heroes and fried dough

Early Tuesday morning, I was rudely awakened by the sound of loud Dutch and the clomping of heavy feet in hard-soled shoes. I was all set to write an entire post called "Double Dutch," dedicated to the two most obnoxious people I have ever had the misfortune of rooming with, who had absolutely no sense of empathy or respect for people who don't get up at 7:30 a.m. while on holiday. My anger at them has since faded— one even almost ran me over on a bicycle! I will add this, however: wouldn't it be great to be able to rate fellow hostel guests on a five star system based on factors like consideration for others and cleanliness?

So let's start over.


The sun came out and the sky was blue— it was a perfect day for wandering around town and getting purposely lost. Mirco and I grabbed tea and a bagel across the street at one of the many Coffee Heaven chain stores— somehow missing the exquisite afore mentioned pastry shop next door to it. With maps spread out on the wobbly table, pens in hand and a wedge of lemon in my tea, we plotted our way to Városliget, Budapest's city park, via the legendary Andrássy út, an avenue famous for its gorgeous palaces and buildings. Dating back to 1872, Andrássy is listed as a World Heritage Site— and it's easy to see why. The two sculpted façades I included in my eye candy post live on buildings along this lovely boulevard.


We couldn't resist stopping by the Hungarian State Opera House— unfortunately they only do guided tours at 3 and 4 p.m., and we were several hours too early. Instead, we wandered inside the lobby to marvel at whatever beautiful details we could see. I was particularly taken by the intricately illustrated ceiling and patterned floor— I can only imagine how opulent the auditorium must be. We peeked around marble columned corners to try and catch a glimpse of the grandeur inside, then carried on down Andrássy toward the park.

* * *

Suddenly, we found ourselves tiny, in the midst of a wide open square surrounded by impressive buildings— that could only be museums— and at the foot of an enormous monument of fierce men on horses, with a white pillar that stretched into the sky. The astoundingly grand Hősök tere, or Heroes' Square, is dedicated to Hungary's founding leaders and other figures of national significance, and marks the entrance to Városliget.

The world's first public park was brightly coloured in reds, oranges, yellows and greens; silent, except for the occasional hum of voices. Fairy-tale castles and proud statues peeked out in between the falling leaves. Városliget is home to a zoo, botanical gardens, a medicinal bath house, an amusement park and a circus— which though I was burning inside to see, I just couldn't bring myself near it. I've been so heartbroken over the loss of my trapezing days. There's been a massive hole in my life since I left San Francisco, that can only be filled by the pure joy of swinging high above the ground from a bar and some rope.


Upon entering the park, I made a beeline for the statue of Anonymus, a 13th century writer who was the first to chronicle the history of the Magyars, the Hungarian people. I was determined to seek him out for the sole purpose of rubbing his pen. I'm not a superstitious girl, but legend has it if an aspiring writer rubs the pen, they'll be granted with luck. How could I resist? I rubbed the hell out of that pen!

The hours of wandering had worked up an appetite in me, and the chill in the air was making me fantasise about little cups of hot mulled wine. We found a food stand across from the zoo that offered hotdogs and sausages, beer, and something called a lángos. I had no idea what it was, but apparently I could get one with garlic, cheese and ham. A handwritten sign taped by the opening in the window advertised what I hoped it would: forralt bor, hot mulled wine. I was overjoyed to discover I had ordered an enormous round of fried dough— I always make a point to sample the fried dough offerings of each country I visit. Mirco got a hotdog and perhaps the largest beer I ever have seen, and we took our snacks to the red benches by the pond to enjoy, watching the ducks and pigeons battle it out over crumbs of bread tossed by a little girl in a pink sweater.

first impressions

It was a drizzly, grey Monday afternoon when I took my first steps in Hungary. I was happy to discover that Ferihegy International Airport is small, easy to get around in, with the information desk conveniently located right past passport control. The woman at Information was so friendly and warm— she not only gave me a map of Budapest, but also a printout of instructions for taking public transport into the city, explaining that all bus and metro tickets can be purchased at any newsstand in town.

With bus and metro tickets in hand, I ventured out into the chilly damp air to look for the 200E bus to Köbánya Kispest, where I was to take the blue metro train to Nyugati station to meet my friend Mirco, who was waiting for me. I met Mirco and his friends on my Cappadocian adventure in April— truly marvellous people with great senses of humour and curiosity. I've discovered it's quite hard to find people with whom you can travel well; everyone has their own internal clocks, some people like to walk more than others, there are wanderers and there are step-by-step guide-followers. Since Mirco and I have similar interests and what I consider an excellent rapport (plus he hadn't been to Budapest either), he flew in from Ireland to join me and become my first Travel Pal— Travelling Collaborator? Adventure Associate? I'm working on a term.

