of pictures of landmarks, mine weren't going to make a difference. I could probably download much better ones, if I ever felt the need to look at these places again - although I am pretty certain that Budapest is a city I'll revisit more than once.
I followed the plan. I walked along the bank to Margaret Bridge. I got cursed at (I think) in Hungarian, by some angry guy on a bicycle - although he might have sworn at the much bigger group I myself was trying to find a way around. I got thanked (this I know for sure) by another, much calmer guy on a bike for getting out of his way. And I saw a sad man. He was in his 40s, I think, and he was hunched over, sort of hugging himself as he walked, as if trying to comfort himself through some great tragedy he'd been through. He didn't even notice the people around him; he was in his own bleak world, and his eyes were staring somewhere far away as he walked. I wondered where he was coming from and where he was going. But I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
I watched the sunset across the Danube, slowly starting to feel cold and tired, by this time. And as the nightlife was just beginning to stir - clubs opening, people drinking beer right off the docks where boat-restaurants were conveniently waiting for cash-laden tourists, and streetlights in the distance making the city look more like a fairy town - I got back to the hostel.
I was too tired to eat. I had a shower and went to sleep in my little box.
The next morning, in the kitchen I made myself a cup of tea and simply had to take a photo of the goulash recipe printed on the wall:
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| Blurry picture, but a good reminder that there's always a recipe online if I want one |
After finishing my tea, I got my stuff, and went downstairs to wait for the buss that would take me to the airport. The bus that the hostel staff so kindly helped me book was right on time, which I really appreciated. But I had a little time to spare, so I started reading this:
The first few paragraphs seem promising. I'd like to read the rest, some day. I wonder if that copy will still be there, the next time I'll go to Budapest, or if someone will have replaced it by then.
When I got to the airport, with lots of time to spare and famished since I hadn't had dinner or breakfast, I decided to buy a sandwich and a latte and go outside on the terrace to enjoy my food and drink. Imagine my surprise when I realized I'd have company for breakfast.
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| They enjoyed some crumbs I decided to share, and they were so close! |
After that, I took the flight I'd really come to Budapest for...
