I was just about to go outside to read with Barnabás. It looks like such a sunny, warm afternoon out there. And to see whether I should put on a sweatshirt, I hopped onto the always reliable Accuweather.com for the Budapest forecast:
Eeeek. According to that RealFeel, it appears I’m going to need a little more than a sweatshirt!
Györgyi had her wisdom tooth pulled on Friday afternoon. I say “extracted” but she doesn’t like it. I never had to have my wisdom teeth pulled. But from what I can tell, she handles it really well. So we pretty much had a lazy weekend. I made chicken meatball soup, which turned out to be really yummy. And on Saturday I woke up bright-eyed at 5:30 a.m ready to start the day. Because of the tooth pull, Györgyi couldn’t run, so Barnabás and I went out early. He has become such a spoiled brat recently. The entire last 2 kilometers, I was literally dragging him back by his neck. Honestly I think he didn’t want to be running that early. When we got back to the apartment, he ate his 1/2 milk bone and then went right back to his bed. He was snoring before he even hit the pillow. Tough life.
Györgyi was awake too and we felt like getting out and doing something since the weather was so pretty. Cool air but bright, warm sunshine. We decided to get the car washed, since it looked like it had survived a Bolivian mudslide, and then try to find a coffee. It being Saturday and all, we weren’t going to MAKE our OWN coffee. But, unfortunately, many places in Budapest, just like everywhere in Europe where people don’t wake up until 8 a.m (i.e–midday) on Saturdays, there aren’t a lot of places open that early. In America, coffee houses are like crack dens. Dozens of people piling in and out at a 4, 5 a.m, red eyes pooled with shame, arms twitching. But here, a decent cappuccino is really only accessible at about 8.
So we drove up to Szentendre, a little artsy neighborhood just 20 minutes outside of Budapest. I needed some more pictures of B and the light and people-free streets were perfect that morning.
It’s just about the season for regional tourists to make their way here, as we would go to Prague (like we did this time last year) or other nearby countries/cities to visit. But the early morning, even in the city, is always the best time to take pictures of buildings and cobblestones and rooftops. Not only is it quiet and quaint, it’s closer to that old charm than when it’s clogged with tours.
The only other person on the street was a man walking his Puli. Pulis are loyal, adoring Hungarian herding dogs. But they honestly look like mops walking down the street. This little lady’s name was Coco.
She ate a little trash, smiled at Barnabás, then moved along.
We finally got a coffee and muffin back in the city. By that time is was almost 9 and Barnabás was ready for his 3rd nap of the day. The rest of the weekend was filled with walks, catching up on Seasons 5/6 of Lost, and slowing down a bit. I think in my old age, I’m really starting to appreciate this time of the year, and how nice it is to take the time. (to do anything at all).
Saturday was Andi Gajdács’ birthday party. Andi and her sister Edi have been Györgyi’s good friends for years, and they were one of the first pair to openly welcome me into Hungary. They don’t speak English, but they generously guided me through the most important Hungarian cuss words and vulgar phrases. They are both gems, and are testament to how regardless of language and understanding, good people are good people.
The party was held at Csabi’s (Edi’s fiance) workplace garage. I don’t know how to describe it officially. I think he owns a business that involves painting or stripping or fixing or repairing cars. On one side of the street was an office and the other was this big warehouse with car bones and lots of open space. And where in America you might find Buds and burgers circulating a casual birthday bash, in Hungary you find a GIANT cauldron of beef stew being tended by a mechanic and several bottles of Magyar moonshine (my new phrase for homemade pálinka) making their way through the crowd. In addition to wine and other liquors, which Edi and Andi attempted to murder me with throughout the night.
It was a fabulous time. After a few hours the lights were dimmed and old traditional Hungarian folk music came on the speakers and everyone was singing and clapping and dancing. They may not be good at winning wars, but Hungarians KNOW how to party, that is absolutely certain. By the end of the night I was making my way through a limbo line and speaking perfectly fluent Hungarian (well, almost).
Barnabás also attended. He was fed approximately 15 bowls of beef stew and probably a few sips of vodka (Please address all hate mail to “Friends of Andi, Szeged, Hungary”).
So happy birthday sweet Andi. I hope the next 36 bring you even more happiness and light, because you certainly give away a lot of it to everyone around you. Cheers.
March 15th is one of three national holidays in Hungary, and this one in particular for celebrating the Hungarian Revolution of 1848. While it didn’t achieve the desired independence from the Hapsburg rule as it had intended, it made a path for it, and created a lot of Hungarian icons in the meantime, both poet and politician. Many of the leaders of the revolution escaped to America and ended up fighting for the Union during the Civil War.
