A blog of magical musings from behind the iron curtain. And reflections on my living with Parisians.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Hello all from the rapidly cooling eastern metropolis. Today we went book hunting, and it was great fun! First, we went to a massive shopping centre in Buda. We went with the aim of trying out the Libri there. They were quite nice to us, which is unusual for Libri (think 'Boarders' but with shop assistants whom in training were told “be really bloody grumpy -it's the best way sell more books!”) Then we went all over town using those modern fancy trams, the ones that make you feel you're in some sort of cyber-punk paradise.
My favorite bookshop is “the writers bookshop” or “Irók Boltja” It's just about the most 'class A' drug of the bookshop world. Laced with High ceilings which are, of course, packed with bookshelves . Ladders run around them on metallic rails and wheels. I almost died.
But that wouldn't be my first near-death experience these past few days, oh no, I've also made a cake. I got the recipe off the Internet, and as normal we couldn't be arsed to either A. use the correct measurements or B. get the correct ingredients. Thus, we made it up as we went along: Yum Yum
It's quite shocking how two of the same bookshop (again: Libri) in the same mall can go from a house of smiles and kindness to bleeding walls of death. But it did. A nice helpful man who looked like Dr Frasier Crane in bookshop 'A' charmed and danced money out of Peter's credit card. We were then beaten to a bloody mess in bookshop 'B' Then spat on. It was horrible. Grumpy bastard just said “no, we have no books here” So, in Pythonesque nod, we shot him.
Anyway, after the book hunt I ended up with a backpack full to the brim with texts of all shapes and sizes. I can't understand them; this gives them an odd feeling – it's like they've got hidden knowledge locked away. And Peter is the rusty key who only sort of understands the titles. These piles of books add an academic flavour to the digs - but they're off to blighty after we've hunted down the last 9.
On the metro today the - probably sloshed- driver tried to pull away from the station without having first pumped the breaks. We think that's the reason I was almost flung into the Everest sized belly of a Hungarian gentleman. The train shunted to a stop in the middle of a tunnel and then an odd noise started to seep into the carriage. It was ok though, we wobbled our way to the next stop. It wasn't as scary as the time the GNER train from newcastle me and Peter once used, which as well as selling drainwater coffee also deiceded to set itself on fire.
Flea markets are excellent here, even in the bastarding rain. They're packed full of top hats, Soviet passports, Nazi memorabilia and scary sounding porn. On Sunday we went to a rather nice market in the centre of the city park – We bought incense for the flat to give it a funky Hippy vibe, Peter got chocolate and a pen made from a disused bullet. We've also added a book to the GULAG of “new age shit”. The book has the same name.
I've burnt my finger. From this blog onwards I'm never burning any of my limbs again. It really bloody hurts.
Ok, so I also keep leaving the hob on when I make coffee. I can't help it, it's really hard to remember! So Betsy has made a sign for me to stop me burning down the flat.
Yes, we decided Betsy shares the same persona as that of Patsy from Ab Fab.
I saw a rather cool shop sign one night in down-town pest. Here it is:
And, one last thing, Peter wants me to report that he tried (and failed) to scare me using the demon-curtain thing. I'm really quite worried by it. I think it is brought to life at night and dances around the flat in a bid to please its master: The Lord Woland.
Well, the riots have fallen into a vast pit of nothingness: or so we thought. We went out for coffee and drinks at café near the basilica, in central pest, at around 10pm. After we'd payed and walked down the street a man asked us if we had been “turned away as well” Peter said “no, and where would we have been turned away from?” The gentlemen then went on to tell us that around 200 police officers turned up outside parliament to move away about twenty protesters. Clearly he may be exaggerating; however, it wouldn't shock me if there is the smallest element of truth running about in his grubby looking head. We're going down to investigate soon, tomorrow if we have time. We were also harangued with a tale that “some Lithuanians were coming with guns to kill the police for beating up priests and press of their country”
I found a great way to spend the night -- sitting on the balcony with an Ushenka and a blanket with a Bulgakov. Yummy.
