Budapest

Budapest
September 11, 2010

We attended an opera in Budapest this evening--the extra silly Barber of Seville--and it was a brain shocker to be there after spending much of the afternoon in the Holocaust Museum near a temple where the remnants of Budapest’s once thriving Jewish population congregate. I thought about how many of those accomplished, educated and successful citizens, fully integrated into Hungarian society in the early 20th century, must have attended operas in this gorgeous, opulent, gold leaf encrusted building, enjoying interesting lives in a cosmopolitan city. And I kept seeing in mind’s eye film footage someone had taken, now displayed over and over at the museum, of thousands of the city’s Jews walking toward the train station and their transportation to Auschwitz, dressed so nicely--the women in stockings, good shoes, dresses, and coats, the men in overcoats and hats, all with their hands slightly raised at their sides, a star of David sewn to their lapels. The state had managed to protect them until a big political change in late 1944. Suddenly they were doomed, and just as suddenly, annihilated.

Hungary’s history is complicated and convoluted, and I have only slightly more grasp of it all than I did before, but being in a place does help one to focus a bit. Another museum that puts some things in perspective is the oddly popular House of Terror. On the loveliest Boulevard in Budapest, Andrassy Utca #60 was the headquarters of various police state organizations: first the Arrow Cross from the Hungarian Nazi period during the late part of WW II, and later the headquarters of the Soviet/Hungarian police who terrorized the country for years, imprisoning and killing anyone considered an enemy of the communist party and its aims. It’s good that so many people go to this museum. Many of the deaths were caused by Hungarian spies, turning in their fellow citizens for “suspicious” behavior, and we all need to be reminded about how these things happen and how terrible they are. The current Hungarians in power are very clear about how glad they are to be rid of the Soviet domination, and what a terrible time it was for Hungary. It’s only been since 1991 that they have been free. The city is springing back to life, and they have made great strides in restoring old buildings and sprucing up the city.

One wonderful surviving institution is the city central market, which was just a few blocks from our apartment. Since we had a kitchen, we could actually purchase things from the produce vendors, or the strudel makers, or the cheese stalls--just enough for a meal or two of the freshest, most lovely food--all very reasonable, especially compared to Switzerland and Denmark. I bought a beautiful head of broccoli, for example, for 25 cents. And Geo thought the $4 Hungarian wine was not bad at all. We might have stayed longer, but we only had the apartment for six nights, and we were sick of cold, damp and rainy weather. We booked a flight to Turkey.

We had mostly rainy weather, so museums were a refuge. We liked very much the Ethnographic Museum in yet another grand 18th century building where Hungary’s rural history is presented in rich detail. There are reconstructed house interiors, clothing, farm implements, household tools, photos, and lots of English text to help us out. We both suppose we have ancestors centuries ago among the hard working surfs of this area, so it is interesting to think about what their lives were like. In spite of really primitive living, with lots of mud and grime to contend with, they managed to dress ceremonially in the most colorful and exquisitely wrought clothing. The museum has done a great job in presenting this aspect of the country’s past.

Because of the weather we missed out on Danube cruising and outdoor bathing in thermal pools, nor did we make “Memento Park” where a collection of imposing communist era statuary has been dumped and which has become a big draw. We did get proficient at riding the underground, and were amazed at the speed of the escalators. The first time you hop on you think “Whoa, this is fast!” and then you worry about getting off without stumbling or having someone crash into you. They must move at two or three times the speed of “normal” ones.

The city is easy to get around in, with the metro and many buses and trolleys, and they run until late at night. It’s lovely in the evening when the bridges and major buildings are lit, and you can walk along the Danube and take it all in. It’s a sidewalk café town, and when the weather is good, tables are full.

