AngeLog

Getting public transport from the airport to a new city always gives the most honest and raw perspective. Usually the airport line is the newest and swankiest, but not so in Budapest. The 200 bus dropped us at the metro station blue line and after dragging out luggage up a set of ourdoor stairs we had to adjust our eyes to the smoke-filled gloominess of inside. To the left was tough skinny woman (probably with no teeth) holding a puppy to her face so it could lick her, and to the right was a shop front bar, probably with poker machines as often turned out to be the case at Budapest metro stations. Then on asking for a metro map we were told it costs. I actually got quite excited by this whole scene - a new city to explore without the hordes of tourists. I’d hoped it’d be just like discovering various Asian cities for the first time.

But it’s Europe, so of course there were heaps of tourists.

There were also monuments and museums galore so I won’t mention them all. The National Gallery in the old Castle had some great 20th century paintings by unfamiliar Hungarian artists, but it was the only gallery we made it into. Luckily on the first evening a relative of Peter’s gave us a personalised drive-by tour of the sites of Budapest. Funnily enough she’s an academic in Australian Studies in Budapest and speaks with a perfectly neutral accent when speaking English.

On another evening we went north to meet another relative for dinner. He gave us an excellent post-dinner tour of an area that was a combination of 70s communist apartments, beautiful turn of the century buildings and Roman ruins discovered when constructing highway flyovers. Now that’s diversity.

Did I mention it was hot? Mid-30s is too hot to be walking around any city let alone one that is very concrete on one half (the Buda half is hilly, green and mostly residential the Pest half is flatter, more concrete and the ‘CBD’). On the first day we went to Margaret Island - a huge car free island in the middle of the Danube. On the island is Palatinus Baths, a rather impressive water park with every type of pool imaginable - wave pool, waterslides, fountains, massage jets, lap pools and on and on. Quite fun. Of course, no Hungarian attraction is complete without the ability to buy beer, sausages, and deep fried bread (Langos) with sour cream.

On our last afternoon we did the final relative visiting, this time with a feisty 96 year old great aunt I’d heard a lot about. Her apartment not far back from the Danube was covered with books and paintings. As well as Hungarian she speaks English, German, French and Russian - she mentioned that being able to read Dostoevsky’s work in it’s original language was inspiration for her learning Russian. Good thing that after a week in Paris I was already comfortable with my inability to speak anything other than English.

I should also mention that all above occasions involved lots of food - have more biscuits, have more beer, do take a bigger piece of foie gras (ew), etc etc.

And oh how I wished for those extra biscuits when we were delayed for 6 hours on our overnight train to Krakow. But that’s another story.

Pompidou, Musee d’Orsay, Louvre - done, done and done. Thanks to a professional card I borrowed I was able to zip into each for free and avoid the lines. The Louvre has all the ambience of a Westfield shopping centre these days but those Italian painters and the outside square are still spectacular.

After exiting the Louvre late in the evening a few police on rollerblades sped past. Yes, police on rollerblades. If only I’d been quick enough to get a photo. I soon realised they would be heading to the massive Friday night cityskate that happens in Paris. I didn’t have my rollerblades with me so we headed to a French-ish restaurant on Rue de Berger across from the park which surrounds St Eustace church.

Another day brings another Sydney friend who has relocated to Paris. Oli moved over to play with the band Nouvelle Vague amongst other things. He explained the intricacies of French social security as we ate pizza from a Saturday market at the end of our street. Yes, he’s thoroughly enjoying the French lifestyle in case you were wondering.

Saturday evening was our last in Paris and it also happened to be Fete de la Musique. Hundreds and hundreds of bands play for free in the streets and cafes of Paris all night. Fifty metres from our place in one direction was hardcore doof music outside of a Thai restaurant, and fifty metres in the other direction that was drowned out by a rock band, and then further down the street was some traditional music. It’d never happen in Sydney without being interupted by laminated signs, public service ads in the paper, security staff, noise complaints etc etc.

We were heading out to the 20th to see some US folky bands at La Fleche d’Or. It’s a way cool grungey venue that was probably once a train station. You can sit in the back eating and looking down through broken windows onto the end of an abandoned train line with kids picnicing on it. I passed on the 7 euro mojito but damn those Parisiens do a good Rose.

At 6am on Sunday morning we were on our way to the airport for our flight to Budapest and the Fete de la Musique crowds were still heading home.

The sun shines til 10pm. Dinner comes even later. We eat raspberries and cherries in the afternoon. Croissants and baguettes from the boulangerie around the corner in the mornings. Parisians young and old, fashionable and, well, still fashionable, whiz by on bikes and scooters. They sit on cane chairs outside of cafes throughout the days drinking coffee and through the evenings drinking beer in the sun -every day of the week!

So after these observations I’ve decided you really need to be born here and brought up here to successfully pull all of this off. But it’s nice to drop in on the vibe for a week.

Yesterday we walked from our apartment in the Marais across the Seine to St Germain. Wandered through the famous Shakespeare & Co bookshop and then the less famous The Village Voice bookshop. Somewhere in between was a Camper store I managed to avoid buying something at. We took a Metro further out of town, found there was nothing there but saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance so walked towards it and finally under it.

A billboard ad told us there was a Bridget Riley exhibition on at the Musee d’Arts Moderne so we found it next, stopping outside at a fresh food market to get a small bag of fantastic olives.

Later in the afternoon we headed north on the bustling narrow footpaths in search of a record store. Luckily for me we found Maureen along the way and I’m now one green felt bag richer.

The evening brought with it a trip to Pigalle for a free gig by a Icelandic post-rock band at Divan du Monde. We then met up with Nick, a Sydney friend who has moved to Paris, and he took us to a grungy bar by a canal a couple of metro stops away in the 10th.

For anyone subscribing via RSS, come over and check out my new design especially pimped for our upcoming trip to Europe.

Wanna know where? Check out the map

When? Oh about 14 hours from now.

This is one fantastic city. There’s something beautiful to look at in every direction - old and ornate terraces, new and shiny skyscrapers, tulips in bloom on the sidewalk and the fog covering up the tips of buildings.

And the people are nice, the food is good, the transport works. We’re just back from seeing an excellent play by one of my favourite playwrights, Harold Pinter, called The Betrayal which was on at the Stephenwolf Theatre. There’s still the Art Institute of Chicago and Millenium Park to go.

Can I stay here?