Windsprints on the Danube and into the Hills

Buda Hills

I moved from apartment to apartment often in Toronto, which meant there were always new neighbourhoods to discover. Running was the best way to get to know a new hood. Going out for a half hour meant you could run along the streets, explore little side alleys, and hidden corners of the area. When I was living in Cracktown I also discovered the sketchy courtyards of Regent’s Park – a great place to work on my windsprints.

I brought this habit to Budapest. Running along the Danube and seeing the sights, ducking into side streets in Pest or Buda. There is plenty to see. Looking for a challenge, I even tried running up Gellert Hill – a brutal, heart-hammering run with a view of the city at the end.

Being an impatient runner, I like to finish my runs in less than 45 minutes, so no races or half marathons or anything like that. I run, I see stuff, and I eat right away afterwards. But I couldn’t pass an invitation from two colleagues to join a trail running group. The group meets up in the hills and run 10km every Tuesday. I wasn’t even sure if I had ran that far before, but I joined.

I showed up in my usual running gear, which isn’t running gear: a black Cephalic Carnage hoodie and a pair of cross trainers. The rest of the runners wore sturdy trail running shoes. I was handed my headlamp and off we went.

I was hooked. My heavy metal hoodie became a common sight on the trails, showing up every couple of weeks (I was alternating between squash and trail running). It turned out my near-suicidal runs up Gellert prepared me for the rugged Buda Hills.

It’s just nice and pretty up there. You’re not dodging traffic, or Regent Park gangsters. You’re running through the trees breathing fresh air and seeing incredible views of the city. I kept up the trail running until neck problems (from other things) put me out of commission.

The running group with
the clueless metal hoodie-wearing foreigner in the middle.

Trail Running to Trail Walking

The first time I took to the hills for something other than a death-defying run was a picnic with Kata. We packed our food, packed our wine, even packed glasses, but didn’t bother checking the weather. When we reached our desired picnic spot, the storm clouds rolled in and the lightning flashed before we could set up.

Seeking shelter, we rode the Children’s Railway until the rain cleared up and got off at the end of the line. With the ground too soggy for picnicking we settled on a bench at a corner of a small intersection. We ate our soggy crackers and cheese, and drank our wine as cars and dogwalkers awkwardly passed us.

For those less inclined to running or walking up sharp inclines, Budapest’s transit authority runs a few unconventional modes of transportation up into the hills. Along with the Children’s Railway, there’s a chair lift. Mountain bikers without the vigor for the climb up can be seen ascending on the cog train. The transportation options defy conventionality, which is so common you might as well consider it conventional.

Running, walking, or getting stuck in a rainstorm, I have returned to the hills over and over again. Kata and I have hiked the trails and I’ve enjoyed a few BBQs at Normafa with fellow Canadian and head chef, Joe. 

It’s rare that in a major city, you can head for the hills in the early afternoon and be back in time for dinner and drinks in the evening. What’s rarer still is that in Budapest all of this wild nature is only a tram ride away. It’s a nature-loving quality that’s unique to Budapest and something I did not expect.

Chairlift yourself.

Another BBQ at Normafa.

Gellert Hill, the site of many humbling, stumbling runs.

Budapest’s Beautiful Perplexities

Budapest has an easy claim to being one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. But, for a Canadian boy like myself, its beauty is tempered with the little peculiarities that come with leaving in a faraway land.

Bread with f***ing stickers

The biggest that leaps to my mind is sticker on the bread. Yes, it tells you the date it was made, but it’s a sticker on my freakin’ bread.

Ugh, bread stickers.

Bus Drivers driving with two feet

When I discovered a quicker bus route to the office from my home, I quickly made it a daily habit. Unlike the subway, I can look out the window. The caveat? Almost every bus driver in Budapest drives with both feet. The bus jerks to a sudden stop at every streetlight. If you’re not holding on you end up bumping into fellow passengers who are more accustomed to the herky-jerky nuances of the Budapest bus ride.

ROADY BEERS!!!

For the most part, Budapest has no open container laws, meaning that you can have a beer in the park with friends or take a roady beer for a walk. This isn’t exclusively Hungarian, but it is nice to live in a place where people are trusted to be responsible with their alcohol consumption.

No dryers. Small fridges.

Electricity is more expensive here. So, people have adjusted accordingly. You get used to a small fridge that North Americans would scoff at and label a beer fridge. You end up buying only the groceries that you need. Dryers are few and fair between, meaning I’ve had to learn to iron. Ironing sucks.

People selling belts, iPhones, and onions

The first time I stepped into Szell Kalman I was kind of overwhelmed by the peddlers and their wares. I haven't made a purchase, but I know where to go for a belt or a set of ceramic knives in a pinch.

