Author Archives: martinoregan

What’s in when going out?

What’s in when going out?

 

If you mention Móricz Zsigmond körtér it often evokes a feeling of nostalgia, and this for a place I have but a recent memory of. I’ve thought and taught here and drunk but a bit and yet I feel it’s somewhere I’ve been before, a place of greater memories, even if it isn’t.
There is a certain atmosphere in the area what with the tram rushing through as well as the 6 and 61 finishing up here. The schools, bookshops, fastfood places, all a step off make it a vibrant hub and now with development of the Metro 4 complete this area has come into its own. It owns the night scene Buda side, even if Lövõház is challenging to the north, and with the restaurants, bars, and general nuisances fanning out in all directions from the square, it’s certainly a pin to put in your google, or mental, map. Bartók Béla út, which dissects the square, is the main source of attraction and distraction with Szatyor, Nevada Pub*, Moha*, to name but a few offering up in terms of not only food and drink but other forms of spiritual nourishment. Nevada with its Cowboyish Wild West look, swinging doors to boot, has live music from the middle of the stairs on your way up: a live set-up in such a confined space?…interesting! (Sometimes a DJ may take over.) Booking a table is almost a prerequisite especially if you’re a group, or come looking for the perfect seat. The winter sees activities contained indoors while the sun shine draws forth a smattering of chairs making it a perfect beer and leer environment, even if your lungs and ears have to compete with the slight inconvenience of pollution from the ever busy Bártok Béla út…
Szatyor across the street has a sprawling ground floor with tables all ariot, while upstairs the seating is shared with a space for performances, exhibitions, and all the rest. As with Nevada it can get tricky to find seating around the weekend so be warned.
Whereas Nevada is a pub with grub on offer, Szatyor is a cafe with its own culinary aspirations. An offer of garlic soup followed by a Lángos was one of the lunchtime treats when I was visiting , and I tried it (poor students that afternoon), so while many may judge that as its downfall, it was most certainly for me its selling point. Like Nevada service in Szatyor never breeches the barrier between polite and friendly with smiles being somewhat a rare commodity.Maybe it’s the pressure, maybe it’s me, but especially in Szatyor’s case it seemed to be a little off-putting.
Another place worth mentioning is Moha which can be found farther down the street towards Gellért tér, and which is also inclined to entertainment beyond the food and drink on offer. As a place for breakfast it works, with ham and eggs amongst the choices, and there is an atmosphere which suggests something greater bubbling just beneath the surface. The grand piano in the corner may have something to do with it; my interest peaked. Of all the places I’ve mentioned it is the one place which I have not had the chance to sample evening time, so as to what to expect I can only fictionalise. A sign indicating a movie theatre hidden somewhere out of the morning’s grasp leads me to conclude that this place is aspiring to something bigger. As to whether it will achieve this, well, that remains to be seen, or will perhaps remain forever relative, because afterall, what is success? How can it be…blah blah blah.
That there are plenty more places to choose from goes without saying but to a man who has now got two children and too little time, such voyages of exploration are somewhat staggered, at least in comparison with what has gone before. These days memory must serve in place of accuracy, perhaps, and so I leave you to ponder and, if you wish, to contradict my words, for afterall, and in the end, there is no right nor wrong, just subjective truths:)

http://szatyorbar.blog.hu/
https://www.facebook.com/MohaCafe?fref=ts

 

*UPDATE: Since writing this review I have been down that way again and found two changes, not to the locations but to the names.

Nevada is now Osztrák Söröző: https://www.facebook.com/osztrak

 

and Moha is The Rabbit and the Duck bar, with a great logo to boot.

http://rndbar.com/

https://www.facebook.com/rabbitandtheduckbar/info

 

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Me too

Me too

 

 

I had skinned knuckles once too.
I even tried to express this as significant;
It wasn’t, anymore than I was,
in the sense that I was me.
I had the marks of brutality upon me,
they remained long after any sense of bravery.
If you display yours to an intimidation,
remember I did that and I know what lies beneath.
If, however, you pick at these in shame,
like somehow they are wrong for you,
like somehow you are better than these scabs,
then I have nothing to work with –
dare I judge?
I’d judge thee, judgement being… what?
A penchant you might say.
I have tonight tried to contradict myself
but it’s so much easier to believe the fallacy,
so much easier to reason to your passions
than to the core of fact itself.
Half-informed I’ll rage in dreams
against the dying of our rights
but if ever proved I will not stand against the foe
as I perceived it,
and therefore vacant,
impotent,
I may as well
stand for nothing!

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Just In That Moment

Just In That Moment

 

Ding dong one witch is dead

and another scales the closet

and hurls abuse from up on high

at all of you below.

Ding dong what’s wrong, revolution’s dead

it’s with O’Leary raping Darwin’s ghost.

The future is a certainty but the past is unexplored.

The mode, the chicish mania

soon will be our shame

new morals, lies, define them such

will amount to much the same…

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Keeping A-head

Keeping A-head

I race against the bitterness.

