A new path laden with old shadows
Still directing towards the land you dream to go
But it’s different.
The steps of strangers daggered
The footfalls decorated
And yet it’s the swagger, that damn’d swagger
That throws you off this time.
Was it this, that stride interrupted,
Was it? That the dawn bellowed forth its silence in?
Was it this or another vague Dominion
That spelt truth and yet imposing, gently
Deceived you into :
Being a downfall still a dream but essentially All reality?
My soul intoxicated by the vestiges of emptiness,
I let my breath, my fear, evolve into the detriment –
that well-defined entanglement of love
And desperate, all-embracing, drunkeness.
I felt the pang of guilt, my memory,
the thirst for lust, my psychology,
and my harboured sense of what was once a duty, now a chore.
For I had once assumed authority,
the one who’d travelled far and wide,
But now I felt myself inadequate:
The memory fades but not the pride.
And so in empty quarters of my soul
I chose to redefine myself as whole
And in attempt I felt my sanity,
though ironically yet not my vanity
Till finally I lost not Just my mind…
But Everything
It might not be somewhere over the rainbow
But it is somewhere out there…
Hidden from view but not ear,
A band of friends, perhaps conspirators?
They laugh beyond the cheery tune on the radio.
In here…
In here in this other room, the desolate one, where the desperate sit perched at the bar or in the darker corners,
typing on phones, reading newspapers, or staring into the half distance, finding the floor sometimes a good repose…
In here heads turn expectantly but nothing ever happens, only the songs on the radio are any indication of a better world out there –
Wherein resides “Daddy Cool”.
Even as the door opens a mumble is all that’s heard…
The aging barmaid streaming out,
Perhaps this rat has jumped the ship
And yet the open door promises change
And then…
“Itt a Babus” and the chatter begins.
The barfly awakens, the barmaid questions, another familiar enters…
And then the door closes.
Who is the desperate one now?
Alone in the phone-screen glow.
I’ve hidden in this place before, more exposed than truly hidden.
Revealed by an awkwardness, an intent, that didn’t fully flourish.
Now here unbound I can be myself, behind the music and the language,
Within the shadows and glow light, the half sense to write or just listen,
Till the pen balances thinking with drinking.
A crumpling of a coffee packet accompanying, as the music spills on into jazz, into life,
And the wonder at not understanding other people talk,
Takes nothing from the very fact that they are my company, and in theirs I revel in a notion of life, where my fantasies flourish.
I may be mistaken, even choosing to be so
And I allow the play its new act, my life a new scene, and the writer once more to reality.
(sound of pen dropping and beer slurping:))
The night before my birthday, my fortieth, and I hit Tina Turner’s…it used to be called Anya’s but that half-Greek fantasy set sail down towards the ninth district, somewhere around Mester utca, a long time ago. The soap I bought, a dried up reminder of a notion I once had.
The whole place is infested with memory and even my darkest hour, not worth mentioning, being part of the fabric of this place provokes a Dichotomy, an idea of improvement based upon a previous moral digression, thoroughly equated therefore by its having occurred within the confines of this place.
It was always an awkward place, often ruled by boredom, fatigue, drunkeness, and paranoia. It, however, served well as a last resort. It never closes, you see,”… and that has made all the difference…”
I sometimes long for this place in the blur that is pre- fatherhood memory, but in truth, a moment like this, actually living the memories, is the closest anybody can get to all things past. Sometimes it’s worth coming back for the trip – the reality of what was left behind, suitably soft, a drawing smudged to suit a tolerable indifference.
The corner in one of the upstairs booths, was my workbench of occasion, though never to the extent of B City and the Soproni place, now Cheerio – then nameless (at least to me), and yet Tina’s, ahem…Anya’s (like the stalwart calling Snickers Marathon), provided some of the material for my future. Here dreams were shattered, rebuilt, born yet before, and after. Time bent here… as these words may take me back, they may in time propel me forward, or at least be read again in a time not yet recorded. For now I just create them in the hope that someone, maybe even me, can read them in a future!
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
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
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
Bike themed and youthful the problem with this place is that it doesn’t take itself seriously enough as a business. My entering was greeted by surprise and my order was misheard.
Maybe I’m In a mood and maybe it is functional in a way that would usually serve but today that’s not enough.
After sitting stewing I decided to repeat my request and sure enough the girl had been allowing me the pick of the ziros kenyérs. I shot before asking questions: a trait I hate in others and which I’ve indulged myself just now to hypocritical proportions.
Now hunger tantrums aside let me take another look around. It is a basic spot complete with broken toilet (ladies) at the moment but with booth style seats it surely can be of use. Still in a district with so many alternatives being caught downstairs in the gloom at lunchtime is low on the list. Come nighttime, come difference perhaps but for now best take my word for it, unless like me your curiosity is greater than some random stranger’s opinion.
“Texas and whiskey… funerals”
https://www.facebook.com/35CafeSzerviz
©TheHairyTeacher2014
Whether this place turns out to be a joke remains to be seen but for the time being on a grey February morn*, just shy of my next class, it offers respite from all the timetabling and rushing. Whew!
It’s modern enough in feel but cosy enough to be homely. It’s not all sharp edges and minamilism.
Located just across from Erzsebet square with the pending Akvarium reopening promising an exciting and vibrant summer ahead, it could all come down to location location location.
A badly printed flyer brought me here: that and my inability to read. It said 50% off…but on second glance I realise it’s only for alcohol, and while that may be good tidings usually, there is another sting in the tail. All alcohol excluding beer and wine!!! As if there was any other types of alcohol!!! Whiskey, vodka, pálinka…they’re not alcohol. They’re death wishes in a bottle, unless you drink in moderation, but a place like this doesn’t promote a thing like that.
Now if they had 50% off their merely average coffee I’d be much happier. Grey mornings lean on grey moods perhaps. Bahhhh!
*A review late coming. Nevertheless on recently passing by the place remains the same, and empty. The newly opened Akvárium and surrounds have stolen any chance at thunder here methinks!!!
https://www.facebook.com/Hecc.Cafe
©TheHairyTeacher2014