Maybe it’s the wrong word celebration, which is something probably a little overused by Americans. The holiday is about remembrance–for people to get out and show their national pride, heading the call of national poet Sándor Petőfi in his National Song: Talpra magyar, hí a haza. On your feet, Magyar, the homeland calls. And many a Magyar were on their feet on Monday. The sun was really really shining for the first time in months and people were out enjoying it. I’ve uploaded pictures of the day to Flickr. Click on the picture above to access the short slide show (and yes, there is the requisite sausage-shot).
I’ve uploaded most of my favorite photos from our trip to flickr. You can see the slideshow by clicking here or on the picture below:
The weather is cold, though sunny in Budapest now, so looking back at the photos make me miss Andalucia and the quiet beach even more. It was really one of the most memorable trips I’ve taken.
We didn’t have much sun this past week in Spain. According to Douglas, our Gibraltar guide, Spain received 55% of its average total year’s rain by mid-January! But we had such an amazing time, regardless. And the moments where sun sliced through the rain clouds were so beautiful it didn’t even matter.
On Thursday morning we were out early, at sunset, with the rest of the area’s sun-seekers. It seemed like everyone had a dog who was an expert ball-hound or stick-hound. Or sun-hound, an expertise that is not species specific, especially that morning after all of the rain.
Calm. Quiet. Those are the only appropriate words I can think of for that morning.
Andalucia. Southern Spain. Costa del Sol. What a little paradise.
On Wednesday we went to The Rock–otherwise known as Gibraltar. It’s about an hour’s drive from Marbella and only 20 kilometers from the coast of Africa. Gibraltar is also a British territory, and the 28,000 residents are proudly British. British flags, accents, police with their bobby hats, and fish & chips restaurants were everywhere.
We took a private tour of The Rock with Douglas, a native Gibraltarian and captain of their professional field hockey team.
We got to see a few of the island’s 280 wild, tailless apes, some of them who knew Douglas and came to his car for a few peanuts. The tour was well worth the money, as we would have never gone up to the Top of the Rock alone, probably, without the guide. And the accompanying info was very interesting (especially for history nerds) including the importance of Gibraltar and the straights of Gibraltar.
Also– for you Americans– we learned that the Prudential insurance slogan “solid as The Rock” is actually a bit incorrect, because during the 18th century, over 56 kilometers of tunnels were dug into The Rock. We toured those as well.
Even though it was a bit touristy, I’m really glad that we went. From the top we could see Africa in the distance, which of course inspired our trip yesterday to Tangier.
On the way in and out of Gibraltar, before and after customs, you have to cross over the one and only airport runway. Technically it belongs to the Royal Airforce, but three times a day, planes come in from London and Madrid. I really got a laugh out of the sign “YOU ARE NOW CROSSING A LIVE RUNWAY. PEDESTRIANS ARE TO KEEP WITH THE WHITE LINES…PLEASE CROSS QUICKLY.“
Gibraltar was definitely a good day trip, and a total surprise in a week of interesting places near this part of Spain.
So, we were in in Africa today. Morocco. Tangier, specifically. I can’t believe I actually touched Africa. It seems like so many years and dreams ago since I was a little girl and thought about Africa as being a zillion miles away.
Anyway, I have about 200 pictures of the bazaar, spice market and kasbah, and I will be uploading them soon.
I realized today that the more places I see, the bigger the world seems. And how wonderful it all is.
Yesterday we stayed in the apartment for the first part of the morning. We had a meeting with Philippa, who is our personal contact here. She brought us a bottle of wine, some maps of Marbella, a restaurant guide, and gave us some all-important suggestions of area must-sees. After she left it was almost noon and we decided to just go back to Marbella because, unfortunately, it was raining quite hard.
We tried a few tapas bars, finally settling on La Taberna Del Pintxo, which had been one of Philippa’s suggestions. They have a really neat system there for tapas. First, every table gets olives, which are home-cured and fresh.
If you want cold items, you simply go up to the bar and take them. The cold items are mini gourmet open-faced sandwiches. We each had one to start.
Then, as you sip your small glass of beer or wine, waiters bring around hot tapas items. If you want one, you just take one. They know how much to charge you at the end depending on the color of toothpicks on your plate. We had a quesadilla and some fried shrimp in sauce on baguettes. It was the perfect amount of food and drink and we were able to sit, unbothered for over an hour. Also, the total bill was only 14 Euros!
The Spanish take their siestas seriously. Shops are absolutely closed here from 12-4 p.m. So after lunch, which was almost 4, we decided to drive back toward the resort. The rain wasn’t letting up and so we pulled into a little neighborhood grocery store somewhere in the hills and bought things to make for dinner.
The weather report is a little unclear for today, but for sure there will not be full sun like our first day. So we’re planning on charging up the camera and going to one of the must-sees on our list. Gilbratar, maybe, or Pueblos Blancos.
