What a day. Described as “the worst holiday day we’ve ever had!” and “The day your mum’s knees died!” it was not a very nice one.
Not that it didn’t have it’s moments. At least a couple, anyway. There was the wonderful New York Cafe. An extraordinary confection built the first time in 1894 and proclaimed the most beautiful cafe in the world, it was, a little later, the most beautiful warehouse in the world. It was also a sporting goods store at one point. For a while it went a bit bleak and forgotten. Then, in 2006, it was completely restored to it’s greatest period of splendour.
Mum is in the middle, at the back and wearing green
It was here that we had our breakfast. Possibly my highlight given I had my favourite (pancakes, bacon and maple syrup) and likewise Mirinda’s as she went and found us some alternate accommodation.
She had woken up having not changed her mind from her opinion of yesterday: the apartment we were staying in was crap. She had found a place called the Corinthia online and wanted to check it out. She left us to finish our breakfast and went off up Elizabeth Street (or Avenue or Boulevard…whatever Korut means) to investigate.
About an hour later she texted me to say I should grab mum, pay the bill and high tail it up to the new hotel because it was the best place she’d ever seen and I’d love it. Actually, she didn’t say all of that but she meant it. It was not the only time I would know what she meant with very little effort, something I put down to being married for 25 years…almost.
And so we wandered up, passed the homeless guy sleeping beneath a manky old sleeping bag and stopped in the delightful Szamos, a cafe originally founded by Mladen Szlavits, a man who could make anything out of marzipan. Here we ordered tea while Mirinda pretended to drink a latte before disappearing into the Corinthia (next door) to be given a personal guided tour of the entire complex. It wasn’t long before she said we were moving and mum and I headed back to the old apartment to pack, while Mirinda organised the booking.
Eventually we made it back to the old apartment (walking by the sleeping homeless guy and his godforsaken sleeping bag) and hurriedly packed everything. I then went and tried to explain to the really nice guy at the holiday apartment let office, why Mirinda didn’t like the place. It’s not easy explaining that a place lacks a soul, especially to someone who clearly isn’t an English speaker. Mind you, I’m not sure native English speakers would readily understand either. When he asked me if there was anything he could do to make it better I had to just laugh and wave his offer aside with as much grace as I could muster.
When I returned to mum, who was guarding the luggage, Mirinda had returned to help haul our belongings back, once more passed the sleeping (maybe he was dead?) homeless guy in the super gross looking sleeping bag. I was glad she came back. I might have felt like one of these guys otherwise…
“Not another hotel!”
Anyway, the new apartment is wonderful. It has a real garden outside as opposed to the bomb crater at the other one and the main building is absolutely beautiful. It’s also very quiet. We collapsed into the room and unpacked…after I made certain that Mirinda wasn’t going to want to move again.
Everything was finally happy and peaceful…so I thought I’d mix things up a bit by wrecking the in-room safe, a feat which meant calling up the front desk and sending up a security guy to rip it open again with gruff instructions on how to lock it properly.
Finally, we headed out for something to eat. We didn’t get any further than Szamos where we had another cup of tea and some nice little pastry delights.
We then had our first experience of Budapest public transport as we climbed aboard a Metro train for the Christmas market at Vörösmarty tér. Ignoring the fact that we walked down the stairs only to find we were on the wrong side of the track and had to walk back up, cross the road and then go down again…and ignoring the fact that I tried to ride the train using a validated receipt rather than a proper ticket…and ignoring the fact that the first train was too packed for Mirinda so we had to wait for the next one…the trip was uneventful and without mishap.
Everything was suddenly and happily spread with fairy lights and Christmas cheer as we emerged into the square. We wandered around from stall to stall (mum bought us both a lovely bag each for Christmas) before heading up to the food bit for some mulled wine (mum’s first ever) and a bit of a sit down.
We then walked some more before sitting back down for some food.
Now, I really wish I’d taken a photograph of what Mum and Mirinda had for dinner. It was a sort of plate made of shredded potato and fat with goulash splattered on the top. Apparently it was as disgusting as that sounds. So it’s probably a good thing I didn’t get a photograph. My sausage, on the other hand, while massive, was very tasty and reminded me of the worst excesses of my trip to Oktoberfest in 2009. Mmmm Oktoberfest…
Yet another crap Gary selfie
Even though their tummies were not thanking them, Mum and Mirinda insisted we walk around to the big Ferris wheel. Mirinda wanted to go on it but mum said she might not be able to hold on to her meal. The big Ferris wheel then started making the worst kind of noise possible (it could have woken up the sleeping homeless guy) which put Mirinda off…a lot.
“CREAAAAAKKKKK!”
So we returned to our room. And we were just in time because mum’s hair was threatening to turn into a bush! Cue Mirinda to suddenly call out “Kate?” and me to call out simultaneously “George?”. In the room, mum declared she needed an extra duvet (doona for Australian readers) which caused some confusion and two trips for the poor front desk staff who are seriously regretting giving us the keys to our apartment.
Pingback: Roten graffiti | The House Husband