Tag Archives: Budapest

A letter to any listener

A letter to any listener

Hi there

How are you? How’s tricks? How’s the family, or not? How now brown cow! Any news? Well, apart from the usual nonsense…

[Blah blah blah]

Anyway, as for the teaching regulations I seem to have avoided their web for another while and am still in the white as far as invoicing goes but it’s becoming more and more difficult. If the companies are spooked then rather than jump through the legal hoops they’ll just jump ship. As far back as 2011 there was a change in the law which meant that companies to whom I issued invoices had to cover my health insurance payments. A funny thing about it was that in some cases this seemed not to be true, while others, believing the initial rumours, wanted instead to pay me in black. Two years on the companies that stayed with me have had no trouble so whatever shadow had passed over in those dark ’11s had dissipated…only to loom much larger as of Sept 1st this year…when, indeed, the law stated much more specifically that people of my disposition, the idiots-for-honesty, were most definitely dis-entitled to issue invoices with the trademark “nyelvoktatás” code. Instead in a frantic scramble for legitimacy another existing code was sought out and came in the guise of “egyéb oktatás”. That there is a clear distinction between the two is obvious in the way of spelling, and may even be supported semantically, but to say that what I actually do has gone from being “language” teaching to “other” rings of something sinister. I see myself in a coutroom some time down the line pleading innocence in the light of allegations of some newly contrived perversion as distinguished by an ever-enlightening-ruling-elite (the word government ringing too much of communist ideologies by that time). That my case will hinge on the ominous term “other education” will certainly be my downfall and as I am dragged away by my oppressors I will rage loudly and invoke the honest Hungarians now resident in Slovakia (and other Trianon treated regions) who at once in a darker past woke one morning to find themselves strangers in a strange land, and note that in my own demise I may take heart that I am not alone. A man made criminal, a man made foreigner, in my case to the profession that I once purported to be be qualified to do.

For now I do bid you adieu.

Martin of the Magyars

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Ah shur, tis Grand (The Grand Hostel)

Out of town but not out of town this private hostel sits on 2 major transport lines, the 61 tram, and the 29 bus. A ten minute walk, if you’re taking it easy, either side of these and you’ve got the 129 bus or the 5 bus. Apart from the 29 which takes you North to Óbuda and towards the Roman settlements, all others take you East or South towards the river, the castle, and the city centre.
A night bus passes by every hour and is accessible from a myriad of points throughout the city.
Beds are provided in dorms or private at prices which imply hostel, not gap year-Daddy’s wallet.
If on a brief visit then the city is your calling but if allowed a night or two to recuperate the hostel also provides its own entertainment with locals dropping in, and Peti the Proprietor is always willing to bang out a tune. Be warned: Peti’s got a good and varied taste in music which he may employ to keep you from your Zzzs. Your choice!;)

©TheHairyTeacher2013

http://www.grandhostel.hu/

Nem-zeti smoking

Nem-zeti smoking

Like a particularly malignant infestation these Nemzeti Dohányboltak have cropped up everywhere in the last few weeks. No longer Mindjárt lesz they are here Most. Like scurrying cock-a-roaches they have found there way into every abominable cesspit and seedy enclave in the city as well as discreetly off the radar in more frequented areas. They seem to have lent squalor to every corner with their dark foreboding exteriors. Chocolate brown, though some folk have suggested elsewise brown on the colour chart, their prohibitive 18 s sign has led in some cases to tourists avoiding, or entering, them taking them for sex shops. The national colours seem misplaced in such illustrious company!
First, why the sense of clandestine usually held for the dildo dealing outlets or casinos or other establishments of such character? Maybe, as has been suggested, it’s because the shady sorts are indeed involved. Whatever the spin you believe, as with the games machine debacle, vested interests have been served. Welcome IN Hungary? Naw, welcome TO the world is all!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

All About Atmosphere (The Budapest Jazz Club)

When I first arrived in Budapest the Budapest Jazz Club was situated on Múzeum utca in the popular university area which spans the 5th, 8th, maybe even 9th districts of the city. It was near that area where an Irish pub consisted of putting the word Irish before it and the streets had yet to be pedestrianised. Now that the area is looking good the Budapest Jazz Club has upped pegs and shifted residence to the 13th. It’s still up and coming Hollán Ernő street style but somehow this district, this part at least, and my favourite, is more becoming of Jazz Club mystic post smoking ban.
In the place where once the Odeon, an arthouse cinema stood, it has changed little albeit better music emanates from the speakers mid morning.
It still retains the arthouse feel and along with the other arthouse cinemas that have fallen foul of progress, or other conspiracy theories, imagination has been employed in order to maintain quality, at least the quality of difference.
With regular concerts and an early morning, 10am, opening this serves to be as much a library as a theatre. It’s a cool place to hang out, literally during the almost unbearable summer’s days and it serves to enhance the spirit for those more musically curious.
And for those who’ve just popped in for a coffee you are in a good neighbourhood for some good quick eats if things turn peckish.
Disfruta la!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Friday left longing

On a grey May day
beyond the storm for now
in the lurking mucky derivative
we march forth.
The flashes of the night
the fork, the sheet
the rumble, clatter, bang
scaring up the ghosts of primitive man.
I would have made my god right then
exposed within the horrid beauty
but instead I swaddled in progression.
The morning brought the picture
the saturation
and the birds in fury screamed their prolonged existence.
The storm had passed, a new day come.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Better than the sliced pan-ini (Cafe Panini)