One disconcerting thing is the amount of graffiti. It is actually bad in much of Europe--freight cars in Denmark, concrete walls even in Switzerland. But in Budapest even lovely historic buildings do not escape the spray can. We saw someone using a power abrasive brush on the windows of a stately bank in an effort to remove the stuff. Geo noticed that the windows on the trolleys and the metro were scarred with scratched graffiti--a new low. I’m reading Paul Theroux’s terrific book Ghost Train to the Eastern Star, and he traveled a night train to Budapest as we did. He remarked about the graffiti in Budapest as an outpouring of a long-oppressed people not able to express their protests for years, but it seems more complicated and more widespread in Europe for that to be the explanation. Seems to me it’s one of those issues that comes back to respect. The taggers are just plain disrespectful, and ought to know better, and behave better. It’s a modern day plague.

We were stymied by the weather in our photographic efforts. It would have been nice to show the opera, the dear trolleys that run by the river, the pedestrian streets lined with shops and cafes. Instead we have interiors of churches--which are gaudy in the extreme. The contrast with the austere Swiss and German churches we saw was so interesting, and reflective of cultural differences. Exteriors also can be colorful and fancy. The bright tile roof on the St. Matthias Church in Buda, is an example, and a technological museum that is bizarre in its design--both are pictured.

We’re now almost two weeks in Turkey, with wonderful summer weather. We’ll be posting.

Switzerland

Bruno and Judith's house, Panoramic viewing train

Jungfrau, Trail to Brumlisalphutte, Gimmelwald valley,
Tidy wood pile in Murren

Foggy descent

Glaciers below Brunlisalphutte

SWITZERLAND

August 31, 2010 Gimmelwald Gimmelwald must be an example of the iconic Swiss mountain village. I wonder if there could be a girl named Heidi here, for the place looks exactly like I thought it should when I read the book at 10, or however old I was. Even getting here is like something in a storybook. A train to Interlaken, then a smaller train that climbed to Lauterbrunnen, then a post bus up the valley to Stechelberg, finally a cable car to Gimmelwald. Then we walked a short way among the chalet style houses to one called Mountain Hostel, and that was to be home for a time. We’d found it in an online story about this area of the alps, and the author mentioned that it was popular with Americans because of a story by Rick Steves. Sure enough, Americans outnumbered everyone else at the hostel. Partly I suspect that was because the hostel was the only reasonably priced place to stay in the whole area and the dollar does not go far in Switzerland, and partly also because the village is so darn cute and there’s nowhere else much to stay. Nearby is the resort town of Murren, also difficult to access, but full of Swiss style but new and big hotels. Gimmelwald feels like a real village still. A calf was born this morning just before we walked past its pasture on our way to hike. Belled cows graze the steep slopes. There are steeply pitched vegetable gardens behind every house, and firewood is stacked tidily against buildings for winter. Geraniums fill window boxes--that’s a given--and old hollowed out log water troughs are filled from running springs. Paths climb up and up toward scenic snowy peaks, or you can hike to Murren for groceries, an hour’s walk away.

We’ve enjoyed our time here, but we left the hostel after two nights because the very loud bar scene there goes on until midnight, and we are too old and cranky to appreciate that.. So we moved to Walter’s Mittagshorn Hotel just up the path. We don’t know the story, but 86 year old Walter shuffles about and runs the seven room place with a woman helper, and we think it will be quiet. It’s more expensive, but it will be worth it. There probably won’t be any English spoken at dinner tonight, which we’ll miss. The Swiss German speaking guests can usually speak English, but get them together, and German is what they much prefer, of course. At the hostel everyone spoke English, even the German speakers, because we outnumbered them.

