Holiday turned Chaos on Szent István

On the 20th of August, Hungary celebrates Szent István with fireworks and an airshow. People of seemingly all countries show up to these events held over the Danube river.

Air show over the Danube

Last year, I was so impressed with the fireworks (their closeness, their brightness, and their visual effects on the eye) that I had to go again. This year, the day was humid, but I went to the airshow alone while waiting for my friends to come back into the city. I watched the Red Bull pilots swerve and swoop through inflatable obstacles protruding from the river and walked around people watching.

Later that evening, I met Harpswell and we headed out towards the bright bulbed Chain Bridge to get a good seat for some quality explosive viewing. The sky had tinges of blue storm sky in it, but we all thought that it would eventually go away. Our conversation was quick as we had been apart for most of the summer and so we passed the minutes before the fireworks eating giant pretzels and catching up.

Szent István Day fireworks

Soon enough, the streetlights went out, just like in the movie theatre after all the previews. And the introduction fireworks shot out from the bridge itself. People stood up to get a better look...there were oohs and ahhs...shiny tadpole fireworks, big glittering chandeliers, green, red, white...a raindrop.

I felt two or three and hoped that the fireworks would just burn up the precipitation. The wind started to pick up and the heavy tree branches started waving. About 30 seconds later...total downpour. And a collective scream from all the spectators watching from the bank. Harpswell and I suddenly laughed from the depths of our stomachs, doubling over with it. We were getting soaked and it was a warm rain. But the trees seemed to come alive with the wind and small debris took flight into my eyes, hair, and mouth. I couldn't look up at the fireworks anymore. We continued to laugh because we were drenched and there was nothing we could do about it.

The rain didn't let up and before we surrendered to go find shelter, I glanced up at the persistent fireworks show...sheets of sparkle blowing horizontally south down the river. The only thing you could make out of the bridge were its dull glowing bulbs in the shape of a bridge.

People seemed to go into emergency mode and started helping people back up the hill off of the riverbank. Everyone was wet and everyone was looking for shelter, thus there was not enough room. Even as we walked away from the chaos, we could hear the fireworks still going off. I guess no one could stop them. From the narrow cobblestoned streets, it sounded like the bridge itself had exploded. It must have been the acoustics.

The rain eventually let up, but Harpswell and I had a long way to walk home to my apartment in Obuda, another three bridges up the river. The HEV (public transportation that runs along the river) was jammed with people just like us. We decided to walk home. It took about an hour and a half. We passed guys in their boxers jumping up and down like kids in puddles, worried ambulances, massive trees that had been uprooted completely, and power lines down. When we did come home, it took some time to wash all of the twigs out of our hair and my eyes burned.

After emerging from the shower a little warmer and little more relaxed, I learned from another friend that the storm had killed four people and had injured another several hundred who were watching the show from boats. I believe that a few were killed from falling trees, the others I don't know, because we couldn't get the information on TV and the language barrier made me rely on other Hungarian speakers who didn't seem to know what really happened either.

It makes me stop for a minute to think that while Harpswell and I were carefree and laughing in a slightly scary situation, others were being injured by the elements.

I can safely say that this experience was exactly the opposite of last year's Szent Istvan day, even though I sat in the same place under the trees near the Chain Bridge.

Chapter VI - Arab Baths, Football, and Flamenco

This will be the final chapter of Spain (who really needs to hear about my journey home?)…believe me, there doesn’t need to be anymore, because this particular day was so jam packed with activity that it felt like three days all in one.

In the morning, the three of us headed off to the Arab baths. We had made an appointment a week earlier. Alicia had spotted the place, a somewhat hidden glass door off of the main square along a narrow street.

After spending a year in Hungary, I was no stranger to thermal baths, but this was something altogether different. Same concept: hot water intended to make you feel relaxed…but entirely different atmosphere. I borderline felt like a celebrity.

The three of us were really excited for the experience…
A half hour massage
An hour spent soaking in the different pools

I think Jon and Alicia needed it more than I did after finishing another year of law school and their courses in Madrid. As for me, I was fresh off two class trips in Hungary and had been leisurely lounging around Szerencs.

After escaping the stifling street heat of Madrid, I wasn’t sure I wanted to paddle around in steaming water, but as soon as Alicia and I entered the ladies locker room, all my doubts promptly evaporated.

I wouldn’t have even called it a locker room…it was more like a dressing parlor or a lounge or a salon for a princess. All the facilities were clean, nice, and there was more than enough space to change. One of the best things about this place was that the owners would only allow a certain amount of people into the baths at a time so that it would be quiet and you could become properly relaxed. Once changed, we walked down a dimly lit stone staircase into the bath chamber.

