Budapest: A Cultural Experience...on many levels.

Budapest is a lot different than Prague. On many levels...

As soon as you get off of your train or bus, you just can't help but laughing when you see a sign or overhear a conversation. Hungarian is a ridiculous language. Slavic languages like Czech often get a bad rap for being unintelligible--but Hungarian is a different story. An Urgo-Finnish language, it shares its roots with only Finnish and Estonian and sounds absurd to an outsider. The spellings and pronunciations are so out there that you just have to laugh--a disorienting, touristy laugh.

Immediately noticeable next is the money. It always takes a while to orient yourself in any sort of conversion, we even thought Czech was bad with 22Kc to the dollar. But Florints? That's another story. At about 222 Florints to the dollar, conversion was a crippling process. I felt as if I had acquired a temporary mental disorder every time I looked at a price tag. What is most amusing, however, is that they actually have a 1 Florint coin. If I am not mistaken, that is less than half a penny. I felt like my wallet was full of carnival money.

My most humorous cultural experiences took place in the Hungarian bathhouses. A longstanding cultural tradition, going to the thermal baths is somewhat similar to going to the gym with a friend or grabbing a drink. It is fully integrated into the culture and you can tell seasoned bathers from the amaturs with the...naked...eye. As Robin and I missed our caving opportunity, we decided to hit a spa to unwind from our travel adventure and begin a new one...

Let's just say...I feel...cultured?

We decided to go to the opulent Gellart Bathhouse that was on our side of the bridge...Buda. It is known as a very luxurious spa that is frequented by tourists (many of them Hungarian) but also some locals. With a 2300 Florint entry fee (don't freak, that's only 10 bucks), we weren't busting our budget for the royal treatment.

Here is Gellert on the outside...


And the beautiful interior...(notice the nude statues... this is a reoccuring theme)


After our struggle to buy the tickets with the woman with very broken English, we were ready to immerse ourselves in the healing waters. Not sure of the customs, my mentality is always "When in Rome..." -- in this case, I was aware that might require me bare all. Being as women and men were in separate bathhouses, rationalizing this was a bit easier. Luckily, Robin and I spotted a few bikinis in the changing rooms and sighed with a bit of personal relief (though, I still hold that I would have done it).

When we entered, we found out that perhaps there was a weight requirement to enter sans clothing. Much like Cedar Point's 48" measuring sticks, was there some Hungarian woman with a scale that made every woman over 250 pounds (110kg, for any international readers) strip before entering. I saw a lot more woman than I believe I will ever see again in my life--at times it felt like science class when we studied the effects of gravity on objects. However, laughing aside for a moment, it was very interesting and strangely beautiful. Women are so accepting, and it was so cool to see confident women of all shapes and sizes doing their thing. It was very communal. With all of the media oppression to be a stick, it was refreshing to see women appreciating and pampering their bodies.

Okay, the process. There were several pools of varying degrees. One was 36C (97F), another 38c (100F), a frigid tub of 18C (64F), and the veritable abyss of a suana--50C (122F). Nothing was in English, but it didn't matter, because the routine was unspoken. We decided to stake out a spot in the 38C pool and inconspicuously observe until we felt comfortable enough to move. We decided the older, very nude, very Hungarian woman who donned only a headband and clogs was going to be our best bet. We proceeded to soak in the 36C pool, slowly transition to the 38C, then...the abyss.

We had been there once. As the door shut behind us, my lungs filled with fire and I began to sweat in unsweatable places. Back to the baby pools. But we had to do it, we decided to catch the pro right after her round two. Apparently, the process was Hell then an ice bath. A microcosm of hell freezing over--perfect--my blood vessels will probably all burst.

Being goal-oriented even in times of trial, Robin put two minutes on her watch and we went in alone. 60 seconds left-my skin turned bright red. 45 seconds-I swear my life flashed before my eyes. 30 seconds- I squatted on the ground attempting to suck in cooler air. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1--ahhhhhhh! Then the ice bath? When in rome....The water pierced your flesh with the transition from second degree burns to goosebumps. Ridiculous. The Hungarian people are intense.

We eventually made sense of the process and did it again. It actually started to feel refreshing in some sick way. As the complex began to close, we left feeling accomplished. Though we remained clothed, at least by the end we knew what we were doing. Maybe next time.

Right now, we were hungry.



Deciding that we hadn't really done anything useful, exploration was necessary before the luxury of food. We stopped for a quick snack of corn on the cob (it had been years....) and climbed up to the Citadel to see the city from above. Laid out similarly to Prague, it too had a large castle, military-esque hill, river divider, and other likenesses. The main ostensible difference was how spread out Budapest was in comparison. Also, it was a bit darker, missing the uniform peach roofs of Prague and flamboyant rows of buildings. This was amplified by the fact that we did not see the sunshine at all that weekend--which was a drag. After that, we went to the cave church and down a couple shopping streets in Pest.

Feeling ambitious, we decided to find a highly rated, yet homey restaurant of authentic Hungarian food for our first night. After a couple dark and winding roads, we came across an adorable restaurant. Except...there were some ideological issues. All they served was Goose. Goose liver, whole goose, goose breast, goose leg, and a lot of goose liver. A childhood pet name being many forms of "duck"--there was just no way. Dismayed and disgusted, we wandered around desparately trying to calm our chatty stomachs.


It was probably the best thing we did. We ended up discovering an adorable block of cafes, jazz clubs, and restaurants (Some vegetarian. Read: no goose). We settled on a cute open air balcony, ordered wine and veggie pizza with egg. A breathtaking combo. We consumed it at lightening speed and had the sweetest waiter. An older man, he was so excited when we told him we were from Chicago. "Sears tower!" he exclaimed approvingly. With our bill, he drew the skyline and asked us the names of several other buildings, which we identified. He had never been, but had an areial picture book that he looked at all the time. It was really sweet.

Feeling fat and happy, we headed back to the hostel.

Morals of out first day: Cultural differences? Just go with the flow...and try not to laugh, or die.
If the travel book leads you to goose, go exploring. Getting lost can help you find your way.

Coming soon-- Budapest: Pedicure, please?