Hello Readers,

We've just got back from my Birthday trip to ---- Venice!


Rialto


San Marco Square

There's a tradition we've established that my Birthday is never to be spent in a country of residence. Nobody likes violating a tradition so we had to pick somewhere. The best time to see Venice without the army of yanks is November, so we didn't want to miss the chance.


Waiting for the train in Budapest

The train left from Keleti Pályaudvar where we'd bought tickets for a sleeper train. After ending up in a Romanian peasant wagon in July, we didn't want to risk an open ticket for a second time. Fourteen hours locked in a carriage with cows and sacks of rice would not be a relaxing birthday jaunt.


Our spacious couchette

When we got on the train the MÁV chap told us that not only was there nobody else in our compartment, we also had the entire carriage to ourselves! It was like travelling first class. After about an hour, the train stopped for a short while and started moving backwards, which it continued to do for the entire journey. We were convinced that we hadn't left Hungary at all, but were just going 'round in circles.

The border control woman wished me a happy birthday when we reached Croatia at about midnight. That was really friendly - quite unlike the Slovenian boarder. When we got to it, it was very much a "Passporto!", "Where are you going?", "What affiliation do you have with the Face of Boe?" and "Why are you travelling through Slovenia?" type of affair. Well, the answer to the latter would be "We're on a fucking train," but it's best not to try anything with the Slitheen.

After the passport checks a customs officer came round. We assume that's what he was because he shouted at us in generic foreign. I said "anything to declare" but with such an intonation and authoritative RP accent that it sounded like I was questioning him. Luckily he didn't shoot us or shout "Vee vill ask zee kvestions!"

After all that fuss we were able to get about three hours' sleep before we got to the Italian boarder. The bridge over the lagoon into Venice is good fun and the train station has a brilliant Italian Fascist Mussolini ambiance to it, with a golden globe on the front. When you walk out you're straight onto the grand canal and it's bloody impressive.

It took us a few moments to find out hostel as it was down a tiny back street which even a ferret would consider a challenge, but we found the small green door as described in the e-mail, and rang the buzzer. It was a nice big clean room. After we unpacked we decided to do the normal Venice thing -- just walk around and get lost. And my God did we get lost.

We ended up stranded and on the wrong side of the island, where the only logical thing we could do was get the water-bus, though it was a ridiculous five Euros each! So we rode it right down the grand canal to get our money's worth, which was amazing. It then seemed a good idea to walk back up towards San Marco.


San Marco Square

Peter got attacked by a pigeon which, at this time, we thought was original. Soon however, we noticed that everyone was getting attacked by the vicious flying rats.







Despite it being low season, there were still quite a few Americans. Now, we're not the type to generalise all those from the USA as uncultured scum, but when we heard one say "So do you think there's another Pope here too?" we couldn't help but laugh.

When we were sitting looking at the islands thinking about what to do next, a mad beggar woman walked over, looked at me and asked for some money. I didn't have any change and couldn't be arsed to stand up. What did she do next? She ever-so-slowly picked up my bottle of water and drank from it, as Peter and I watched in slight shock, and just strolled off with it. She had a massive cyst on her lip, so I had no intention of grabbing it back. I was well pissed off. Still, we got a picture of her:


Stop! Thief!

Evening set in, the locals came out for dinner, and Venice looked even more stunning.







On the next day we went to the Guggenheim gallery which I really enjoyed, though I'm not sure about Peter. He sometimes gets pissy about modern art claiming that "art must have work put into it". He knows he's wrong, but that doesn't stop him having a moan. But there was no "Young British Artists" stuff, and that's where Peter's hate really starts.


