BobeBlog

There is an echo of Budapest on American TV. The news, for instance, reports that in the wee hours Prez Bush met Hungarian Prime Minister before embarking on a more valid mission. That's just a few hours after I had the pleasure of meeting the main man of my Hungary in person. And you know what? I was impressed. He is gallant, witty, knowledgeable, even when surrounded by suits & financiers. I fell for him when, with his dagger of reason, he masterfully silenced the expat careerist youth yearning for the export of US-style love of the homeland to Hungary. You have to love Hungarian men: uniquely ego-centric and blind to the larger picture.

Picture this: bad TV always identifies vampires and lewd-like violence with Budapest, instead of Bucharest. And now one of the Baldwins fakes a quip about Budapest in a TV commercial. Jay Leno is still the wittiest. I am crazy about 99 cent stores and I free-giggle when he lines up all sorts of precious junk in his show, like an eye repair kit & a 666 cold medicine made in "US or Turkey or Korea," all found in 99 cent stores. I come to realize that I am a language philosopher that has access to deeper layers of interpretation than the average American bubba, when Leno introduces "a large bucket men's panties" for especially large size (well-hung is a new word I am learning these days), in a non-decipherable language, and I read nagymeretu ferfi alsonemu. Hey, we beat the Chinese in the 99 cent market!!!

I dropped off from the face of the blogosphere for a few months and although I kept receiving demanding messages from well-meaning friends (thank you!!!), until now I have not been able to bring myself to do anything remotely creative or revealing. The truth is I froze inside when I came back to New York for 2 weeks over the summer, and since then I have been dying a little every day. For 13.8 lovely summer days I had fun in New York. Destiny brought back one of my heroines from Rwanda for just the perfect opportunity for me to hug her. When it comes to her, I believe in reincarnation. Though we had met only once before in this life, it is a cozy sort of love. Gastronomic genius Monique made us explore a yet (to me) unknown side of Astoria: Greek restaurants. What vegan in his sane mind would claim that Greeks only eat meat? Marvelous vegan paradise with girly giggles. I also partook in another delicious miracle: coop-inspired ruthless Iron Chef competition. I was the absolute winner for I sinned, being a shameless freeloader. I splurged - but strictly for the sake of science - and purchased an ultra-cool camera that lost its virginity to pleasures of the flesh in a mere 3 hours upon getting into my possession. I had to spend 3 weeks in Budapest court archives to undo this infamy. Alas, the scarlet letter remains.


But in the very last minute all joy was undermined, my heart froze for I lost my giggles of liberation. Erikas are no good for you, especially when they make you a transatlantic cereal transporter. [I should hate all Erikas, and I always did and am still trying but this particular Erika is one hard nut. You just have to love her. But all the rest of you Erikas - keep away from me.] So destiny has its ways, sometimes in the form of cereal shopping debacles lending you in the midst of ex-boyfriends' strong cozy arms at an airport. And you know in the bottom of your heart that that's the last you gonna see of him. But being a devout naive utopian, you fight the loss and hang onto shreads of hope. That is just slow painful murder.

I am back now. And screw you, coward.

It may be symbolic when jewelry takes leave from us. Some 8 years ago... (Everything is cc. 8 years ago in my life. It feels that all the exciting stuff I used to do happened to me before I came to the US to do my Phd. Of course, it is not entirely true, is it, E? But I love exaggerating and stereotyping at times.) ... So some 8 years ago I was going out with B., who is still beautiful, delicious and sweet. By accident we started our relationship ceremonially. He wove this pretty band into my hair that accompanied us for a year (2 years, he thinks), through our hitch-hiking in France and Spain, through our shady-shaky trips to Amsterdam, through our mascarade new year's eve party and that great good laugh we had at that Fassbinder movie (where people go to cry, so use your imagination). Sweet memories. Well, on the day the band fell out from my hair, we split. It was a sign, I thought. And he agreed.

Last night while combing my hair, I painlessly combed a piercing out of my ear. I got this earring while in Miami, instead of a tattoo that I thought would have been too permanent to commemorate a relationship that were not to be made permanent itself. (But by whose fault? I still wonder.) There is one more tiny piercing in my ear and I am cooking up tricks on how to get rid of it by accident. Any ideas? I am thinking of hot passionate lovemaking when lover accidentally bites it off from ear. Jaj.