We've made French onion soup from the massive amount of raw food ingredients we bought from the Hungarian equivalent of Aldi. It wasn't that great, we blame Betsy, she just burns EVERYTHING, even my scones. She has a serious lack of respect. But we're going to leave the soup in the fridge over night as it “may get better with age” After all, we did put wine in it. On that subject – when I told my comrade to buy some wine he ran down to the shop and said “give me your cheapest wine”. It cost 80p. It tastes of grapes with just a dash of used coffin.
Oh, that chap Peter escaped from the police with is doing ok. He's getting his teeth fixed and he got home safely. The mad German student doctor 'Len' has called; Peter's text messages threats turned into definite action. He didn't sound 'mad' on the phone but actually quite normal. For me, this is a relief. But for Peter it means he now lacks a partner in the pursuit of zaniness. We'll see. Anyway, it gives me an excuse to try and make more scones. He's convinced I'm some sort of English Lord. We're going to use tin foil to try and disperse the volcanic heat from Betsy's belly around the scones, rather than just leaving it to burn my delightfully English snack foods.
We're going to purchase Hungarian book for Peter's mother tomorrow. They're for The School of Slavonic and Eastern European studies. Who also happen to be my first choice university. I'm aiding the supply chain for their books. Well, it's something to drop into an interview.
This evening we reached the end of the only series of 'ab fab' we have. Thus, a new requirement for visitors is to bring series two of 'ab fab' as well as 160 Yorkshire Gold. If this is not met, we will leave you at the airport and, should you make it, not let you into the flat. Sorry, but it's the way it's got to be sweetie.
Here's a video of peter nearly killing himself. When Plew's saw this, he said: “that was the most dangerous thing i've ever seen, even by my standards”
I've had Sunday dinner with Peter's mother's ex lodgers family. It was really nice, I had the traditional Hungarian fish soup and then more fish for the main course. Peter was bitched at for not liking aquatic meat; I think this is justified since it was really tasty. The meal lasted about 3 hours which is much longer than your normal English Sunday dinner. After that we went out and put English teaching posters all over the ELTE student district.
The decision to have an early night was made since we had to be up at 7:30 to get to the parliament in time for the start of the 1956 events. Right from the off we were met with police force pushing back politically active crowds. Chants of AVH were bellowed at the authorities. We were moved back away from Parliament, and ran towards the chain bridge. Here we saw the first signs of the far-right Hungarian 'political' groups. They want to see the nation’s boarders stretched into Transylvania and other areas. The slogan used by these members is "Super Size Me".
Skin-heads were dotted amongst the crowd trying to perpetuate the violence and stretch the tension. And it doesn't take much for it to snap. Especially in Hungary, as we found later that evening.
A large crowd moved towards Corvin cinema. Anti government chants were called out in the wide streets of inner-Budapest. We marched down the middle of the road while cars were spinning round, then racing back into the opposite direction. I was at the front of all this snapping away at the mob behind. We jumped up onto telephone boxes and anything else that gave a good vantage point. The cinema is of symbolic importance, lots of people were killed there in '56.
The protesting really only got serious when we went back into the breach, after going home for some much needed food. We'd met with Peter's friend Gáspár earlier and he'd warned us that the police will use violence indiscriminately. We needed to be really careful.
We first went to Deák Ferenc tér, where the protestors had commandeered the soviet ear tank:
It was desolate except for the police blockades, piles of stones, rubber bullets and tear gas shells. We decided to try and find a way to Astoria whilst avoiding of the police lines; as we got closer the tear gas in the air started to stab Peter’s eyes. Mine were alright, but once we got onto the main street my eyes started to sting (though not enough to stop us sprinting into more photographic opportunities). We decided that we should get to Ferenciek tere; when we arrive the crowd was moving down the road towards the bridge. They were backing away from the riot police, who were assembled like an army. Dotted amongst them were men with green bullet-proof vests. We were told that they'd already killed 3 protestors that day using rubber bullets (which later turned out to be false, there were no deaths).
A stale mate was reached, so the next port of call was the parliament building. We went along the right bank of the Danube towards freedom square. The heavy police presence had worked - the area was deserted. Thus, we got the metro back to Ferenciek tere. This was quite worrying, we overheard a man say that the police had shot tear gas into a subway. It goes without say that this was the subway station we were getting off at:
The gas rolled down the escalator as we ascend into the violent streets above. This was causing everyone to leave the station with red, tearful eyes. We didn't know that on ground level the situation we had left had reached a new level of danger. The protesters had ripped down the scaffolding and grabbed building materials. Within 30minutes they'd erected a crude but sinister looking barricade.
