The day began with a trip to the Buda Hills to a little French bakery, La Table. The #6 tram took me almost to it's doorstep. The plan was to be there around eight o'clock so that I could leisurely sit, sip expresso, read and write. No one was there accept the baker in his white coat and the waitress behind the counter. I greeted them with a J(Y)o no pote. (so I could sound all Hungarian) Then ordered an Americano, which is an expresso with a little bit of water. Coffee is served in glass...no paper cups around here. Come to think of it...I don't see much litter either. Hmmm. For two hours I sat, sipped, and wrote as Europeans would come, sit, and go.
When finished, I walked the neighborhood and ended up..NO! At a MALL! For this non-shopper, a mall was the last place that I wanted to go. But, if you recall, I have a blister problem. (So junior high!) I thought maybe I'd find a pair of shoes that neither touched my heals nor my toes. Ha! So into this mall, I went. Oh...my old world view of Budapest was crushed. There I found cell phone stores, tech stores screaming out the words MAC and SONY in bold florescent lights. Help! Get out! Get out! Then I couldn't find my way out. Seriously, this mall consisted of TWO six story buildings.
Once out, I calmed my beating heart, took a long breath and saw the stop where I had gotten off. This is a big city, the New York of Hungary, with lots of traffic. Anything goes. Bikes, tiny cars, scooters, wheel chairs, walkers...all a free for all, take life at your own risk, kind of thing. Lazing around is non existent. It's all about alert and intent.
I crossed the tram tracks and the 5 way intersection, then headed up the hill to the castle and Matthias Chapel that was surrounded by a huge stone wall with it's steps to the top. I strolled those streets to get myself back into ancient days and found a little cafe. (why do I always look for cafes?)
It's not until you are on your own that you realize some of the necessities of life. Pen and paper.
NEVER LEST TIP #3. Solo travel. Never leave home without a pen and paper lest your IPAD run out of battery and you end up sitting, twiddling your thumbs and counting old stones at a sidewalk cafe.
At this cafe, I sat, twiddling for a little bit and listening to all the languages around me. I ordered water and a table red wine, and a pen and paper. The only English speaking customers had just left and the French family left too. That left me with the ..I'm not sure...German? Swedish?.. all I know is that I didn't understand a word. So I pretended like I was a travel writer, totally focused on the experience of the day. If I put on my sunglasses I could even look more "focused."
One thing I've found so far is that European people are intent. Intent on where they are going and what they are saying. They walk with their head down and make very little eye contact. Unlike we Southerners who yell across the room and throw our arms around even the newest acquaintance. So I sat writing and listening and wondering, after a watching all these beautiful pizzas and bowls of goulash being served, why I hadn't been served. Oh! I never ordered. (Remember. The wait staff will not bother you unless they are summoned.) "Goulash, please." Another thing I've noticed is that people slowly nurse their food and drink for hours. Whether it is expresso or wine..the liquid lowers in the glass very slowly. No "BIG GULPS" around here.
The family sitting next to me, parents and "twenty something" son, is actually conversing like adults who like and respect and want to learn from each other. Imagine that? (No iPhones on the table.) And the little waitress....she is running her smiling face around each table with a humble and servant style of exhausting energy. I love her!
My last stop before heading back to Pest (Pesh) was at a little side street gallery. There were very few people in the streets, it was as if they were my own. In the gallery I noticed an artists' paintings that I had seen in several galleries. I struck up a conversation with Ka'lma'n, the gallery agent, and after a while I mentioned I was a painter. He said in broken English, "Really, I am an painter too." We became instant friends. I asked to see some of his work and he pulled out a BOOK. Head low and humble, he showed me his paintings and, in a shy tone, "I was famous. Sold at Christies...all over Europe, everywhere." He had painted since he was a child. There it was....today's HIGHLIGHT....we talked for an hour about art, techniques, and how the government pulled funding for artists and that now he worked selling other artists work and didn't have time to paint. I could not get over how winsome and gracious he was. I want to go back for lessons.
Now..on to bus 16 and home.
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