A strange mirror illusion thing





By late afternoon we had done everything we had intended to do, so we had six hours to kill before catching our train to Budapest. Our only option was to walk around aimlessly and take in the surroundings. A lot of Venetians own small dogs, which can be a bit of a hassle with the cramped alleys. However, one woman has found a revolutionary new way of carrying her dog:



Every shop in Venice seems to sell masks. You can buy anything from a long-nosed diamond-enencrusted gaudy monstrosity, to Trevor McDonald:



By 8pm it was time for us to collect our rucksacks from the hostel, head to the train station and wave goodbye to Venice. As with most things in this world, pleasure often comes with pain, and our train journeys were no exception. The ride to Venice was quite pleasant, but we weren't happy to find our return couchette already kitted out for six people. Peter asked the train guard if he knew how many people would be in our couchette, and he said six. Shit. Peter also asked him that since there were only 18 reservations in our carriage, why they couldn't be split up into more cabins, rather than three cabins crammed full. At this point the guard started shouting, in Hungarian, "This is how things work! It is not up to us where you sleep! You sleep where your ticket says you sleep! Don't tell me the rest of this carriage is empty! A new TV with no channels programmed in is empty, but this carriage isn't!", so we shut up and closed the door.

In the end, only one of the four passengers turned up: an American called Kevin, who was visiting a friend in Budapest. We discussed politics and world affairs for several hours. The night was, as per usual, full of passport checks and changes of direction (we're sure we never left Hungary at all), but we slept well. The train pulled into Keleti Pályaudvar on time, we wished Kevin a pleasant stay and headed home.

Here's some video footage of the trip:



Click here to view more photos of the trip.
(To download these photos in full size, check back here in a day or two, and a link will have been added)

- Philip + Peter

Where...





...are we going?

- Philip + Peter

P.S. This happened:

I should start the blog by saying that all is not well in the kitchen. Betsy has, well, take a look:



We're not entirely sure what to do. She just growls and spits at us if we get try to go near her. Boris (the microwave, for those who don't know), on the other hand, is still going strong, so we can have warm radioactive sandwiches. Boris says: "Iz good, dah? Who need Betzee?".

'The Great Frank Zappa Experiment' is going well. After listening to his music for about 40 hours, we're just about starting to appreciate it. The experiment ends just before midnight on Saturday, by which time we hope to have figured out the deep philosophical meanings behind his lyrics, such as why Mr. Zappa wants to "ram it, ram it, ram it, ram it up yer poop-chute," -- assuming there are any at all. On with the experiment -- "Yippy-Ty-O-Ty-Ay".

It has been suggested by some that we are (or ought to be) slowly going mad. I was about to "poo-poo" this idea ("An entire platoon, brought down by poo-poo!" - Ed), until I found Peter sorting the coins into piles of 179Ft (the exact price of a loaf of brown bread), and wrapping them in cling-film:



I later found myself jumping around like a kangaroo as a means of light exercise. I'm sure this is all inevitable behaviour when you place an anthropologist and a physicist into the same flat. Peter even did some secret filming:



The bush people seem to be quite active tonight. The scary noises just keep getting louder until they get fed:



That's all for now.

- Philip + Peter

P.S. A certain Mr. Nash sang to us through Skype, without realising that we were broadcasting the lot:

Well, I've got a few things of interest that I can pick out for the blog.

I'm supposed to mention that when we went out to meet Len last week, there were people dressed up as zombies and other nasty things on the stairs of our block of flats. They were just standing still, holding cakes, saying nothing. They looked brilliantly realistic and terribly scary, I didn't want to drag up the memories but Peter harangued me till I mentioned it. Happy now?

It was decided that it was about time we took the tripod and the big camera up to the top of Gellért Hegy. The photos which resulted can only be appreciated truly in all their pixel glory, so click on any of the following to view them full size:









They're the best ones, but we got loads more.

We're currently cooking some Hungarian Galuska Pörkölt. The stew part is simmering away on the burning mouth of the bitch. I mean, "Betsy", sorry sweetie darling. Kiss kiss. However, the Galuska part is a bit more difficult:



Last night we went to see William Shakespeare's 'The Merchant of Venice', which was brilliant. It was almost as good as the set of streets we found on the same night. They were the perfect "generic James Bond Eastern European location" streets, complete with little cobbled courtyards here and there.