We met some American and/or Canadian guys and also a crazy German medic student called "Len" who, whenever the police shot tear gas at us, would shout at people not to run. In his bag he showed us a tear gas canister he’d grabbed and various plastic bullets:
He was drunk. And walking around listening to music and laughing at the situation. Brilliantly, he was able to speak perfect English. He called me "Lord Extra". This was some sort of German 'joke' which I didn't understand. Typically, I was asked about how to drink tea correctly and why we "force" people to sit down and have a cup of tea at 5 o'clock. I didn't know that we did, but fine. Peter loves him. He has got his number and keeps threatening to text him. One of the last things I remember him saying was "I would very much like to have a cup of English tea with you. Please can I have your number" - Peter gave him the Hungarian mobile number, and I should mention that this German was a lucky German: He'd danced with the wife of Ali-G. I think one of his relations is married to a member of the Sacha Baron Cohen dynasty.
Later on, as all Americans do those amongst us did utter them well-trodden words: "it's not the LA riots". I think this is law for yanks: any public disturbance must, at some point, be compared to the riots in Los Angeles.
I was just explaining to the Americans that they'd never dare to do anything with the world watching, then the police charged at us whilst water cannons and tear gas was launched into our direction. I ran to the left down to Váci Utca with Peter. This was a mistake as the police came running after us and started to beat down the protesters. I put up my hands and had my camera on display. This stopped them attacking me, but in front people I'd been chatting with minutes earlier were beaten to the floor. At this point I lost Peter, he ran towards the Danube, whereas I went back in the direction the police were coming from. I saw more photographers and told them to get out of there before the police came back. Peter rang me and all I heard was "I'm ok" then my phone stopped working. I hate Orange!
I walked back to Deák Ferenc Tér with some member of the anti-communist league. They spoke perfect English, and were asking me if anything like the brutality of the police would happen in England. I said it would be highly unlikely and nothing compared to what I'd seen that night. One man said "fucking communist pigs ey?" which serves to illustrates the misunderstanding and uncontrolled propaganda which is running rampant amongst the far right groups of Hungary. I walked towards Arany János metro station and, using my crappy Hungarian I asked which metro station had no police. Most people I asked didn't know, and the protesters I was walking with didn't seem to know either. We got to the station but what we'd all forgotten due to the heat of the moment was that metro would not be running at 2am.
I started walking back towards Deák Ferenc Tér when I lost the English speaking anti-communist members. I walked past the basilica and saw the police, one of them shouted to see my camera. I said I was English and my camera was broken. I got out of their sight and removed the memory card, put it in my shoe and placed an empty CF card back into the camera. This way if they smashed the camera they'd not smash my images.
I asked some more protesters for directions and walked up towards Westend shopping centre. I stopped in at an open Internet cafe and tried to buy a phone card. Failed at it. So I changed a note into coins. When I tried to call Peter the line would not connect. Today we've realised it was due to the police, they may well have shut down the mobile network to stop anymore protests organising a new stand-off.
I was dying of thirst, when I came to an open pub I went in and had an ice-tea and some crisps. I sat down and started to worry about Peter. My plan of action was to get back to the flat and use Skype to call him. I hoped he'd be trying to get home as well.
I stole some police tape on the way back - I needed more souvenirs! I was told to go around a long way round to get back home. This was what the authorities were shouting at me, but then when I explained I was English and was trying to get to Angyalföld and they just waved me past. I saw one of the protest leaders on the way back - I said good evening and told him he'd been on the BBC.
It took me about an hour and a bit to walk back from Westend. I got to the flat and saw the light was on. I presumed that Peter had left it on to deter burglars. But thankfully I'd saved myself £5 to use Skype out due to Peter making an appearance in the little window in the flat door.