I’m just ahead –

it’s catching.

I’ve grown to recognise – yet

I’m still quite prone to it.

It’s easier sometimes, I guess,

not to keep the darkness in check.

It’s wiser to observe, I know,

I’ve done this too, many times before.

But drink, and this shall be the key,

it makes me strong but leaves me weak.

I’ll build again a resevoir,

then pull the plug as oft before.

I’ve tried, I’ll try, and conjure on.

Till death – the parting,

and my swan song.

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Jurányi

Jurányi

 

 

I missed the opening of an exhibition here recently and frankly if I had turned up and there hadn’t been free wine I may just have thrashed the gaff. Now the drawings were good as far as chalk on wall goes but I wouldn’t call it an exhibition: a drawing exhibited, but not warranting the whole nine yards. Unless there was free wine!

Well, anyway, inside this old school building, well preserved as it is, there is a passageway down beyond the entrance. Turning right and following the coloured lines one will find the gallery, the exhibition area, but more importantly the cafe/bar.

On offer there is a selection of sandwiches (tasting as if unwrapped), cakes – tempting to the sweet-toothed, and the remaining array of drinks you’d expect of any cafe.

Tucked inside the building one does get a feeling, what with hard chairs and checked tiled floors, that this could be canteeny, but being in the heart of an old school that doesn’t sound too shocking. There has been an attempt to brighten things up with the trademark colouring set not only on the corridor floor but on the programs strewn about, almost inconspicuously.

It is clean and there are even a few more comfortable sofas but what makes this place may be the view to the street or the courtyard or the chance to eavesdrop on artists’ conversations, but if like me you can’t speak Hungarian very well the former option is not enough. However, it doesn’t lack in energy replenishment: a lunchtime menu exists with soup, sandwich, salad choices, but for a person who craves atmosphere it is a bit of a let down.

Perhaps it’s the quiet before the storm; a festival event is scheduled for two hours from now. Perhaps it’s Friday. Perhaps it’s the hum of the fridges, the rain starting outside. All factors accounted for I ‘d say this place is a handy option in ‘out of the bustle’ this side of town, when bars and chain cafes aren’t your thing.

It could grow on me as a retreat from the crowd, but for now I must go in search of that very thing.

 

(NB: This was written in April of last year but all criticism is valid until it’s now!!!)

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

In response

In response

To further answer your question: I’m standing at the river bank in the sunshine. It’s hard not to love this city, and my mobile job, at a time like this. I have, however, stood on this spot many’s the time in another mood, with nothing but hatred in my heart!

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

It is, quite!

It is, quite!

 

 

It’s quite possible that I see things differently to everybody else,
that I see danger at the corner cos it there resides.

That I see cheaters, schemers,, dreamers, in the words of rhetoric,
that I cannot believe in anything – but myself.
It’s quite possible that I see everything just like everybody else
but we’ve been lied to long enough so as to not even believe ourselves.
And in comparison where common ground is found
we are often made suspicious, even made to doubt-
for we must all be different and-
then be judged as though we’re not?

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

 

It Could Be Anywhere

 

It could be Ireland but for the snow that comes in drifts, light flakes deceptive.
The green grass muddied once more encased,
and Spring entombed, perhaps,
so what comes next.

 

The rising cheer has so soon abated, as mother nature holds her breath.
Allowing still the chilling fingers caress the shrinking countryside once again.

 

Those tired of darkness they beg for Springtime,
the blossom’s mercy, the rose’s promise.
Blood on the carpet green, yellow, pink – exciting,
now all abounding with whitish sheen.

 

Little diamonds, slivers, pearing down in string-like curtains;
sending silence across the thoughts –
the land once more is sleeping.

 

Beneath, the street, ensnared only by our own vain wishes,
with city light and city surface,
sets cars heaving past hellbent on murder:
Their spring fizz slushed again in sludging cleanliness.
What’s left of autumn now is surely gone.

 

The blackened leaves tattoo the quiet streets
worn inky thin they’d stain like tarmac melt-
That once upon a knee in jeans attired.
Why? With such heat? Why, with youth, of course!

 

Contending here again with the damp, the chill, the beast
As another false alarm is trodden down.
Traffic moves again in lumbered, measured, plod.
What of the coming Spring?
Perhaps it never comes!

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Indeed

Dye see yer one?

You mean…( outlining a chest size)

Yep. She’s wearing those like they were just new…

Or like a man with his wish for a day!

Whatever, her top seems beleagured…

As does her lap…

As is my soul…

Soul my hole!

No, not hole, but you’re getting hot.

I know, and bothered…

Under the collar!

Good God!

Really?

Well he did make those…

And those are just sinful.

God, the ole devil:)

Amen.

And women too

Of course

Horses for courses

One in the hand

Making mountains out of mole hills…

Mountains out of mountains…

Indeed.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2014

Back to top