Along the streets I struggled, a groginess lingering two days on from festivities in the Belgian beer department, though I suspect the dregs I downed later were really to blame. Me and sense*, certainly not the best of bedfellows after alcohol’s been imbibed.
I passed a cafe still in the making it’s sign chancing at irony I guessed: Sunshine Cafe read the sign on the outside above steps which led to the bowels of the earth. “Good luck there” I thought.
Finally, in a twist and turn rhythm which would have seemed patterned to anyone observing, which indeed it had been, I ended up quayside on the corner with Cafe Panini.
First impression: welcoming, and with panini specials on the weekly menu this certainly seemed up to its name. In fact everybody I spotted on entering was eating something freshly cooked to the point that when I ordered a coffee and croissant I felt a little like the one who’d just ordered the plastic flowers.
The coffee, long as is my style, lingered and certainly was good. The croissant, heavy on pastry, lacked, as many in Hungary do, the buttery edge I’d grown accostumed to in Paris, and Douglas, Co. Cork.
But for dippage it was perfect collecting coffee up between the layers, without too much crumbling to create a pastry caffeine sludge.
Yes, yes. My name is Martin and I am a dipper and have been for as long as I can remember. My clearest first memories are Maxwell House and Custard Creams, cheap granulated coffee and biscuits (cookies, keksz) just in case you were wondering!
So in a nutshell, a pleasant environment, and popular in that there seems to be a collection of colourful folk, artsy, studenty, but maybe the film buses across on the key may have something to do with this. I hope not. This place should always be like this, and when those ‘bledy’° buses move there’ll be a good view of the river across to Margit’s Island as well as her bridge.
My advice: come for a coffee and stay for a day.
*”Sense and I” is the grammatically correct usage!
° Bloody

 

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©TheHairyTeacher2013

Dotty for Coffee (Pöttyös)

Dotty for Coffee (Pöttyös)

On the intersection of Medve and Vitéz down in the second district this a colourful little chappy. The name itself arranged haphazardly above the entrance does little to convey the professionalism but a lot to carry the mood. A small counter is neatly stuffed with pastries and sandwiches with other oddities surrounding. A stairway winds its way up into the humble darkness but though tempting a snug in the clutches of winter, summer, even if Irishy at the moment of writing, beckons to the outdoors. Like two sentries,  tables await left and right on exiting while a step out, under the shade of an impressive tree (name pending) which marks this corner distinctly, finds one in a cluster of more. Optimistic on those colder days, on any other day, or even wrapped up, the outside seating is the place to be. As the Norwegians say: there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

All things culinary (Culinaris)

An English breakfast sounded tempting and at half the price of the expat pubs I wasn’t expecting miracles, though hoping nonetheless.
Up till that point Culinaris was a chance to buy good or “rarely found in Hungary” food at a price that would leave you feeling like after a date in prison.
My first encounter had been through winning a 10000huf prize in a sudoku competition, back when ten was still considered money, but recently I hadn’t dared. Imagine if I saw something at a price I couldn’t afford. Well I’d probably have found a pub nearby and drank my wishes away.
This time I was determined and yet not surprised when a very big plate, or very small portion, arrived.
A ramekin full of baked beans. Perhaps better than the alternative bed of beans that one gets back home, the other home.
A rasher in the full, not streaky, sense.
A fried egg ; and the pièce de résistance, the sausage. A skinny affair if all be told but definitely a tasty morsel, unlike another expat haunt I could mention where you’d be waiting for Godot for a decent breakfast sausage.
A few cuts off a baguette dropped almost haphazardly off to one side finished off the presentation.
What had I been expecting and yet getting two for a price still less than the expat pubs meant it was a comparably good deal, if boxing to that weight division. I wasn’t so it’s doubtful that I’ll be running back, but as the only Culinaris I know that offers the cafe to the side, it’s definitely somebody’s cup of tea.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Cock of the Walk (Kakus Plusz)

Location location location.
This is the place to be downtown on the edge of work, sun shining and the allsorts passing. If ever a backdrop seemed forced, much like Hollywood highway chase scenes did till I lived in Greece, this place will dispel all doubt. Sitting in the sun my arm scorched off and yet a stripey cardigan donned I write with no intention to compliment this place. It’s a drinking den nothing more but at that it’s perfect. C’est tous. C’est fini!
http://www.kakaspresszo.hu/

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Province of Taste ( Levendula )

Up in the 12th, a climb if you’re on for it, is where to find the lovely Levendula. An owner that’s renowned for his alcohol intake, and an interior that’s black, and maybe because of paint, this is one of those places that’s not pretty but is nearly perfect. You don’t come here for fine dining or for beer served up in a clean glass but if you’re one of those let the heights deter you. For the atmosphere adventurers there is something about this place, accessible by either 112 or 102 bus from the city, the former runs right the way through Pest while the latter comes up from Széll Kálmán tér to its terminus hereabouts before continuing on its loop around, and both stop just outside the door.
Its point, beyond the characters than adorn the place all year round, is the garden. A balmy spot offering shade on the hillside it is also only a few stops short of a fabulous viewpoint if one continues up along the 112 bus route.
Not a place for run-of-the-mill connoiseurs, it is certainly a place for off-the-beaten-track troubadours, and when you find it remember to tell your doubts:
I told you so!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

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