No rest in the Pest3 min read . Updated: 04 Mar 2011, 07:27 PM IST
No rest in the Pest
No rest in the Pest
Ajay Devgn. Aishwarya Rai Bachchan. His stark white suit. Her lusciously rich red sari. The earthy tones of the concrete and metal of Chain Bridge. A maudlin song wailing in the background. Their meeting on the deserted bridge. Her limpid eyes. His sad face. And…you know the rest.
Also See | Trip Planner/Budapest (PDF)
The scene plays out in slow motion in my mind’s eye as we gaze at the majestic Chain Bridge from the low wall that separates a bustling promenade from the expanse of the Danube (known as the Duna in Hungary). The late afternoon breeze is soothing. We catch snippets of conversations in many tongues, familiar and unfamiliar. Buda’s Castle Hill rises on the left bank of the river on the far side. On the east bank where we stand, Pest sprawls as far as the eye can see.
As we climb up the snaking path with our eight-year-old and our two-year-old whose stroller we’ve had to fold up because we encounter steps, we have second thoughts. But one look towards Pest from the first landing dissolves our trepidations. A now slimmer and longer river, a few more of the seven bridges that span it, the intricately designed edifice of Parliament House and the rest of Pest have come into view. At each successive landing we are presented with a wider angle and a deeper perspective.
As the city glints in the glow of the setting sun it is not difficult to succumb to Budapest’s charms. And it becomes clear why Budapest is a favourite destination for moviemakers.
As long as one stays away from the distinctively Budapestian parts of the city, it is easy to recreate in Budapest any large, more expensive city required by the plot. The big-city vibe that permeates its boulevards, stately buildings and bustling squares is palpable. In addition to Italy in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, we find that Budapest has stood in for Paris (Cyrano de Bergerac), London (Munich), Moscow (Red Heat), Buenos Aires (Evita) and Berlin (The Boy in the Striped Pajamas).
The next day, which happens to be a Sunday, we head to Hero’s Square. We start out east from our apartment, on foot again. Save for some bustle around restaurants and a weekend flea market, the streets are deserted until we come upon a movie crew shooting a scene, complete with New York cops, police cars, and actors carrying obviously American shopping bags. We stand and gawk for a while, trying to memorize the scene in case we chance upon it on screen.
A couple of blocks up Andrássy Avenue, a magnificent tree-lined boulevard, we see signs for the underground. Budapest boasts one of the oldest metro systems in the world and Line 1, the one we are about to get on, is a World Heritage Site, one among many in Budapest. The tiled walls, the graceful arches and polished wooden accents and doorways render it a subway station unlike any I’ve seen before. The train carriages seem just as ancient and we rattle our way down the tunnel at a disconcertingly high speed.
We’ve arrived at the farthest reaches of Pest that we want to see and decide to return to the endlessly fascinating Buda. We’re smarter this time, and we take a train and bus to the top of the hill.
It is a relief to get out into the fresh air. We head for Fisherman’s Bastion overlooking the river and feast our eyes on the blue Danube and a panoramic view of Pest.
There’s only one more destination we want to tick off before we leave Budapest—Gellért Hill. We’ve seen the hill, and the striking Elizabeth Bridge we would have to traverse to get there, every day from our apartment. The quickest way, we are told, is to climb up the hill. The bus is not really convenient. We groan, but head out purposefully. The climb is a killer. But the reward once we get to the top, as always with Budapest, more than makes up for the hard work.
For the first time, we get a mesmerizing view of the city in its entirety—the hilly, old-world Buda; the flat, modern Pest; the river that separates them; the bridges that connect them; and the beautiful buildings that grace either side.
We desperately take pictures and try to freeze the memory forever. But how do you capture the joy in the eyes of an eight-year-old who makes a difficult climb and revels in the sight spreading out from his feet all the way to the horizon?
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