We left for old Marbella at about 10 a.m. It’s a short ten-minute drive west down the Costa del Sol, which is lined by luxury homes and palm trees. We got there early enough to find a good parking place in town, probably because it was a solid four hours before the Spanish like to eat their lunch.
Marbella is known now for being an exclusive place. Every guide book and online site I looked at said that the city attracts Europe’s “royals and jet-sets.” And next to each restaurant (note: not taberna or tapas bar) in the books, there are Euros symbols extending off the page. But there was a time when the area was more simple. Once belonging to the Phoenicians, Carthaginians and Romans, it wasn’t really a “playground for the rich and famous” until almost the mid-20th century. And since we do not fall into ANY of the guidebook catagories for people you might find in Marbella, we decided to go to the old part of town and try to find a little bit of the old, quaint charm. Quiet streets shaded by orange trees. Large open squares flooded with sunshine.
The old streets were quaint and charming, and airy. In some ways they are exactly how you expect an old southern Spanish town to look like. I had to pinch myself several times. Moss-lined alleyways, window flowers, and greenery in pots on every single balcony.
And of course, because it is Europe, dogs peaking around the corners, old men chatting and enjoying a small beer or wine, and women of all ages gossiping window to window, window to street below.
After about twenty minutes (and after accidentally walking through a movie shoot) we made it down to the beach and the long seaside promenade. I call it a promenade instead of a boardwalk because there were too many of Europe’s “jet set” walking around with high heals in the sand and stone wagging Louis Vuitton bags in one hand and two year old children dressed head to toe in more expensive clothes than I will ever have in the other. These aren’t people who are munching fries at Thrashers, if you know what I mean East Coasters!
The stroll has been mastered here. It’s okay to go slow and enjoy the sunshine and rolling sounds of the small waves. In the little children’s park on the beach, next to the sand castle architect, I had to laugh out loud when I noticed that regardless of their parents’ income levels or lordships, nothing will stop children from rolling their little Burberry-clad selves into piles of wet sand. It’s just life.
In the distance–one single sailboat. It seemed like everyone was on land, waiting for lunch. So at about 1, we sat down at La Taberna Santiago tapas bar outside of the park lined by Salvador Dali’s sculptures.
We didn’t really have an agenda, so we ordered as we usually do when we don’t really know what’s on the menu—point to a few things and cross our fingers. I had a San Miguel cerveza, which was the type of beer they served at this particular taberna. Gy had a glass of Sangria.
And we ended up with four really delicious items: Fried cuttlefish (in a larger portion for 2), tortilla Espana, a small calamari sandwich, and a small cuttlefish in a sauce, which was nagyon delicious. Everything was delicious.
Let me use that word one more time to startle all you English teachers out there who want to underline and write in red TRY A NEW WORD: delicious. Delicious. Delicious. It was the perfect lunch.
After lunch, we went back to the Marriott property at about 2 so that we could go to the pool for a few hours to nap and burn.
We noticed a constant procession of people down the beach toward a little seaside restaurant, so we decided to get dressed and follow the crowd. We ended up at a little placed called Merendero Cristina, an ocean-front restaurant, for drinks and dinner.
We were lucky that we got there when we did because we secured the last outdoor table. The sun was bright and warm and it was the perfect atmosphere for ordering a lovely pitcher of Sangria. I never really had Sangria before Spain, but it is simple and refreshing.
After thirty minutes or so we decided to eat at the restaurant because the air was so nice and we didn’t want to bother looking around anywhere else when we already found the perfect evening location.
The sun so so honest and healing. I was bathing in the evening’s warmth.
My cousin, Brandy was here last year with some friends. She wrote me a great list of places that we should see etc., and she ended her email like this: Remember – “Yo quiero paella, por favor” means “I want paella please.” Paella is serious in Spain, and especially on the coast…near the seafood. So after a relaxing few drinks, we ordered the paella for two and really loved every bite.
At the restaurant you can only order paella for two or more, so Györgyi had to partake in the meal as well. And even though a year ago she would have told you that she despises “sea creatures”, as she calls them, she loves fresh fish now. Hungary isn’t exactly a mecca for fresh fish, so I don’t blame her delayed arrival to this understanding. I think it was the crab and trout when we were in America this summer, or the rock shrimp in Madrid in January that set the ball rolling. But at the restaurant I basically had to wrestle her for just one shrimp from the paella. She even ate the king prawn with the big, dead eyes staring back at us from the plate.
After dinner we walked back to the property to sit out on the balcony and watch the sunset over the ocean. The air got chilly as the sun disappeared, but we didn’t mind it. We haven’t seen this much strong, rejuvenating sunshine in six months. It really was the perfect Spanish day. There’s a chance it might rain or be cloudy the rest of the week, or so warns CNN+. But after this first full day, I don’t think I’ll forget about the sol in the Costa del Sol.
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