Budapest Day Two

Day two, what can I say, it was extremely long and tiresome they way we traveled all around Budapest, but it never does feel like a long time when you are having such a great time and we were. And the pure physical pain and weariness in your bones finds a way to disappear when you are just twenty or so steps from one of the most spectacular views you have ever seen in your life.

We started out our day by going to a little café, which you can find pictures of on Andrea’s Facebook. One picture in the album describes the café to perfection. I made Andrea take it. It is the picture of Andrea’s laptop, next to my latte, next to the chocolates, cinnamon and other assorted goodies the café gives you to put in the drink of your choice, it shows everything elegant and special about that café. Now, as Andrea wrote in her caption of the pictures of the café, it was excessively expensive and ordering even an appetizer was out of the question. However, it did work out as the ideal place to relax, write a little, sip on a latte, and begin my morning. I was able to talk Andrea into get a breakfast coffee with Amaretto, which she did not want, but I knew she would enjoy. It is not like she got drunk or anything of the sort, but it was tasty and gave her an extra little perk for the long day we had ahead of us. I cannot say enough, it was the perfect way for us to start our day and it was within a stone’s throw of the Fine Art’s Museum.

The outside of the Museum was spectacular with its enormous roman-like columns lining the front of the building; it was as if it was a transplant from Rome. It is interesting as we travel around Eastern Europe and see all the amazing building, thinking this building should belong here or that building should belong there. To walk through the streets of ageless cities, which have pulled their architecture from all different areas and all different areas, is an honor. Walking up the steps to the entrance of the Museum, past the massive Roman columns, and under the beautifully chiseled roof of the entranceway, we noticed a little stand selling breakfast pastries. It was run by a man who told us all the pastries were homemade by him, whether it was true or not, they were mouth-watering and they definitely fit our budget much better than the café we had just left. If you ask me, the pastries we ate sitting there on the steps to the museum could easily be served in the café across the street from an arm and leg, and no one would be the wiser. I thought about how funny things are in that way, people paying for the atmosphere more than the quality of the meal, as we gazed out on the sun shining down on the historic Hero’s Square right across the street, watching children playing, parents watching carefully, and tourists taking pictures of the whole scene, the spectacular monuments, the amazing fountains, everything.

With our stomachs now filled we walked through the grand entrance of the Museum of Fine Arts. The building was full of extraordinary pieces of arts; I will not go through each one I loved one by one. However, I would like to share just three aspects of necessity to mention. First, the interior of the building itself was to marveled at for hours, one would not even have to glance at a single painting or artifact and one would be happy with their admission cost. Two, they sure had a tremendous amount of religious paintings, and I mean a lot. I think a whole floor was dedicated to Jesus, not saying it is a bad thing, but both Andrea and I agreed it did get a little repetitive. I hope the last sentence is considered blasphemy. The on slot of religious paintings, baby Jesus, grown up Jesus, baby Jesus, and one again, you guessed it, grown up Jesus, brought an idea for a book to me. I am sure it has been done a million times over, one hears about when Jesus was born, cute, miracle baby, everyone visits, then hid, and then they hear about Jesus when he was thirty or so, creating miracles and the like, then being crucified, but what about all those years in the middle. I am thinking, one day; I would like to write a novel about all those between years. Once again, it may be blasphemy, but I would like to right about Jesus getting into trouble with Mary in his teens and about Jesus trying to discover just who he is, like we all do, throughout his twenties. I think it would be a fun and interesting fictional story. It may lead me to be burned at the cross or something; you never know when it comes to the defaming of a religious icon. To me though, it would not be anything like defaming, everyone has a journey to which they become, and where are his stories and what was it like for him going up, the good and bad alike. Lastly, I am going to mention my favorite painting. I know everyone is going to think I am just a jumping on the bandwagon of a famous artist, but you know what, I don’t care, because if you saw this Rembrandt painting you would too. What particularly struck me about the painting was simply the man’s face. It was so real, it really did not even look like a painting, the way Rembrandt was able to capture every line, every wrinkle, every shadow and shade on the old man’s face as he worked baling hay was truly immaculate. Feel free to leave comments about my book idea. Would you read it or would you be one of the ones helping to light the cross.

Walking from the Museum we headed directly across the street to the view we had during our delicious breakfast, Hero’s Square. It had been a remarkable view for our small and delectable breakfast, but now, it was so much more. The vastness of this square was surprising. It did not look as huge as it truly was from the steps of the Museum. And if you have not yet taken advantage of Andrea’s pictures on her Facebook I definitely recommended you do now, if only to see the sheer size of this Square. There is one picture of the square where if you look closing you can find me in a red sweatshirt, I am just a mere dot, but I promise I am there to the left side of the main monument. Having the ability to compare me to the monuments and the Square as a whole might give you a better idea of the size of it, much better than I can with words, plus, it is just a cool picture. For me, it was not so much the Square that made an impression on me, although it did, but it was more the people that inhabited it on that beautiful morning. We found a group of teenagers who seemed as though they were having so sort of dance off. I had never seen such dancing. Not a lot of upper body movement, but they sure did move their legs quick. Foolishly, with the one break dancing move I know I decided it would be a good idea to walk up to these dancers and show them my one move. I had the intend of trying to teach the young teenagers how to do the move, but I definitely came off as some silly foreigners who was trying to show off and did it very badly. In the Square there was also a group of skateboards who were doing tricks on the monuments. Now, some of you may consider it disrespectful, but to me it was the most brilliant type of art. Watching these modern men performing feats of skills on monuments that were hundreds of years old was a combination illuminating not just the skateboarders, but in a way bringing these ancient monuments to life, and I was sure glad I have no clue how to skateboard.