We also found this bar/cafe:



With Shakespeare in mind, this cafe caused "much to do about nothing" (Rah rah rah - Ed). Zappa has placed us within yet another existential predicament. We thrashed it out and decided that the only way out was to start "The Great Frank Zappa Experiment". For one week, all we're going to listen to is Frank Zappa. Both me and Peter feel we don't "get" some of his music, but after such prolonged exposure it might become clear. Well, as clear as one can get without a small supply of soft drugs.


Really cool picture Peter took in the Metró

We got a letter from home. It was the nicest tasting letter we've had yet. However, we must call out to the good people and beg for more. We need Pear Drops, how else are we supposed to carry on living without them?



And, finally, people have been asking about the "Bush People". Who are they? What do they want? Why do they want my tasty snacks?

Well, this picture might help:



Or not. Stay Tuned. More next blog.

- Philip + Peter

P.S. We've found a new way of getting the shopping done:



P.P.S. We've also been experimenting with vitamin pills:

We haven't been up to very much in the past few days, so we've no anecdotes to speak of. However, I have been cooking:



- Philip + Peter

Not much to report, well, except for the best night out we've had in the city so far. I don't know if rioting counts as a "night out", but this was the best one involving alcohol. We got a call from "crazy German Len" at about 8.30pm telling us he was bored and all his friends were either back in Deutschland or ill. He asked if we wanted a beer, and we thought a couple of hours in town would be nice. This turned into seven.

Szimpla is the best ruin bar in the city, and it was our destination:



The ethos is to go into an old house with a courtyard; rip its guts out; put in a bar and add a splash of dramatic lights. Then they whack in some old furniture from the 70s and there you go. Easily one of the best bars in Pest.

We got some mulled wine and waited for Len. We got seats in the corner, with Americans on the right, Germans on the left (unusual -- Ed) and Hungarians in front. It's a very international scene.

We talked to Len for a while. I said that it was nice on that date (November 11th) that we were able to come together and have a drink, and that we're all friends now. Len replied "Yeah, you wait till I buy a round -- I'm gonna piss in your beers".


Us with Len


Crazy German Len with his medical kit

The talk got onto politics, with me explaining to Len why England is the cradle of all civilisation. My point (in a joking manner of course) was that we created:
A. Parliamentary Democracy - The world's political system
B. Free Market Capitalism - The world's economic system
C. Football - The world's most popular leisure system.

This got too nationalist and heated so we invited an American called Matt to play cards. Typically he was the last person to join our table that night.

I won at cards and seem to remember shouting "You lose, you lose, like you did on this day so many years ago! We made friends, it was OK, then you ruined it for a second fucking time!"


Szimpla, in all its glory

But this was taken in good heart of course, we then went on to make fun of the French. Ahh, common ground.

We got a bit too political discussing North Korea. American Matt and I have similar political views. Both of us are libertarians and neither of us support pulling out of Iraq until it's stabilised. Len thought North Korea had a right to the bomb. We didn't. USUK versus Germany again. Things got nasty so I swapped seats with Len. Me and Matt talked about the disgusting nanny state in both our countries, while Peter and Len discussed which famous people they'd happily dissect. Unsurprisingly, Len would happily cut anyone up, as he is the love child of Gunther Von Hagens.



It got to 3:00am and I was tired, so home I went. Peter stayed out with Len, playing table football and chatting to random people. Matt left when I did. I found the night bus OK and ended up back in the concrete Communist tower by 4:15. Peter walked back to "burn off the alcohol" and got in at about 5:30, after nearly being hit with a poisoned dart by the bush people.


A video concerning the bush people

More about the bush people on the next blog...

- Philip

P.S. I've been learning some more Hungarian with the help of an online flash card system:

No explanation necessary:









Love,
Betsy (please help me)

Well it has finally happened -- we've got some students! Yes, in about fourteen hours' time we should be trying to teach two Hungarian girls how to become great English poets. We've tidied the flat, I've baked some more scones, the Yorkshire Gold teabags are at the ready and we've got a tray with pictures of landmarks from London. We're going to officially declare this flat as British soil. I took some pictures of the scones and a pot of tea on the balcony. The bad news is, one of the scones fell off. I might retrieve it later...they're damn good scones!



