First-day jitters

I picked out a few small identifiable goals on my first full day in Budapest: Make the bike ridable, get a two-week transport pass, find Vorosmarty Square. If I'm not in my immediate neighborhood or retracing my steps, I become lost every 200 yards. I hope others share this steep learning curve in a new city. No, really, I do. Blessedly, there are little "ters" or parks and squares, all over the place where I can sit and re-navigate. Temperatures are in the high 70s; room temp in the shade.

Pumping up these knobby mountain-bike tires with a leaky hand device was an aerobic adventure. My landlord thoughtfully provided a crescent wrench for the seatpost adjustment. The saddle is still a smidge low, but the last thing I want to do is pull the post out of the frame; they can be a bitch to put back in. The bike isn't as cool-looking as my ride in Turin, but it has a little more giddyup and appears to have the insane gear range people demand these days. I don't think they even make 10-speeds any more.

So the bike's ready.

Getting the two-week pass was one of those early-trip boondoggles. There is a major metro stop called Deak Ferenc, where all three lines intersect. I descend into the beast, looking for a cashier but am stopped.

"Where's your ticket?"

"I want to buy a two-week pass."

"Can't get 'em here." (I have saved you, dear reader, the gesticulations and riffling through Hungarian-English dictionaries, and the head-scratching and head-shaking that resulted in the distilled conversation above.)

I find a cashier down another hallway. Nope, she says. Try the Blue Line exit.

She's speaking through glass. "What was that?"

She screams now, pointing over the American devil's shoulder.

"THE BLUE LINE EXIT!"

Now you Magyars correct me if I'm wrong, but it appears you can't enter the subway, ticketless, and find where the red line intersects with the blue line and buy a ticket. You must return to the street, and look around. The red line has a big red "M." The blue line -- nothing. So for the next 45 minutes I'm a prairie dog, popping out of this hole and that until I find the blue line, which, as far as I knew was going to be an underground toilet. Because I don't know how to say "Szeretnek egy kethetes berletet csinaltatni a mal naptol" ("I'd like to have a two-week pass made starting today"), I hold up a piece of paper to the glass, like a Romanian Gypsy trying to figure out the NYC subway. It is a minor indignity.

So the two-week pass is ready.

Task 3 was Vorosmarty Square. Why? Well, just because I need a few small identifiable goals and because it looks like a good jumping-off point for taking several walkabouts. Again, difficult, even though it's on every map ever printed of Pest. I know the ordinary rules of living aren't suspended when you're in a new place, but for the first 72 hours it seems like they are. By Day 3 or 4 you're swimming with the other fishes.

So Vorosmarty Square is ... ready. I think I can find it tomorrow. Here's a picture of it in case you find yourself in my clown shoes.


The principal attraction of the square is the world-famous confectioner's Gerbaud, which I understand still has all its 19th-century furnishings. I ask a girl to take my picture.


I proceed to the nearby Szechenyi Lanchid for a stroll across the Danube.


The Chain Bridge was built between 1842 and 1849. Yes, the Germans did blow up all the city's bridges in January 1945 as the Soviet army approached, but in this case they brought down only the center span, rendering the bridge useless, but making the rebuilding task that much easier. Rather sporting.

I know the lions post-date the bridge's construction, but I'm not sure if they were here in WWII or not. No bullet holes.


Might I suggest once having crossed into Buda, hew to the right and take the Kiraly Iepsco stairs up Castle Hill? Not that taking the funiculaire is gay or anything. (Did you see what I did there?)


I'm lost at the top and stop to consult with Zoltan Kodaly, mentor to Bela Bartok and a fine composer in his own right. I once listened to his concerto for orchestra at the University of Arizona's Centennial Hall, conducted by Ashkenazy. Anyway, he's crying a purple tear. Must be that "patriotic sadness" that all these Central European states have a name for. Or perhaps my hair is so short, he can smell my brains. (Tip o' the hat to Nell Carter from "Gimme a Break!")


From up here you have a good view of Pest. Unfortunately, the Hotel Intercontinental (center-right), built in the early '80s, has done much damage to the skyline. A grade-schooler could tell you it doesn't belong.


I'm not sure what to make of the Turul Bird statue on Castle Hill. It's a strikingly beautiful evocation of Magyar folklore, but for some it's a militaristic, even anti-Semitic, remnant of uglier times. This is way out of my depth. An interesting discussion can be found here.


A detail of a water sculpture outside the National Gallery by Alajos Strobl.


The Nazis made their last stand on this hill during the siege of Budapest. This was all Reds vs. Krauts stuff. Kilroy was definitely not here. Some pretty good artillery gouges remain on this building, possibly the former Ministry of Defense. Corrections welcomed; I'm just a clueless tourist.


By midafternoon, the tour buses are chugging up the hill one after another and my "Toy Town" alarm is going off. Still haven't seen the Fishermen's Bastion or St. Matthias Church or the House of Hungarian Wines or Batthyany Palace or the catacombs. I will return if only to see the 19th-century collection of Hungarian art at the National Gallery. Buda is pretty vast, and people actually live here, but I've funneled myself into a heavily touristed area and it's time to get out.

Back home in Pest, this is where I lay my head.


The door opens to this courtyard of the former Swedish Embassy, where many Jews were hidden during the war.


The building dates from the 1890s. I found a floor tile that said 189 ... and the last number was worn away. My kitchen:


And bedroom:


The crapper you can visualize. After one more day, more likely two, my navigational "light" will go on, and this great European capital will lay at my feet. Nell Carter might have something to say about that, too.