Multi-ton Socialism

Written by JB snr
Described in the guidebooks as “Statue Park” or Szoborpark – these are gigantic monuments of communist dictatorship and a glimpse behind the Iron Curtain. Gathered together on a site a few miles out of Budapest where most of the big scale statues from the communist era were moved.

These massive but somehow moving relics are brought together with other memorabilia including a Trabant car. The statue of Lenin, Stalin's boots and the heroic sculpture (shown here) evoke a period that seems far in the past. This place is well worth a visit.

We spent the afternoon in a sunken outdoor cafe below Deac Square in the centre of Pest. Waiting for our next meal(s) and the overnight train to Romania, we chilled and watched Budapest at work and play. The vibrant youngsters with their mobile phones, student bags and budding romances could have been anywhere in the world and the preparations for the evening rock concert in the background affirmed that the past is dead and gone.

We found some wonderful food in Budapest and overall the city is charming and sufficiently different to be a delight....full marks!

A visit to the Hungarian meat market

Written by JB jnr
Dad and I agreed to go our separate ways for the morning (a week with his son was obviously too much for him and so needed some time alone!) Whilst he went to experience the symbolism and schisms of sculpture of the communist era, I wanted a massage and to relax and soak up the experience in some Hungarian thermal baths and see if the medicinal waters could rejuvenate some tired feet.

There are several famous thermal spas in Budapest and all sounded fabulous so I went in search of advice. I asked the young lady receptionist at the hotel which baths she frequented, and got a very quizzical look, a subtle rephrasing of the question and she told me she didn't go, but her father went 3 times a week to the Szechenyi baths in the park north east of Andrassy. So I packed my trunks and got onto the metro line 1 and journeyed the 10 minute ride to the park. On existing the subway I was presented with the most fabulous building with huge ornate facade, looking more like the Brighton Pavilion rather than the expected Tooting Lido.
Walking up the polished marble stairway and into the atrium I thought for a second I was at Champneys for the day but the look of the woman (more Man the Wo) at the ticket hatch put rest to those thoughts.

£4.50 later I was walking through a corridor clad with white tiles, and felt I had stepped back into a 1920's hospital (when this place was last refurbished), all the stewards were dressed in white and looked menacing and clinical. Everything was white porcelain, brass and wood. On my way to the changing rooms I caught a glimpse of one of the main pools through a doorway, filled with 20 or so large elderly women floating on their backs, not wanting to be too rude but I was minded of a river cruise on the Zambezi in 2000 watching the hippos cool off from the intense African sun.

I was roughly ushered into the mens changing room by a monosyllabic mustached Hungarian, who showed me to my locker and asked if I had a swim hat (you have to have one over here – so I had to hire one.) I tentatively walked out into the main pool area and just followed others that had recently arrived, as I knew nothing of thermal bathing protocol.

There were 3 indoor pools with brackish coloured water and steaming hot with faint whiffs of sulphur. All were of varying degrees of heat, and were filled with locals over the age of 60 jabbering away and floating on their backs or sat over the jets where the water that had been heated miles below the surface of the earth, obviously trying to absorb the mineral goodness to soothe rheumatic aches. Obviously by the colour of their skin they came here often as they had taken on the same yellow tarnish from that of the water.

I moved outside to one of the beautiful heated uncovered pools, where old men sat up to their shoulders in the warm water playing chess. After a few laps in the main pool and a telling off from the steward for my hat floating off. I didn't have my goggles and so could only manage a feeble breast stroke. No fellow triathletes here doing 'chicken wings' or 'catchup drills!'
After my fingers had pruned I went inside for my alloted 20 minute massage. I had booked the £5 Medical Massage after having explained I had sore legs and needed a “hard” massage (I didn't know the Hungarian for deep tissue!) I was shown to Olnj's cubicle – “she very good at hard massage” I was told! I kid you not, my expectations were spot on – a 80's Hungarian Female Wrestling champion in the 120kg category.

Her cubicle was 6ft square, white walls with a white plastic covered table in the middle and barely enough room for her to work her way around. For those readers that have visited cubicle no.6 at the High Wycombe 'special' clinic in the early 90's you will know what I mean (for the record I never went to the place but had several friends who were there so often that I feel I know the place well!)

Olnj – smiled as I entered, not a calm reassuring smile but more of the way a henchman smiles before he is about to do you in. She curtly told me to put my head there and my feet there. As I lay down I turned to look at her as she lubed her hands up from an industrial sized pot of cream, and she 'smiled' again and said “You want strong massage?” she held out her hand and showed 1 finger and said “for very soft” and then showed 5 fingers for “very strong” and rolled her eyes and then tightened her bicep and it bulged through her white cotton surgeons coat.

I asked for a 4 – thinking that all the guys here were old and wrinkly and I could stand it - and then she laughed and I really wished she hadn't!

When I awoke later that day......no I'm kidding, as soon as she started I screamed and my body started to convulse on the slab. This woman must have gone into training the Hungarian Secret Police in non-invasive torture methods, after winning the Olympics.

Scrap the word non-invasive, she roughly pulled down my trunks to just below my cheeks, I was quite surprised by this, being a well brought up country boy and quite shy in front of strange women, but within 30 seconds I was screaming again and the massage table had moved across the floor and my toes were now trapped between the table and the walls of the cubicle. I had a moments respite as she lifted us both back into the centre of the room, with one hand. As she put us back down (me and the table!), I gathered the strength to ask for a number 3 on her personal Massage Richter scale. She cackled again and then smiled, presumably at my pain and for a short moment, I saw a small glimpse of a compassionate person beneath her harsh exterior, a mother, a grandmother maybe; with real feelings and sympathy for someone in pain – I was clearly delusional.

