from pest to buda and back

Built in the 16^th century the Rudas bath in Budapest not only has history seeped into the walls, you can smell it is old. The water that streams from the mouth of the statue and into the bath is warm and luxurious but smells too much like curried eggs to stand near for long. Drifting over to the other side of the 30 degree indoor bath, that today on Tuesday is open only to women, it is easy to be lulled into a state of calm. Although after almost three months of picturesque wanderings through a handful of European cities I find I am in a state of calm most days.

And so you bathe in the water of the centuries old Turkish bath, in an octagonal stone room with beams of mottled coloured light filtering through the stars in the domed roof. With the friendly French woman you try the steam room where conversation is replaced with trying to breathe, then the dry sauna, then you plunge into the small cool water bath and then into the 40 degree bath. Warmed to the core the drizzle following you from Buda back to Pest is barely noticeable.

Back in Pest they carry posies of daffodils and escape the rain in cafes where the walls are decorated with pop art and red paint and chairs are displayed in the top window sill. At night they drink and dance in bars that are inside but outside with plants and wall paper, graffiti and games of kicker, cartoons projected on the walls and an old car for a DJ booth.

Over the bridge and across the Danube River is Buda. With the buildings surrounded by leafy green trees and a castle and cathedral standing amongst it all. Buda is beautiful. Beautiful is Buda.

And everyone at The Groove is having a grand time in Budapest. And then the Iceland volcano erupts and everyone is happy to be stranded in Budapest. And then I take my last lap of the streets, I take my last photo from Margaret Bridge, and I wish that I too were stranded in Budapest.