Vienna and Budapest



MONDAY, June 5, 1995.

It's strange how quickly I can reenter travel mode. I've been out of Zurich since Friday night, but it feels longer. Zurich? I live there? It all feels like some strange temporary game or fantasy. What happened to the week? Tuesday night I went out with Patricia from work - she's Swiss, but both of her parents are from Italy. It's pretty cool because we can send each other e-mail in Italian. The original plan was to go out in search of a decent cappuccino (becoming the story of my life) and it evolved to include dinner also. We went for Mexican at a place she knew. I had a burrito and a margherita. All I can say is, "No, that wasn't a burrito." It was perfectly edible, but I wouldn't call it a burrito. The margherita was pretty lame also. I've also noticed that the cleaning help at the bank doesn't speak Spanish. On Wednesday night, I went out for my first (but I assure you not last, though I have to wait for colder weather) taste of Swiss fondue on a cold, rainy night with Andre's girlfriend, Anna. It was a nice welcome to Zurich.

Friday night, I rolled out of Zurich (a few minutes late) on the brand new "City Night Line" train to Vienna. Today is a holiday so I just had to take advantage of the three- day weekend for another little trip. Even a few weeks ago all the beds were booked, so I ended up in a corridor style car with strange looking reclining seats which arched up over your head for no reason (it seemed) other than to position a little reading lamp with a twist adjustable aperture. We were a train full of little kids again playing with our new toys, the seats. Everyone kept reclining, returning to the upright position, turning the lights on and off by twisting them. Oh, brother. I slept off and on and arrived in Vienna, dead tired from the trip and another frantic (but fun) week in Zurich. On the one hand, it seemed as if I'd hardly gotten back from Prague, but now on a new adventure, Prague seemed like ages ago. I'd called all of the hostels and cheap hotels listed in Let's Go during the week and everything was booked. A few places told me to try again when I arrived on Saturday morning. Luckily, I found a bed in a little private apartment gone hostel; there were two private doubles and a co-ed room which slept ten - that's where I stayed. The place was run by a woman who spoke perfect English and liked to show it off with her use of sarcasm in posted signs. For example:

Please make no noise after 10PM -

whisper if necessary

(snoring allowed).

She saw my address was in Zurich and asked me, "Do you speak German?"

"No."

"Me neither," she admitted.

The place was clean and easy to find. The only problem was that there were only one toilet and one shower for the fourteen guests. This translates into long waits. I got up "early," at 8 on Sunday, to try and beat the rush - I only had to wait a shower and a half.

Prague is a hard act to follow considering how it wowed my experienced European trousers off, but still, Vienna underwhelmed me at first. Naturally mood and attitude are always a factor. The weather was hot and sunny, but I was really tired and wondering (and knowing) why I'd forced myself back out on the road again so soon. I liked the Rathaus and the spunky red trams (as opposed to the drab blue in Zurich). I did the usual wander and look routine. The closer I got to the Stephansdom (the church in town - great roof, average interior), the more horse drawn buggies I saw. The drivers were all in period costume and wearing great hats. I wonder if a tourist in New York visits Central Park South and concludes that horse drawn buggies are pervasive in the city. This was the conclusion I was tempted to draw in Vienna. But I stopped myself before it was too late.

I stumbled across a little outdoor food fair (but damn it - I wasn't hungry) with people selling wines, mustards, and baked goods including Nussklupferl, a delicious and hearty pastry. I almost gave in to a piece of aromatic meat with heavenly looking sauteed potatoes but they weren't quite ready. There were light wood picnic tables (somehow more appealing than the ugly brown ones I'm used to), a guy playing a strange-looking Spanish? string instrument, and people selling cheese and meats. Really a gourmet delight. There were people there but it wasn't packed - just right. Dad would have loved it. I walked away savoring the mustard I had tasted.

The downtown shopping area near the Stephansdom seemed to attract the most people but it wasn't anything to cheer about - though it did have its share of ornate Eastern European architecture. From there, I poked around the Imperial palace and then slept for about an hour and a half laying in a big green field in Heldenplatz. I woke up occasionally when the sun ducked behind a cloud and looked up to catch a glimpse of a perpetually smooching young American couple. I wished that were me. There was a fountain nearby where I saw a stunning blond woman in a long, thin, tight but flowing black cotton dress and Doc Martin boots playing ball with her three year old son and it was really cute. I wanted to photograph them, but I just couldn't. It was just so great to watch.

Photos of Vienna

Photos of Vienna

Photos of Vienna

From there, I went looking for the Hundertwasser Haus and because of an error on my map, found the Hundertwasser museum instead, but it was a welcome find. The gift shop paid tribute to other weirdos such as Dali and Gaudi. Hundertwasser isn't Spanish (I think he's from New Zealand, but I'm not sure) but he fits right in. He had lots of crazy, colorful art, but Miro is better. Hundertwasser's architectural models were much more interesting than his paintings. In fact, he designed the museum itself, complete with wavy, bumpy, uneven floors. He thought that people were meant to walk on the uneven terrain of the earth and that by always walking on artificially flat surfaces we're denying ourselves a whole universe of sensory experience. I have to admit that it did feel neat the way my feet and ankles reacted to the floor, but then again I also tripped a few times while looking at the paintings. After the museum, I found his apartment building and took too many pictures of its facade filled with primary colors, strange columns, checkerboards and glass.

