A grand day out

After a challenging week at work I needed a good weekend, but with Sheffield Wednesday losing 5-0 and England losing the rugby in the last couple of minutes things did not go very well on Saturday.

However, Sunday turned out sunny and relatively mild so I decided to get out on my bicycle again and explore a little more of the countryside. I headed north-west from Budapest into the Visegrad Hills, which rise to about 2000 feet and have forced the Danube to take a sharp detour in its route to the sea.


The early stages of the ride reminded me a little of heading out of Sheffield along the A57, although the distant sightings of villages with white walls and orange roofs gave it a much more European feel. The road climbed slowly and by the time I reached the pass I was into an area still with quite a bit of snow. Before starting the descent I managed to take my own photograph (the paunch is my jacket, stuffed up my shirt).


After a wonderful descent down hairpin bends winding through the woods I ended up at the town of Esztergom on the Danube. Esztergom is the religious capital of Hungary, as it is the place where the Hungarian king first embraced Catholicism in 1000AD. As a result it has a magnificent basilica, built on top of an outcrop above the river.


I decided to eat my sandwiches sitting by the river next to the bridge that crosses over to a town in the Slovak Republic.


Probably because I grew up on an island nation I find the idea of national borders somewhat fascinating, and sat looking over the river musing on the fact that the people just a few hundred yards away spoke a different language, had a different currency and were possibly quite different in character to the people on this bank.

That feeling was reinforced when I looked at the bridge from the basilica outcrop, where I could see that Sturovo, the Slovakian town on the other bank, was a most unattractive looking place, with factory chimneys and ghastly looking apartment blocks stretching into the distance.


If I had had my passport with me I would have cycled over the bridge so that I could add the Slovak Republic to my list of countries, but I didn't, so carried on along the Hungarian bank towards the next major town, Visegrad.

At this point the Danube forces its way through a narrow valley, and Visegrad is famous for its clifftop castle. As by this time I had covered 50 miles, I decided to admire the castle from the terrace of a restaurant on the riverbank, where a coffee and pancakes help to replenish some of the calories that I had used up during the day. It was by now four o'clock, and the skies cleared completely for the last couple of hours of daylight, to give a beautiful evening.


Visegrad was the end of my cycling for the day. I took a ferry across to the town on the other bank and caught a train back into Budapest. A grand day out indeed.

My mother told me not to talk to strange women

On Friday evening I had arranged to meet a new colleague and his wife at a restaurant on Vaci utca, the pedestrianised, main shopping street in the city, and very much a tourist centre. It was 7 pm and raining, and I was hurrying to get to the agreed restaurant, so my walking route took me through Vörösmarty tér, an open space that I had not come across before. So as I walked across it I was looking around, admiring the buildings and trying to work out where I needed to go, whereupon two young and attractive women stopped me.

In English one of them said, "We are looking for Beckett's Bar, can you help us?". Slightly surprised, I said, "Well, there is a Beckett's on Bajcsy Zsilinsky út, but that is far away."

"Oh yes, that is far away", came the reply. "You are living here?"

"Egen", I replied, yes.

"Thank you. Goodnight".

As I walked away I realised I had been targeted by two of Budapest's 'consume girls'. These are part of a fairly organised scam that goes on in the city, where male foreigners on their own, looking like tourists, which I obviously did at that moment, are approached by attractive young women and persuaded to go for a drink. The scam is that you end up in a bar of their choice run by people in on the scam who then present you with an extremely large bill, and will escort you to a cash machine to make sure that you clear out your bank account to pay for the beer.

So, there is a moral or two in this story. A few words of the local language may be able to help you avoid getting into trouble. And of course, to remember what your mother always told you, to not talk to strange women. As Basil Fawlty said, I did once, but I think I got away with it.

Whatever you do, don't mention politics

One of the delights of working for this international organisation is its encouragement of multilingualism, and the way that it provides in-house language courses. So every Tuesday and Thursday evening after work I go upstairs and join a French class.

Our teacher, Stephane, is extremely good and maintains a conversation throughout our 90 minute class, apart from the bits where we need to learn a little bit of grammar. In the last class we had a test (as with all bureaucracies, we need to prove that we are doing something), but most people had missed the class so tonight he gave out the test for a second time, but said that as this was the last class of this session we could either spend the lesson completing the test or we could go to a local bar and have French conversation 'devant une biere'.

