“New Year’s Eve in Budapest” had a nice ring to it, but the prospect of partying with friends drew me to Vienna a day earlier than planned. And by “friends” I mean strangers who I had never met, but knew I was coming.
While researching the trip, I’d sought out English speakers only who could provide me with a local’s take on what to see and do during my brief visits to each city. In the process I’d met Liz Thompson, a native Iowan who had been studying German in Vienna for several months. We began exchanging emails and soon, a fledgling friendship had developed. Later, Liz offered to let me stay at her place along with several other Couchsurfers, and I gratefully accepted.
It’s only a two hour bus ride from Budapest to Vienna, and after a quick tram ride and brief walk, I was standing outside Liz’s place- a beautiful old building that and endless stream of transfer students had turned into a bit of a flophouse.
Though many of my cherished friendships began online, there’s always a few minutes of confusion while my brain attempts to reconcile the text-and-photo version of someone with the flesh-and-blood reality. More than anything else, Liz and my preoccupation with absurd, depressing humor was what bound us together, and it was clear after we met that it had remained intact offline- within minutes we were trading barbs and giving each other shit like old friends.
Liz was alone when I arrived, but gradually her many guests began strolling in. With all of her dormmates gone for the winter holiday, she had generously invited a grand total of five male couchsurfers to stay with her over New Year’s- a Brit, a Turk, two Italians, and me.
There was talk of a large houseparty that night, but before that Liz wanted to visit the Stephansplatz, a large square located in the heart of the Vienna. Liz told me she’d heard that at midnight the Viennese spontaneously waltz with each other there, and I was up for going, but horror stories about fires, thrown bottles, and trampled bodies had scared off all the other guys. To Liz and me, they were potential bonuses- “Remember that new year’s when we waltzed among the molotov cocktails at midnight? No? Me neither.”
Just before we left, Eser (the Turk) gently laid his hand on Liz’s shoulder and said in extremely precise English:
“Liz, do you remain insistent about going to that place?”
Liz looked at me. “Do you still want to go?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“So do I.”
So we went. It took two streetcar transfers and a brisk walk to get there, during which we pre-gamed with tall cans of wheat beer. Anywhere that you can walk around with an open container gets bonus points from me- it just feels right. I suspect that drinking wherever you want is one of the main perks of being a wino.
All of the streets leading up to the Stephansplatz were packed with revelers, musicians, and food carts, but the square itself was almost completely empty, and as we approached it became clear why that was the case.
A select few revelers were turning the Stephensplatz into a miniature warzone. Fireworks were going off in every direction, misfiring into the crowds, landing on nearby apartment canopies, and exploding right next to St. Stephen’s Cathedral, a towering 900 year old church that had witnessed an awful lot of Vienna’s history.
We soon realized that the fireworks exploding close to the cathedral were anything but accidental. I saw several men aiming their rockets directly at the ancient wood tower as bored looking policemen looked on. Here’s a short film of what it was like:
It was pretty surreal.
YEAH!
The scene was so loud and chaotic that midnight came and went without any fanfare at all. No one kissed or waltzed or sand Auld Lang Syne, they just looked at each other with confusion and mouthed over the din of the fireworks “What time is it? Is it midnight?”
Following the celebration (?) at the Stephensplatz, we headed to the party.
The apartment where the party was thrown was quite large, with an entry area piled high with coats, a kitchen strewn with bottles of booze, a room in the front serving as a dance floor, and a hallway connecting the front of the apartment with a low key lounge in the back. When we arrived the hallway was filled with people waiting to use the only bathroom, and it stayed that way all night.
Liz and I made our way to the chill out room in back and came upon what appeared to be an Austrian drug den- good use was being made of a large hookah pipe, and several people were holding silver spoons full of something over candles. I caught Liz’s eye-
“What is that?” I whispered nervously.
“I don’t know!” She whispered back.
As it turned out, the party goers weren’t cooking heroin, they were participating in “bleigießen” or “lead pouring”, which is a traditional German method of predicting one’s fortune in the coming year.
The process is simple: you melt a small amount of lead or zinc in a spoon and then drop the liquid metal into a cup of water. A chart is provided to interperet the results. Mine turned out more interesting than most that I saw, but when I asked a local girl what it meant she replied in a voice that was deeper than mine:
“Well, it looks kind of like a weird bug thing… so I think it means that you are… like a weird bug thing.”