From the Hundertwasser Haus I decided to head back to the hostel. I was primarily motivated by some sleep deprivation inspired delusion that I might have time take a nap before the Opera. All day I'd been considering the possibility of going to Budapest on Sunday. Vienna didn't seem that super exciting and if I went to Budapest while I was so close, I could save myself the trip back out that way. I had mixed feelings because I knew I'd miss something in Vienna, but I stopped off at the train station and got tickets to go Sunday morning and come back mid-day on Monday. (OK, so I'm crazy). By the time I got back to the hostel, I certainly didn't have time for a nap. Instead, I decided that I needed a Viennese dessert experience before the opera. I simply took a deep breath, splashed cold water on my face, and went out to find a coffee shop. I found not really a coffee shop, but a nice place with an outside walled courtyard with trees and ivy, and the evening air was pleasant. They had passable cappuccino and a superb individual-sized delicate chocolate sponge cake with chocolate sauce and fresh whipped cream. Yum.

I was quite impressed by the Opera house - more by the lobby than the theater. As for the opera - it was visually creative. It was some modern opera named "Gesualdo." There were lots of doors and screens and long shadows and projections. At the beginning, a huge white sheet covered everything on the stage including chairs and even a person. Then a panel lifted and you saw a bride walking from right to left across the back of the stage with the train of her dress dragging behind her. As she walked and more of her dress appeared, the sheet was pulled back as if they were one and the same. Weird. At the end of the opera, the sheet was pulled back over everything. The show included scantily dressed opera singers rolling around together on a bed. Like I said, it was all very visually compelling but I didn't like the music. Afterward, I finally went back to the hostel and went to bed. No Swedish girls were waiting for me this time.

Sunday morning, still uncertain about leaving Vienna so soon, especially without yet experiencing an authentic Viennese cafe, I left for Budapest on the 10 AM Orient Express (I just kept thinking murder). I arrived in Budapest completely clueless and planning to just accept an offer to stay in a private home. Let's Go assured me there would be people asking. I got off the train, didn't see much of anything in the train station, went outside, didn't see much of anything there either, and got a bit panicked. Now, non-metaphorically speaking, perspective is everything - I don't have eyes in the back of my head. If my train had come in on a track on the other side of the station where everything is, I'd have had a completely different first impression. Once on the right side of the tracks, I was suddenly in a discussion with a Hungarian woman, her daughter and son. Wielding photos and maps and a desperate smile, she sold me and some Chinese guy on her home for less than nine dollars for the night. We were both interested in it being near the Metro though she kept telling us that we'd walk everywhere. We rode one stop in the metro with her son. When we came up to the street, he pointed down the road,"See that yellow building there? That's the station." and it seemed foolish to have taken the Metro. I did ride the metro a few times and it was useful a couple of those times, but she was right - walking sufficed.

The apartment was two blocks off of a big street in a deserted, run down neighborhood with a burned down hotel on the corner. The building was in a state of decay, though it had a beautiful mosaic Madonna in the foyer. There was a yellowed 1984 decree of some kind posted on the wall, one paragraph of which was completely crossed out. I can only wonder why this paper is still posted at all or what that paragraph said. The elevator worked but was intimidating enough to scare off even the mildest elevator-phobic person (I rode in it. For some reason, it seems that I've dated a lot of elevator-phobic women). Something about the mailboxes in the lobby made me doubt that more than one parcel arrived per week for the entire building. The apartment itself was a bit nicer. They had a TV to occupy their time. Mom and son had little beds in the TVffront entry room. The rest of the place - two and a half rooms and bath -were converted into a guest house. The bathroom needed renovation badly but was clean and had good hot water. Most of the light fixtures didn't work. They were definitely poor and I'd say unemployed and husbandffather-less and struggling to get by with the rooming business. It looked as if they made improvements when they could, and they had even put up some posters in the guest rooms for decor. I spotted a course curriculum of some sort and gathered that the dream is to educate the son. I think they'll make it. Mom's English wasn't very good, but the son spoke pretty well.

When I was leaving Budapest early this afternoon, the woman (back at the station to recruit more guests) approached me and asked me to help her sell her place to four girls from Italy. I was torn at heart. I saw an honest woman scraping to get by and build a future - but four girls in a neighborhood that made ME nervous to return to at night with a not-so-nice bathroom? I reluctantly agreed to help. Fortunately, she left me alone with them. I told the girls the truth - which I suppose wasn't a whole-hearted recommendation, but I couldn't, wouldn't tell them not to go.