Well, of course, democracy delivered the right answer and we were soon sitting in a local bar, three Hungarians, a Canadian, a Tibetan, a Brit and a Frenchman discussing the Winter Olympics, in French of course. Surreal, c'est nous.

Now, I have read quite a few books and articles about Hungarian culture, and one of the things that they all agree on is that when you are sitting in a bar you can talk about football, the cinema or the weather in complete safety, but you should never ask anything about politics. So after a couple of beers, suddenly remembering that there will be a general election in two months, of course I asked, "Where does the extreme right party stand on the Roma people?"

Suddenly, the energy levels in the conversation shot up about 50%, and from that point on we had an extremely animated explanation about and discussion of Hungarian politics, the collapse of communism, the importance of 'self' in modern life, Monty Python, love and the futility (or otherwise) of marriage. Several hours and beers later we left.

One of the things that I really like about Hungarian people is their position balanced between northern European reserve and southern European excitability: they can seem quiet and reserved until a certain point is passed, after which anything and everything can be discussed in great openness.

Our 4.30 class had stretched until 10 o'clock, and it was time for me to climb on my bicycle and wobble home.

Getting out more

On Thursday and Friday of this week I was responsible for facilitating a teambuilding/planning event for everyone in our Global Learning Centre. In UN speak this is called a retreat, which to me suggests going off and spending some quiet time reflecting on the meaning of life, but as the new guy in the office trying to justify my existence I had no reflection at all, and ended up on Friday evening completely exhausted.

However, the weather forecast suggested that the weekend might be, if not mild, not freezing, so I thought that it might be an opportunity for me to get my road bike out, to slip into some lycra and go off and explore somewhere away from the city.

Saturday afternoon was grey, but at least it was about 4°, so I decided to head towards Janos Hegy, which is the highest point in the Buda Hills that overlook the city. One of the strangest things about arriving somewhere by aeroplane in the dark is that you have no idea of where the place is in relation to anything else, so I was keen to find out if there was anything beyond the two-mile radius that I have explored so far.

My plan was to get to the top of the hill and to enjoy the the (apparently) magnificent panorama over Budapest. However, as I slowly pedalled up around the hairpin bend road to get there I realised that it was starting to snow, and by the time I reached the top it was falling quite thickly and the temperature had dropped considerably.



Somehow it didn't seem quite such a good idea to be on my road bike with its relatively thin and smooth tyres. So I pushed on through the falling snow and slushy road in what looked like a sensible direction for going downhill, but then found myself on a major road with a 12% descent, and feeling cold and wet. So by the time I got home I was somewhat frozen and had to check that my feet and hands were still with me.

But then today the sun shone and the temperature had shot up to 6°, so I decided to try again and this time headed up river to a small town called Szentendre, about 12 miles away.



This is a rather beautiful old town on the west bank of the Danube, with narrow, winding cobbled streets and houses painted in lovely autumnal colours.



It has become a centre for artists, and inevitably tourists, so is perhaps a little like St Ives but without the fish and chips. It gets extremely busy during the summer months of course, but on a Sunday in February it was very pleasant indeed.



There were several people, like this woman, standing or sitting with their eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on their face. Magic.

I sat on the wall overlooking the river and ate my sandwiches, thinking about how nice it was to do something as simple as this, and that perhaps the end of winter was in sight.

On no television

Although I have a rather large television in the corner of my apartment it is not connected to any aerial, and, unless I paid a large monthly amount to a cable provider, I would end up having to watch Hungarian television. Now, I have no comment to make about the quality of the local programming, but it would all be completely incomprehensible, so the television is not used.

So living on my own without anyone to talk to I have had to find other things to occupy my time in the evenings, and apart from writing blog entries I have really enjoyed reading more books and listening to music. As well as trying to learn Hungarian and preparing for my French A-level examination in April.

What will happen when I come back to Britain? Will the television re-enter my life? Probably, but perhaps not. We shall see.

Several people have commented to me about how much they have enjoyed the links to music that I have provided in previous blogs. One of my readers told me that she found herself dancing around her kitchen at 6 am one Monday morning, listening to some gypsy music. That makes it all worthwhile.

So in case anyone is wondering what to do early one morning before going to work, here are some links you might like to explore.

