Saturday, June 30, 2012
Saturday, June 30, Zagreb
The train was clean, almost on time, and not air conditioned. Must have been 100 degrees inside the train. I'm spent, can't write. The heat makes me think I should change my plans. Instead of heading directly south, inland to Banja Luca, Bosnia, I think I may head southwest to the Croatian Coast. It should be ten to fifteen degrees cooler there. And there is this island, Vis, off the Croatian coast that sounds enticing.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Friday, June 29, Budapest
I spent the day wandering the streets of the city. It was hot. I was hot. I did manage to make some vital purchases including an adaptor so that I can charge my laptop and a USB hook up that gave me access to the photos on my camera. At least I can try to make the day worthwhile by playing around with my observations of Pest (above) and
Buda (below). 
Women smoke in Budapest; lots of women smoke in Budapest. Maybe more women smoke than men, I didn't count. Hard to call the lithe young darlings of this burg attractive when they all seem to have one of those very long, thin butts in their mouths.
I couldn't resist raving about the bathroom at the Museum of Fine Art in Pest. I don't know if it's a relic of the Soviet era (if so, kudos to the Russkies) or if it's a more recent addition but the whole place was beautiful. The door especially gripped me. I'll spare you pictures of the urinals--though I took a few. 
Stairway to my hostel. You can see how strange this place would look in the dark.
There are more sidewalk cafes in Budapest than you could imagine: thousands of them.
Public transport in Budapest is first rate. They have subways, trams, buses, every kind of way of moving people from place to place, and they all work--though the escalators don't always. And why is it that the Soviets put their subways so deep in the earth? It's the same in Yerevan and Tblisi. When you take the escalator to your train in one of these cities you think you are about to feel the heat of the earth's mantle.
Dawn, check this out! I came across it during my walk.
I'm off to Zagreb tomorrow on the 1pm train.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Thursday, June 28, Budapest
I joined up with a free Walk around Buda and Pest this morning. Three pretty young women divided us up for a two and a half hour stride beginning on the Pest side and crossing the Danube to Buda near midday. Our group had members from four continents (no Africans), Muslims with their scarfs, Aussies in shorts, South Americans struggling to follow the accented English of the guides, a few Americans, lots of EU folk.
The tour was uneventful. Much was made of recent efforts to purge the collective memories of Soviet time. The city looks prosperous with little evidence of the decay that you see in Old Havana (the only socialist paradise I have visited--Georgia and Armenia had similarly cleansed themselves of USSR automobiles, bad service and falling-down buildings.) I learned that most of Budapest was bombed into the Stone Age in 1945 ("Longest siege of WWII except for Leningrad and Stalingrad"). The buildings were reconstructed post war with some effort to recreate the look of old Budapest.
The intense area of tourist-trappism is over the bridge in Buda. They rebuilt a bunch of old castles and the kitsch stores followed the tourists. The view of the river was nice.
I spent the afternoon looking for Hungarian art but found that the local flea market is not open Mon-Fri so I had to postpone my craving to buy tapestries. But that search led me, serendipitously, to one of the national museums. Inside I found a wonderful photography exhibit. What made it special was that I had just visited a similar exhibit in New York. The Budapest version dovetailed beautifully with what I had seen stateside but was larger and more complete. I fell in love with the work of Man Ray (especially a photo called "Kiki"), Paul Strand, someone named Rossler and a Hungarian named Aladar Skjelke (sp?).
Tomorrow I hope to explore some caves.
The tour was uneventful. Much was made of recent efforts to purge the collective memories of Soviet time. The city looks prosperous with little evidence of the decay that you see in Old Havana (the only socialist paradise I have visited--Georgia and Armenia had similarly cleansed themselves of USSR automobiles, bad service and falling-down buildings.) I learned that most of Budapest was bombed into the Stone Age in 1945 ("Longest siege of WWII except for Leningrad and Stalingrad"). The buildings were reconstructed post war with some effort to recreate the look of old Budapest.
The intense area of tourist-trappism is over the bridge in Buda. They rebuilt a bunch of old castles and the kitsch stores followed the tourists. The view of the river was nice.
I spent the afternoon looking for Hungarian art but found that the local flea market is not open Mon-Fri so I had to postpone my craving to buy tapestries. But that search led me, serendipitously, to one of the national museums. Inside I found a wonderful photography exhibit. What made it special was that I had just visited a similar exhibit in New York. The Budapest version dovetailed beautifully with what I had seen stateside but was larger and more complete. I fell in love with the work of Man Ray (especially a photo called "Kiki"), Paul Strand, someone named Rossler and a Hungarian named Aladar Skjelke (sp?).
Tomorrow I hope to explore some caves.
Wednesday evening, June 27, Budapest
(I apparently brought the wrong camera hook up for my computer so no photos for now.)
By the time I got my affairs in order Wednesday there was only time for an evening jaunt around Pest, where my hostel is situated. I found a cheap 'bufe' run by a solitary chinese woman for dinner, then wandered around the streets. The only interesting thing I saw took place when I sat down in a public park. The center of the park had the inevitable Soviet era monument, a stone cenotaph with cyrillic and hungarian text. No doubt something about heroes of socialist labor.