In so far as Westernization is concerned, Budapest is in a strange state. It's got more than the usual share of McDonald's, Pizza Huts, KFCs, Wendy's, Burger Kings, and even Dunkin' Donuts (I have a bag on display in my apartment now). There are technology shops selling PCs, software and even HP oscilloscopes! They even have a shop called NY Bagels (yes, I tried a bagel - remember those burritos in Zurich? same thing). The castle district and the old town (in Buda on the west bank of the Danube) are as charming as anything, yet somehow the city as a whole felt too dirty and too empty in most of the streets (outside of the old town in Buda, and in Pest, on the other side of the river). There are still lots of communist spec "go boxes" parked on the streets. There are too many broken and run down buildings and streets are just starting to be renovated. They obviously don't have the money. They need another five years and some kind of big party to lift everyone's spirits, but I see potential. They should send out some scouts to Prague for ideas. An interesting tidbit - though most of the shops were closed on Sunday, and then again on Monday because of the holiday - there were people selling books everywhere. They had tables set up on the sidewalks. Booths set up in the squares. The magazine and newspaper stands were closed, but you could buy all the books your heart desired. I guess this is an important post-communist freedom.

Photos of Budapest

Photos of Budapest

I'm sitting now in Demel - a great Viennese Coffee shop and it IS impressive. Marble topped wooden tables with brass trim in a fancy room. Real black leather seats. Beveled mirrors. Metalwork chandeliers. A display case for the cakes that does them justice. A cafe dream. A read, write and muse paradise. Words don't capture it, but it ain't modern and it don't exist in Cupertino. Waitresses in black dresses with white aprons, black shoes and white collars. Being here makes me think about the dwindling of everyday extravagance. Get rid of Price Club and bring back the local shops - the local Candy stores - ice cream parlors. This morning I was in another fabulous coffee shop - that one Hungarian - complete with crystal chandeliers. It was different than this one - a bit less formal and with more of a "to go" business, but fabulous in its own right. I loved the elegant wrapping paper beautifully presented on three brass spools. Over the door here at Demel is a window mounted air conditioner - sure it's ugly, but it has charm after I've been numbed by central air conditioning and buildings where the windows don't open (of course, I long for central air conditioning at UBILAB - I guess it's comfortably numbing, especially in the summer).

I wonder what that coffee shop in Budapest was like under communism. I have all sorts of simple, naive questions. Was it a coffee shop then too? If so, who went there? Could regular people afford to go? What the heck was life like for the people then? If I spoke the languages, I'd tour Eastern Europe interviewing people about their experiences living under communism. The more I think about it, the more curious I am about the Russians during and after World War II and their relationship with the United States.

In downtown Budapest I saw a giant, modern hotel - quite nice with a smooth stone face with nice curves and yet so ugly in the context, so wrong and rude. While I'd rush to it in Orlando, in Budapest I'd prefer to stay in the apartment where I stayed. I want character. My day in Budapest was the day of my twenty-fourth birthday. For once, I'll say that I feel older than last year. California feels far away and college is a lifetime ago. Hard to believe I was ever a high school student in New Jersey. Yet I can remember things from nursery school in Brooklyn as if they happened yesterday.

I also went to the Opera in Budapest. Gee, three operas in two weeks - four since December - and a twenty-three year dry spell before that. The Budapest State Opera house is my favorite so far. It has another tremendous lobby, but it was the theater that got me. It was all in gold - ornate gold work everywhere. Somehow, for six dollars, I had fifteenth row center orchestra. I couldn't have had a better seat for a bad opera. It wasn't just me - I saw other people looking at each other and biting their tongues. The female lead frequently had her voice drowned out by the orchestra. In one scene, she was disrobing and throwing her clothes - she just couldn't get them off. Yet earlier, she couldn't get her crown to stay on. It was not meant to be a comedy. Somehow it was all ridiculous. Lucky for the cast and crew, there was no intermission. I'm not sure anyone would've come back for more.

After the opera I went to a Hungarian restaurant for Paprika Veal with Gnocchi - good solid Hungarian grub. I overheard some rowdy Americans at another table. I didn't want to spend my whole birthday alone, so I walked up to their table and introduced myself. They were three Californians from LA (talk about a foreign culture) who'd met each other at their hotel in Budapest two days ago. He was a thirty year old writer for Spin. The two women, in their mid-twenties, were in the TV advertising business and had quit their jobs to spend three months in Europe - future uncertain. I hung out with them and went for beers at a Spanish hangout we'd all read about in Let's Go. The place was pretty lame and the conversation was boring, but I was happy to have a little company and let them buy me a few birthday drinks. Really, they were on a completely different wave length - but better company than no one.

The afternoon I spent in Vienna after returning from Budapest (sorry to keep jumping around) improved my opinion of the city tremendously. I got a great night's sleep and was finally awake. On Saturday, I'd been walking around like a zombie. Vienna is filled with beautiful architecture and plenty of cafes and restaurants. Not a bad town at all. I can see the appeal to writers, and wouldn't mind hanging out there to write a short story or two myself. Before catching the train back to Zurich, I got myself lost in the streets and soaked in the architecture and the street names. I spotted the Grillparzergasse - something that all of you Garp fans out there will appreciate. The yellow evening light was fabulous on the buildings. If I hadn't already been packed full of Esterhazy and wired on coffee I would've hit another cafe. Then it was back in the reclining seats with the twist adjustable reading lights for the trip back to Zurich.



Copyright 1997 by Bradley Edelman
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E-mail: Brad Edelman