Return of the King

Arrival at the Budapest airport did not bring back a flood of memories - far from it. Other than the occasional Hungarian word that magically appeared on my lips, very little that I saw in Ferihegy or later in the day in Budapest seemed familiar. The most telling of these events was a statue that is in my book - a picture of Dave and I on both sides of a small bronze child with a jester's cap. The caption in the book says "Dave and I in front of Parliament". Embarrassingly this statue does not have Parliament in the background but the Palace - in my memory it was firmly planted on the wrong side of the Danube.

Most of the rest of the day yielded streets I did not recognize and places I did not know. Fisherman's Bastion on Castle Hill was one of the few places I remembered fairly well but Matyas Church next door is little more than a blur. The streets of Varhegy are nowhere in my memory. I think I finally figured out that the hostel we sometimes stayed in was not on Castle Hill but Gellert Hill two bridges down - the Hills too had been merged into one by my muddled remembrances.

Perhaps I had traces of Gerbaud's café still clunking around in my aging brain and the Chain Bridge and it's wonderful Lion topped columns had made an indelible impression, but mostly this was a new city to me. Only the words of the Magyar tongue seemed to have taken any root at all - most surprising to me given my recent experience of learning Indonesian and losing almost all of it within a season.
Is it my age or something else? It will be interesting to see what else gets jarred loose over the next two weeks.
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Janine loves the city. The streets of Castle Hill reminded her of Sienna with its many flag bearing neighborhoods. The statues abounding the Centrum are a constant source of joy to her. She just wish I was better (any good at all) in translating the myriad of historical placards.