Tea lights lined the walkway to the pools. There was a cold pool, a warm pool, and last but not least…caliente!! (my favorite).

The three of us went to the warm bath and paddled around, sat, meditated, and did whatever else you do in a thermal bath. The décor was seemingly Turkish with tiny holes in the roof delivering “sun-light” and the Arabic arches gave us a peek into the next pool.

One of my favorite parts of this place was the tea room/ I need a break from the water area. There was even a tea spigot on the wall that, when turned, sprinkled warm tea into a paper cup. Wow. I was sitting with my tea on a wooden bench taking in the tea lights, the fountains, and the always soothing sound of moving water, when a woman came to take me to my massage.

I’ve never had a professional massage before, but I’m always up for something new. We had our massages in the same room at the same time and when we came out, we were all a little light headed…but in that overly relaxed way that you get after drinking tea, floating around in scorching water, and being massaged.

The only downfall was that we were booted outta there after our hour and a half was up. I purchased some herbal teas for contact teacher, Etelka, because she always raves about tea and I was looking for something appropriate and useful to give her. I decided that antioxidant tea from Spain was it.

From there, we did a 180 and decided to check out the World Cup match between Spain and (I think) Saudi Arabia on a huge screen in a square. The atmosphere was so heightened with energy and excitement and drunkenness and belligerence that I couldn’t quite process it all in my sleepy state. We walked amidst yellow and red dressed fans draped in the Spanish flag, faces painted, shouting, cheering. Fans climbed up concrete platforms from some really unstable ladders so that they could see the screen. We stayed for Spain’s one and only goal that would win it and then left to watch the rest of it in a calmer Mexican joint while eating nachos and drinking mojitos.

That night, we bought tickets to a flamenco show, which turned out to be a competition from groups around Europe. It was in an auditorium/theater like setting it only cost us six euro a piece!

There were about six performances. The first was traditional Spanish flamenco with men and women, and the following consisted of a contemporary French group, a few girls from the Netherlands, and some more from Spain. Some were dramatic and others were humorous. Nevertheless, six euro got us a lotta bang for our buck.

Alicia and Jon did a fantastic job of exposing me to a lot of Spain. I literally can’t believe how much we saw and did together in a week’s time. Before I knew it, we had reached our last night in Spain and I was sad to leave it and my friends as well.

We went to dinner at our sandwich place the next night with some law school friends of Alicia and Jon and then had some churros and hot chocolate afterwards. This has got to be one of the best after dinner sweet treats of all time. I’m not talking about watered down hot chocolate…I’m talking about thick, dark chocolate that doesn’t drip from your churro, but oozes from it instead.

There’s certainly something to be said for Madrid’s nightlife. The streets became more crowded than they were during the day. No more were the throngs of tourists, but the natives had come out to party.

And they were still out partying…or rather coming home when I trudged to the metro the next morning with my backpack to get to the airport that would take me back to Hungary.

Chapter V - Shakira and a Bullfighting Ring

Yeah, I realize it’s taking me quite a long time to finish this Spain trip, but as I’ve been sidetracked with flying back and forth across the Atlantic, it’s easy to put off. I’m doing it 1) for the sake of starting a job and finishing it, and 2) because my dream job is to be a travel writer and I want to practice…ha ha!

It was a particularly muggy afternoon in Madrid and I was sitting on a bench in Retiro Park reading “The English Patient.” I had bought myself a hot sandwich and a Cola Light in the city and brought it with me to the park. During my solo literary picnic, I received two messages on my phone. One was from Liz in Hungary, informing me that a bird had just pooped in her eye. This same incident had happened to me only a month earlier in Tokaj while she had been sitting next to me at a fountain. Two, was Alicia and Jon asking if I could meet them for a bite to eat before they headed off to the Shakira concert that night. Alicia and Jon had planned to go to this concert before they knew that I would be coming to Spain, so I had originally just planned to wander about that night.

We met at the popular little sandwich joint that serves a variety of miniature sandwiches for one euro a pop. The reason I say “popular” is because you’ve got to fight people off with a weapon of choice for a table on the sloping cobblestone alley. They hover like vultures, waiting for you to finish that last crumb, and then swoop down and go in for the kill (aka grabbing your table even amongst crumpled napkins, sticky splotches, and a small bowl containing the liquid leftovers of a handful of olives).

