Soaking In Hungary

Budapest: once the seat of the great Austro-Hungarian Empire. Now, a big bathtub.

Nested on the banks of the Danube River in central Hungary, Budapest is unique as a major city in three notable ways:

1.) It is the only major city built over an extensive cave system

2.) Modern Budapest is actually the result of three cities merging (Buda, Obuda, and Pest)

3.) It is situated on a hotbed of geothermal activity and boasts dozens of classical and medicinal bath houses.

The third quality inspired me to make the 7hr bus ride down to Hungary. Due to a Turkish occupation of 140 years and an abundance of natural hot springs, Budapest has some of the world’s most developed and luxurious thermal and mineral bathhouses.

My first visit was to the Rudas bath. Originally built by the Ottomans and subsequently restored, this gem of a bathing center was like a trip back in time. When first entering the main bathing hall the unmistakable odor of sulfur plunged down my throat. The sulfur is found naturally in the spring water sourcing the pools and is purported to be cleansing for the skin and good for digestion if consumed in small quantities. Fortunately, I became accustomed to the smell and was soon delighted with the flavor it added to the air.

The layout of the Rudas is simple and classical. There are four corner baths, each receiving a constant flow of mineralized and slightly radioactive water of a specific temperature (32°, 36°, 38°, and 42° Celsius). The center pool has a perfect combination of minerals and temperature that simulates weightlessness; when I waded there extensively it caused me to lose track of the limits of my body. The ceiling is a dome with dozens of heptagonal pieces of stained glass hewn into the construction. Sunrays passing through the glass create beams of colored light that take full form in the warm soggy air. Innumerable colored patterns refracted off of the water dance on the brownstone pillars in this solar lightshow.

The sauna was Turkish (unfortunately so because Finnish saunas are much more rewarding in my opinion, being smaller and often lined with cedar wood). It was composed of three separate chambers of different temperatures, none of which were unbearably hot.

I preferred the steam room which was located just off of the main bathing hall and was separated into three tile-clad chambers of increasing heat and steam density. The most intense chamber sears the skin, especially where it is thin such as the hands, feet, ankles, ears and…it was all male and 99% of the visitors were naked or in linen loin cloth.

A common practice is switching between the steam room or very hot pool and a nearly freezing plunge pool; it confuses the body, tweaks the blood pressure and heart rate. The result is lucidity of thought and movement which provides entry into an airy and transcendental dimension. The Rudas bath is a trance inducing place.

Healthy? Not really. Hungarians die at an average age of 68, the second lowest average in Europe next to Turkey (which is hardly the standard model for a European nation) and 10 years lower than the average for other European nations (an average of 78). They have the highest rate of cancer in Europe and death rates of persons younger than 65 are growing rapidly.

Many Hungarians are very fat, smoke a lot and eat heavy meat based foods. The constant juggling of the body between near boiling and near freezing waters is also quite taxing on the heart. After doing this for only one day I had a strange experience lying in bed that evening of heat pulses and alternate fits of shivering; it felt as if my body was suddenly boiling and then cooling off on its own.

The other bath house I attended was more upscale and luxurious, the Gellert Bath. It was much larger and included an outdoor pool area, large indoor swimming pool, steam room, Finnish sauna, and several hot pool chambers. Although it is much nicer, cleaner, and larger I prefer the Rudas traditional bath hands down.

A short tour of town was sufficient; I was a bit tired of walking after the mountain excursion a few days prior. Budapest does boast some impressive monuments and political buildings, many of which are too big for their purposes nowadays but once served in administration of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Other loose ends:

1.The “Blue” Danube is not blue, but a musky green.

Hungarian wine is pretty good but nothing special for my palate.

The Hungarian language is completely abstract – a bouncy Slavic tongue-twister.

I posted some pics on Picasa. Looking forward to seeing everyone in October.

