Familiarizing

One can learn a huge amount in the span of a week. Like the way in which a command of basic phrases in another language enables elementary integration into that society, the attainment of some knowledge is easily recognized and appreciated. That one has acquired other kinds of knowledge is less obvious; it quietly develops over time until all of the sudden one becomes conscious of it and progress is apparent. This is my favorite kind of growth, and I’d like to make the claim that I’ve subtly experienced it during my time here. You might say that being in Budapest for a week doesn’t qualify me to make such assertions, because, really, we’ve all traveled far and wide, and certainly for a greater period of time. But my response is this: traveling in a foreign country is a specific procedure, but setting up shop in a foreign country with the intention of amending one’s title to “local” is a whole different ball game. The former is generally defined by a large bag, a selection of guide books, an appetite for authentic sights and cheap eats, a desire to stifle the “dumb American” stereotype that haunts us all, and mostly, by a certain detachment in which you secretly know that you are only a ghost—you don’t belong—and when you leave that place, the memory of you there also departs. In the latter position, however, you undeniably feel the same isolation, but you cope with it another way. Like an infant, you are constantly expanding your capacity to intake new information, trying and failing but always progressing, and one day, you’ll raise yourself up onto your own two feet and walk as if you’ve been doing all along. In Budapest, I’ve been able to measure my assimilation through my grasp of the transportation system (walking is a bit too glorified), and yesterday I realized that I can hop on at one place and off at another without even referencing the map, despite the interruption of the Gay Pride Parade that shut down one of the city’s main boulevards and consequently many metro and tram stations. No big. P.S. The dynamics of the Gay Pride Parade are exceptionally interesting and appalling. For instance, I was warned by the State Department of the yearly violence that the parade triggers (AKA a ton a skin-heads on the loose).

Okay. No more bragging. But seriously, YOU try navigating when everything is in Hungarian. That was a digression, but I still want to stay on the topic of public transportation because history is alive in the BKV (Budapesti Közlekedési Rt.—the public transport company of Budapest)! There are three eras that come to mind. The first is the turn of the century. Budapest’s yellow metro line (M1) was constructed in 1896—the world’s second metro—and besides from the beautiful tile and woodwork that has been maintained through the years, one classic element remains that is less sober: a tune strangely reminiscent of the one played at the end of Splash Mountain, after you’ve pissed yourself from falling into the “briar patch,” and at the juncture when all of the Br’er animals have been recovered and are ready for a hoe-down on the river. Yes, that’s the melody I hear when the train roles through each station. The second era and mode of transport can be observed in many of Budapest’s outdated trolleybuses. These massive hunks of metal are terribly noisy and gaseous, and rusting is endemic. Another problem is that they cannot operate in humid weather, because there was a succession of incidents in 2005 when passengers and crew received minor electric shocks. If this is not redolent of the Communist era, I don’t know what is. Surprise! These rigs were built about thirty years ago in the former Soviet Union and they still plague the streets of modern Budapest. Public funding, unfortunately, does not allocate for luxuries. Finally, we’ve arrived at my favorite type of transport: the tram. Tramlines run around the city in circular patterns, and many of them, like the ones that serve the lines 4 and 6, are new and extremely efficient. I suppose that I am biased because they get me to school on time. There you have it—Budapest through the ages.

In less philosophical news, I moved into an IKEA palace right downtown with three other girls. We’ve already made use of the expansive space for Cate’s 21st birthday party. Around the corner is an incredible Indian restaurant, the Taj, as we affectionately call it, and across the street there is wonderfully greasy pizza parlor, from which I not only steal Internet but also frequent for a fix. I promise (maybe), food is not the only thing that I think about. Classes are another priority. I am studying at ELTE (Eötvös Loránd University-the oldest in Hungary), which is about a twenty-minute commute from the casa. Another place of importance thus far is the Széchenyi Thermal Bath, a bathhouse in the City Park. I spent an afternoon there in the many baths and pools of every temperature, and on the roof, with the leathery old ladies tanning completely in the nude. Good times, except for when I accidentally walked through the door to the men’s nude roof (“This doesn’t seem right…”).

I have a busy week of planning ahead. If anyone is interested in popping over, I encourage it because this is an incredible place to experience, and my palace is always open.

Egészségedre (cheers)!!