Out of curiosity, I just now looked up what “BUG” meant on a bleigießen chart. Apparently it means “Time for a new car”, which doesn’t help me at all. Also, what did forming a bug mean prior to 1920? C’mon, Germany, get real.
The main appeal is that you’re melting metal and then dropping it into water.
Later, another holiday tradition involving fire appeared: a large pot full of spiced red wine was set up with a grate above it, and then a cone of rum-soaked sugar was put on the grate and then lit.
As the carmelized sugar dripped into the wine, I tried to imagine what kind of catastrophe was in store if the pot fell off of the wooden folding chair or the chair itself caught fire.
By the time it was ready I was still much too sober to actually want to drink the vile concoction. Instead, I snuck into the kitchen, rifled through about 30 bottles of wine until I found what I suspected was the least worst, and then spent the rest of the evening sipping off of that.
As the night drug on I made many new aquaintances, had some good laughs and danced a lot. At one point Liz fell asleep in a pillow-filled bathtub, and Matt, the Brit, escorted her home.
I stayed at the party for a little while longer, but it was not until I stepped into Vienna’s frigid early morning and began walking down the street that I realized that I was all alone and had almost no idea at all how to get back to Liz’s place. Also, I was carrying a blue glowstick that I didn’t remember picking up.
Undaunted, I began wandering around Vienna in what I guessed was the right direction. As I walked, I savored the quiet and absently began bending the glowstick back and forth. I had a dim premonition of it tearing open and spraying me with glowing blue chemicals, but I was too tired and cold and inebriated to heed it. And so, a few minutes later, that’s what happened: the plastic casing split apart and a bunch of glowstick liquid sprayed me in the face.
It burned my eyes and tasted like poison- was that a coincidence? I doubted it. It was at that point that I finally
decided to hail a taxi.
Safe and sound back at Liz’s place, I made it to bed just as the birds began to stir, but the morning light was no match for the weight of my glowing blue eyelids.
I had come t0 Budapest with no plan except to visit at least one of its famous public baths, drink delicious Hungarian wine, and eat some authentic treats. The opera that I’d attending on my first day there was just a bonus.
On my second day in Budapest, I slept in and then spent some time in an internet cafe returning emails and making last minute travel arrangements to Vienna for the following morning. I ducked into a pastry shop and came out holding an amazing chocolate covered roll of dense dough that had somehow been formed with large air pockets inside.
NOM NOM NOM
Not long after that, I managed to find Bock Biztro, an upscale restaurant and bottle shop located not far from my hotel. I arrived just as the place was opening for lunch, and attempted to convey that I was a interested in tasting and learning about Hungarian wine that afternoon.
Then I was seated at a table and introduced to Norbert, my pleasant and attentive waiter. Norbert spoke a little English, and was able to explain a bit about Hungary’s various wine regions. The country is most famous for its golden, sweet Tokaj, but it also produces a dark red wine called Egri Bikavér, also known as “Bull’s Blood.”
Wanting to focus on Tokaj during my visit, I decided to order a glass of Egri Bikavér start things off and then switch. I tried to explain to Norbert that 1/2 glasses or even tastes were fine with me, and that I’d happily pay for everything, but he didn’t figure it out until later in the afternoon.
I’d gotten into the habit of carrying a moleskin notepad for tasting notes during my 1000wines trip, and began to make use of one now. I got the sense that Norbert and the staff suspected that I was a journalist of some kind, which I’d never claimed to be but also wasn’t interested in denying. In any case, when I made it clear that I was planning to be there for a while, a basket of bread and a small tub of spread appeared at my table, followed by more glasses of wine. I couldn’t imagine any better way to spend the afternoon.
I smelled the spread, and then put some on my bread and tasted it. It smelled strongly of pork rinds. My first guess was that it was lard, ham, green onions and black pepper, and Norbert confirmed this a moment later, explaining that it was the fat was the excess from when they made fried pork skin for a bar snack. YUM!
Tokaj refers to the region and the grape of the wine, and it is made in both table wine and dessert wine styles. In the past I’d only ever had the dessert style, so it was nice to experience the grape in a much less sweet style. One of the table wines really stood out- it tasted like liquid sunshine.