The train was old and rattly with a hospital green interior that I loved— there was something about the colour and the lighting that made me feel like a character in a Kieślowski film. I strained to hear the station announcements over the crackly speaker and rumble of the train, attempting to match the sounds with the consonant-filled names posted on the station map above the door. Suddenly, I heard it— "Nyoo-ga-tee Pai-yo...something something".

I let the current of passengers pull me along out of the train and onto the fastest moving escalator I have seen in my life. Visions of getting caught in the teeth for not being able to hop off in time were filling my head, as a cold began to slowly envelop me. I was not prepared for arriving into autumn; my thin grey t-shirt and blazer seemed absurdly inadequate. Fortunately, there were warmer clothes in my bag for the next four days.


I met Mirco at platform 13, and we took a moment to marvel at the structure and light of Nyugati Station before heading out to our hostel. Everywhere I turned, my eyes were excited by what they saw— ornate buildings with lions and figures on façades, tree-lined avenues carpeted with orange and yellow leaves, ladies with fashionable boots and old men in felt hats. Even the entrance to the building of our hostel was spectacular.


Maverick Hostel is right downtown in Ferenciek tere, walking distance from just about everything you want to see in Budapest. It's a couple blocks from the Danube, with a metro station right outside and, the best pastry shop for breakfast just happens to be directly across the street. The Maverick staff consists of three friendly chaps who rotate shifts and are willing to answer any question you've got— even the absurd ones. It's a clean, safe and simple establishment, perfect for travellers on a budget. Mirco and I stayed in the "Blues Brothers" room— I'm not sure why it was called that— along with two obnoxious Dutch girls and a sweet and quiet Nigerian guy.

After tossing my bags in a locker and grabbing my scarf, we decided to explore the area. Since Mirco had arrived the evening before I did, he introduced me to an exciting find— an indoor market filled with salamis, mulled wine and pickles. What more could a girl want?


Nagycsarnok, known as the Central Market Hall, was built in the late 19th century and has three floors of meats, paprika, wines, beers and souvenirs to explore. You could easily spend a couple of hours here, especially on the top floor with a few beers and a sausage.

After a quick run through, my desire to see the Danube took us down the street to the stunning green Szabadság híd, one of the eight bridges that join Buda and Pest. It was getting dark, and fog was creeping in, giving the bridge and river a dark poetry. A man in a black hat walked past with a wide grin, and Buda lay before us in the grey.


I wrapped my scarf around me tighter as we walked up Gellért hill in Buda. A vendor with a tiny push cart offered pretzels and hot mulled wine for sale. We carried on up to discover a small church built into a cave in the hill. A drunk, yet pleasant gentleman encouraged us to enter, opening the door for us. Once inside, the sound of prayers murmured echoed in the quiet cave. I have to admit, I was a little creeped out, and the thought of that hot mulled wine warming my fingers seemed more appealing. We silently snuck out and headed back to the pretzel cart. The smell of the wine was in itself intoxicating— I could pick out hints of cinnamon, clove and orange. The man ladled the red liquid into two plastic cups with a smile.

"How do you say thank you?" I asked.
"Köszönöm." He replied with a little laugh.
"I'm sorry, can you say that again?"
"Kuh-suh-num."

Aah, I detected some umlauts in there.

"Kö-szö-nöm." The syllables barely escaped my lips.
"Szívesen!"

yummy type

eye candy

Everywhere you look in Budapest is a feast, or at the very least, a tasty treat for the eyes. Figures carved into the façades of buildings, ornate gates and decorated doors— I had the hardest time keeping from photographing everything I saw. Just see for yourself:

worn out soles, happy soul

I've just returned to Istanbul with thinner soles on my Malibrans and over two hundred photos of five days in Budapest. I am still in awe over how much I walked— in heels too, mind you. The weather was a bit more than chilly but thankfully dry, and every time I felt my fingers getting stiff, there was a hot mulled wine vendor around the corner to warm them up. Budapest is a beautiful city with such a range of architectural styles, and the most statues I think I've ever seen in one place. I met some fascinating people, including an Iron Man competitor, a mother and daughter who were in the midst of a European tour, our cute and quiet Hungarian receptionist, and an intimidating waffle man. After all that fun and adventure, I am ready to sleep for the next three days.


I would like to add a note of thanks to the pilot of THY Flight 1483— you are a rockstar. With the way the plane was swaying as we were coming in for landing, I seriously wondered if we were about to hear an announcement to hug our knees and brace for impact. The landing seemed effortless and incredibly smooth. Thank you.


Stay tuned for loads more!

crossing off the list

I am off to Budapest tomorrow, a place I have dreamt of visiting since I was a little girl. I've always wanted to stand by the Danube.

Stay tuned for loads of pictures and the inevitable sketch or few.