Besh O Drom are a Hungarian band worth checking out:
Meggyujtom a Pipam
Ha Megfogom az Ordogot

Magnifico & Turbolenza I think are Slovenian, and I rather like this song, although the video is perhaps somewhat dubious.

The Cimbaliband are also Hungarian and are, I think, playing in Budapest next weekend so I may check them out.

Finally, in the spirit of Balkan solidarity, I caught this item on the BBC web site about 'pop folk' in Bulgaria. Worth a watch, but I'm not sure that I'll be heading out to see any of them if they show up here.

Enjoy.

Rugby, book readings and a gig

After the excitement of a cycle trip to IKEA and the acquisition of a coat stand (see previous blog) I decided that I would go out and relax, so started by going to Becket's, a nearby 'Irish Bar', to watch the France-Ireland rugby game on the television. The place was packed with a mixture of French, Irish and neutrals and there was a lot of cheering, groaning (and new to me) clapping. The television coverage was French and the commentary was taken from Irish RTE, and for presumably technical reasons this was about 20 seconds late, which made for a disorienting experience, with hysterical commentating about something that you knew was going to end in great disappointment.


Anyway, France won by a large margin and the Irish contingent ordered more Guinnesses and settled down to make the best of the rest of their Saturday evening.

As for me, I had a plan to visit the Merlin Theatre. The name reminded me of Sheffield and they were advertising an evening with a Serbian gypsy band at 10 o'clock which sounded like it might be interesting. Their Hungarian-only website mentioned that something else was happening at 8.30, but various on-line translation services were unable to explain to me what this was, so I figured that it might be a warm-up act.

So I arrived at the Merlin a little after 8.30 and found myself a beer and a seat at an empty table in a corner next to a small dais, and waited for the music to start. After a little while an intellectual looking couple arrived clutching two microphones and sat down at the end of my table. Then a large, jolly-looking man with curly hair turned up and joined them, shortly followed by three young women and an obvious boyfriend. What then happened reminded me of the film Wetherby, where a stranger arrives at a door at the same time as two couples arrive for a dinner party, and each couple thinks that the stranger is with the other couple. So everyone started to shake hands, introduce themselves and wish each other good health before starting their drinks. I, of course, was included in this social ritual.

However, my obvious confusion blew my cover, and the intellectual man and the curly haired one asked me in English if I could understand Hungarian. No, of course. So they explained that what was going to happen next was that the curly haired one was a distinguished Hungarian author and that he was going to be interviewed about a new book he had just written. They apologised that I would not understand what they were talking about but they assured me that I would understand and enjoy the band that followed.

So the interview progressed. I understood nothing but was pleased to find that I could actually pick out a few words, and at one point was startled when the author mentioned my name and everyone smiled. What did he say? "Mr. Hopkins, the visiting British intellectual...", "Mr. Hopkins, the guy over there who understands nothing..." I'll never know as I did not get chance to talk to him again.

After the interview I briefly talked to the boyfriend who was curious to know how I felt about sitting there understanding nothing. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was spending a lot of time going to places and understanding nothing, but that I was getting the hang of it.

What actually was going through my mind was the strange conjunction of a serious book reading, gypsy band and all night DJ, and that people would actually go to a place to enjoy all three. To me it said a lot about the cultural sophistication of people here. I struggled to imagine a similar event working in Britain, but perhaps I'm being cynical...

Anyway, as the intellectual man had said, the gypsy band Kal, were much easier to understand (and unexpectedly they did a lot of talking in English). They were very different in style from the bands I had seen previously. They had two accordions and a violinist as well as guitars and drums, and their style was rock, punk and rap influenced as well as gypsy. They certainly got everyone dancing, as within seconds of starting their first song everyone was jumping up and down and spinning wildly. None of the slow warming up that characterises English gigs.

They played for nearly 2 hours, and I enjoyed it very much, but felt that their rocky edge wasn't altogether to my taste. But, nonetheless, the combination of international rugby, a book reading and a fun gig had made for a really good evening out and I walked home through the freezing night air in a mellow mood.

Coat stands and novel cultural experiences

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have previously mused on the prevalence of coat stands in public places. So, in an attempt to get with it I decided that my apartment definitely needed to have one.

Living on Budapest's 'antiques street', I had looked to see if I could find a beautiful Art Nouveau stand, but with no luck, so I decided that I would try Swedish post-modernist and looked up where I could find the local IKEA. Yes, Budapest has two, and my apartment, like virtually all the other apartments that I have looked at here is fully equipped with Ektorp, Lagan, Billy and their brothers and sisters. So I figured that Tjusig or Portis would not look out of place.

