Hungary - An eclectic mix of realities

I have been on Couchsurfing since 2008, but my first CS experience was in July 2012, a little before my Europe trip. The reason for this newfound interest was pretty straightforward - I wanted to meet travellers who either belonged to or had been to these places. 

Paharganj - A backpacker's haven

At Paharganj, Delhi’s backpacker’s paradise, I met a Couchsurfing Hungarian couple - Juhász Németh and Tímea Farkas. They were dressed in comfortable harams and loose tops, and they fit perfectly into the Pahargunj scene. Juhász had long dreadlocks and a beard and Timea wore her hair short, preferred beads and had on earrings made using dyed pigeon feathers. They had journeyed from Budapest to Istanbul via road, and from there had flown to Delhi, and had plans of backpacking around India, till their visa expired. They were on a very tight budget and shared an Aloo Paratha which cost just Rs 25 (36 cents) at Khosla Cafe. Timea had heard about Bollywood’s fixation with blondes and wanted to know if I had any connections with the film industry and if I could get her a role as an extra, in one of the song sequences. A few days shoot could fund their travels, she said. That was my first meeting with travellers looking at working their way around India. I was under the impression that Europeans found India cheap, because of their stronger currency. 

But, this couple was from Hungary, and according to them, the present economic situation in their country had left many jobless and sometimes homeless. Juhász and Tímea, both artists, could not afford to keep a home in Budapest anymore. So they had decided to leave behind everything they owned, and travel until things changed for the better in their country. I found it had to believe, and even Google’s inputs did not match up to the gravity of the situation they painted. 

I was soon to discover the truth in their statement. Our bus from Vienna to Budapest stopped at Népliget Bus station. Compared to Vienna, Népliget looked neglected, the man at the info desk refused to smile, his behaviour bordered near rude, and he suggested we take a cab - all things wikitravel had warned us would happen in Hungary. 

Zeros have no particular value 

Though part of the Eurozone, Hungary uses its own currency, and the exchange rate is 282 Hungarian Forints for one Euro. To purchase our subway ticket we had to first convert money, and the exchange office at the bus station gave us only 230 HUF for a euro. Later, we did see places that advertised 256, 262 and 273 HUFs per euro, but no one gave the exact exchange rate. 

Lily Furedi's 1934 art piece depicts the then fashionable Hungarian subway

The subway station was dimly lit, with graffiti on the wall and people sleeping in and lurking around dark corners. I was starting to feel scared. I had seen this sort of a setting in movies, and none of them had a happy ending. I held on to my bags, and tried to stand where the lights were the brightest. We then heard a rumbling noise, like the creaking ghost of an old soviet tank, and slowly the train rolled in. It was a lot like the tram in Kolkata, but with air conditioning.

Shoes for a bargain

When we surfaced, the scene around us had changed drastically, for we were now in the touristy part of Pest, with buildings and street signs and branded shops, but almost all of them were on sale. Shoes which were originally priced at 17,900 HUF was now available for 7,900 HUF. Lemonade was priced at 640 HUF. When inflation stares you in the face, zeros have no particular value. 

To explore the city, we took a walking tour that worked for tips. After the expedition, you can pay the guide what you can afford to spare, but the silent rule is always 10 euros, in this case something around 2,800 HUF. In Hungary bank notes come in the 1,000 HUF denominations and a girl in my group handed out a 20,000 HUF bank note in the place of 2,000! Thankfully, our guide was a decent chap, and he handed it back to her with a fair warning. 

‘Goulash communism’ and other histories

Religious freedom - a cherished right

The Soviets ruled Hungary for a long time, and after the Stalin era, the country developed its own kind of Communism. ‘Goulashcommunism’ mixed ideologies like Hungary’s popular culinary dish ‘Goulash’ mixes ingredients. Under the communists, every individual had a part to play in the running of the State. They were all required to hold jobs, and those out of work, were locked up. A family was guaranteed a steady flow of income, though minimal. Schools, health care and travel were subsidised. Practise of religion in public was banned and children were not allowed to be baptised. 

