The Clog Blog

Boobytraps, Birthdays and Beagles

Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about Budapest.

On our last European adventure before returning to San Diego, Morgan and I visited the capital of Hungary. We came just before the spring festival and the anniversary of throwing off Hapsburg rule, March 15th, also my birthday**.

The Hungarian people we met were very friendly, frank, and a bit stouter than the Dutch. They also seemed pretty tough. Case in point - I’ve never concluded a wine tasting by taking a shot of moonshine, but here you get Palinka, a clear little cup of fire that only tastes like fruit “if you get lucky and burp up the flavor” (quote from our sommelier).

That’s not to say that the cuisine was anything less than fabulous. We enjoyed some tasty dinners of perfectly stewed beef and amazing goulash at some out of the way locations, but well worth the walk. Koleves, in the Jewish quarter on a quiet street (almost abandoned at night), is very cozy and welcoming once you step inside. What struck us, aside from the taste and portion sizes of our meals, was how affordable everything was. Perhaps it was all just on a relative basis (relative to bleeding money in Amsterdam), but Budapest is quite a deal.

Across the square from our hotel was the St. Stephen’s Basilica and inside was the mummified hand of St. Stephen (Szent Istvan) - is it sacreligious to say it looked like a little monkey hand? It was tiny. The crown was a normal size, so I’m guessing 1000 years just does not bode very well for human remains.

Budapest is such a mix of elaborate and beautiful decor, set in contrast to blocks and blocks of run-down buildings covered in a layer of dust, either from recent rebuilding or decay. You walk from one layer of history to another - from a soviet-era bus up to a castle built and rebuilt for the last 800 years. A gothic structure or an art nouveau facade could easily be an original or a total renovation.

In the spirit of that reinvention, artists and young people have been taking over abandoned buildings and creating “ruin pubs.” We wandered our way to Szimpla Kert on our first night in and were thoroughly impressed. If you lean towards artsy dives over glossy cocktail bars, then this is the place for you. Go here if you find yourself in Budapest (preferably on a Friday night).

After walking around all day exploring and then drinking wine and Palinka at night, the trip took its toll on our bodies (and livers). Nothing too harsh that a day at the Szechenyi Baths couldn’t repair. Don’t let the difficult pronunciation fool you, this place is a relaxing respite from the city grit that locals and tourists take part in. We spent an entire afternoon here and only left after our pruned-up fingers and toes told us it was time.

We tripped over pieces of rebar and uneven pavement as much as we stumbled over the Maygar language, but luckily we always ended up at an opulent cafe or met someone who spoke wonderful English and had loads of patience.

It is true, as it is often written, that Budapest is much like the Paris of Eastern Europe. A city that, after being reduced to rubble many times in its history, has had to continually rebuild and reinvent itself. Through Roman, Hun, Ottoman, Habsburg, Nazi and Soviet influence over its long and storied history, Budapest has developed a gorgeous grit in both its character and its outward appearance.

**as an odd side note, the only other two main Hungarian national holidays are August 20th, St. Steven’s Day (and also Morgan’s birthday), and October 23rd, Memorial Day for the 1956 Revolution (also my dad’s birthday).

Oh and were you wondering about the beagles? Well it must be the national dog because everyone here seemed to be walking one of those adorable pooches. Well done Hungary.

A shot in the dark

Hey All,

Good thoughts needed on your behalf. I have applied to an travel writing internship position with Rough Guides. Details on the job can be found here and my entry essay can be found below.

We all gotta have a dream right?

- Morgan

A full moon rises over the silent sand dunes and dutifully sheds its reflective light on the landscape before me. The desert heat has yielded to the night air and a balmy breeze wraps me in cool comfort. My bare feet break the sandy surface as I climb the backbone of the nearest dune. China’s Tengger Desert tests the depths of the horizon in front of me and the night sky calculates infinity above. I reach the top and breathe deep, trying to capture this moment in my lungs. The immediate emptiness of my surroundings draws a smile across my sunburnt face as I drift to the chaos I left behind.

Back in Beijing the mechanical melee doesn’t rest. The traffic food chain distills those on foot into agile animals, capable of darting through metallic predators that cough black smoke and push their way down the busy streets. Travel in this city is an intimate dance with the moving masses and as the human swell pushes, there is no time to cradle a map. You go with the movement of the buses, the bicycles, the Xiali taxi cabs, the serpentine underground or you don’t go at all.

An army of cranes attempts to sate the city’s appetite for steel and glass and concrete but the hunger only grows as Beijing swells symmetrically from its Forbidden nucleus. A steady stream of migrant workers arrives through the Beijing train station, ready to work with their hands, ready to shape a place that seems to change every night. They are strapped with the standard-issue plastic sack-cum-suitcase, monogrammed in the dirt of hard travel with their portable lives packed tightly inside. These men are not ready for Beijing and it is clear across their faces as they attempt to navigate their first set of moving stairs.

This is pre-Olympic Beijing, proud and expecting, pregnant with the rush of money, attention and growth. Everyone here is looking for something better and my students, who have wagered a small fortune on English classes, are no different. They are retired soldiers, double PhDs and entrepreneurs and as we talk, they teach me. They teach me about the cultural canyon between themselves and their grandparents, about the voracious consumption that has replaced conservative spending, to drink burning báijiǔ and how to make the perfect steamed dumpling. They teach me to be a better public speaker and in return, no question or conversation is off limits during class.