Thomas

Two Mountain Men, One Pink Cat

An overnight sleeper train from Prague left us in a thick fog of the Slovak foothills at 6:21am. I had thrown this hiking trip together after hearing about the High Tatras Mountain range in Northern Slovakia about a week before. Luckily, Sam was available and willing to come along; he turned out to be unwavering company and support. He is also the worst singer I have ever heard. Although he frequently reminded me of his vocal inabilities he earned redemption through being an amazing harmonica player. Anyways, It was early and cold and we were headed 15km into the mountains to our first nights stay at the Chata Zelenom Pleso (Cabin by the Green Lake):

Going into the mountains is a perfect way to balance the ego with actual physical and mental capability. Rocks are where men can test their mettle. I was ambitious on this trip (and Sam was obliging), seeking four peaks in three days. Our first day shook my nerves a bit. After a five hour steady trek uphill to the cabin we attacked the first peak. We hit the summit two hours later and by this time we were thoroughly aware that these were real mountains. It may sound silly, not knowing a mountain when you see it, but mountains are much more than piles of rock; they are obstacles. It is hard to appreciate an obstacle or challenge before attempting it. Watching Eric Clapton play guitar, it looks easy. Watching Federer (or Nadal) play tennis, it is a cinch. In this spirit, it is really hard to know how mountainy a mountain is until you try to climb it. There was no mistaking these gnarly crags of sharp black rock; this was war.

Bordering Poland and Slovakia are the High Tatras Mountains, tectonic demons of Eastern Europe. The range of environment nestled here was breathtaking. We went from fields of wildflowers with babbling brooks to alpine lakes to thick forest to huckleberry briars to snowy crevasse to dry dead barrows and cruel razor summits. It was dry, it was wet; hot and cold; pleasant and punishing. Although the pictures may look similar to you, they are not. You would never dream of making such a comment if you had to walk four hours between each one; they are all unique in that they are all observed at a different stage of exhaustion.

We averaged nine hours a day employing such techniques as chain-link-repelling, straight-up-climbing, switch-backing, off-trailing, scrambling, falling, and crawling. Some of the most amazing and challenging parts were the rock walls that offered a chain bolted to the summit as aide in scaling straight up. The longest peak scaled was about 75 meters (that’s about 225 feet) at an 80 degree angle. We would be hiking along, going up a slope and wondering “where the hell is this path leading?” Whether it was denial or wishful thinking, it never really sunk in that we were going over the mountain when all was said and done.

We met up with various trekking groups of Slovaks along the way, all of whom seemed much more prepared for what lie ahead than we did. Sleeping arrangements were awesome. The Slovaks know how to do mountains. At several points through the high country there were mountain huts that served food and provided shelter for the night, provided you had a sleeping bag. It was really nice not having to worry about setting up a tent, especially since there is a decent bear and wolf presence in the region. We didn’t run into any carnivores but we saw a fair share of mountain antelope (seriously). I think we were too high for bears and wolves most of the time.

In the end, we made three of the four summits, did an extra detour twin peak into Poland (just to go to Poland) and walked a grand total of about 30 miles in three days. We also learned that mountain antelope do attack people. We ate sheep’s cheese potato bacon slop, the Slovakian national dish. One final note of clarification, if you happen to see a pink cat in any of the pictures in the Picasa album it is there because Sam was delegated the task of taking the proxy traveling-kitty along. The story is this: we have a friend whose sister cannot travel Europe so she sent a stuffed cat and requested that it be photographed in awesome/random European places. Sam is not a flaming homo. It was hilarious taking its picture on a summit and having four beaten and bruised mountain men watch us prop up this little pink cat for its photo opp.

Hope all is well; I am going to soak in a Hungarian bathhouse for a week to soothe my sore muscles.

Thomas

Southern Italy

Naples is a pile of shit with flowers growing out of it. The pungent odor of life in this intoxicating city was dizzying. Known most recently for overflowing with trash due to mafia corruption, our first impression of this notoriously dirty, dangerous, and hectic city lived up to the expectations 100%. Dodging Italians on motor scooters, running across lanes of unregulated traffic, getting lost in dark unmarked alleyways…Ah, Italia, there is nothing quite like you.