Anyhow, I decided to accompany my two friends to their concert on the metro. We arrived to the Plaza del Toros, a bullfighting ring in Madrid. Shakira would make her debut performance there that night. A half serious queue had snaked its way around the perimeters of the ring while groups of people wandered around cutting in “wherever whenever.” We thought it couldn’t hurt to see if anyone wanted to sell tickets to see if I could weasel my way in to enjoy the show. After all, I had spent half the spring semester in the comfort of my Szerencsi apartment trying to perfect the dance moves to Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” on MTV Hits.

Almost immediately, a man on a bike pedaled up to us after hearing blurbs of English from our direction and offered his three extra tickets that he had to go retrieve from a building in forty minutes. It sounded a little weird, but we agreed. Next, a girl offered her ticket. We declined, because it wouldn’t be near Jon and Alicia’s seats. Then, another girl approached us in Spanish holding out a ticket after her friend had decided to bail on the concert. It was a ground floor ticket. All these offers were at face value and so eventually we did business and I was in!! So excited to go see Shakira so unexpectedly…in MADRID for that matter!! Alicia and Jon decided to desert their seats higher up in the ring and stand with me in the half moon around the stage, a place where bulls and matadors had done their traditional dance many times before.

It was cake getting in and before we could blink, we were part of the crowd. Women everywhere were equipped with fans of all colors, flicking them back and forth. It was hot, but we were all smiles. Spanish raced through the mass of people and I just observed, glancing at the upper deck in the ring where, Alicia pointed out, the king sat to watch. We stood waiting…and finally the curly haired Colombian made her appearance. The biggest Shakira fan in the world stood next to me (okay the next biggest, after Jon). He was well over six feet tall and well…husky. He screamed along every word with her in Spanish AND in English (when none of the other Spaniards could). Even though Shakira appears to be fairly explicit in her videos, she is actually very modest and a great dancer (seemingly one of a kind).

She ended with “Hips Don’t Lie” and we left soaked in sweat, lyrics and beats echoing in our heads. It was quite an authentic experience to hear the Spaniards clearly sing along in Spanish, when all I can do is mumble a few syllables from memorization.

The people of Madrid welcomed her as a hero and she recounted many memories of time spent in Retiro Park (thanks to Jon for translation). It was obvious she was excited to be there. It was definitely a concert to remember, partially because it was so unexpected, partially because it was in Madrid, Shakira, and a bullfighting ring.

Budapest's Re-Captivation

I arrived in Budapest today after a month vacation in Chicago with my parents. I thought re-entering the city for a second time would lose its charm a little, the shininess and the newness wearing off…but surprisingly the shininess remained in the sense that it was a familiar and unique shiny even though the newness was gone.

During my very first day in Budapest a little over a year ago now, my airport minibus driver couldn’t find my flat and dropped me off near a dark forest path and gestured for me to walk. I felt more like a prisoner than a tourist. I couldn’t communicate to him in Hungarian and he couldn’t communicate to me in English. Luckily, my saving grace appeared in a forest gap sitting on a stone seemingly waiting for me. This English speaking Hungarian helped carry my luggage down a hill through the forest to get me to my undisclosed flat.

Today, I wheeled my two enormous bags filled with books and clothes towards the minibus, hoping that I wouldn’t have a repeat encounter. This time, I knew where my new flat was…but again, the driver failed me and had trouble. I actually prided myself today on giving him directions in Hungarian, thus marking myself a notch up on the pole of progress. Even though I just said, “to the right” “to the left” “there it is!” I felt smugly pleased at the past year’s vocabulary acquisition.

After passing out for a few hours in my new apartment in Óbuda, I decided to go for a walk. The weather was wonderful, a cold drink of water after several days of unbearable heat in Chicago. So, I set out for Margaret Island and finally looped around on the lit up Chain Bridge walking riverside and winding in and out of little side streets. Interestingly, I still had that rush of excitement stop in my throat as I made my way through a maze of “ut’s and “utca’s.” I thought the novelty of my first year in Hungary would have grown a little tired, but it was, quite the contrary.

I wish I had had my camera with me. I looked back over my shoulder as the wind cooled my face and saw a fat, orange moon floating over the twinkling Chain Bridge. The river and sky took on the same majestic deep blue and the reflections of the city’s light in the water danced.

On my way home, I heard incessant drumming on Margaret Island and headed over to a tall stone wall, remnants of an old church. Behind the wall, drummers sat and went crazy drawing a small crowd of people who had been taking nighttime strolls on the island’s paths.
My Hungarian homecoming walk was very refreshing and much needed after all my circulation had given up on me after the ten hour flight over here.