This time a chart topper on Amazon, Albert-László Barabási, originally from Transylvania, Romania. He wrote LINKED: The New Science of Network. He is a famous physicist doing network theory, very much like our Duncan Watts. Do you remember Duncan's story on crickets? Barabási wrote an article "Self-organizing processes: The sound of many hand clapping." Interesting constellation of minds.

On Isil's last day in Budapest we finally took in Buda with all its hills and monuments. We took a stroll in the Buda castle area and finally indulged in cakes at Ruswurm, an antique pastry store. I am somewhat disheartened by how poor is my knowledge of Budapest trivia (though Gabor says that's all just particularistic knowledge, and thus useless), or that I was plain ignorant about certain things. Like I kept telling Isil how our beautiful Matthias church (http://www.matyas-templom.hu/eng/) was desacrated in the 16th century by those damn Turks but at least they left beautiful Turkish or muslim decorations all over the church walls. So I sent her in to the church to meet her history but she saw no remains of Turkish art. So to correct my mistake, here is the truth: "Visitors accustomed to the Gothic style characteristic for Western Europe may find the interior ornamental painting and the richness of its shapes and colours unusual: this is a phenomenon which could only emerge at the borderline of West and East. Preserved remains showed that the church had been painted in the Middle Ages, and not only with figures but with a carpet-like ornamental painting with geometrical and tendril patterns."

We kept visiting places yesterday that offer amazing views of the Danube, bridges and Pest. To honor what Turks left as heritage for Hungarians after their 150 year rule, we visited the tomb and grave of Gül Baba (the Father of Roses), who was member of the bektasi sect, tolerant and meek, and widely respected by even Hungarians. His tomb is still a holy place, a place of pilgrimage. I was touched by the sereness of the area. On our way down we saw a traditionally clad muslim (?) woman, speaking fluent Hungarian. It is weird to think that me and Isil may be coming from a shared gene pool and culture. So many of our words are the same in Turkish.

We caught some of the sunset on Gellert Hill at the Statue of Liberty that so graciously tops the city, windblown but steady. The night before we went to see a retro movie of Budapest - shots of propaganda, ads, etc. from the 1960-70s. The statue of liberty was a prominent character in communist celebrations of liberty. Climbing up the hill brought back memories of my childhood: the huge slides on the playground (that no longer work for us that well but we blamed it on wearing jeans) and the weird awe of standing at the communist sculptures up on the top. This awe was still there! I felt so proud of Budapest, even its history and my youth.

We descended from Gellert Hill to have beer with friends at Erzsebet pressszo, where the hill's foot meets the Erzsebet bridge. I am telling you, I am famous already.

I felt so elated on Wednesday. We arranged a pre-conference meet-up with our Columbia Sociology buddies at our local cafe at the Opera on Andrassy street. A really nice spot. Friends I have not seen for years kept arriving. There is so much joy in these moments of meeting after so long. These days, after graduating from Columbia, they are dispersed all over the world: Atlanta, Washington, England, Italy. It was amazing to come together again, to see how being a professor may have altered their lives. We went for a nice dinner accompanied with the obligatory palinka (peach brandy). Isil and I walked Laura home after visiting Heros' Square where the statues of our major kings are safely back to their places, reminding us of our long and at times happier history. The Museum of Fine Arts is opening a new Durer exhibit and on that night each of its (6?) Greek doric columns had a masterful & muscular mountain climber hanging. What a sight. Somewhat(?) sexy.

Isil and I are sitting in Castro after the very Hungarian dinner at the former Karl Marx University. Very Hungarian means loads of meat in paprika sauce and vegetables doused with mayonnaise. We are preparing for our presentation tomorrow. Castro is one of the hippest places for my crowd in Budapest, has wi-fi-!!, so it makes me smile when I see Isil reciting her presentation to herself. Would she do this in Turkey I wonder. She is so sweet and I am really glad to have her as a friend. She does not know but I am nervous about her being in Budapest and having her first presentation tomorrow. I am hoping that both experiences will be marvellous and memorable for her.

Marx, Castro. Only Lenin is missing.

