Notes from Nof Yam

One Saturday morning about a week ago, Na'ama and I were taking a quick walk up the boulevard to the neighborhood grocery store. Once we turned the corner, she informed me that we had just passed Yitzhak Rabin's granddaughter sitting at one of the outdoor cafes.

Apparently, Yitzhak Rabin's granddaughter is in her early 30s and is married with kids, and nearly everyone knows what she looks like, ala Chelsea Clinton. That she would be out on Saturday for breakfast at a trendy street-side cafe isn't surprising. However, what is surprising is how often it's possible to run into nationally famous figures in Tel Aviv; this was the latest in a series of sightings. Some others:

(sitting at dinner at an inexpensive cafe): "Oh, my god. Don't look now, but my favorite op-ed columnist is having coffee at the table over your left shoulder."

I look over my shoulder. Gideon Levy, with his weathered face and Clint Eastwood-like squint is having a cigarette and talking with his dinner companion at a two-person table. I recognize him from his byline picture.

"Why don't you go say how you love his work?"

"I can't do that! He'll think I'm an idiot!"

(Walking down the street back from a late-night movie): "See that guy in the white shirt and flip-flops? He's the head judge on the Israeli version of American Idol." Isra-Simon is talking animatedly on a cell phone by himself, standing next to a park bench.

(Driving up a side street en route to the freeway on a Saturday morning, slowing for a crossing pedestrian): "By the way, the guy who's crossing the street in front of us was a really famous Israeli rock star in the '70s. Now he's really slowed down; that's his wife and kid."

Statistically, all of this is probable. Tel Aviv has only 393,000 people, and it's the cultural center of the Israeli world. Furthermore, these blocks lie in the heart of the city. What's most surprising is the casual nature of each of these celebrities; no entourage, no fancy car, no exclusive table, just flip-flops and an occasional companion. I guess if the world is small enough, the rush of celebrity status isn't as reality-bending.

The best one of all: last week, Na'ama walks down King George St. on the way home from work, and comes up from behind on a handful of guys, one of whom is small and elderly but walking at a fast clip, talking with the others. She instantly recognizes him as former prime minister and current president of Israel Shimon Peres.

"And I love Shimon Peres! And he's walking around so quickly for an elderly man! But the problem is that he's surrounded by his guards, so I couldn't approach him to say hello. Even worse, he's walking directly on my route home, so now it looks like I'm following them! And one of the guards looks over his shoulder at me, and keeps walking, and looks again, then talks to the others, and so I finally switch to the other side of the street, and when they finally pass my street I turn up the block, and one of the guards gives me a last look . . . and I mean, you can't really blame them, because it's Shimon Peres, but how cool to see the President...!"

Hungary by Train

The last morning in Vienna. The train leaves right after breakfast, and the station isn't too far away...

The ride is about four hours. On the way eastward; check out the many rows of tracks in the switchyard:

Ahhh...

Budapest is my favorite world city. It's difficult to explain why, but there are the observable good things: beautiful landscape with a major river running through the center, walkable, inexpensive, fascinating architecture and city layout, etc.

But there are the more subtle things. For example: the combination of joy and utter seriousness of the music scene, for young and old alike. The language that kind of resembles Finnish, but is different than all others. The ubiquitous use of a national spice. The courtyards in nearly every building. The East-meets-West culture mash of this region of Europe.

But, above all else, I get a palpable sense of optimism in Budapest. The underdog city that persevered through terrible times of poverty and communist domination to emerge on the other side with renewed national pride. New ideas and opportunities arriving. The worst is probably over, and the best is yet to come.

A walk by the Danube is always relaxing:

Dramatic war memorial outside of the parliament building:

A few pictures from the Jokai neighborhood, near my hostel and the Opera House:

The second-largest synagogue in the world is in Budapest. (The first is in New York.)

And, relatedly, an interesting traveling story: I found and paid for my hostel online, and was very pleased with it when I arrived; it was a large, fully renovated, opulent apartment near the center of town, run by a kind Romanian woman named Andi. After I arrived and settled in, Andi offered me a cup of coffee and a quick guide through the local sights on the travel map. The exchange went something like this:

Andi: "Well, you'll probably want something to eat this afternoon. Right around the corner is the best falafel in the city. Really exceptional. Let me mark the map for you..."

Me: "Hey, thanks..." *My Brain*: Hmm. Falafel. Do they have a lot of that in Hungary? Does she know where I'm travelling from? Am I getting profiled...?

Andi: "After you get something to eat, there are many amazing things to see in the city. I highly recommend the synagogue. It is the second-largest synagogue in the world..."

Me: "Ah, yes..." *My Brain*: OK, this is definitely profiling. She saw my point of origin on the internet booking, and now I'm getting the Isra-tour of Budapest. Well, I guess that's kind of nice.

