From the hills of Buda

Budapest has a strange way of getting under your skin. The very first time I visited the city, it was hot, humid and the air was thick with exhaust. The streets were full of litter and there was no room for plants or trees. I cannot say I did not like it, but the impression was not overwhelming.

Then I became to know her better, her shady groves, underpasses, the quiet of Buda, the rustle of Pest, the little shops where a girl wearing way too much makeup will cook you a lángos you would be wiser not to eat. Yet you are tipsy enough to brave it.

And I cannot remember exactly when I fell in love, just that one day I was missing her velvety nights, be they pierced by shouts on the street and the constant smell of urine. Nobody is perfect.

---

From the hills of Buda
To the sewers of Pest
    When one day you see me again
    Will I walk as I did then
Your streets my Budapest

Trams dash on the Körút(1)
I trace the footsteps of men
    the Duna(2) has torn into you
    the flow that has broken us two
I will follow her every bend

Will I float back to your island
Margit(3) - your breathing heart
    Where once I bided my time
    Will ever again I arrive
At Keleti pályaudvar(4)

---

1. Körút [IPA: køruːt] literally round street. Here referring to a main street circling from the Buda side to the Pest side.
2. Hungarian name for Danube
3. Refers to the Margaret island, a large park in the middle of Danube. The Hungarian name is Margit-sziget.
4. [keleti paːjaudvar] Eastern train station. One of the main stations in Budapest.

Heartbreak Nation

Take any of the great American minstrels like Simon and Garfunkel

Or Johnny Cash (lyrics by Rod McKuen)

Both these and other songs carry an immense sense of space, longing and belonging. They have always captivated me with the ease that they defy distances to find a human touch, a moment, an emotion. Thus far I was not sure what so moved me, but I think I have come to a better understanding.

One of the core pillars of American culture is tracing your roots, but not being bound by them. An enormous amount of people move because of their work, their family or other reasons. The small-talk society is partly a result of the constant need to create bonds quickly, settle in and assimilate to a certain extent.

A society where it is relatively easy to make connections is also a society where connections will be lost more often. At the heart of these songs is simply the matter of understanding - every arrival is a departure elsewhere. 

In Europe, this dimension has not been visible to such an extent. But within the EU, supported by various academic, cultural and youth programmes, I believe that the Old World too is becoming a nation of heartbreak. As is fitting for a continent named after passion, love and abduction.

Here is one such story that happened to my closest friend. The text is dedicated to every Boeing, Airbus and ATR out there, departing from somewhere, arriving somewhere else.

Your bones
Are made of composite alloy
Light and strong
My heavy, her fragile heart
Cannot match the thrust
Of your turbofans


How many times
Have you brought us together
How many times
Have you torn us apart


Now bear me once more
bear me home on your wings
This once and no more