Chapter IV - The Hidden Town of Toledo

It was kinda nice to navigate on my own and then meet up with Alicia and Jon afterwards to take a day trip. Some of their professors had recommended Toledo, a town that was actually only about a twenty-minute skip by train from Madrid. I had a grand old time pronouncing the name of this town because it doesn’t sound exactly like Toledo, Ohio. In Spain Spanish, some of the consonants take on a voiceless “th” sound, so I think it was “Toletho,” and I reveled in sounding somewhat Spanish. Although, I couldn’t gracefully pull of the Spaniard “Grathias” instead of “Gracias.”

We bantered at the train bar (the three of us always have quality banter) and before Alicia could finish her café con leche, we arrived in Toledo. We followed Jon towards a bus that drove us and jostled us shakily up a huge hill through the town. We glimpsed out our windows to see a magnificent stone bridge arching over a river. The landscape and buildings mostly took on earthy tones…desert earthy…beige, brown, tan, whatever you want to call it.

The three of us landed in a local café near a statue of Don Quixote. The atmosphere was medieval touristy if there can be such a thing. We had our breakfast pastries, coffees, tea and my massive appetite landed me a sandwich for breakfast. Then we moved on to see the biggest, grandest cathedral I have ever seen in my entire life. The interesting thing about Toledo is that it holds a cathedral, a synagogue, and a mosque all within its fairly small confines…which means that Christians, Jews, and Muslims all lived in holistic happiness together for several years. MLK Jr. would have just loved it.

It’s very difficult to describe the cathedral in an accurate, deserving way. There were several temples inside and the frescoes on the ceilings seemed as though they might come alive at night. There was so much detail put into this building of worship that I had to blink a few times to make sure it was real. Unfortunately, so much time has passed since I traveled to Spain, so it’s difficult to remember specific intricacies, however I do know that Alicia and I talked a little about religion there (how appropriate). Because I am not the most educated being out there on the subject of religion in any form, I like to hear everyone’s take on it. But she mostly taught me a little history and why it was so central to a community. It felt like we spent a decent chunk of time in the cathedral.

Next, we wandered outside onto the canopied streets of the town and marveled at the gigantic hanging lanterns, baskets of flowers, and what appeared to be garland, draped casually over ropes holding up the canvas canopy shading us from the sun. We had stumbled upon the cathedral so easily that we assumed it would be just as easy to find the synagogue and mosque. But is that ever what happens?? I don’t think I have to answer.
We didn’t have any problems finding souvenir shops, that’s for sure. Soon enough, we noticed that there were swords everywhere…to my delight. It was the perfect town to display several swords, some on the street, some bejeweled, some with a squiggly shaft, and some dangerously close to getting run over by a little speeding European car. There were times when we all had to flatten ourselves against the walls (James Bond style) to let a car through.

Most stores had tiny swords (about the size of pens) that were exact replicas of those that Charlemagne and Robinhood used. Suddenly, I was curious if there was a shop that still made swords in town. Jon asked a store owner and as it turned out, there was a tiny shop next door (the only surviving sword-making shop in town). We went in and admired the gallant weapons displayed on the walls. Some were cheaper than others. The authentic swords were branded with a Toledo insignia and required a lot more dough. The owner took us to the back of the store and we saw some swordwork in action (a man molding, whittling, or bending (can someone please tell me the right verb/sword jargon for this!!)) and the kiln or oven where the swords are solidified. Jon and Alicia got to chatting with the owner in Spanish as I wistfully gazed at the swords for sale on the wall wondering who would buy them and what I would do with one if I owned one. How would you even fit something like that into the décor of an average home? It would be a little out of place…that is…unless you owned a castle and your day job consisted of being a knight. Okay…enough of the tangents. Yes, Jon bought an authentic Toledo pocketknife, which was actually very heavy and came with a beautiful leather case. It made a great souvenir and was much easier to transport home than a sword.

The synagogue was also beautiful, but inevitably much different than the cathedral. It was less showy, simpler, and overall, just interesting for me to see. We didn’t spend much time there, because we were hungry and didn’t want to be swept over by a school group touring the museum section.

We cooled our heels at a Chinese restaurant boasting a very reasonable “comida” special. The air-conditioning was much needed and much appreciated. It’s interesting to see the combination of two cultures in a restaurant like this. The Chinese obviously have their own way of serving and presenting food, yet, in order to cater to Spanish customers they offer their own cuisine (maybe not authentic Chinese) in a Spanish way. But I guess this is how things are done all over the world. Alas, my mind wanders stupidly…

We prepared for the mosque, but had excessive trouble locating it. Most people pointed us in a certain direction, but all we did was loop around and around through the maze of narrow, canopied, flowered, peaceful streets of Toledo. It was getting hot again. Eventually, maybe a solid 20 minutes later, we found ourselves at the top of a hill and walked steadily down to a building that looked suspiciously like a mosque. I had never been in a mosque, so therefore I was extremely curious to check it out. The mosque was much smaller than I had imagined, but very worn through the ages. We walked into the mosque gardens to admire a nice view of Toledo and then decided to head back to the station to catch our train home.