From the square we walked back toward the Metro stop we had to gotten off at earlier on that perfect morning. We took a different route this time. We walked through the park, which held the Metro stop rather than around it. As we walked Andrea noticed off to our side a castle. This castle was small. Small in comparison to all the rest of the castles we had been seeing, picture the biggest house in West Bloomfield, and then you got about the size. It was free to walk the grounds and Andrea really wanted to look around. I, on the other hand, made the decision to sit in the beautiful park we were walking through and take a little time to write. Andrea was not gone long, maybe half of an hour, I got a little writing done; we were both happy. For a minute as I glanced at the pictures Andrea had taken from inside the castle I almost second guessed my decision, but it didn’t last long. I was perfectly content with my choice to sit on a park bench in Budapest and do one of the things I love most in life, write. I can’t even remember what I actually wrote or if I even kept it, but just to let lose your thoughts is rejuvenating. With the new found energy we hopped onto the Metro and headed toward the center of Budapest, which is right near the Danube River.

This is where the unfortunate, not to be told again, hamburger incident happened. I will tell you, though. I was planning on sitting in that restaurant/café and writing while Andrea when in Saint Stephen’s church. It could have only had the right to say I wrote in their establishment, but no, they ruined it by being rude to me over my dislike of onions and their misunderstanding of how “all” hamburgers are made “all” over the world.

Instead, while Andrea went off to the interior of St. Stephen’s church, I went to a café down the street, had a nice big piece of chocolate cake to wipe the thoughts of the prior experience from my mind, and I wrote. Some of you may be wondering, that is twice in a row, he did not go with Andrea and see one of the famous sights of Budapest. How stupid is he? My only argument against my stupidity of missing the interior of the castle and St. Stephen’s is that I will probably, I don’t know, but probably never get a chance again in my life to sit quietly in a café in Budapest and just pour my thoughts into the computer. (Quick side note: I want to refer to my writing as putting my words or thoughts or ideas down on paper, would it be incorrect? Figuring I am putting the words into a computer, I mean eventually, hopefully, those word will end up on paper in some form, but do I have to be literal?)

Anyway, like told you, I said and wrote at some café with a view of the Danube River until Andrea returned from her trek around St. Stephen’s. Once she arrived, I had polished off my off my latte, finished my mouthwatering cake, and got some good writing done, we headed back to our hostel for an early evening rest before going out for the night on Budapest. This was a rather interesting experiment. In our hands a list of recommended places by one of our travel guides and a few suggestions from the man working the desk at the hostel, and we started with the few we had found in our travel guide. They were clubs, which had live blues music, just not on the night or time we arrived, it was that which had intrigued me and Andrea obliged because she loves live music as much as me. The first club/bar/pub we went to was closed after searching what seemed like an hour for it. We both were frustrated, but our spirits were picked up when we decided to stop at this hole in the wall pub to have one drink and warm ourselves before attempting to find the next place on our list. Sitting in this place, which I am sure is on nobody’s “Best Pubs of Budapest” list, we discovered how nice it was to venture off the much followed path and try new places. It was a small pub, with an upstairs and a downstairs, all locals, no tourists, and we not only met our goal of warming, but we also found, so to say, “A diamond in the rough.”

It was also there we decided to forego the other clubs/pubs we had on our list from the traveler’s guide and try to check out the places which had be recommended for us, it had worked when we were in Vienna. No luck at the first place we stopped. It was very clubby, if that is even a word, loud techno music, all the people were dressed ready for the night club the place was, plus, there was a cover. Covers are something I very highly disagree with in most cases. Especially, in this case when the cover was being paid not to support a DJ or a band, but rather to allow you access to a hot night spot. Our walk up to the entrance of the club was a quick as walk from it. And from there we headed to another recommendation of the man working at the hostel just a few short blocks away. The next pub, which we were told was tamer, turned out to be exactly what we were looking for. It was not anything high class, not the type of place you would find a Paris Hilton-type (It is funny I can use her name and people will actually get my reference). Anyway, we did have to pay a cover at this pub as well, but as I mentioned before, I did not mind because the money was going to support the DJ. And though the DJ was horrible, he was playing good music when we arrived, nothing but seventies and eighties American dance music. I spent the first hour of our time in the place trying to either convince Andrea to dance with me or get Andrea’s permission to do my one break dancing move. Neither was I able to obtain, the break dancing denial probably in good taste and as much for the benefit of me as the lack of embarrassment for her. The problem arose when about an hour in our stay and Andrea had yet to dance with me to the music, which was good, there was a big change. The place had more crowded and the DJ switched to his techno music set and it lasted the rest of the night. Despite the change in music and atmosphere we still had a great time that evening and left smiling as we walked back to our hostel for the evening.