PETER'S STORY AFTER WE WERE SEPARATED
At about 1:30am, just after we had all had ran from the police, I was chatting with a slightly crazy German guy called Len. We were just exchanging numbers so that he could come to our flat at some point for "a proper cup of English tea", as he put it, when the police appeared from all the surrounding streets with their shields, bats and cans of mace. I thought they would just target the rioters, but when they started beating random people to the floor (including Len), I knew it was time to run like hell. This was probably the first time that I genuinely felt scared for my wellbeing. So, naturally, I ran as fast as my tired legs could take me (having already been standing for 18 hours).
I soon hit a clump of rioters on the riverbank, some of which were running around, shouting, crying from the tear gas and bleeding all over the place. I called Philip and asked him if he was OK, to which he replied "Yes I'm OK", then the line was cut off and I just got forwarded to his voice mail when I tried to call again. My options were now:
North - Police blockades around the parliament
East - The police who had just tried to beat me
South - The main riot
West - The Danube
Just like in an old text adventure, all directions lead to peril. In the end I headed North, as that was homeward, and I quickly picked up the pace when I heard the police throw tear gas into the crowd I had just left. I got a call from Len who shouted in an all-too-jolly tone “Hey, Peter! I’ve just been beaten up by the police!”. I asked him if he was with Philip, but he wasn’t. He later called again and said “Just say you’re English and they’ll leave you alone,” which, in hindsight, is precisely what I should have done, but in that mindset I just wanted to avoid them as best as possible. The streets were completely desolate, and every exit was blocked by rows of police. Thankfully, I bumped into someone who might have been able to help me. His name was Gergő, he was about my age but quite a bit taller. He was badly bleeding from his mouth, two of his teeth had been smashed and he had streaks of blood across his face and clothes. No less than eight policemen had battered him to the ground, then kicked him repeatedly. He couldn't get home for all the police presence, so I agreed to let him stay the night back at the flat.
After roaming the streets for some time, it became clear that the police were only letting cars out, but no people. Even then, quite a lot of cars were being turned back. We tried to flag down a few cars, but most just drove on. Finally, one stopped and agreed to drive us home. We were turned back quite a few times, but eventually we were allowed through one of the barricades. It was all going smoothly until our driver drove us straight into Deák Ferenc Tér where we again got stuck behind barricades. We spent a good half an hour in the car, the police knocking on the windows and asking questions, and Gergő discussing theology with the driver. I had thought for a minute that Gergő was going to use me for a sex game and burn me in the bath (as Robert Webb once said), but his religious views cleared all such thoughts.
We did, finally, get home at about 3am, and having called Philip every few minutes for the past hour to no avail, I decided to call home for some advice. Basically, either Philip was in a prison cell somewhere (where they can’t keep him for more than 12 hours), or he’s in hospital somewhere. My mum said that if Philip didn’t show up within 12 hours, we’d call our solicitor in Budapest and she’d sort things out. Gergő had a shower to clean away all his blood, and who should walk through the door but Philip! Yay! This meant I didn’t have to call his parents and explain that I had lost him!
We rejoiced and drank tea. Actually, we didn’t, but we really should have. Gergő couldn’t eat anything due to his broken teeth, so tea would have been perfect. Then we all went to bed. And don’t worry, Plews, I didn’t cheat on you - Gergő slept on the couch.
So that was one eventful day. Peter made about five minutes of video recordings too, which you can watch here:
We took over a thousand photos in those 18 hours, but Peter, the official photo editor, has picked out 114 of the best, which you can view by clicking here.
Well, we have now been to see the very politically active parliament square. The métro pulled into the Kosúth ter station; it was so silent a scientist could of use it for a controlled experiment to see what happens when it's really bloody quite.
Going outside the station to see the protesters in the square could have easily reduced us to a bloody mess in the back of a police station. A woman -- whom we've since been told was probably a little crazy -- warned us that if the police catch us taking photos we'd have our cameras taken off us then promptly our faces would be smashed in. Needless to say we left. Found a new location. And started taking more photos.
There's an example; I'll use this in my report since it's got good details of aged facial features on a subject from the older generation. It's hard to pick who to support in these events in Hungary. Either support the corrupt left, or the centre-right who are using this as an opportunity to try and seize power. I don't think either of us know enough about Hungarian politics to make any kind of judgment. I'm going to wait to ask Gáspár tomorrow.
Back in the flat peter had a night of me shouting at him to get on with his TEFL. At the rate he's going it won't be done until December the 22nd. He's not improving. So I've not taken more drastic acton:
"Rajta" is Hungarian for - "get on with it!"