On the way back, Alicia retrieved a few pistols for her brothers (yes, fake, but really cool) and I found a painting of Toledo’s buildings in a souvenir shop. We were ready to go.

Back to Madrid twenty minutes later on Spain’s smooth train system and the capital was starting to feel more and more like home.

Chapter III - Navigating Madrid on my Own

Being on my own and in Hungary for a year has made me much more confident and adventurous when I travel to new cities, so when Alicia and Jon had to attend their study sessions during the day, I set off, excited to see how I would get around Madrid alone.

My soul lives for the summer, warm weather, the sun and I didn’t want to be cooped up in an art museum or anyplace else indoors. That’s better saved for a wintry February Saturday.

So, I rode the metro (very efficient BTW) into the middle of the city equipped with my MP3 player, a Lonely Planet book with full map of Madrid, and my sunglasses. I know that most travel authorities advise against blocking out the native noises of a country/city with an I-Pod, CD player or what have you, but one of my favorite things to do in the entire world is traipse around a new city with my preferred tunes blasting. The louder the music, the faster I walk. So, I searched for the local Madrid stations on my MP3 player and found a few scratchy songs while I walked aimlessly into the June heat.

Finally, stopping to consult my guidebook, I decided to pay a visit to Retiro Park, Madrid’s massive park that loosely translates to “A Place to Relax.” It used to be an ex-king’s hunting ground and from the looks of it, even an endurance blessed wild cat or gazelle would be panting with exhaustion attempting to get from one side to the other. I couldn’t take in the whole park in one day, so I went back later on.

The park turned out to be the perfect way to spend an afternoon for me: outdoors in the sunshine with plenty of things to look at while listening to my music. There were fountains that spurted water into the sparkling sunlight, and hundreds of benches placed along avenues of gravel paths lined with enormous leafy trees.

I stopped to relax on a bench facing a huge lake with paddleboats and monuments. Tourists from many countries drifted along the path in front of me, but inevitably, if you sit in a place long enough, someone will come up to you. Mine was a Spanish-speaking man wanting to know where the pool was. And to my sudden relief, I could understand. “Pool” sounds just about the same in Spanish as it does in French and right there my time spent as a French major paid for itself (okay maybe a dime of what it cost, but those little victories are HUGE for me!) And even better, I remembered how to say, “I don’t know” from middle school Spanish.

I know that it’s kind of ridiculous to beat myself up for not understanding a native when they talk to you (the foreigner), but it really frustrates me when I have to resort to English…I’d rather pretend I’m mute or meanie who just ignores everyone than to give myself away as the tourist (although my shoes probably do that anyway).

I walked around the park and found:
a turtle pond
trees that looked like brains
stone lions guarding a tropical looking waterfall
a line of artistic photographs from around the world
LOTS of statues
A beautiful rose garden void of any people
A free public toilet (God Bless!)

And eventually, I got hungry and extremely fatigued, so I decided to hit up an outdoor café and refuel. I sat alone at a plastic green table and ordered a Cola light with my desired tortilla española. Unfortunately I couldn’t manage the entire exchange with my waiter in Spanish (which ridiculously made me feel like a failure) but the meal was great. However the pigeons (the ubiquitous bird of Europe and big cities everywhere) thought it would be good for them too and came dangerously close to my fork. Even as I swatted at them, they would come back winding around my feet and perching on the backs of the empty chairs surrounding me, desperately waiting for a crumb. Men with accordions started playing and later came to collect money in a paper cup. I briefly debated dumping some of my massive forint change in there, when I decided that would be cruel, so instead found it in my heart to sacrifice something less than a euro.

I spent most of my time in the park walking, listening to my music, exploring, and imagining what my life would be like if I were born and raised Spanish. If I lived in Madrid, would I still like the tortilla española as much as I did the week I was in Spain? Or would it just be like a plain old hot dog is to an American? Would I play tennis with my friends at this park sputtering out speedy Spanish? Maybe, maybe not…but I would for sure have a fan on me at all times, just like 99% of Spanish women.
I headed back to the metro as the sun got lower in the sky, recharged from my time alone. It’s good to explore a city on your own, because you really have to pay attention to where you’re going instead of relying on someone else to get you around. Also, you can do what you want, when you want…and everybody needs that sometimes.