I wasn’t ready for Beijing when I arrived alone. Now, after six months of living and working in this foreign city, I can see that the people here are not so different than I. I am a migrant worker, looking for opportunity in an unknown and overwhelming city. I am a student, learning the Chinese culture, language and life.

As the cicadas rise to take their place on the desert stage, I take this moment to enjoy a small break from the concert of chaos back in my temporary home.

Zonneschijn

When the first rays break out in Amsterdam, everything and everyone flips out. Flowers pop open in the form of crocuses, daffodils, and forsythia, my favorite yellow flame, and the willows and hydrangeas push out lime-green leaflets. People flock to terraces to drink coffee and soak up the warmth. Warmth, mind you, is still a relative term, as in the shade you still need a few layers to cut the chilly air.

On Sunday afternoon we rented a boat from Boaty.nl (which we highly recommend if you spend some time here) and enjoyed a typical Amsterdam activity reserved for those rare sunny days: crusing the canals. We sipped some champagne and shared some aged gouda as the old homes and houseboats floated by. Morgan was the skipper, navigating us safely past the few other boats and under the bridges. We even saw a few fuzzy ducklings.

Morgan and I have been enjoying the last few Dutch days and taking in a few of our favorite places with friends. We spent an afternoon in Haarlem at the Jopenkerk tasting the local brews, and wound through the big market in the center of town.

This week we’ve gone to both Vesper and ‘t Arendsnest, two of our favorite bars. The first is a cozy and dark affair that serves you elegant and old fashioned cocktails like mint juleps and pisco sours. The second is a warm neighborhood bar featuring only Dutch beers - both craft and mainstream. A favorite of mine is a hoppy beer from the Brouwerij De Molen called “Vuur en Vlam” (fire and flame).

As a special treat, Morgan took me to the Concertgebouw on Friday to celebrate my birthday. We had wanted to check it out ever since we were in Paris and someone told us that Amsterdam had one of the top orchestras in the world. They were surely in fine form, and from our seats up behind the string section the music shimmered out to fill the room. We had a great view of the conductor as he coaxed and gesticulated to bring drama out of each section of the orchestra. Though we were perhaps the youngest patrons there by about a generation, we loved dressing up and playing the part of the upper crust.

- Brenna

London Love

So much to love about London - the efficient underground tube, speaking English without feeling guilty, streets crowded with history, endless good museums, pubs and eateries to explore.

Morgan started off the weekend with a hike up to the tower of St. Paul’s cathedral. He was rewarded with a stunning, if hazy, view of London.

I came down to London on the train from Oxford and made my way into the havoc of rush hour at Paddington Station. We rushed off to the theater for a Friday evening show at a good friend’s recommendation - Morgan found some last-minute tickets even though it had sold out.

The evening was a nice mix of high-low: grilled sausages and onions on a roll courtesy of a street vendor, then off to see War Horse in the West End, evening capped off by a late night snack of Subway sandwich, which we took back to our hotel room through our marble lobby filled with orchids.

We said we would just take it easy on Saturday and not run ourselves ragged, but there was so much to see and do we were on our feet or in the tube most of the day. We started out at the British Museum because - another great thing about London - all the museums are free! After checking out the Rosetta Stone, many Egyptian stone carvings, treasures and gold jewelry from ancient Greece and Mesopotamia, the controversial pieces of the Parthenon, and Samurai armor from Japan, we had worked up quite a hunger.

Morgan directed us to Lamb & Flag, the oldest pub in Covent Garden and possibly the oldest in London. Inside folks crowded around a roaring fire, taking shelter from the gray drizzle outside. We indulged in some fine pub food - fish and chips for me and carved roast beef with Yorkshire pudding for Morgan. Of course we each had a pint, which in the UK is always exactly a measured pint by law. So much more generous than the little glasses of Belgian and Dutch beer we have gotten used to, but thankfully not as strong!

We headed over to the Tate Modern and on the way, stumbled into the Jubilee and Borough Markets, akin to the Pike Place Market back home in Seattle. Nestled at the foot of a bridge, some locals and many tourists crowded through the stalls buying fish, organic honey, cheeses, pate, cakes and wine. We grabbed a slice of raspberry cake and had our own version of high tea at the Tate, where we had a surprising encounter with contemporary art. 

What looked at first glance like a drab bed of gravel filling one floor of the Tate was actually 100 million hand-painted porcelain sunflower seeds. It is mindblowing to think about the effort that went into the installation and what it says about individuality. I also loved the large, colorful canvases and feeling creeped out by the surrealist paintings.

Crossing over the Thames, we made our way back into Soho for a posh dinner out on the town. At Bob Bob Ricard the atmosphere was like a party from The Great Gatsby that had plunged to the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by glittering shades of deep blue, gold, and shell-pink. We savored a mix of English and Russian food like smoked salmon and cold, clear tomato soup, and sipped rhubarb gin & tonics. They also had a necessary (obviously) button for Champagne.

Out on the town in Picadilly Circus we saw the theater crowds flooding into the streets and the young, exuberant London nightlife starting to buzz. A few young gentlemen must have needed a bit of an extra buzz as we saw them nonchalantly polishing off bottles of rum while arriving in a black cab. 

For our last day we made the rounds to Westminster Abbey, Parliament, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace and the Portobello Market. There were no guards at the palace that day so Morgan could not fulfill his London dream of making the guards laugh. We did some shopping and browsed antiques at the market, stopping for a tasty chorizo burger at Banger Bros. We headed back to Amsterdam tired but ready for the next adventure.

-Brenna