On a dull December day the outskirts of the city are gray, the trees are bare and the industrial landscape is cheerless. Drab postwar apartment blocks dot the landscape while empty lots and demolition sites are scattered here and there. It could be Newark or Philadelphia or Cleveland, but in fact it's Budapest. The clusters of tile-roofed red brick farmhouses tell me it's Eastern Europe and not the Northeastern US. At the edge of the city the scene changes; I start to see the large fin de siècle buildings typical of many continental cities. We turn onto a long boulevard and I can see why this city has been called the Paris of the east. Grand 19th-century buildings line the street but it's still pretty gray. Then on a prominent corner stands a huge building that tells me this is not Paris. It's red brick, much more detailed than the others, with a fanciful roofline and a tall black witch's hat turret on the corner—I never saw that in Paris. Then closer to the city center is one of those remarkable Budapest buildings that thrills the senses. Heavy stone figures flank the doorways, the windows have scrolls and flowers, the roofline swirls, and gorgeous multicolor tile adorns the peak of the façade. It's Hungarian Secession, the magical marvelous Budapest version of Art Nouveau from the last quarter of the nineteenth century when this was one of the fastest growing cities of Europe.
In the center of Pest the monochrome is broken by bright colors that pop up everywhere, green and ochre of the Zolany tiles on the roof of the Museum of Applied Art, the red and yellow brick on the Central Market, the bright yellow stucco of the University library. Towers and turrets are everywhere. Bright yellow trams glide down the outer ring past the towering wedding cake that is the recently restored New York Palace building. I pull up to my bright cream-colored hotel, another confection on the boulevard. Budapest reveals itself; the scars of war and neglect can be seen on the side streets, but at the same time the colors and energy of change and renewal are visible everywhere. It's quite exciting to see this urban evolution so clearly revealed.
I arrive on a Saturday afternoon, which is men's day at the Kiraly Baths, a small, rather charming 16th-century Turkish bath in Buda. The taxi drops me at the small building on a quiet side street. I open the old wooden door and find myself in the particular world of a Budapest public bath. I check my clothes, don my loincloth, shower, and then plunge into the large pool. The gentle hum of conversation echoes under the ancient dome. These are lively, friendly places, and soon I am chatting with Hungarians, and others too—German, Albanian, Portuguese. It's a very civilized way to socialize on a Saturday afternoon.
Later, I head across the Chain Bridge to my hotel in central Pest. I have a cocktail in the grand lobby while a string quartet plays American jazz with a decidedly Hungarian twist. It's Budapest, beautiful, grand, old world, but also rough at the edges. The surroundings are comfortable but the service is a bit erratic.
That night I head to AlterEgo, a big gay club where new Whitney is blasting from the speakers. I scan the room. A big Hungarian meatball in a tight T stretches his beefy arms over his head—nice. A sassy carrot-top girl in a long black corset dress takes a drag on her cigarette and flashes her lashes—fantastic. Skinny boys with Santa hats dart around the bar—very cute. There's that handsome Albanian I chatted with at the Kiraly earlier in the day. I'm on the town in Budapest. Could be New York or London—or could it?
On Sunday morning I go to the flea market, of course. There's lots of kitsch—heavy furniture, gilt frames, also nice enamel signs, pretty blue and white pottery. It's always fun to see the local mix. Then to the Museum of Applied Art to see the real stuff. In European capitals, the Museums of Applied Art are the places of design history. Budapest has a charming one. It has been rebuilt several times over the course of the 20th century as wars and revolutions took their toll on the grand, graceful building. Right now it has a gorgeous exhibition of Turkish carpets of the 16th and 17th centuries, dazzling. There's also an exhibition of curious Hungarian Art Nouveau furniture which is heavier, folkier, and less refined than other Nouveau. As I leave the building I see the glorious green and yellow tile roof on the building.
And so to the Gellert, the remarkable Art Nouveau bath. The high barrel vault lobby is grand and dark with statues and ferns. The stern matron takes my money. I wander to the men's locker, lined with draped cubicles and handsome wood lockers. I change and head into the thermal baths where I am knocked out by a site more magical than you can imagine. It is a giant, dimly lit, blue tiled cavern with men and women (it's family day) drifting in and out of the huge warm pools. The last moments of daylight filter through the glass ceiling so the lights haven't yet been turned on. After the splendors of the thermal baths I get a massage from a huge, hairy Hungarian sumo wrestler. I am flat out, naked on the table, in a brightly lit white tiled room lined with gorgeous polychrome Art Nouveau floral cartouches—it's turn-of-the-century institutional splendor. While the masseur rubs and pounds me, people come and go, the masseur stops to talk, occasionally yelling across the room. Here there's none of that soothing calm of the contemporary hotel spa. Oh yes, I am sharing this large room with several men suspended in a deep pool, hanging from metal and plastic harnesses. Hmm, torture or treatment? Looks the former, but it's probably the latter.
Budapest has a delightful Christmas market in the center of Pest. Little wooden buildings are spread throughout the square, which is ablaze with lights. The building on one side is a giant advent calendar. This is a great place for dinner; people are everywhere, eating, drinking, strolling, shopping. My meal is a steaming plate of stewed cabbage laced with sausage, and I can't resist the freshly fried potato pancake. This hearty meal is perfect after my afternoon at the Gellert. Rows of picnic tables make for a lively outdoor dining room. The girls at my table are all sparkles and spangles like Christmas trees in this Christmas market. Some Eastern European women seem to like a pretty flashy look. I guess the men must like it, too!
On Monday morning I have breakfast at the Gerloczy, a charming cafe near the City Hall. Eggs, tea, orange juice, and toast with some deliciously salty butter. With the International Herald Tribune in hand I can start the day properly, simple good food and a selection of the news and features of the day. That morning, the city is gray and damp but alive with people after the quiet of Saturday and Sunday. The shutters are pulled up, the lights are on, and the city hums. After breakfast I head to the Central Market where I am greeted by a dizzying array of paprikas, fresh fruits and vegetables, meats of all cuts and colors, cookies, cakes, and candies. Why don't we have a big indoor market in New York City?
Before I know it, it's time for lunch with Laszlo, a graphic design professor at the Hungarian University of Fine Art. Over an amazingly delicious chicken paprikash, I get snapshot of Hungarian politics and the recent history. It's a murky business, two decades of elected politicians hasn't produced much in the way of change and open government. We head to the university where I talk about my book and the idea of wayfinding as a design discipline. My audience is rapt as I speak and eager with their queries during the discussion period. I am inspired by my two hours with graphic design students. As design ambassador I talked about the power of design to impact society, to make a difference, to help change the way things are done. It's a powerful message in a country where the wounds and challenges of the 20th century are still visible and the road map through the 21st century is still being drawn.
The day ends with more food, another bath palace. The roast goose at Menza is crisp and delicious, perfect winter food, hard to find in New York. The place has a cool retro '60s decor. I recognize the weird flowery wallpaper—we just ripped out the white-yellow-brown version of it from our kitchen in Jersey City. When it's black and white like this, here, I love it. The final plunge is at the vast Széchenyi, an enormous Beaux Arts bathing complex. The thermal springs run very hot there and so they have a huge steaming outdoor bath. As I float in the misty waters of this giant pool I reflect on what I have seen and heard and tasted and experienced during my few days in Budapest. For me it has been a delicious stew of sensations and inspirations.