In other news, I'm now an external researcher at the Central European University, where I've spent a total of nine hours trying to read every Anthropological book in the library. I found myself reading a field report into sex workers in the “Galatic Zone”, which was called "Awkward Intimacies: Prostitution, Politics, and Fieldwork in Urban Mexico" by Patty Kelly. Today I read "'Yo, bitch ...' and Other Challenges: Bringing High-risk Ethnography into the Discourse" by Sylvie C. Tourigny, which was also brilliant. I've already done some high-risk ethnography on October 23rd and I look forward to more.

Tomorrow, I'm not going to get distracted and end up reading complete random books that just look interesting, I'm going to focus and do the work I'm supposed to. Or I might just get distracted by the playground which they conveniently placed so near to CEU:



Last night we met up with one of Peter's contacts, called Béla. He showed us a ruin bar in town called Szimpla, which really is a fantastic place. The whole interior, as with most ruin bars, is covered in graffiti and various stickers. The place is comfortably populated by twentysomethings; some of which are on their laptops doing work, some of which are relaxing on one of the many sofas and the rest of them are just chatting away with their friends. Old standing lamps in every corner keep the rooms dimly lit, and because the place is neither truly indoors nor out, gas heaters are dotted around. We sat down, drank mulled wine and chatted for a good few hours about various things, mainly Hungarian politics.

I decided to try out the bath. What I didn't realise was that the water here is very soft, so when I checked on it five minutes later, I realised I had created some sort of beast made from bubbles:





Peter took a picture of a really odd sign we saw on the bus:



What could it mean? "Don't transmit electromagnetic radiation from your mouth towards the driver"? "Cybermen must not attempt to upgrade the driver"? And another odd sign we found is this:



Possibly a bit of 'Engrish' going on there.

- Philip + Peter (the newly-appointed co-blogger)

We've had a new order from Peter's mum; we now call her "the Boss from HQ". We were requested to purchase some new CDs to be found at a random house in the second district. After careful examination of a map, we realised that this was a bloody long way away. Peter said he was quite happy to go it alone on this adventure, so I stayed at home and got on with cooking dinner and writing my report. The doorbell rings three hours later and in walks a frozen supplier, he announces: "It's far... there's snow up there!" My comment that "it's hardly fucking Ben Nevis," wasn't welcomed. He couldn't even find the house. Peter also casually placed a poor little Hungarian man outside number 17 into an existential predicament. When asked where house number 20 was, he replied: "I'm sorry sir, it does not exist".

Earlier today, people were laying flowers at the new 1956 memorial:





This afternoon we went on silent march with the centre-right Fidesz political party. This was both in protest to the alleged police brutality on the 23rd, and a commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Soviet tanks entering Budapest and crushing the uprising. The news warned that today could see an increase in violence. As it turned out, it was very peaceful and respectful. The Hungarian government would have stumbled into even more trouble if a second set of allegations of brutality circulated, just like it did twelve days ago.

Still somewhat of a police presence:


The march was cold and wet, and the number of candles and burning torches made it somewhat scary; they were all brandished by menacing old ladies.







I'm in the process of joining Central European University as an external researcher - which should be spiffing. They're showing some shorts about 1956 on Monday with discussions afterwards, and there's a series of public lectures on social anthropology starting, both of which I might attend. There was some sort of party going on when we got to CEU - we thought about just looking confident, grabbing a few glasses of the free champagne and standing looking at 'installations' whilst talking about their poignant post-modern implications. Sadly, fear bested us. It was like an academic Ab Fab.

Peter would like me to mention that he saw a book at CEU called:



The Daleks are coming...

I've been for a coffee at what is widely thought to be one of the best coffee houses in the world: Centrál Kavéház:



Yes, it was nice, even better than Vennals. Did I just say that? I am now a heathen! Raargh! Peter asked for a hot chocolate, and was a bit confused when they brought out a mug of hot milk, a bowl of cream and a lump of chocolate on a stick:



However, this next photo is the best of the day - give me my bastarding Pulitzer!



And a video compilation of the march: