Budapest

I think little girls aspire to be princesses because they have an idea of power manifested as beauty, grace as elegance. To be a princess is to be revered. Exalted. Worshipped in the heaviest, earthiest sense of the word. Worshipped in a manner that defies the most sanctimonious braying of clerical authority. Worshipped for belonging to not only the cult of woman, but the race of deity. Somehow, all this is made vastly clear to a girl, a knowledge lost as the world's reality is impressed upon her more and more each day.

I had almost forgotten myself. I have not been a little girl for a long time. Like two weeks, at least.

I heard, after we descended the bus and began searching vainly for a taxi, that Budapest is most beautiful in the Summer. Imagine the city beneath azure skies, a sensual sun glinting off jewel waves, a warm breeze sighing in verdant leaves. 

It was December. We had come from Prague. Prague, that lovely city who wears a wintry morning like a lady wears a silk scarf. But Budapest is the morning, declining cover. Strange, how demure and yet brazen with nakedness. That is Budapest.

I was remembering thrones made of air and diadems of moonstones on the ruined walls of an old Hungarian castle. The view was a UNESCO world heritage site, which is silly somehow. But it keeps skyscrapers from popping up and ruining the skyline. 

There, the Danube flows beneath the Chain Bridge. There, the old quarter of Buda, with its winding boulevards and ancient winds. There, the Parliament building, with its flying buttresses. There, where we stayed in a beautiful Airbnb near the city center.

And I felt royal. The day was cold, and the scarf wound around my throat suddenly became chased with silver threads, pinned in place by mother-of-pearl clusters the size of my pinky fingernail. The cheap coffee in my hands became the richest, smoothest blend. It was all very romantic, I assure you.

Ah, Buda Castle. I dreamt about it last night, actually. And the silvery grayness of the sky, the cover of clouds, offsetting the sea of red rushing up that big hill with the statue of a lady holding a leaf/branch/thing like Rafiki holds up baby Simba that is supposed to remind people of their freedom. It is a funny story that Norbert told us (our tour guide, who introduced himself as Norbert the Hungarian, like the Hungarian Horntail named Norbert in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire). It didn't feature in my dreams, because Soviets rather ruin the illusion of royalty. 

btw, that's a smudge, not a UFO

But for your information, that statue was erected by Soviets in 1945, to celebrate the Hungarian people's liberation from the Nazis and their gratitude to their Communist liberators. Then, after the fall of Communism in 1989, the city wanted to tear down the very kitsch reminder of Soviet influence, only the statue was so darn big that it would have cost an enormous sum to tear down. So, Norbert said, tapping his nose knowingly, the city came up with an ingenious plan to circumvent such obstacles: they covered the whole thing up with a big tarp, waited three days, and unveiled it as a new statue.

I think that is accurate. I scribbled some notes down in the margins of my map of the city. 

I would like to return to Budapest, and see it when the weather is warm, but there is something regal about it when the sky looks like snow and the Christmas markets sell hot, spiced wine. And because I first began listening to him while writing a paper on the imposition of religiosity on ethnic conflict, James Bay to me is Budapest. When I hear "Hold Back the River" I think of the red wine our hosts left us, and the bluey glow of this laptop, and the sound of its keyboard. I remember wet hair spilling on my shoulders, the fatigue of my eyes, the pages of National Geographic that papered the walls. 

Budapest is a city that by day reminds you of days past, and by night, makes you feel old, and grand, and wise. It is a city of dreams without substance, sparkling like diamonds. Perhaps I will go back when I am older and wiser and it will not be so. That is likely, for like a mirror, it will show you yourself.

Go to Budapest. Take the waters in the Turkish baths leftover from days of Ottomania. The food is cheap and very good.