Budapest: Back to Civilisation

The red, ultramodern Hungarian Railways train lifted me off the platform in the town of Tatabanya in the direction of Budapest's domestic Deli rail station, one which while well served by trains was ill served by taxis. After several failed attempts to call the Frommer's guidebook's preferred company, I waited until a private cabbie showed up, and entered with trepidation.

In the end, I was only charged about 3 times the prevailing normal fare, but as it was a short, uphill trip, I accepted the EUR 8 damage with little complaint. Turning back from my hotel, the Gellert, a four-star pre-war relic, the Danube unfolded before my eyes, far more graciously than it did when I saw it last in Beograd.

Budapest has its wear and tear from decades of commie neglect and mismanagement, but it's been a free city for seventeen years and a generation is emerging that knew not the Wall. American-style coffee bars are sprouting alongside the entrenched BK and McD's. The grime level is way below Belgrade, but not as pristine as Ljubljana. Ethnic food is visible, offering an alternative to gulyas and paprikas. It's cold, but there's less snow on the ground than further south in the erstwhile Yugoland.

I too was showing wear and tear. After a walk across the Danube, a stroll down kitschy pedestrianised Vaci Utca, and a trip through the intermittently compelling National Museum (the twentieth century stuff being REALLY compelling, chronicling Hungary's experience being truncated, compromised, ostracised and socialismised in a mere 100 years), I opted for a plate of excellent beef gyros across the street from the museum, and a quick and relatively cheap cab ride to the Gellert. There, a bath and nap beckoned.

The difference between bunk and bed became increasingly apparent as I began to intermittently lose consciousness on the soft if singular mattress. The room, as it happens, was clearly unrenovated-best evidenced by the domestic origin of the minibar's fridge, confirmed as a pre-Wall tumbling brand by friend and former London Business School classmate Sandor Talas, who escorted me on a night-time tour of Budapest's considerable monumental patrimony and to a dinner at the capital's Jewish themed but seriously unkosher Carmel restaurant.

At London, Sandor was clearly one of the smartest of a smart crew of students. And having had no conversation involving more than grunting, direction-giving, and food/beer/coffee ordering since leaving the ever-congenial Halvat Guest House in Sarajevo, it took more than a few moments to readjust to live, two-way conversation.

Budapest is photogenic beyond belief. Castles, palaces and a Parliament that may be the single best building in Europe. Soaring monuments to long-dead national heroes. A Paris-style urban plan of diagonal roads and traffic circles. And all connected to a historical vein that reinforces Hungary's linguistic and ethnic uniqueness. The Hungarians are no Slavs. Their language is related only to Turkish, Finnish and Estonian-and it's a tenuous relationship at that. The main connective tissue to its region is its Catholicism, weakened by Communism, secularism and by a longstanding Protestant streak. The other connective tissue is its geography. Greater Hungary, which now encompasses substantial Hungarian minorities in Slovakia, Romania, and Serbia was so large that Sandor quipped that Hungary is the only country that borders itself in each direction.

The Carmel Restaurant, whose mixed lineage could best be delineated between dishes of Jewish heritage and dishes where bacon was the defining ingredient,was chosen by Sandor because goose was on the menu. I hadn't had goose since Strasbourg in 1996. Tonight's version, Goose Breast Jewish Style was excellent, but tasted quite similar to my mom's pot roast. Had she known, she'd have probably raised her prices.

After a long-earned sleep and zoo-like breakfast scene at the Gellert (where a dearth of seating made the acquaintance of a surfeit of guests at 09:45), I made my way up the promontory where Buda rises above Pest. I'd been here too in 1992; indeed, little I saw this year in the sightseeing department I hadn't seen in 1992, other aspects were brand new. Prices, less than half of western levels in 1992, tended towards a 20% discount away from the main tourist zones, but those in the tourist zones (Castle Hill and Fashion Street) approached London levels. The city is a hell of a lot cleaner, with major sites like the main musea, national heroes monuments and Parliament literally sparkling.

One major change is that the number of cafes and informal eateries seems much lower than previously. Having foregone lunch because of a substantial breakfast and a very limited desire for stewed paprika-based dishes, I had a hankering for the mitteleuropa custom of coffee and pastry, which used to be commonly available. But the city's temple to the late-afternoon repast, Gerbeaud, had a line out the door on this snowy day and most other so-called cafe's were packed to the gills with people having early New Year's Eve dinners. My quest, as usual ended at the Gourmand Cafe near the Astoria metro station--about two hours after I began the quest at the same station.

I haven't planned much for New Years Eve, other than to go to a big street party in Roosevelt Square on the Danube's eastern shore in Pest. The hill in Buda has a better view, but I'm going to opt for liveliness but without completely sacrificing majesty. But I will sacrifice is the New Year's kiss. I'll save that till when I get home.