Budapest, Hungary
December 5, 2015
Latitude 47.49° N
During that special summer of 1984 I went to Budapest for a weekend. In those days there was an element of mystery about a trip like this, even it was close to Vienna. A sense of adventure followed us as a group of four classmates made plans.
Each of us had to make a trip to the Hungarian embassy, fill out multiple forms, hand over our passports then return on a designated date. Only then did we get the necessary visa to enter. This was pre-1989 Europe. The “Wall” was still up, and Hungary was Communist country!
And so on a Friday, after class, we made our way to Hauptbahnhoff, boarded a train and set off.
From the start we laughed. By that juncture in the program we'd been together about three weeks and the good chemistry that went on in the classroom and dorm was working its magic. I do not know what we laughed about, but we laughed all the time—from the time we left the dorm, the time on the train and our entire time in Budapest.
At the border, however, we were on our best behavior. We were slipping behind the Iron Curtain. All of us were NATO bloc citizens. Two of us were Americans.
The train stopped for a long time. Somber looking border officials and police came on board. They were well armed. Large scary dogs sniffed around us.
But we were good to go. We had all our paperwork in order—passports and visas and a round trip ticket back to Vienna. We were very polite to everyone and we barely said a word to each other.
Once that was over, once the scary dogs and officials were gone, and once we were moving again, we resumed our antics.
By the time we arrived in Budapest it was dark, and we were now a group of five. We'd met Elisabeth of Norway on the train and she joined our group. Someone must have met us at the train station and lured us to a student hostel—a school, I think--where we were packed into a classroom with bunk beds...and another traveler, Keith of New York. From the start he didn't like us. I think he'd been in that space alone until we showed up, and now he had to share it with this crazy group. Even after the lights went out we were like bunch of kids, cracking jokes, carrying on.
Saturday, we set out early. Jose and I alone to search out caffeine. At some point the five of us rendezvoused and Keith, the grumpy outsider, decided to join us. “Pretty Boy,” he'd call me. And you... referring to Anthony. We just laughed and laughed.
The six of us were all over Buda. We were all over Pest. We spent a few hours on Marsit Island, on the Danube, that separates the two Budapests. Sitting on those park benches in that park that day we'd make up stories about locals. “Slav whore draining,” Erika would say, about almost every woman sitting on a park bench. Slave whore draining.” How many times did he say that only to have us break into laughter once again.
That evening we were high in Buda. Just like the exchange between the dollar and the Shilling, the dollar against the Hungarian Forint was even better. We landed at five star restaurant, behaved ourselves, ate very well, drank far too much wine and hired roaming violinists to serenade us. Jose knew his music and would call out suggestions. We'd just ante up later.
After dinner we walked across the Chain Bridge and made our way back to Pest.. All of us were very drunk and even higher on hilarity. I can still see that small group happily enjoying each other's company, racing across the Bridge, laughing at just about everything. Maybe even Keith had succumbed by now.
The next day we did some more sightseeing and didn't leave Budapest until late Sunday night.
All that is a long time ago. I've since returned to Budapest twice—once in 1998 and again in December 2015. On this trip I was in search of Christmas markets. And thermal baths. But throughout my two day stay I could not help recall that wonderful, fun weekend of thirty-one summers ago.
Travel journals are wonderful things. Without re-reading the one I'd written in 1984 I'd not have remembered those special people who travelled together. Wherever you are Jose Fusco, I hope you're having a great life. Erika Brickman and Anthony Woolich...know that I remember you still and trust you have long ago finished your studies, are gloriously happy, and having phenomenal lives. If you read this, please leave a note.
My journal read that it was “difficult to capture in words the insane, riotous, crazy interaction amongst us. Perhaps never in my life had I had a more enjoyable, light-hearted, carefree weekend with group of people who got along so well.”
For awhile, Erika and I kept in touch. The following summer I rendezvoused with Jose in San Francisco, but the travel chemistry we had that special summer was gone. We never saw each other again, and that's OK. People come into our lives at different times for different reasons. I'm just grateful I have this beautiful memory of beautiful people on that beautiful weekend thirty-one years ago.
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