As I sat to read my book I noticed an unusual statue to my right. In the middle of one of the park entrances was a bronze, life-size man seemingly striding into the park. Kadar? I thought. He was the Soviet puppet in charge of this place for decades. Maybe Bartok, the musical patron saint of Hungary? I was mildly curious so I drifted over to see.
A plaque between the cobblestones said simply, Ronald Reagan.
By the time I got my affairs in order Wednesday there was only time for an evening jaunt around Pest, where my hostel is situated. I found a cheap 'bufe' run by a solitary chinese woman for dinner, then wandered around the streets. The only interesting thing I saw took place when I sat down in a public park. The center of the park had the inevitable Soviet era monument, a stone cenotaph with cyrillic and hungarian text. No doubt something about heroes of socialist labor.
As I sat to read my book I noticed an unusual statue to my right. In the middle of one of the park entrances was a bronze, life-size man seemingly striding into the park. Kadar? I thought. He was the Soviet puppet in charge of this place for decades. Maybe Bartok, the musical patron saint of Hungary? I was mildly curious so I drifted over to see.
A plaque between the cobblestones said simply, Ronald Reagan.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Wednesday June 27 Budapest
I had not slept in two days when I knocked on the massive door of a downtown Budapest building. It was past midnight and the street was dark. I rang the bell and a faint voice invited me inside. I saw a regal stairway to my right, just before the lights went out. So I struggled slowly up the stairs, gripping the side, easing my feet one by one forward and up. I found the door to the hostel and rang another bell.
The place turned out to be wonderful. Friendly folk who seemed to have thought of everything. I even got some free Hungarian food that they had prepared for a cooking class.
But I was too tired to do anything. I hit the sack and slept for 12 hours.
The place turned out to be wonderful. Friendly folk who seemed to have thought of everything. I even got some free Hungarian food that they had prepared for a cooking class.
But I was too tired to do anything. I hit the sack and slept for 12 hours.
Tuesday June 26 Berlin
My layover, if that is what it should be called, was scheduled for 14 hours in Berlin, changed to a mere 12 hours by delays at JFK. Still I had from 10 am to 7pm to wander around the capital of Germany. I timidly walked out of the terminal amidst the dashing taxicabs. Who walks out of an airport? Only me. It was scary stuff at first, darting through traffic going 50 mph but eventually I found myself free of the city and in some sort of extension of the Black Forest.
For 90 minutes I walked almost completely alone except for a few bicyclists along a river seemingly remote from the cityscape I anticipated. The birds were chirping. Unfortunately it was cold, about 55 degrees, I think. And the sky was threatening rain.
Then I came to a strange land. It was called kleinegartenkolonies, little garden colonies. All around were tiny, picturesque homes each with its own tiny, well-tended garden. I really expected Hansel and Gretel to emerge any minute. This went on for two hours. Tiny, tidy house after tiny, tidy house. The only people I saw were women walking their dogs.
I found the real city at last but by now my legs were very tired. At a bus stop I found a map of the city and decided the sensible thing was to head for the most famous tourist destination I could remember, the Brandenburg Gate. I did not find it at first but stumbled on Checkpoint Charlie, instead.
You can buy a Starbucks Coffee at Checkpoint Charlie, just a block from the pictures of East Germans perishing at the hands of border guards in 1970. You can also get Checkpoint Curry. And you can get your picture taken beneath the sign saying "You are now leaving the American Zone". Two guys, dressed in faux American military uniforms of 1970 vintage, will let you take your picture with them. Seemed like a terrific way to pick up girls.
They have a little museum devoted to Berlin Twentieth Century history where the DDR guards once stood, guns at the ready. For a history buff it was interesting stuff.
Later I found the Gate but it was walled off for some sort of concert.
I was so worried about missing my plane that I returned to the airport at six, really too soon. Not an enlightening day but better than staying in the terminal.
For 90 minutes I walked almost completely alone except for a few bicyclists along a river seemingly remote from the cityscape I anticipated. The birds were chirping. Unfortunately it was cold, about 55 degrees, I think. And the sky was threatening rain.
Then I came to a strange land. It was called kleinegartenkolonies, little garden colonies. All around were tiny, picturesque homes each with its own tiny, well-tended garden. I really expected Hansel and Gretel to emerge any minute. This went on for two hours. Tiny, tidy house after tiny, tidy house. The only people I saw were women walking their dogs.
I found the real city at last but by now my legs were very tired. At a bus stop I found a map of the city and decided the sensible thing was to head for the most famous tourist destination I could remember, the Brandenburg Gate. I did not find it at first but stumbled on Checkpoint Charlie, instead.
You can buy a Starbucks Coffee at Checkpoint Charlie, just a block from the pictures of East Germans perishing at the hands of border guards in 1970. You can also get Checkpoint Curry. And you can get your picture taken beneath the sign saying "You are now leaving the American Zone". Two guys, dressed in faux American military uniforms of 1970 vintage, will let you take your picture with them. Seemed like a terrific way to pick up girls.
They have a little museum devoted to Berlin Twentieth Century history where the DDR guards once stood, guns at the ready. For a history buff it was interesting stuff.
Later I found the Gate but it was walled off for some sort of concert.
I was so worried about missing my plane that I returned to the airport at six, really too soon. Not an enlightening day but better than staying in the terminal.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
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