I hadn’t planned on eating lunch, but the menu was too interesting to pass up. I ordered the most exotic sounding thing on the menu: “Roasted marrow with balsamic vinegar, honey and spices”, and ended up with something slightly less exotic: squash, which is apparently called ”marrow” in Hungary. Even so, it was tender and delicious, the perfect accompaniment to all the wine I was drinking.
For my final round, Norbert brought me three tastes of the three most expensive Tokaj’s that they had.
“Gratis,” he said.
In addition to making my day, Norbert’s act of generosity saved me a ton of money- a full glass of any one of these wines cost about $30.
Descriptors include: honey, almond, apricot, and joy.
When the check came I tipped somewhat exorbitantly, mostly out of appreciation to Norbert for all of his advice, explanations, and patience. In response, he became the first waiter in the history of the world to tell a customer that the tip was too large. It wasn’t. By now I had given up all pretense of not being a dopey tourist, and got Norbert to pose for a picture with me.
My eyes close in proportion to blood alcohol level.
I left Bock Bistro with two bottles of incredible wine and dropped them off at my hotel before heading out again. Next stop: The Gellért Thermal Baths and Swimming Pool.
The Gellért Baths is a full service Art Nouveau spa and that is attached to the Gellért Hotel. They were built in the early 1900’s, and a visit to them is more like spending the day at a palace than a spa.
The lobby was packed when I arrived. There were four ticket booths and from each of them snaked a long line of customers- but towards the center of the room these lines merged into complete chaos. I stepped into a group of people and hoped for the best.
The Gellért’s pricing system is strange- there is a standard price for all visitors, but if you stay less than 2 hours, you are refunded about 30% of the fee. I bought one ticket and went inside. Everything everywhere was beautiful.
As I walked down a long underground tunnel to reach the changing room and noticed small portals into the main pool. It was then that I realized that I’d left my bathing suit back in my room.
After reaching the changing room, I approached an easily irritated attendant and rented a towel from him. Then I unbuttoned my jeans and considered the boxers I was wearing- they were dark grey and made of heavy cotton, and after a moment of deliberation, I decided that they’d suffice, though if someone was passing by a portal at the same time as me, there was a chance they’d get a free show. It was a chance I was willing to take.
The Gellért has male and female specific spas, but the coed areas consist of the main swimming pool and a smaller mineral jacuzzi. The main pool was a delight, and on nice days the roof even opens so that you can sit inside and have a drink while sunbathing. In the jacuzzi I tried not to imagine the century worth of scumbags and skin diseases that I was stewing in.
I only spent an hour at the Gellért, but I had a great time. On my way out I stopped to claim my refund and discovered what was causing such a mess in the lobby- rather than have two booth dedicated to tickets sales, one for refunds and one for people using insurance cards, all booths were open for all transaction types, so everything took twice as long as it should have. I chalked it up as a remnant of Communist inefficiency and continued on my way.
Just across the river from the Gellért I came across the Great Market Hall, which is home to a large farmer’s market many, many souvenir stands.
It was already getting late, and since I hadn’t made any dinner plans, I decided to make it myself, based on whatever looked especially fresh or interesting.
“Excuse me, do you happen to have any paprika? Oh, silly me.”
Back at my apartment, I enjoyed a bottle of Ergi Bikaver and an alliterative meal of paprikosh with potatoes and parsnips. I really had no interest in going out- I was still relaxed from the pool, in a warm bed, with a full stomach, reading a good book. What could I possibly have improved?
***
The next morning I packed my things and took the subway to the bus station. I spent my last few Forint on a bag of Hungarian candy that turned out to be peanuts coated with malignant, sugary tumors.
I had originally planned to spend New Year’s eve in Budapest, but the prospect of spending it with a large group of friends rather than at some random club by myself spurred me to go to Vienna a day early. As my bus left the station, I spied this shot:
…which pretty much sums up what I liked so much about Budapest. Old and new, equisite and shabby, an ancient city that is still vibrant and functional. I realize now that part of what I enjoyed so much about my visit was the fact that I didn’t feel like a tourist while I was there- I had an apartment, visited bookstores and dive bars, saw a show, enjoyed local treats, and made myself dinner. In other words, all the stuff that I’d do if I lived there.
Two days was definitely not enough time, but it provided a fun, flirtatious introduction- who knows what will happen next time?