We’ve been in Switzerland since August 4, staying part of the time with Bruno and Judith, El Morro Ranches property owners and our friends. They have a country house an hour northeast of Zurich, and they are there weekends. They live in their Zurich apartment during the week. We spent a nice weekend with them, then set off for a hike in the mountains that Bruno had researched for us. We took trains to Kandersteg, a pretty alpine town, then hiked up to a gorgeous lake called Oeschinensee. I could never say it right. There we’d booked a room at a chalet hotel, and it was a sunny, warm day. We were pretty sure that was a lucky break. The next morning we began an almost five hour climb to Brumlisalphutte--an impressive stone mountain hut set well above timberline on an exposed ridge at 2840 meters. There we stayed the night: $144 for dorm beds, dinner and breakfast. There were many dorm rooms, and ours could hold 22 people in two rows of double decker beds, 11 each row, and one exactly next to the other. Cosy. You had to rent a sheet, and down comforters were furnished. From the hut it was a short walk to venture out onto a glacier, if you had crampons, which we did not. Many climbers were at the hut, planning to ascend a peak the next day. Also there were guests dressed in odd wool pants with suspenders. Turns out we were there on the 150th anniversary of the construction of this hut by the Swiss Alpine Club. Some celebrants re-created the climbing attire of 1860. Our plan was, in the morning, to drop down into the next valley and then climb up again to another pass and another hut. Alas, it was not to be, which was probably a good thing. We awoke to a totally fogged in hut, and blindly hiked down the other side of the pass toward the town of Griesalp. The descent was as steep a drop as anything we’ve ever hiked. There were chains and ropes to hold on to, and there were sturdy steps made of logs and cross boards. It went unrelentingly down for 4,000 feet. I worried that my thighs would get really sore. In fact, the next day I could hardly walk. About 2/3 of the way down it began to rain. Before we could get our rain pants on, we were soaked. And it seemed to be getting colder. We soon concluded we were not going to climb over another pass that day. We made our way to a guest house where we and other hikers peeled off wet clothes, put on dry ones, and went inside for hot drinks. It was heated in there, and we could hardly bear to leave, go back out into the rain, and hike the last hour down to the village where we could get a post bus to the nearest town with a train station. We were calling it quits for a day or two. By late afternoon we were back in the comfort of Bruno and Judith’s place, grateful for the retreat.

A couple of days later we decided the forecast looked promising enough that we’d make another go at walking among scenic snowy peaks. At 6:30 am we set out for Gimmelwald. But we did it in a round about way. We wanted to see as much mountain scenery as we could with our Eurail pass. By the time we’d reached Interlaken, we’d been on nine trains. A feat like this could only be pulled off in Switzerland. It is well known that Swiss trains are a marvel and it’s a cliché to say that the system runs like a fine Swiss watch. But if you experience it you’ll believe it. There are trains departing once every hour all over the country. Each time you get off one train, there is another either waiting for you to board, or only minutes away. We barely had time to poke our heads out of a station and look around. We had only one surprise, when for two trains we could not use our Eurail pass but had to buy tickets. “These are private trains,” the conductor told us. They looked the same to us, but the difference was they were traveling over particularly challenging and scenic stretches, so they could call them things like The Matterhorn Express, and charge more. But some of the regular trains were even nicer, with huge curved windows giving great viewing up to the peaks. The Golden Pass was one, from Lucerne to Interlaken. A Swiss rail pass is worth having, for the rail system is so fabulous. Part of the reason it all works is that there are 7 million people traveling about in a country about the size of two counties in New Mexico. And even though most of them own cars, they use their trains a lot.

September 4, 2010. We are back with Bruno and Judith after four nights in Gimmelwald and two days of spectacular weather there. I could finally walk again without pain when we did an eight hour hike up to Rotstockhutte, another pretty stone hut above timberline at 2,000 meters where six inches of fresh snow had just melted. There we had our lunch on the sunny patio, enjoying beer brought up by a self propelled hauling device on a cable. No wonder it cost $6.00 a mug. There were flowers, deep blue skies, fresh snow on the peaks, and the Eiger, Monck and Jungfrau summits in full view to exclaim upon. It could not have been more perfect, and we walked another route back to Walter’s, marveling over the multiple trails, all clearly signed, to choose from. We didn’t even mind the cows along the paths. With their big bells, it seemed somehow they belonged.