Andi marked up the map with many other sights, including the Terror Museum, local market, and famous baths. I went out, and had a wonderful time. When I returned to my room that night, I met my roommate, Zohar, who happened to be born and raised in Israel. We commented on the serendipitous situation of being from the same country. Then I asked, "Did Andi point out the falafel and the synagogue as the first things on the map to you..?" to which Zohar's eyes widened and he emphatically said "YES! YES she CERTAINLY DID! It is PROFILING!!" We talked for a bit about how weird it was ("Do you like . . . Synagogues??"), then decided to call it a night after swapping more stories of living in Canaan.

The next day, before hitting the town, I saw Andi in the kitchen giving an orientation to a couple who were obviously from Australia: "Welcome! You must have had a long flight from Sydney. If you're feeling like a bite to eat, I recommend this restaurant around the corner; it's the best falafel in the city. Amazing food. Let me mark the map for you. Also, here, next to the Danube river is the Budapest Synagogue. It's the second-largest Synagogue in the world..."

The Market on the River

Since I started traveling seriously, one of my greatest fascinations is with the common markets in each city, and Budapest has one of the best. It's the enormous train-station looking building in the center of the street below:

The inside of this market is cavernous and clean, and resembles Pike Place in a blimp hangar. The stores are clustered by type of produce (meats, veggies, prepared foods, souvenirs) and there is a massive selection.

An example of a meat stall:

And Kmetty and Kmetty, fine purveyors of fresh veggies:

The sunlight streams through, and shops try to make their deals. There's a food court on the upper catwalks, selling paprika sausage, salads, beer, and Langos, which are a kind of fried dough with sour cream and cheese.

The market from the outside. I think it must be some kind of dream to live within walking distance.

Sights and Sounds

Inspiring Graffiti:

The Budapest Opera pit. Band geeks, note the side rotary-valve cornets.

The leg room. Slightly better than US Airways.

The opera house: stunning, more opulent (though smaller) than Vienna, and a match for the galvanizing weeknight performance the company put on for a half-full house: Blood Wedding by Hungarian composer Sandor Szokolay, based on a play by Lorca, originally produced in 1964. This is the second time that I've been completely overwhelmed by the sheer vitality and virtuosity of a operatic production in Budapest (the first being Stravinsky's L'historie du Soldat) and the performance still resonates these many months later.

A Night on the Town

Like any good hostel director, our intrepid Andi took us out one night for drinks and dancing. Here we are, striding down the boulevard toward Morrison's, a club on the western edge of Pest:

Morrison's Music Pub is a multi-level dreamscape of a club. It consists of an entire housing block-with-courtyard, three stories, hollowed out and retrofitted for a nightly gatecrash. The top floor, where we started our evening, is full of chandeliers and old-timey bar goodness:

A view from the third story down into the interior courtyard:

Foosball was invented in Hungary. There was a lot of it on the third floor. I hadn't played since Middle School.

The second floor had the largest bar, and the most interesting people, as well as some of the dance floors. The basement, which I couldn't get any pictures of because of the thronging masses, was a labyrinthine bunker of packed dance floors, each with its own theme (retro, top 40, house/trance/IDM, karaoke, etc.) and with enough twists and turns between them to make it seem like a kind of waking slideshow. This isn't ordinarily a place for me, but I had a blast.

Far Beneath the Buda Hills...

On my last day in Budapest, there was a group going spelunking in the hills on the far side of the Danube. Natural cave formations had been explored and historically used as bunkers, but were now preserved for science and amateur spelunkers. We took two buses up into the hills and got outfitted at the caving lodge:

Then followed our guide down to the entrance...

And here I am, ready to rock.

Our guide was an experienced spelunker, and took us about 100 meters under the Buda hills in complete darkness. Our headlamps guided us as the routes became progressively smaller and more challenging.

Our group. (roommate Zohar in foreground.)

Crawling under a difficult rock to the next room.

Roots from plants reached into some of the shallower rooms:

An extremely narrow, slide-on-your-butt section of the cave. The pictures don't do this justice.

An ascent.

Our guide demonstrating the difficult "Winnie the Pooh" hole, and the technique for getting through it without resorting to grease, ropes, or small ordinance.

A hand-drawn map of the cave system back at the lodge. There was a really cool moment on the tour where we all turned out our lights in the belly of an enormous cave called "The Theater". There was no light, and we all giggled nervously, but then I wanted to savor the moment in blackness. I think I said something like: "Hey, let's all be totally silent, under the earth, for 10 seconds. We'll never be back here and it'll be something we'll never forget. Ready? Go."

And it was totally silent, and there was no light, and it was cold, and there were people we couldn't see standing all around. We stood there for what felt like a minute.

Then I relented: "OK, that's enough." More laughter, from myself and everyone else, and we continued on with the tour.