As she worked her way up from my calves, legs and backside (bare), back and neck, I had to ask her again to reduce the effort to a whimsical 2 – this was all I could bare as she put all her weight into the small of my back. I wanted to pass out!

I am glad I only paid for the 20 minute back massage, I don't think I could have coped with a full frontal assault.

My family and other 'Pests'

Written by JB jnr

Dad seems to be giving this blog the cultural credentials that a travel blog deserves and I seem to be left to describe my thoughts on traveling in close proximity with ones father for 2 weeks. A state of affairs that I think may even one day warrant its own website or possible novel – at least a session on the couch with my counsellor. I am only joking, so far he has been impeccably well behaved and hasn't embarrassed me once, but then again we haven't had the inevitable stressful situation that can turn a normal functioning father/son relationship into a full blown battle of Carthage. I feel though that there is plenty of opportunity for diplomatic relations to fall apart as we move further away from Western Civilization as the food, plumbing and linen become more indigestible.

Tomorrow however, our last day in Budapest, we have agreed to go our separate ways for a few hours. Dad is off to visit the Communist era statue graveyard and I have elected to try out the local Turkish Baths, the thought of being pummeled and rubbed raw by former Olympic Hungarian weight lifter and then plunged into hot and cold pools repeatedly, didn't appeal to Dad. Must be something to do with my more progressive outlook on life.

However as it is my Blog, I do feel I have some 'valid' observations to make on the places we are visiting. As we left Vienna from the Westbanhof station on the 'Avala' train, I realised I am not used to clean, comfortable and uncrowded trains that leave on time. The 3 hour journey passed quickly and I enjoyed watching the largely flat Danube floodplain shoot by completely engrossed in my own thoughts. I have had long enough now since leaving work to not think about it and can concentrate more about what lies ahead as opposed to what I have left behind. Its at times like this that my brain starts turn creative as it has been unleashed from its former captor and the future seems so much brighter and filled with opportunity.

What we are trying to achieve is pretty hectic, 2 weeks through Europe (Southampton to Istanbul) spending enough time in key places to do them justice but we have a schedule to keep. We have agreed to spend 3 days in Romania and 3 days in Istanbul, with 2 days each in Vienna and Budapest. We then have 3 ,15 hour plus overnight train rides between the major countries. The most exciting of which will be the Bucharest to Istanbul journey which passes through Bulgaria and we have a 2am stop at the border to arrange Visas to enter Turkey – looking forward to setting the alarm for that one!

I have warmed to Budapest I feel it has a progressive spirit, everyone seems keen to embrace the modern Western culture, certainly evident from clothes, cars and language – everyone we have spoken to speaks perfect English. Not really sure why the city shouldn't be all those things, I suppose I am surprised as it hasn't met with my expectations which was rather more hardcore East European.

Three parts of the city have been declared World Heritage Sites so that Andrássy Avenue, the Castle district and Danube embankment now hold the award, all three are stunning sites.
The Castle district on the hill is the core of the historic part of town and contains some of the most important historical monuments. I have read that the Citadel has endured every disaster thinkable - earthquake, fire and world war – but it seems to have survived and the medieval monuments are a tremendous. We entered through the north gate and you get the feeling you have traveled back in time to a different era, where there is an eclectic mix of Baroque architecture interspersed with Roman foundations.

ps. for those that didn't know Budapest is actually 2 cities, Buda and Pest!

Vienna to Budapest

Written by JB snr

This train goes on to Belgrade from Budapest so perhaps it should be called the Milosevic express, but we hope there wont be much evidence of previous atrocities en route, although with our mixed ethnic backgrounds I remain a little uneasy.

As I sit awaiting our departure we are surrounded by dozens of different languages, all unrecognisable. Considering that Austria is surround by the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Slovenia, Hungary, Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia and many more, I suppose that shouldn't be too surprising! What is reassuring is that they all look much like we do and all wear the same clothes. But now I hear English (Barnsley) being spoken – how dare they copy our route, have they no ideas of their own.

And so to Budapest. I have been here before for a couple of days, giving medical lectures in the mid 90's. It was forward looking then and it will be interesting to see if it has changed at all. My enduring memory is of a completely indigestible meal at a posh restaurant. As we hurtle across Eastern Europe we see the Audi train, bearing a 100 or so brand new Audi TT's and wonder where they were built and to where they are bound. Parades of officials in various national uniforms pass throughout the train as we cross the Hungarian border. They check passports and tickets, several times but it is all very cordial and efficient – one doesn't get the feeling that the Secret Police are involved. We gradually begin to notice a scruffiness in the railway stations as we speed across the former Austro-Hungarian empire. This scruffiness however was not evident in Austria but the open countryside is beautiful and we saw a giant wind farm, possibly with several 100 turbines.

Budapest is a fine city with an excellent and cheap metro, fine open spaces etc. We walked through the commercial centre in the afternoon where C&A, M&S and Tescos all have a significant presence. We then walked back along the Danube to the Parliament building, a massive Gothic confection inspired by Westminster. We had an excellent lunch at the restaurant called Box utca opposite the Arany J Metro and dinner in the outstanding Cafe Kor, where goose liver pate, goulash, duck and fine local wine Villanyi was fantastic and excellent value with great service.

Parts of the city and the countryside on the approaches, are shabby and derelict but there is a great sense of rebirth since they have been able to leave their Communist past behind.

Yes it has changed for the better and is less “clinical” than Vienna.