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.