Wandering in Vienna

On Saturday morning I took the tram to Keleti Pályaudvar, the large train station in the center of Pest. I had a ticket for Vienna, but arrived an hour early to people-watch. I found a bench in the corner of the station, a few feet from a small bakery, bought a pastry from and settled in.

The building Itself was impressive, the rounded roof loomed above me, so high that it felt like being in the open air. Above the entrance was an enormous glass window that let in the early morning light. The bakery that I sat was in a corner to the left of the entrance. It was out of the direct line of traffic but the tables out front provided a clear view of the station. It also provides a lingering smell of baking bread and coffee, masking any of the usual train-station smells.

The early morning crowd flowed around me; old men with carefully pleated pants and well waxed mustachios, middle aged women in tight leggings and hair the color of fall leaves, sleepy tourist with towering backpacks and clothes rumpled from a night on the trains. Despite the towering ceiling and the hoards of people, the station was quiet. Conversations took place in on benches and in tight circles, but no shouts could be heard.

The Pest train station is an interesting place. Tourists and locals mix and mingle, young and old co-exist (although here seems to be very little inter-generational communication). Under the atrium of the giant station the world seems timeless, and Hungary a constant, unchanging place. I watched an old couple drink coffee at the bakery, the woman smiled and leaned in to talk. The man sat with back erect, his eyes straying across the platforms as he listened. They didn't have luggage or visible tickets and seemed to be in no hurry. Maybe they just liked the view of the busy station in the early morning.

Vienna is Beautiful. I don't think I can fully describe it in words. I've posted a few more pictures then I usually to to give you a taste of it. After the last picture there's note I jotted down on my first day in Vienna. 

  

Hooves clack on cobblestones like a rainmaker, showering me with sounds like smooth, round pebbles. Children run through the square, lisping german as they chased each others blond braids. The old buildings surrounding me reflect the afternoon light, like showcased wedding cakes, so that even the shadow I sit in is light. I close my eyes and go back a century. When I open them I see in front of me a man in a well-cut business suit striding past. His long strides carry him along quickly and his head, incased in a shining, white motorcycle helmet, gleams in the sunlight. There are armless guardian soldiers looking down on me. Next to them a metallic cell tower pierces the sky. Out of a century old building a steel and glass box pokes it’s head. Things change, yet they remain the same. Old workmen who drink their beer on the stoop at the base of the pillar in who’s shade I sit are following in their fathers’ footsteps.

Trams in Buda

 One evening I took the tram from the end of line 18, deep in northern Buda, back to our dormitory, near the other end of the line. It was 22:00, and because the tram was heading away from the city and into the suburbs most people seemed to be heading home.

The evening crowd on Budapest trams differs greatly from the rush-hour crowd. Everyone seems to be traveling in pairs. As I got on I saw two women around the age of fiftee laughing as they looked at a flier. Several young couples held hands as they talked softly. An older man and woman, directly behind me, sat in a comfortable silence.

We head into Southern Buda slowly, skirting the edge of the Danube. The view is breathtaking; the bridges are alight and the river reflects the skyline. This part of the city has been carefully restored during the post soviet boom. It stands in stark contrast with the cement apartments that characterize the rest of Buda. I stop looking out the window and notice that I am the only one taking in the view. It occurs to me how strange it must be to live in a tourist destination. My fellow travelers have seen this view a thousand times. Some of them probably ride tram eighteen ever night, so the glowing river is nothing new. No one seems to take any notice of the view and no one takes much notice of me. The disinterest with which Hungarians treat the millions of tourists that flood into their city every week is probably a form of self-preservation. It is not a cold disinterest, only calculated boredom.

I felt a little bit like a stalker, but I don't think he noticed me taking this.

Finally I am not the only one sitting by myself. A guy of around twenty, with dreads and a graphic tee has a macbook out and is programing furiously, leaning into the black and white print on his screen. I am slightly surprised by what he is doing. In other countries that I have visited the tram is used as an extension of ones’ office, but in Budapest it seems to be treated as a coffeehouse. No one works on the tram, and very few people read on it either. The public transportation system of Budapest seems to be used primarily as a way to socialize. I have often noticed that I am the only person riding who isn't talking to anyone.

From reading How we survived Communism and Even Laughed, I remember that the author spent a great deal of time explaining how difficult living conditions were in soviet and post soviet countries. I wonder if the use of the trams as places to talk is a result of may people living in tightly confined spaces, were there isn't room to have a private conversation. Maybe buses and trams were a better option and people got used to talking on them.

Despite the constant chatter, I don't think that the tram is a place to meet people. In my two weeks in Budapest I haven't had a single long conversation with anyone outside of our group. I think that the Hungarian culture is wary of new people. The residents of Budapest especially, how are flooded with uninformed, and often drunken, guests. I feel that Hungarinas view tourists almost as they would street performers. After a group of especially rowdy foreign teenagers got off the tram I was riding, I saw many amused looks, and a few chuckles. No one seemed bothered by the noise, but no one wanted to engage the kids in conversation either.

As the tram approaches the end of the line and the seats around me empty, I think about the implications of living in a city where I am pegged as a wild tourist. It will be challenging, and it will require me to engage with people outside of settings like tram stops and coffee shops. I hope that places like Corvinus sill allow me to meet people without the stigma of being just another tourist.