This was the beginning of our tour of Southern Italy. We were based in Naples, the southern metropolis and the birthplace of pizza, but spent only a little time in the city. One thing has to be said for the capital of the boot heel, the food was very rich and pure and the people were genuine and vibrant. A person with a love for order and efficiency would blow a gasket staying in Italy; it takes a special kind of patience, alertness and laissez faire attitude to feel comfortable in the buzzing but ultimately slow-moving lifestyle.

Or first trip out of the city was to the famous island of Capri. An hour off shore, Capri was first used as a favorite holiday retreat for Roman emperors in AD 27 and it is crystal clear why. Flavorful pastel homes built up the cliff sides, long winding stairways, and treasure troves of sea coves (ha), all of it was right out of a postcard. The island is very small and is separated down the middle by a few mountains with the city of Capri on the East side and the city of Anacapri on the West. I had to wonder, with names like these, do these two towns have an enormous football rivalry or what?

After spending some time in the blue lagoon on the North side of Capri, my numero-uno swimming spot in the world as of now, we took the rickety little bus along the mountain ridge to Anacapri. The towns are identical. We picked up a bottle of the local liqueur, limoncello, which is a syrupy lemon based liquor (80 proof); it goes really well with sparkling water and immense amounts of sunlight. Most of the day was spent wandering white stone staircases, eating local vegetables and cheeses and bathing in Capri sun (not to be confused with the fruit punch, Capri Sun, because that would be messy).

Our next day was a trip to the archaeological dig of Pompeii. Pompeii was a Roman city destroyed by the volcano Mt Vesuvius in AD 79 which preserved most of the city (and a few inhabitants) under a river of ash for centuries. And so it went, one disaster for a Roman granary town turned into a jackpot of relics and insight into Roman life for archaeologists. The city was surprisingly large, much larger than the adjacent New Pompeii. We walked for hours up and down the wide cobblestone paths (which we later discovered were used as open sewers). Perhaps the most interesting sight, if I am permitted to say, were the bodies that were frozen in their last contorted expressions as the tons of poisonous gas pouring down from the volcano suffocated them and even more tons of ash covered their freshly dead bodies. The organic material was left to decompose under the ash and when it was completely deteriorated it left a cavity in the ash that was then filled with a liquid chalk to give us:

The city also had a remarkable intact coliseum, amphitheatre, and many bakeries, manors, private estates, and street front shops. We followed a tour group around for a while and really learned some interesting facts. Pompeii, aside from its unique volcanic history, is also famous for providing the world with the first recorded instances of graffiti. Ancient Romans wrote all over the walls advertising politics, religion, sales of goods, and even insults. The variety of messages ranged from “the finances officer of the emperor Nero says this food is poison” to “Celadus the Thracian gladiator is the delight of all the girls” to “Chie, I hope your hemorrhoids rub together so much that they hurt worse than they ever have before!”. So, as the tour guide Enzo liked to say, the lives of humans change very little (except we engineer our rivers of poop to flow underground).

Our final trip was down a stretch of Southern Italy known as the Amalfi Coast. We took a ferry ride along the bay passing the cities of Sorrento, Positano, and finally docking in the city of Amalfi. To me the Amalfi Coast seems to be an experiment in beautiful living. Everything had a custom feel to it, thorough, rich and flavorful. Old ladies picking enormous lemons, children chasing each other down the streets with sticks, an old woman grocer who piled a bunch of vegetables in a bag for me as if she could sense exactly how much of what I needed, delicious wine, fresh mozzarella cheese, the stereotypical fat Italian baker wearing a tank-top and an apron: we were tasting the heart and soul of the Italian South.

A wonderful trip, it really felt like a good slice of Italian life. There are dozens of pictures on Picasa that really communicate the variety of the trip. I am very happy that we decided to get out of the city and do a more local tour; it turned out to be unforgettable.

Buon Giorno!

Thomas