Walter’s hotel is also popular with Americans, but an older set, so indeed it was quiet and comfortable. By Swiss standards it is a great value. For $43 per person you get a private room, private shower (in a stall in your room), shared toilet down the hall, and breakfast. The heat is on from 10:30 pm to 8 am, and we needed it as it got down to freezing one night after the skies cleared. For another $15 each you can order dinner, but you must do so by 10 am. With dinner, Walter provides Italian wine. The dinners were simple, but ample and good. One set of guests from Hawaii was on their third or fourth visit to Gmmelwald and Walter’s hotel.

From the trains you can see a lot of the Swiss character revealed. Community gardens, for example. They are called Schrebergartens after a 19th century German physician who thought people should eat more fresh vegetables, With people crowding into factory towns, there were fewer gsrdens, and so the idea of publicly owned garden plots rented out to local citizens was born. Since they can have it as long as they like, and usually it’s about forever, they build small garden sheds or greenhouses on their plots, and some even heat them with wood stoves or fireplaces. But you are not allowed to stay overnight! Most have flowers as well as vegetables--dahlias were in bloom this season. The plots are, naturally, totally tidy. Acres and acres of these little gardens---not a hair out of place. Trains aren’t late, and weeds aren’t allowed to grow.

I wonder if we’d study the way a county handles its trash we’d be able to make some interesting generalizations about the place. Here the trash is handled as you might expect. There is none lingering along roadways. Litter is unthinkable. On trash days, it’s all bundled, tied, wrapped and covered. Highly mechanized trucks move it here and there, and then it’s gone. There are no landfills. Glass is sorted by color, and some is ground and put in asphalt. Plastic is bundled by color: we saw bales of it waiting to be shipped somewhere. Some is composted, some incinerated, the ash put to use. It’s a lesson in what is possible, with determination.

Yesterday we took a morning to explore Zurich on foot. A helpful tourist info center at the train station offers maps with a walking tour--stops described in English. A good sized river runs through the middle of town, emptying into a huge lake that Zurich spills out around. The tour goes along one side of the river, then back up the other, and there’s charm and pedestrian friendly streets in abundance. Church towers, all with huge clocks, dominate the skyline. Two of the churches are particularly interesting. One, the Fraumunster, contains five stained glass windows by Marc Chagall. They are as colorful and interesting as any he has done. The other, the medieval Grossmunster (begun in 1045 or so), also has some modern stained glass--these windows made of thinly sliced, colorful agate rounds leaded together. Stunning! We were not supposed to take photos, but being rebellious Americans, we snapped off one. That church was the seat of some of the major reformation action in the 1500’s, and the building itself felt the consequences of the purging of suddenly unacceptable ornamentation, losing statues and frescos and more.
Halfway along we stopped for a picnic by the lake: grilled wurst and bread, with swans and ducks trolling for crumbs below.

Tomorrow we take a train to Budapest. We have rented a small apartment, and “Thomas” will meet us at the train station with a sign saying “George.” Chapter Three: Hungary. It will be hard to leave Bruno and Judith who have been so generous and kind. Judith is a gifted cook, and enjoys presenting beautifully constructed as well as fabulous tasting meals. One night she made a lasagna that was so good we wanted to eat it all. I apprenticed at helping with the risotto our last evening, and got the task of layering the prosciutto on veal for saltimbocca. Bruno produced lovely wines from his cellar, and we often talked late over cheese, fruit, and a dessert wine. You can see why we hate to leave.

September 5, Munich. We planned a stop of a few hours in Munich, which seemed like a good idea at the time. We did enjoy the afternoon: beer at the noisy Hofbrauhus, a visit to the towering brick cathedral, a walk through the modern art museum (five wonderful Emil Noldes and three interesting early Picassos) and a hearty German supper at Augustiners. But then it was 7:00 and our sleeper train isn’t leaving until 11:40. Starbucks had wireless and offered a home for an hour, but now, very sleepy and weary, we wait on track 12.