In the métro system so far I've come across: A drunken man looking at a burning cigarette with a magnifying glass; countless Gypsies selling total crap; sleeping tramps; lesbian BKV ticket inspectors; transvestites; more screaming and begging Gypsies, one of which said: "you! look at me, your nice, look at me as well - do you like?" and even Lord Robert Winston.
Peter's and my own navigational skills came out top trumps when we went to find the 'Kultiplex' ruin bar. It took us about an hour and a half, and it should have only taken only thirty minutes. At least that's what peter announced before we set off. As a consequence we missed the band we wanted to see. Still, they have alcohol at kultiplex so it wasn't all bad.
Walking around down town 'pest one doesn't expect to have to dodge loads of crap 70s furniture. But to make such a presumption would be a rookie mistake in Eastern Europe. Tramps passionately were searching through an ancient vinal collection (to play on what? I honestly doubt they have have a massive home entertainment suite). However, I shouldn't be so quick to judge as I almost gave a rather swanky leather case a new home.
Another word of warning to the tourist of Budapest is not to fall into same trap as comrade peter. Just because someone is nice to you in a restaurant is not -- by any means -- justification to start buying double of everything. Even if you're getting 'chatted-up'. Remember dear readers this could well be a 'sales trick', and not an opportunity try and slot money into the leather clad underwear of a French kávehaz. Peter has asked me to point out that he really thinks he was getting 'tapped up' Philip thinks otherwise.
We found some random tanks, cars and flags at Deak Ferenc Ter this afternoon. It's got something to do with the 1956 uprising celebrations and memorial. It provided an excellent opportunity for some photography for my scholarship. And even more random photos of me and peter not really knowing what's going on and enjoying the randomness of Budapest metropolitan life.
This flag has a large section missing, no not for my head, but from where a CCCP Hammer and Sickle which was slashed out during the up-rising:
Back at the flat we had a little problem, thrashed it out, and came to the conclusion that the only thing for it was to send all the womanly and new age stuff to the GULAG. This is what we now call the cupboard in the corner of the room. I'm sorry Peter's mum, he made me do it!
It include: “miscellaneous items without function”, “smell making thing” and “new age random tosh"
Of course, the speaker has use – it's playing some excellent Bach as one types this.
We are the rational revolutionaries -- we take action!
We Landed in Budapest after a very pleasant flight on easy jet, which is thanks to vicious grabbing of the front seats. Ultimate leg room, ultimate value.
We went to the Tescos on the first night - which is also the biggest Tescos in the world. It's fun but so big it takes about 15 minutes just to find bread. Peter often gets treated like an idiot when he asks for things in his Hungarian. This is due, i am told, to his "excellent" pronunciation, but sub-par lexicon. However, both of us had problems expressing the shock we felt when walking past the fish tank and, right in front of us, we discover a massive dying cod. Flapping about and trying to scream for help. It's calls were answered when an attendant came along and chucked it back in the tank. Animal rights are strong in Budapest.
We would have a video of the aforementioned event, had peter not got so excited that he dropped his phone and the memory card clunked against the steel plated floor of sadness.
Paying for our items at the very reasonable price of 9,800 ft we were also sold a story of how much better it is to work in England. It was so cheap we expressed a little slab of joy. The lady told peter "yes, for you, not for me!" to which a rather scared peter replied "I don't know what to say" we left, quickly.
The ingredient bought from Tescos were the components for a rather over-cooked bowl of Chile Con Carne. It may have the texture wallpaper paste but at least I'm not dead. Yet.
I bought a Hungarian espresso coffee making thing. It works via pressure and evaporation. The coffee is "Nagyon Eros" - very strong. But that's how I like it. If I didn't have my black gold I'd probably kill peter in the morning. He produces energy "the natural way". Well, bully for him.
The entire BKV city transport network is ran by butch, blonde, lesbians. And they would not give me my 60% off standard rates month pass. Despite how much we smiled. A pox on them.
I can't think of anything else really. We went to the kultiplex ruin bars and watched some bands on the big screens. Now we're setting up a sound system in the front room. I'm off to learn some more Hungarian and see how Peter is getting on.
