Off to Budapest for a Bath

Klaus Zynski Invades Europe, Part 8

I’m a fully paid up member of the night train and I’m happy the frau taking tickets was informed of this fact before I was ejected from the train somewhere in the south-east German countryside. Night trains are sort of miraculous. You get on, find your little cot, and go to sleep. Then you wake up in an entirely different country. In this case it was Hungary. Shabby little towns all across the Magyar steppe greeted me as I woke, I sort of figured we’d be in Budapest already but this was fine. I could get my bearings this way, eat the little hazelnut biscuit they served for breakfast, brush my teeth, contemplate pissing in the train sink. I didn’t, scout’s honor. But I thought about it.

Did some reading. The German across from me was wearing a Chicago Cubs hat and reading some memoir from a Hamas militant. I was wearing a Steely Dan shirt and reading Phillip K. Dick. Odd contrast. I got out onto the platform at Budapest-Nyugati and immediately lost my bearings again. Hungarian lacks the cold typewriter logic of German. Lacks the English antecedents. We had no idea where we were going.

Liz had to pee. I suggested she hop back on the train. She got yelled at by some bald MAV employee. I thought she didn’t have time to piss in the intervening time between boarding the train and being ejected by the bald guy. Five years in and she’s still surprising me.

I really must pay homage to the humble public employee we encountered at Nyugati. This Fedor Emilianenko-looking angel took great care of us. He sat near the luggage lockers and broke bills so people could use the coin slot, as the card readers were fucked. Better yet, he saved us money on the arrangement by directing us to an XL locker instead of two normal ones. When the Zynski regime reigns, this man will be tracked down and awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I has a horrible moment of doubt later in the day that he may have been running a scam but no, just a very nice, helpful guy. I hope he’s well.

We hopped the tram across the Danube and before long we’d reached Rudas Thermal Baths. I really cannot overstate how much we needed this after five nights of hostel sleeping and an uncountable number of steps up, down, and all around Berlin.

I underestimated how good it was going to be. After a bit of experimentation with “contrast baths” (hot, cold, hot, repeat) to improve circulation we made our way up to the rooftop panorama pool. “Panorama” seems to be the catch all marketing term for “there is a view” on this continent, but in this case the application really was appropriate. The river bisecting the city draws activity to its shores. This includes Hungary’s gorgeous parliament building as well as a small fleet of tourist river cruisers. The wooded cliffs behind us were nearly as good.

We took pictures in the bath with the Danube behind. Another friendly Englishman offered to take one for us. This trip has unexpectedly engendered a warm feeling for the people of the United Kingdom. I think I may be feeling what GI’s of past wars felt when the found themselves next to a British unit on the front line. I don’t know these guys, can’t find their hometowns on a map. They customs may strike me as odd and the differences between us may get on my nerves but I’m always grateful that they’re around.

We talked in the sauna and he told me he was traveling solo to see a friend in Serbia. I hope the ongoing political upheaval didn’t ruin his trip. I never got his name.

Once we were good and relaxed, we got ourselves worn out again hiking around Buda Castle district. I’ll be light on details here as we found ourselves with some professional colleagues of Liz’s who’d come to meet us for the day. Suffice it to say that our hosts were gracious and the castle town was beautiful. I found the Magyar style of brightly colored roofs atop big austere buildings charming. Our hosts were embarrassed at the volume of construction, renovation, and upkeep going on. This was hardly a phenomenon unique to Hungary. Going to Europe outside of peak tourist season in the summer means you dodge some crowds but the scaffolds are in full bloom to prepare for that seasonal peak. I’m at peace with the trade off.

Our hosts furnished us with home-made cookies straight from a Magyar mother’s oven and we picked up our bags en route to the Airbnb. It was a fashionable loft with a bad lock situation. I was happy that we only dealt with it for one night.

Liz collapsed. I had fantastic roman style street pizza at a place whose name escapes me and then several large pilsners around the corner at a pub called Potkulcs. I’m batting 1.000 on bars so far. They had a string trio inside getting after it. I drank the lion’s share of our remaining Hungarian florins in a very writerly fashion and longed for another day in Budapest, at least. I wanted to track down some proper goulash and chicken paprikash. Even if I’d had the time I don’t think I would have taken my English friend’s recommendation and visited the HOUSE OF TERROR museum chronicling the Nazi and Soviet occupation. Sorry, mate. Been enough of that on this trip.

Written on the train leaving Vienna for Prague. Running behind as always.