With the fall of communism in 1989, things changed. Education came at a price. Travel involved tickets – but even today you will find ticketless travellers on trams and buses, a habit they refuse to give up. The ‘compulsory work’ rule was removed, and the State took responsibility of providing for those out of work, but with families. And that’s how a section of society decided to get married and reproduce and forget about earning an honest day’s living – the gypsy population was never higher. 

What's visible of the silent rebellion

But Fodor, our guide, gave us both sides of the story. Most of his countrymen were thankful for the freedom that they had, after all, a man could become a millionaire or an achiever if he had the will and the talent. Even then, they were also worried about what the future holds, especially when the per person average income in the country was at 1,57,000 HUF and a rented house came for 70,000 HUF. Inflation has made life miserable, and though the rebellion is silent, it manifests itself in unexpected ways – like the unhappy info desk personal, a man peeing on the streets in broad day light and vandalism at some of the most iconic buildings. 

Beef goulash, with pink soup in the cup

For the eclectic traveller

If you are willing to ignore these, Budapest has much to offer an eclectic traveller. When I am away from home I look forward to eating in restaurants or cafes where the locals frequent, for a taste of what is authentic. I definitely wanted to give the Goulash a try. Yes, the same dish which gave their politics its name. Our walking tour came to an end at the Buda side and after our goodbyes; Fodor informed us that he was going for lunch before his next tour. So we joined him at a small workers mess, in the upper story of a building. There were no name boards announcing its existence, and it was a no-frills-attached eating place where local shop keepers and vendors sat around for a quick, silent meal. The menu was in Hungarian, and no one in the restaurant spoke English. If it wasn’t for Fodor, I doubt we’d have known what to order. 

The beef goulash was served with dumplings and this I had with some fruit and vegetable soup. The broth was pink in colour, light, mildly spiced and orangey. The steamed dumplings were bland, but the goulash, to borrow popular lingua, was sharp! The meat was tender, the dish not as spicy as it looked (at least for an Indian used to Mughali food) and it was comfort food at its best, for very less! 

Kürtőskalács - Transylvanian Chimney cake

After a full meal when we walked back to the Pest side, we heard street musicians singing church music – a post-soviet era right. Gypsies on the other hand played their kind of music, while couples and children danced the evening away. At a small stall in the open market, I tried the Kürtőskalács, also known as Chimney cake, another one of Hungary’s iconic delicacies. It’s from the Transylvania region (the Dracula state) and it tastes like smoked, soft bread dipped in caramelised sugar and flavoured with vanilla, chocolate or coconut. 

The weeping willow

A man with many secrets

Budapest is like a man with many secrets and only a skilled lover can get him to reveal those that he beholds. Our Jewish walk, helped us peel back some of these layers. Analee, our guide was a pagan – Christian (non-baptised because the Soviet government did not allow it) and she had a Jewish grandmother who was a holocaust survivor. Before the communists, the Nazis were in Hungary for a few months, and the death toll of Jews in that period ran into 4,00,000. In what was once the Jew part of town, they now have a memorial for Hungarian Jewish Martyrs this is shaped like a weeping willow, and the leaves have the names of victims embedded on them along with some inscriptions. 

One of the many rundown buildings

We walked further in, leaving behind the Jewish district, and in this part of Pest, time stood still. The city was attacked during WW-II, and even today buildings here look like they took a shelling last evening. Communist who ruled after WW-II took little interest in reconstruction or conservation. And now with Buda and Pest included in the UNESCO World Heritage list, these shell hit buildings cannot be torn down and rebuilt, unless it is in accordance with the construction guidelines laid out by UNESCO. This is of course an investment oriented initiative, and the Government or the families living in these buildings have no money to spare. 

But that hasn’t stopped many enterprising Hungarians from making the most of it. These abandoned, run down and shelled buildings, today house creators of alternative fashion, art, animation, film and music. Like a phoenix, from these ruins have emerged a new identity and culture, and today, it is the hidden soul of urban Budapest. Most travellers, bored of the European neo-classical churches and buildings, are drawn to this part of town, like moth to fire.  

