The Old Worlds / July 08, 2010
Just when we needed it most we found ourselves back in the Old Worlds for three weeks; the grey skies and beige facades of Paris and the crumbling grandeur of the phoenix, my hometown, Budapest
In Paris we were overwhelmed by the hospitality of our friend Manon, who lent us her top-floor attic apartment within a few blocks of the actual geographic center of the city, La Bourse – wine, bread, and a detailed map set out upon our arrival.
In Budapest I was returned to family and began some things anew, had visions that mixed the eyes of a child with that of an adult, witnessed change and took notes.
Along with the few notes below, I’ve posted some snapshots that help me remember the Old Worlds.
Paris
The Tastes
The warmest of baguettes, falafel at once crispy and melting, lunches in the parks with people who live life slowly, the cafes every 10 steps with strong espresso, snails drenched in pesto whose juice one sips from the shell, the spices of the Middle East and of North Africa, the cheapest great wines every night, the meat that swims in its own blood, midnight dinners followed by the smoke of shisha and fragrant mint teas, the complexity of the art of eating.
The Visions
Winding and shifting of directions, alleys, passages, tree-lined boulevards, schizophrenic light spectacles, preservation of histories, marginalization of some and clashes with others, making one’s own traffic lanes, circumventing tourist pitfalls, the sharpest of sharp dressed, the hunt for street art, canals lowering and raising the water levels, outdoor markets of all types, bookstores filled to the ceilings and spilling to the streets, intelligent transportation options, condensing and minimizing space and living better for it, mesmerizing galleries, one of the greatest metropolises is your living room.
Budapest
The Tastes
The delirium of the richest of cakes, the taste of childhood, the only real paprika, homemade 100 proof Palinka with floating herbs and fruits, being too full to walk, fresh cut spiced salami, the wonders of my grandmother’s spread, vodka on the rocks in dives, international fusions, the history of cultural confluences.
The Visions
Crumbling memories of forced glories of other countries, the constant tide of destroyed and rebuilt, fixing just the tourist-facing side of things, the magnificence of bridges, the handmade details on even the most trivial of things, the stretching inhuman housing blocks, the magnificent spires stretching, the lushness of the island, a city split by the wide Danube, haphazard alley pubs, ruins of even older worlds, pedestrian zones, a desire leaning towards the West, twists and turns and blurs, and a home.
Posted by Dániel
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