Blogs will come much slower from now on as I got ruthlessly cut off from my wireless lifeline. Unthinkable cruelty. Right this moment I am using the wi-fi of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and sitting in the beautifully decorated main lecture hall at the annual conference of SASE (Society for the Advancement of Socio-Economics), listening to Nigel Thrift. Well, as you can see, my attention span is getting highly minimal, even though Thrift is a real bright fellow. I am just already brain dead from 1.5 days of conferencing. I am leaving my last breath of intelligence for Theda Skocpol, coming up in 20 minutes. Isil is sitting next to me and I cannot fathom how she can manage to look so focused after drinking so much beer last night.

We went to a nice reception last night, with good wine and people, then in the company of the insider circle of Stark and Bruszt to a dinner on a boat docked on the Danube opposite the Castle. I do not want to brag but Budapest is spectacular and very romantic. Need to fall in love asap. During dinner Levcsi called to meet up soon so that we could listen to the poem he recited to me in love and drunken stupor I taped some 8 years ago. I have not met him much since then. It is really weird to be talking ‘shop’ with all these people again. After dinner we went to Kuplung, a typical Budapest pub transformed from a former auto repair shop. We were meeting Arek there who is an ever-returning man in my life. Once more he brought his usual sweet and gentlemanly self: amazing compliments, treating all of us for drinks. The band Csokolom and the intense smoke is not so palatable to foreigners so we moved over to Kis Szimpla that will quickly become my favorite spot in Budapest. It is on the courtyard of a typical city building of Budapest: hanging corridors to apartments all around, trees and colorful lampions embrace the drunk and extremely stoned. Glasses break, men can’t stand straight, women giggle, dogs leisure and we drink and talk lay sociology. Nice.

What do you talk about when you meet a Hungarian for the first time? Work? Nah. Politics? Frequently. The most private thing? Always. I am meeting people connected to my work. I am amazed how quickly they open up with their innermost secrets, like yesterday, on how they are struggling with a potentially deadly disease. I was touched by death several times yesterday, and felt shaking and so disturbed that I needed to call PB. It no longer helps. Another sign of mortality. BP (not PB) orders me to call her instead. I found solace elsewhere. I met a famous freelance photographer, his photos are at . Worth checking it out. Amazing shots. I also had a very long interview topped by friendly dinner with interviewee and wife who I would be happy to have as friends. Bright, valuable, witty people. I left with the load of mortality lifted off from my shoulders.

# posted by Erzsebet @ 2:40 AM 1 comments

I think I've been around the block way too many times. I should be safely locked away from this city surrounded by cutiepie kids and stellar husband. (ok, I am just saying this because it is one good extreme. You can also lock me away into a nunnery.) Budapest is so small that I keep running into men of my past, at a bar, on the subway, at the pharmacist, on the street, and so on. Now you think I've been really around the block, but I am just joking. All I mean is that this city is small and livable and human. But not always in the best way. Maybe all I am saying is that I am not 18 anymore and feel envious of girls in skirts as tiny as my palm. Or maybe all I mean is that I miss those times. This week I am filled with ambivalence and doubt. I suspect the reason. I've been reading Henry & June by Anaïs Nin. I am mesmerized and moved from toe to head, and my heart is turned upside down, inside out, duelling with my brain. I question every move I made in my emotional life. I discover bits of my self in the weirdest half sentences of Anaïs Nin. This is no media to explain it. But I never before felt like this while reading a book. Henry is hot.

The city is in emergency mode. Bridges are closed off. Ok, one bridge. And wrapped in graffiti light. If you do not believe it, ask Gina&Phil, metamorphosed into cupids. 'cause there is a kissing championship, the young and sexually active of Buda&Pest are trying to break the Guinness record of kissing. Makes me think of madness and Madness. BTW, I am learning new techniques of enticing practiced by all women regardless of age, statute or location. Mostly practiced on the escalator so that the passengers behind could rest their eyes on how skillfully the perpetrator slips her hand into pants and then undergarments and then butt cheeks of male partner while they are talking of kids, stupid politicians or the shopping list. Ok, I have not yet seen this, only heard from my date, but I keep looking. Love this city.

I never thought I'd miss you
Half as much as I do
And I never thought I'd feel this way
The way I feel
About you
As soon as I wake up
Every night, every day
I know that it's you I need
To take the blues away

It must be love, love, love
It must be love, love, love
Nothing more, nothing less
Love is the best