Discarded but artistic - Szimpla Kert

Party animals and those looking for an early morning cuppa to treat their hangover, can find their poison or cure, in one of the many watering holes and cafes in this region. One such living WW II relic is the Szimpla Kert (Simple Garden), the first ruinpub in Budapest, voted as the 3rd best bar in the world by Lonely Planet. Discarded things added to the décor here, ups the distressed look. 

I was there, and I loved the vibes, but beyond that, pardon me sir, I have no recollection.  

Now in case you are interested, I do have interesting photographs of Budapest, before I got to Szimpla Kert.  

 

An open air evening market in Pest

Nightlight at the modern bridge near Margit Island

Cast iron bars hold this 1849 Chain Bridge in its place 

Life wanes away from Kathputli Colony

My taxi fellow gave me the ultimatum. This was as far as he was going to go. I got off and decided to walk the rest of the distance. I was soon surrounded by people, all asking the same question - who was I looking for. I told them the name, and one of them started to walk, signalling me to follow. Behind him, I entered, Kathputli colony.

A colourful graffiti invites you in

Walls with a story to tell

The nameless man, (for he did not speak a word till we reached our destination, and then when I turned to thank him, he had disappeared) took me through a labyrinth, sometimes cutting across people's yards, disturbing women folks who cooked rotis in open fire and little children who had made a pastime of scooping and re-depositing the drainage muck. The man himself moved with such agility and stealth, that I had to try my best to catch up with him, while also trying to avoid stepping on black, drainage water or slipping from the stones that formed a temporary bridge across it. Why did I wear flip flops?

The houses were all painted in bright shades of blue, green, purple and pink, as if to make up for their lack of space and shapelessness. Some of them had art work running along the frame of the main door. Vines, flowers and fruits in contrasting shades - work of a careful hand. When I finally navigated through what seemed like a maze, I wondered why a national award winning artiste would want to continue living in a place like this.

For, Puran Bhatt the man I was going to meet was an award winning puppeteer, who had travelled the world. When I met Puran, he was seated on a bedless cot, surrounded by men, talking on the phone in heavily accented English. It was hard to pin down his language to a certain demographics. He most certainly hadn't learnt it in school, but his travels had shaped his tongue and it sounded like a strange concoction of many identities.

Master manipulator, national award winning puppeteer: Puran Bhatt

Kathputli Colony near Shadipur Metro station is a land of magicians, acrobats and of course puppeteers. While the magicians are from the South of India, the acrobats are from Mumbai and the puppeteers from Nagore in Rajasthan. Though originally they were travelling performers, for the past 40 odd years they had all made Kathputli Colony their base. Kathputli or wooden dolls are hand made by these puppeteers and each of them are well versed in all aspects of puppetry – they are scriptwriters, actors, musicians, dress designers and performers. Traditional Rajasthani puppeteers tell the story of Maharaja Amar Singh Rathore, taking his war victories beyond the borders of his kingdom and the clutches of time. Today, however, many like Puran have changed this script, incorporating contemporary and 

political issues into their story telling.

Rajasthani string puppets or Kathputlis'

Puran's political involvement does not end here. While others in the colony awaited the government's evacuation orders, he was meticulously making a list of resident artistes. “It is important,” he says, “that we have the exact number of performing artistes. It is the only way to ensure that the government does not cheat us again.”

The 5.2 hectare plot of land on which these gypsies have lived for the past few decades was recently sold to a construction company. The site will soon house a mall, along with 1, 2 and 3 BHK apartment complexes. In exchange for their lost houses, the artistes would each get a 1 BHK flat in the newly constructed building. A 'noble' clean city initiative by the government!

16 strings to control this chap

We are free souls. We sing, dance, entertain and come and go as we please. We are travelling artistes, and to cage us in a single room flat on the 10th floor of a building would be criminal, not to mention, the end of life as we know it. A one room flat will come with its restrictions, and change our social standing. Soon, our children would not want to be travelling performers because it would be beneath them. A room in an apartment will be the end of our traditions and our lifestyle,” Puran explained while filling out the forms for those who had gathered around him. And then I knew why he had decided to stay on in Kathputli Colony.  

