Budapest is not so much a city that sucks you in, but rather one that you instead willingly, eagerly submit to, even if it’s not interested in you. Sensing this, I decided it was time to give us a break and visit the oft-forgotten Republic of Banat. This is a territory in Europe that existed for about two weeks in what is today Northern Serbia, Western Romania, and Southern Hungary. If there is one thing I can say about Banat, it’s that it is flat. So flat, in fact, that Hungarians no longer need to explain why they are so upset about Trianon. Hungarians love a flat surface, and Banat provided just that. My proposed itinerary was a tour de force which included Arad, famous for the execution of 16 Hungarian generals by the Austrians after the failed 1848 revolution; Timisoara, the capital and well-known centre of discontent during the Ceausescu years, culminating in riots and Nicolae and Elena’s passing on Christmas Day in 1989; and…that is about it. This republic lasted two weeks, so my expectations were considerably lower than for, say, France.
Boarding a train at 4am from Nyugati—and yes, for all you Budapest club enthusiasts, Retro Police, located in the one of the Eiffel-designed towers of Nyugati and advertised by a strobe light in one of the windows, was still pumpin’—bound for Szeged, my plan was to walk across the border and re-train to Arad. I was expecting a day full of adventure and intrigue, of fending off brigands and using my wit and agility to get myself out of scrapes with the local highwaymen. Instead, I was extorted, legitimately, by MAV at 4:30am for having purchased a student ticket when I wasn’t a student of Hungary. ‘Hungry for Hungarians’ prevails once more.
The intrigue was not lost that day, however. If I had to explain to you the number of times I have sat outside a söröző in the cold in Lökősháza, you’d think it was a worthwhile destination. And do not get me wrong, it’s lovely, but if you’re only in British Columbia for the weekend, I wouldn’t focus my energies on Beaverdell. What makes Lökősháza such a hot destination? Well, it gained notoriety as being the last port of call before exiting Hungary starting in 1920. Why, a rational, Western observer might ask, is there not a direct rail line between Szeged and Arad, two large cities on the same latitude when they used to be part of the same country? This question has haunted my time in Eastern Europe and has led me to warn everyone else who wants to attempt the same journey*. Instead, it was required that I take a train north to Békéscsaba, connect with a train going to Bucharest from Budapest, and then cross the border to Arad. The exact same thing happened in 2007, and for some reason I have refused to learn from it. Feeling plucky, I opted to walk across the border with Romania from Nagylák to Nădlac (same pronunciation, same ethnic inhabitants…Slovaks. Wilson’s dream of self-determination sadly left these Catholic Slavs wedged in an uncomfortable Latin-Magyar szendvics), and had to contend with money-changers and taxi drivers (a common theme in my past year), hitchhike, share in a group taxi with a terrifying and large woman named Carmen, and then wander around a suburb of Arad looking desperately for the hostel.
I may or may not have dropped in casual conversation in the past that I think HI hostels in eastern Europe are fronts for laundering money. Of course it’s possible there is no proof to this, but when I decided to leave my sketchy hostel for the 2-star hotel offering a buffet breakfast for only $5 more, I m, gingerly tiptoed into the manager’s office, who was sitting in a leather jacket wearing sunglasses and yelling into his cell phone. He agreed to a partial refund, rooted around his desk and handed me a 50-lei bill and wished me luck. I, on the other hand, secretly wished luck to whomever he was yelling at on the phone. Furthermore, the hostel was too far out of town to be a legitimate base of operations, and there was roadwork which had all the trams not working. So, the next morning, showered, buffeted and after scenic walk along the river, I can say my memories of Arad were positive: three teenagers invited me for mulled wine at 9am one morning and explained to me the popular Romanian anecdote, “Romania is beautiful, but Romanians are not” to which they laughed heartily; I ate a lot of bread with lard and raw onions, which landed me in the fetal position in bed in near-tears; and an aged lady of the evening approached me on my way to the train station on a Sunday morning. Thinking quickly, I decided I only spoke French. She, on the other hand, was entirely fluent. In every conceivable language, so if you’re a linguistics major, prostitution in Europe is a very viable option. Seeing I was late, I ran as fast as I could with all my luggage only to arrive and discover I was late for a Romanian train, which really means the train was late for me. I had time to rest, cool down, have a coffee, search for wifi, check my e-mail, and then wait impatiently for the train.
So, after seeing Arad, Timisoara, and a couple of unnecessary, forced walks through the countryside, I can successfully say I “did” Banat. Actually, truth be told I spent about an hour in Timisoara, discovered that the museum was closed, had some mulled wine, ate some gogosi—mini donuts with confectioner’s sugar, which are so tasty I demand you find your nearest old Romanian woman and ask her to make you some—and then ran to the station to catch the train back to Budapest. Something none of you are aware of but I which I need to point out, is that Romanian State Railways (CFR) loves to overheat their carriages. They live for it. So after getting onto the train from subzero temperature, I immediately had strip down to just a t-shirt, and furthermore go down to the doors, open them and let the cold air stop my cells from undergoing irreversible chemical change. Aside from all the fun and intrigue, I was reminded of why I liked Budapest so much: cheaper food. As beautiful as Szeged was, and as much as Romania seems to be having some sort of closing out sale (cabbage rolls for less than $2! Mulled wine for $0.50!), Budapest had the variety, and the availability of Chinese food that I don’t like to be more than 10km from at any time. In all, a success.
*Pending on meeting someone who would ever want to take that same trip. I have yet to meet anyone who is aware either city even exists.
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