Time travel
by Adina Laura Achim
I love getting lost through the large boulevards of the 5th and 6th Kerulet in Budapest, walking through the streets as a ghost, hiding my face under my long fur coat, so that I can pass unnoticed, and admire the life in the streets, without being bothered with meaningless questions from lost tourists or talkative locals.
Usually, I prefer to be in the spotlight, but in Budapest, anonymity is a welcomed change. This invisibility gives me power, because I can observe without being seen, or disturbed by boring questions or purposeless conversation; and believe me there´s so much to observe and admire on the streets of Budapest.
Life here moves at a slower speed than in other European capitals, and most of the locals seem to be cut out from some Greek tragedy. Almost each time when my eyes stop on a random girl, or a tall, slender boy, my head instantly starts creating a story, or comes up with tens of questions, and I become intrigued by their presence, wanting to find out more about their life story.
Why? Maybe, because my mind associates Budapest with mystery, unspoken passions, a bohemian existence and a lost, European golden time, which can be found, only in history books, or those big, dusty Larousse collections, that we keep in our private libraries.
Don´t get me wrong, there are endless beautiful cities in Europe (and Latin America), but some give me the impression of lifeless museums, while others don´t manage to move me to a great extent, although I admire their beauty. On the other hand, each return to Budapest is a time travel.
In the former Austro- Hungarian crown jewel, the glorious past is so well integrated in the daily existence, that you will never feel as flipping through the pages of a high school history book.
I live in a small, very artistic type of studio, close to the Opera- a perfect location for my midnight walks, and early morning strolls, when quietly I gather ideas for my novels, or I create those neurotic, always bohemian lovers for my writings, who are most of times based on the beautiful boys and girls, I see walking down my neighborhood.
Anywhere else in the world, I would have hated this type of flat, and surely, I would have invoked all the Gods and spirits to come to my help, and find something wider- more modern- more spacious than the small apartment, but here, in the heart of Budapest (against my better judgment and the outspoken doubts of my parents), I feel that my flat is the ideal home, defining so wonderfully what Budapest stands for in my heart.
I love the rundown buildings, the dirty bars with their not so fancy customers, my neighbors with their habits: the Italian couple fights each evening for the remote control- and almost each night, they end up on RAI1, just to start a couple of minutes later, a new dispute about the attire of the presenter or the weight of a certain actress; then there´s the cute blond Hungarian, in his late 30s, who ends up with five different girls on five different evenings- he makes me smile each time we meet in the hallway and we exchange a couple of words in my rudimentary Hungarian; there´s also the elegant old money type of gentleman and his wife (surely at least twenty years younger than him), who are by far my favorites, because of the elegance in their gestures and that certain je ne sais quoi in the way they move and talk, add to this all those painters, poets, photographers, aspiring actors, that can be seen each night in the bars around my house, and you´ll understand that twenty-four hours would never be enough, for admiring this wonderful street spectacle and its talented artists.
I love Budapest because it´s the only place that leaves me in a childish astonishment each time I walk out of the house.
I love Budapest because it´s the only city that keeps my brain alert for the whole day; transforming my lazy neurons in acclaimed athletes, overworked by so much questioning and analyzing.
I love Budapest for bombing me with art, culture and history- sometimes, I get scared that after a couple of months here, I would have to buy a pair of glasses, because my abused eyes will remain forever damaged by so much staring. It´s like they would hurt, from the ongoing effort of keeping them always open, without blinking even for a second. I´m so scared that if I close them, a magical moment from my daily spectacle would be lost forever.
I love Budapest for its old European glamour. In the Hungarian capital, women still smoke as Greta Garbo not as catholic school girls, they wear long furs, red lipstick and have their makeup and hair all day long impeccable. Hungarian men (personal opinion), make up the most handsome nation I came across in my travels. If usually, I see one attractive male a week, here, I see even five a day- and ladies, Menza in Liszt Ferenc ter, is the best place for bird watching! Sundays, at brunch time, you can easily fall in love.
I love Budapest for the pride of its nation! According to urban legends, kindly shared by a friend of mine, elderly people in Budapest prefer to die of hunger in their apartments, away from the sight of their loved ones, instead of asking for help, or begging for some coins, down in the streets.
Really, tragic! But it would be a horrible lie, to say that I don´t admire them for their honor and ethics. In a XXI century, when honor is just a concept stolen from an old Alexandre Dumas book, when people are so used to complain just for the sake of complaining, the habitants of Budapest, are for me, modern day heroes, protagonists in something that once in a while, might appear as a tragedy, but it´s still a timeless classical piece!
And Yes, for these reasons, and a billion more, I love you, Budapest!
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