Budapest 17th to 21st Feb

My first impressions of Budapest were a stark contrast to the vibes from Slovenia and Croatia. Essentially, gone are the chills and we’re back to the hustle and bustle. I thought the city pace of life would make me feel at home, but it didn’t particularly. Also, this city feels like it’s exclusively occupied by couples…

On the Vienna scale (see Slovenia’s entry), Budapest is up there towards Vienna but a bit rougher round the edges which I like. The funny thing about the Vienna scale is I haven’t been to Vienna so don’t have any measure of the benchmark I’m using. But we press on.

Anyway, I’ve had a relatively long stay here, 4 nights, over which the city has really grown on me. The trams I am a big fan of, and the architecture is stunning – an eclectic mix of styles from Bourque, Neoclassical, to… (pause for Hugo to google) to gothic. But it all comes together beautifully. Much like Munich the central area has a height restriction, here at 96 meters – the height of St Steve’s Basillica (among other notable buildings). 96 meters chosen deliberately to mark the year 896AD when the Magyar tribes settled Budapest as their homeland (although as usual the Romans and many others were here before among others).

History (and/or myths) aside, this stay has marked a significant tipping point in my trip. I’ve reached the point where my loneliness outweighed my social anxiety of talking to new people. As such I’ve been out on the town making friends. I’ve refined my strategy to finding busy bars (either somewhat trendy ones or student ones), buying a drink and strolling around eavesdropping until I hear conversations in English and asking if I can pull up a chair. Somewhat remarkably this has actually gone quite well. So far I’ve joined a stag-do, got to know some students from Edinburgh uni and had a lovely evening with a rag-tag bunch. Said rag-tag bunch have requested a shout out in the blog, so this is for you Dan (the man, with he plan and the clan), Jade, Martin, and Mikhail.

I’ve also found quite a lot of success meeting people through walking tours. My revelation/refinement has been, the younger people tend to go for the 3pm tours rather than the 10/11am ones…

So I feel I’m coming out of my shell a bit, which is good, albeit somewhat unsettling…

However, Budapest marks the end of the European leg of my journey. And putting all integrity aside, I will be making my way to the airport. Warmer, more arid climes await…

PS: there is a bonus poem from a Hungarian poet below the photos.

Now, I’m not a huge one for poetry. However, I did enjoy this Ballad from János Arany: (sorry on behalf of János for its length)

Edward the King, the English King,
Rode on a dapple grey charger
‘I wish to know the worth’, said he,
‘of my Welsh lands over the border.

Is the grass rich for sheep and ox,
Are the soil and rivers good?
And are my provinces watered well
By rebel patriots’ blood?

And what of the people, the wretched people
Do they seem a contented folk?
Are they as docile, since I subdued them,
As their oxen in their yoke?’

‘Your Majesty Wales is the fairest jewel
You have in all your crown,
River and field and valley and hill
Are the best you may come upon.

And as for the people, the wretched people,
They live so happily, Sir,
Like so many graves their hamlets stand
And none there even stir.’

Edward the King, the English King,
Rode on a dapple grey charger,
Around him silence which way he want
In his Welsh lands over the border.

Montgomery the castle’s name,
Where he that night remained,
The castle’s lord, Montgomery,
His monarch entertained.

There was fish and flesh and whatever else
To sight and taste seemed good,
A rowdy throng, a hundred strong,
Bore in the heavy load.

All kinds were there, that isle could bear
Of meat and drink, with these
was bubbling wine that sparkling shone,
Carried from distant seas.

‘Ye Lords! ye lords! will no one here
His wine glass with me clink?
Ye lords! ye lords! ye rude Welsh curs,
Will none the King’s health drink?

There is fish and flesh and whatever else
To sight and taste seem best,

That I can see, but the devil I know
Dwells in each noble’s breast.

Ye lords! ye lords! ye vile Welsh curs,
Come greet your Edward;
Where is the man to sing my deeds
A Welshman and a bard?’

Each night upon the other looked
Of the guests assembled there;
Upon their cheeks a furious rage
Paled to a ghastly fear.

And strangled breath from lips like death
Was all that could be heard;
When, like a white defenceless dove
Arose an ancient bard.

‘Here there is one to tell thy deeds,’
Chanted the ancient seer;
‘The clash of battle, the hoarse death rattle,
The plucked strings made them hear.

The clash of battle, the hoarse death rattle,
On blood the sun setting;
The stench that drew night – prowling beasts.
You did all this, O King!

Ten thousand of our people slain,
The rest are gathering
The corpses heaped like harvest stocks –
You did all this, O King!’

‘Off to the stake! this song’s too harsh’.
Ordered King Edward.
‘Come, let us have a gentler tune’
Forth stepped a young Welsh bard.

‘Soft breezes sigh in the evening sky,
O’er Milford Haven blown;
Maids’ sobbing tears and widows’ prayers
Within those breezes moan.’

‘Don’t bear a race of slaves ye maids!
Mothers give such no more!’
The King spoke and the boy caught up
The old man sent before.

But though unasked, yet recklessly
Advanced, unmoved, a third
His lyre’s fierce song, like the Welsh bard strong,
And his word must be heard.

‘Our bravest fell on the battle field,
Listen O Edward –
To sing the praises of your name
There is not one Welsh bard!’

‘One memory sobs within my lyre,
Listen O Edward –
A curse on your brow every song you hear
From a Welshman and a bard!’

‘Enough of this! I orders give’
Answered the furious King,
‘To send to the stake all the bards of Wales
Who thus against me sing!’

His servants till their task was done
Their searching never ceased;
Thus grimly in Montgomery,
Ended that famous feast.

Edward the King, the English King,
Spurred his dapple grey charger.
On the skies around, stakes burning stand
In the Welsh lands over the border.

Five hundred went to a flaming grave,
And singing every bard.
Not one of them was found to cry
‘Long live King Edward!’

What murmur is this in the London streets?
What night song can this be?
‘I will have London’s Lord Mayor hanged
If any noise troubles me’.

Within, a fly’s wing must not move,
Outside all silence keep.
‘The man who speaks will lose his head
The monarch cannot sleep.’

‘No! Bring me the music of pipe and drum,
And the trumpet’s brazen roar,
For the curses I heard at the Welshman’s feast
Ascend to my ears once more!’

But above the music of pipe and drum
And the bugles’ strong refrain,
Loud cry those witnesses of blood,
Five hundred Welsh bards slain. (*)

(*)Although doubted by scholars, it is strongly held in the oral tradition that King Edward I of England had five hundred bards executed after his conquest of Wales in 1277, lest they incite the Welsh youth to rebellion by reminding them in their songs of their nation’s glorious past. Janos Arany.