Heads covered, faces hidden

The women folk who accompanied their men to Puran's house, respectfully stood outside. They kept their faces hidden behind the pallus' of their bright coloured sarees. The men were dressed more casually in shorts, pants and tees, one of them even wore a Rastafarian bandanna. When I left Puran's house, a glass of water, two cups of tea and over an hour long conversation, interspersed with rapid instructions in Hindi mixed with Rajasthani, later, Puran's observations haunted me.

Akshay and Vicky, 20-something performing artistes took me around the village. Once more I stepped into the maze, trusting the two boys to lead me on. While we walked they filled me in with little anecdotes of their lives. Their marriages, Vicky says, happen after the Delhi wedding season, because during the season they are busy earning some extra buck. Just my luck, there was a wedding happening that very night, and I got to meet the groom. A confused and sleepy young fellow, smeared with turmeric, as part of the haldi function that lasted 5-7 days. He wore on him a large bronze sword - a symbol of his caste, now reserved for auspicious occasions.

Cooler, kitchenware, bed... the groom proudly displays his worth

Brothers, friends and young artists

Santosh Bhatt stayed further down the road. He was just back from London and was preparing for his next show. He discussed his on-going work with me, introduced me to the little kids who ran free in his house and told me with visible fear in his eyes. “The government has said that they will put us in temporary accommodation till the flats are ready. But I am not sure if they will give us the flats once we leave here. What will we do if they don't?” What indeed!

Akshay and Vicky led the way again. “Our village is popular internationally,” said Vicky, “and we have foreign individuals willing to give us money to buy back the land from the government, because they understand the value of what we have here and want us to preserve it. The sad part is that our own country men do not respect us or our work.”

A little ahead we stopped for chai at a local tea shop and many of their friends gathered around to participate in the conversation. They spoke of the wedding they had to attend that night, of how expensive the business marriage was becoming, of how love marriages were not encouraged in the village, of how all of them took life as it comes - with a glass of rum and some meat roti. “That is all we want. We do not believe in saving and when we are short of cash we borrow from our friends, and buy ourselves some more rum and meat,” Akshay said with a laugh.

A night wedding at the colony

As I walked back to my car, accompanied by these two easy-go-lucky chaps, who were best friends with everyone on the streets, I wondered if all that was going to happen to them was right. Their subaltern existence suited them just fine. They did not need new houses and they most certainly did not deserve to be thrown into 'mainstream society'. And yes, Delhi could do without another mall and apartment complex.

This is where they live and this is from where they create some beautiful shows. The terrace doubles up as sleeping and practice spaces

Kuala Lampur – Truly a world city

I took the Air Asia flight out of Delhi to Kuala Lampur, and as expected my in-flight companions were back packing westerners and newly married Punjabis’. The former, dressed in their most comfortable, inexpensive, thrift shop buys and the latter wearing powerful perfumes and outrageously stylish clothes. The women mostly wore the red and white choora, symbolising their newly married status. I was travelling alone and that gave me a lot of time to just sit back and take things in - the look of utter boredom and jet lag on the faces of frequent travellers and the excitement, which was followed by the non-stop clicks of the point and shoot cameras, on certain others. 

I landed at 11pm and as a single woman traveller, I knew I had to be cautious, especially at that time of the night. Clearing immigration, I was out on the streets at 11.30 pm and decided to call the hotel to confirm my booking. As I struggled with the pay phone, which had instructions in Bahasa, a lady stepped forward and offered to help. Though we did not speak the same language, she guided me through my first phone call in Malaysia. When I heard the phone ring on the other end, I looked at her with a grateful smiled. Thinking back, I believe that it was then that I first fell in love with that country. 

