Szechenyi Baths Outdoors.......................................................................................Indoors
Vajdahunyard Castle
TECHNOMUSIK RULES (NOT)
THE DANUBE BY NIGHT
PEEING IN THE PUBLIC BATHS
The next day Bernadette, Rena and I take the subway to the Szechenyi Baths. We’re not feeling particularly grimy but everyone says the public baths in Budapest are not to be missed. They are fed by some of the hottest springs in Europe.
At the subway station, Rena notices that nobody pays the fare except us. “Buying a subway ticket must be a tourist thing.” she observes. We stop paying for public transportation after that. When in Budapest do as the Budites and the Pestians. Incidentally, the fare is not the only thing that is free on the Budapest subway. Free entertainment is provided by handsome young Hungarian couples who kiss and nuzzle constantly while riding to and fro.
The Szechenyi baths are a combination of indoor and outdoor pools. The warm pools are relaxing and refreshing on a summer’s day. They are also an acknowledged source of merriment for the locals. Watching tourists from all over the world struggle with the etiquette of bathing in public is a popular spectator sport.
The two ladies and I pay our entrance fee in one line and then move to a second line – this being the one to enter the changing area. After a few minutes, I tumble to the fact that I am the only guy in a long line of women, who are all looking at me and whispering. This happens to be a recurring theme in certain dreams of mine. Quickly, I check my fly to make sure it’s zipped. Whew – all OK there! I smile and say my only Hungarian word (kozonom or thank-you) as I stumble forward to find the men’s line. Guess what? There is no men’s line. Curiouser and curiouser.
Next thing I know, my elbow is seized by a short male bath attendant who is holding back an entire file of whispering women with his other hand. Talking slowly and loudly in Hungarian, he guides me through the turnstile and into the baths. I try to relax – it’s no use. On the far side of the turnstile the whispers are becoming more animated.
Now I’m in big trouble. I’m on one side of the floor-to-ceiling turnstile and Rena is on the other side. She’s way in the back of the women’s line. And she has my swimsuit in her bag! Yikes! I try going back through the gate but the turnstile doesn’t budge. It’s one-way only!
By this time, my cool has deserted me entirely. I’m reduced to calling “YooHOO!” through the slots in the turnstile to try to get Rena’s attention. This must be a very funny word in Hungarian. The whole line of heavy East European women stop whispering and begin to titter and giggle. Meanwhile the male attendant is getting more alarmed. He has probably received training at bath attendant school on how to spot Western perverts. Now he’s becoming suspicious that he has a live one. Calling “YooHOO” in a pseudo-falsetto at a large group of women could be the final event before full frontal exposure. The attendant’s hand grabs for my elbow again.
I try to de-escalate the situation by pantomiming pulling on my speedo - afterwards holding my hands palm up, shrugging and shaking my head. The Magyar ladies are roaring out loud now. Scattered applause is about to break out when the crowd hands Rena to the front of the line.
“You’ve got my suit,” I yell desperately. “Your what?” Rena inquires. “My swimsuit. Give me my swimming suit!”
Rena gives a big “Ohhhh” and collapses on the floor, laughing so hard she wets herself. This brings the house down. Hungarian women are guffawing with tears in their eyes and slapping each other on the back.
Finally my wife stops convulsing long enough to extract my horrid black and green jams from her backpack and shove them through the hole in the turnstile. I grab the suit, shuck the amazed bath attendant, and flee to the men’s room. For the rest of my time in the baths, I wear sunglasses, hoping that no one will recognize me. Wearing sunglasses in an indoor bathhouse does attract a few searching looks from the uniformed pervert patrol but I am able to maintain a modicum of anonymity.
HOUSE OF SEVEN BRIDES
From the baths we sidle over to the Vajdahunyard Castle. This is on an island in City Park. We walk through a “Disney-like” archway into a small courtyard, which is jam-packed with brides. The castle apparently is where every Hungarian Princess comes to marry her Prince Charming. It’s astonishing - at least 7 brides in white and scads of bridesmaids, groomsmen, photographers, antique limos, etc.
“Is that thunder?” asks Bernadette, paranoid about another summer downpour. “No, “ I answer confidently, “It’s just the yard where they turn the trains around.”
We are both wrong. It’s Budapest’s annual ear-shattering techo-musik Love Parade. Flatbed trucks with major amplifiers drive through the streets while hordes of Magyar teenagers climb aboard dancing to the loudest thumping and screeching you have ever heard. Extremely high-energy but the voltage is too much for us. Back to our hotel for aspirins and a cold glass of wine followed by a tour of the opera.
THE HUNGARIAN STATE OPERA
The Opera House is hot, smells of varnish, and is not air-conditioned. But it is free of techno-musik, and the guide explains the lives and loves of the last of the Austro-Hungarian emperors with enthusiasm. While Rena rests her bare back against marble pillars to cool off, our girl guide tells us about Franz Joseph, who disliked Hungarians and hated the opera. So, naturally, he built his Hungarian subjects an opera house - probably as a form of revenge. The Empress, Elisabeth, nicknamed Sisi, spoke Hungarian, loved Hungarians, loved opera and even had an affair with the Prime Minister of Hungary. Hungarians loved her too and built a very nice bridge over the Danube called the Sisi Bridge, so that she could keep assignations with the P.M.
After the opera tour, we learn two more Hungarian words = Karolyi Turos. This is Hungarian for jello and whipped cream mixed together and served on stale piecrust. Don’t get it!
KLEZMER’S GREATEST HIT
We have our showers and naps and then go out for the evening. It’s Saturday night and a crowd is assembling in front of a Jewish community center next to our hotel. We go inside and pay a small fee to see local young people play Klezmer music. They are great! All the old Yiddish and Hebrew favorites. We clap along and keep them playing for over an hour.
The music gives us our second wind and we walk to the waterfront to take a boat ride on the Danube. All the sights are alight and there’s a small fireworks show off the starboard bow. We glide by palace after parliament after church after bridge while drinking free champagne and taking lots of photos. The commentary on the headphones is in Arabic but so what. It’s actually relatively understandable compared to Hungarian!
Midnight finds the three musketeers noshing on blintzes with sour cherries in almond sauce in the public square, while an old man blows up balloons and sends them flying through the moonlit sky. Bye, bye Budapest! We love you!
Daktari
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