The first problem was to decide on my means of transport. As the temperature had soared to +1°, the bicycle became a possibility, and this also meant that I could have my first cycling adventure other than going to and fro to work. However, before deciding on this I needed to check the package dimensions and weight to make sure that I could get home on my bicycle with the flat pack. For many years I have taken great delight in trying to carry as much as possible on my bicycle, so a trip to IKEA was a definite challenge.

My route to the store took me through the beautiful snow-covered Varosliget, the People's Park, and then on past the Puskas Ferenc Stadium. This has quite an open construction, and as I cycled past I could see the terraces completely blanketed with snow, a striking sight. On past the giant Tesco (oh yes) and eventually I reached IKEA.

Normally I detest visiting the place, and a major reason for this is because getting to it requires an hour of driving either up or down the M1, but cycling to it seemed to make it less unappealing. It even has cycle racks outside.

But once inside everything seemed really weird. I guess IKEA stores everywhere are all absolutely identical: you go upstairs, wander around in a daze looking at kitchens, bedrooms and living rooms and then go downstairs to buy lots of things that seem really useful but which you don't actually need. And a great attraction of IKEA is that wherever you go everything is the same, including the bizarre names, and of course, the Swedish meatballs. People are probably also having the same conversations ("We don't need this", "It will fall apart after five minutes", "But it's really cheap"). The only difference here is that all the information around the store is in Hungarian. So as I wandered around I could have been in Nottingham or Leeds, and although I couldn't read any signs I knew exactly what I needed to do and where I should go. I guess that is why IKEA is so successful.

Anyway, I found the coat stand flat pack and realise that I would need some strapping to keep it attached to my bicycle, and hey, you can of course buy that in IKEA.

As I waited in the checkout I realised that whenever I go to IKEA I get increasingly anxious as I walk around buying things, worrying that I will not be able to fit everything in the car, and today was no exception. Although the flat pack fitted into my pannier it was extremely long and I worried that cycling home might be impossible or suicidal, but once I started to strap it to the bicycle I realised that I could probably just about do it, and in the event had a very pleasant cycle ride home.

Unlike kitchen units or chests of drawers, putting together an IKEA coat stand is a pretty simple business, and once I had erected it I was able to hang my coats up and get rid of the cardboard box that they had been living in for the last month. Falk Miksa utca was starting to look more like home.

Hitting the wall ... and moving on

In 1954, coincidentally the year I was born, a Canadian anthropologist called Kalervo Oberg wrote an article that introduced the idea of 'culture shock' to the world.

He was talking about a four stage process that people go through when they are getting used to living in a new culture. First they have the exhilaration of the new sights and sounds and everything is very exciting. But then the routine of everyday life settles in and the strangeness of the world around becomes frustrating and exhausting. This is the culture shock stage.

After that, assuming that the person can get through the culture shock, they slowly adapt and their mental and physical well-being improves until they reach some sort of steady-state.

I knew all this through my previous work and book research, so I was expecting to hit some sort of wall eventually, and it came across me last week.

During my first few weeks here I had really enjoyed seeing things that were so different and stimulating to my own perceptions, and this had helped to overcome the difficulties of finding things and communicating in a place where few people speak good English. However, after Helen's visit my routine became more apparent and the thought of psyching myself up to go out to strange places alone of an evening when it was so bitterly cold became very daunting. That meant staying home alone every evening after a day's work, and the thought of that was also not very attractive.

So I made a quick return visit back to Sheffield, which was not very good for CO2 emissions but helped my emotional state, and after a great weekend seeing a few people again and doing a bit of DIY in my house I returned to Budapest feeling surprisingly refreshed. In fact, as I got off the train bringing me in from the airport and stepped out of the railway station, I felt strangely like I was coming home.

Then, on Monday evening, I went with some colleagues to a local cinema to see "Capitalism: a love story" and really enjoyed both the film and the creation of a new possibility for social encounters here. It felt rather like the film group that I have enjoyed being part of in Sheffield for the last year or so.

Adaptation has begun. I have picked up a tiny amount of Hungarian so far, not enough to maintain any sort of intelligent conversation but enough so that the world around me does not seem quite so alienating or challenging. I can now look forward to moving on.