Petaling street wakes up to the sound of fish sellers

My hotel was very close to Petaling Street or the commercial part of KL, and in the morning I set out to explore it. I was early - the shops were just opening, the streets were being cleaned and fresh vegetables brought in. Old men seated on the benches were dozing off; catching an extra hour of sleep before the busy day. As I wandered aimlessly through the streets, now entering an alley and then the other, I saw vegetables and groceries that I had never seen before – sea weed, durian, mangosteen… an endless list of local delicacies. 

Hanging prayers at Chan See Shu Yuen Temple

I walked further down, and entered a Chinese temple. The Chan See Shu Yuen Temple is a well-known landmark on Pelting Street. Hundreds of baskets were hanging above the entrance door and each of them had within a hanging piece of paper. Mei Xing, a girl I met at the temple told me that these were written prayers, left hanging for a whole day. She spoke to me about the Chinese year of the dragon, and how it might not be good for people born under certain signs. Chinese horoscopes that can predict your year and they follow the tradition of burning these ill luck predictions, together with positive prayers, in the large kiln within the temple. Enlightened I stepped out, and nearly bumped into a couple who were getting their pre wedding photo-shoot done. 

The couple truly represented the multi-cultural ethnicities of Malaysia. The groom was a Sri Lankan Tamil and the bride was Chinese. He had in his hand a floral wedding garland, typical to Tamil weddings, and she had with her a Chinese umbrella. Their wedding pictures they told me, was going to represent both their heritage. “So what wedding will you have - Chinese or Tamil?” asked I. Aghast, the bride answered, “Neither!!”  I told you earlier, multi-ethnic is the word. Now add chic to it. 

Strike a pre-wedding pose!

The Hindu Mariyamman temple was also close by. The temple was decorated and there was a reception committee at the gate - signs of a Hindu wedding! It was my lucky day. I met Manoharan, the bride’s uncle. Originally from Tanjore, a district in Tamil Nadu, India, he was only too happy to have someone from his home country at his niece’s wedding. He requested me to stay, and I did. Unlike the big, fat Indian wedding, Malaysian Indian weddings are a simple affair. I counted a total of 45-odd people, so much lesser than the 800 plus who turned up at mine. The functions and the rituals were also slightly different. The familiar tunes of the Nadaswaram and the thavil set the mood and the bride and the groom first married the kalyana murungai - an auspicious tree, before marrying each other. As I sat there witnessing a wedding in a strange land, I somehow felt connected to this family. I felt that they genuinely wanted me to attend the wedding, and bless the young couple, which I did, with my whole heart and with unexplainable tears in my eyes. Who would have thought?

Kasthuri Amma and her flowery tales

After the wedding, I left the temple and walked further down on that road, and there I met an old lady stringing flowers. Kasthuri Amma has been sitting in this exact spot for years. She is originally from Madhurai, also in Tamil Nadu, but has no recollection of her life in India. Though she had lived in Malaysia for most part of her life, the inquisitive Indian in her was intact. She asked, “If you are married, why do you travel alone, and how come you don’t have any children?” I smiled in reply, because in her I recognised shades of my mother, grandmother and those many ‘aunties’ I meet every day in India. 

Street artist with his canvas

Night time in KL is also charming. From a distance the twin towers and the KL Tower looks like well decorated Christmas trees. The street sides eating places come alive with sights, sound and smell that will drag even the strictest dieter towards them. Living statues, portrait painters and street singers liven up the evening. 

And as I continued my wanderings around the city; I made more friends - a Malay lady Leena and her colleagues. We exchanged numbers and email ids, and she promised to help if I ever needed anything in KL, and I in turn promised to host her if she ever visited India. She also who gave me directions to some of the best eating spots in the city.  

Street food in Malaysia 

She is a producer with World Broadcasting Channel and she asked me if I could go on camera to speak about my Malaysian experience. Of course, I could do that. To the rolling camera I said, “It is easy to feel lost in a large city like Kuala Lumpur, where the language, cuisine and the customs are so very different from mine. But it is easier, to make friends and to find a family.” That pretty much sums my Malaysian experience!

My unexpected television appearence

.