My first time in Szell Kalman ter

Hungary: One Nation Under Water

Let’s say you have a people living in a landlocked nation. Not only is there no sea, but this country is surrounded by beautiful mountains.  These people’s ancestors happened to arrive and conquer this land on horseback.

And somehow these people also have developed an incredible love of water. It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s Hungary for you – a nation of water babies

In lieu of any coastline Hungary has hundreds of thermal springs, which have spas and bathhouse built over them. Mentioning the spa to a North American immediately conjures an image of a fancy-pantsy retreat in the country where moneyed folks enjoy their mud baths and massages. In Budapest, the baths are for everyone, from the working man right on up to royalty.

Did I mention they are in the city limits? Nowhere else in the world do you have not just one, but several baths within a city. There’s something for everyone. For the mud bath enthusiasts, you have the fancy pants Gellert Spa (I don’t know about mud bath availability though). You’re already familiar with the old Turkish baths in Rudas if you’ve seen the opening fight scene of the Schwarzenegger classic Red Heat. It was filmed there.

Look past the man pecks, and you see Rudas.

No man pecks here.

My first encounter with the baths was with a group of Hungarian friends at the Baroque outdoor wonder that is Szechenyi in the morning of New Year’s Eve.

It’s a tradition. You arrive in the morning, spend the day loosening up and use that relaxation to take a long nap before the parties begin. The fog was so thick that morning that you felt like you were all alone in an outdoor thermal pool filled with several hundred people. You could hear the fountain splashing and gurgling in the middle of the pool, but you didn’t know it was there until you walked right into its spray.

Kata and I try to get to Szechenyi every time she's in Budapest. In our opinion, it's the best bath in the city.

Hungary also has a large shallow summer-getaway lake. About a two-hour drive from Budapest, this lake is sort of like Canada’s Muskokas, if the Muskokas weren’t pockmarked with eyesore mansions and the calm wasn’t interrupted by jetskiers going back and forth.

On Balaton, motor traffic is limited to the ferries, allowing people to actually swim in the lake or take sailboats out. And the mansions? The communists turned them into hostels for vacationing state company workers (some of which are still used for that purpose).

The lake is shallow, no deeper than three or four meters, but it’s large enough that there are plenty of places to visit along its shore, each with its own character.

Last month for my birthday Kata and I went to Badascony, a hill formed by volcanic fissures. This left basalt columns on the hill and rich, volcanic soil below it for amazing wine growing. We spent an afternoon hiking up the hill. Exiting the park we came out onto a road lined with wine cellars and drank as we returned to our hotel to suit up and go for a swim in the lake.

The summer before, friends and I made it out to Siofok, which is Balaton’s beach resort town. It has a sandy beach and a lot of muscled dudes and bikini-clad ladies ambling along, trying to be seen.

Across the lake, Tihany is different still. It’s a hilled peninsula jutting into the Lake, almost cutting it in half. The hiking is ok, the view is incredible, and there are quiet, private beaches to be enjoyed – if you can sneak onto one.

Feet up in Siofok. Photo by Torma.

Hiking in Badacsony.

Our forbidden beach. Photo by Kata.

Somehow, this lake, the land’s springs, and this water baby love culminated into a fierce water sports competitive spirit. Hungary, per capita, has a dizzying amount of Olympians – many are divers, swimmers, and, most popularly, water polo players.

There’s a lot of history in water polo here, and I will not get into it here. For those unfamiliar with the sport, it does not involve riding horses in the water. Think of it as rugby in the water. It’s brutally violent, incredibly exhausting, but very entertaining for the rest of us watching.

In Hungary, water polo players are treated like hockey players in Canada. They are revered national heroes, endorsing all sorts of products and marrying women who Canadians would recognize as puck bunnies. The similarities are eerie, sometimes.

A Hungarian telcom set up a water polo pool with big screens in
a Budapest public square for Euro Water Polo Tournament

Needless to say, water polo is a big deal in Hungary. I caught the water polo bug during the recent European Championships, which were held here. I wasn’t at the point where I was running down the street with a Hungarian flag as a cape, but I was getting home to watch the games on TV. I was jubilant with every win for Hungary, and I was crushed when they were trounced in the finals by Serbia. Admittedly, it might not just be water polo I was enjoying; I could be turning into a Hungarian nationalist too.

How a landlocked country is filled with bath-going, water polo-loving people is still beyond me. Hungary can seem like a nation of peculiarities, and this is just of one of them – and it’s a fun one, if you ask me. So I’m just going with it.