Day 54. Sunday 24 May.

We should have remembered or known better; we’ve been caught out before…some years ago we arrived into Bergen on the WhitSunday weekend to find nothing open for 3 days…which meant no food/wine supplies. T discovered that today is WhitSunday & that means shops are shut & again tomorrow. We have 1 potato, no onion, no ham…just a little piece of cheese & a few greens. T had planned to get the last provisions for the trip at Lidl. So, we could do 1 more breakfast meal on Monday. The larder was assembled: enough cumin seed for 3 dinners, some trusty dried spices, half a bottle of balsamic, a newish tin of oil and 1 potato. The oil & balsamic could stay for next residents.

So, the post-brekky plan was the Synagogue then maybe the Mystical Cinema, Buda Castle & evening music at St Stephen’s. We’d have a meal out.

D’s first goal was to search en route for somewhere to dispose of our wine bottles – he hates to leave evidence of our vices behind. The problem is that there are plenty of colour coded recycling bins for paper, plastic, organic and general waste but none obviously available for glass and cans. Apparently, they are usually returned for a refund at the big shopping outlets such as Lidl and Aldi. That’s just a lead into the next part. On our way to the bus station at Batthyány Square D saw some big hopper bins and decided to investigate. T said she would just photograph some nice garden beds, which D took to mean she’d stay there to await his return. D headed off at his usual pace: T finished her shots and took off after him, to see him disappearing around a corner ahead. By the time she got there – no D. D meanwhile, thinking T would be waiting like Penelope at the garden beds, decided to check whether the local Lidl was open, which it wasn’t, so he headed back for a rendezvous. No T. Pulled out the Find My app which told him that T was at the apartment because that was the last time she was online. Oh dear! T was wandering and wondering where she’d last seen D. Our standing arrangement if we get separated is to go back to the last point we were together – it worked in Milan. D did head up the street, keeping that point in sight, to see T waving from above. We were lovingly reunited. D has transferred a spotminders card to T’s waist bag, so he can now know all the time where she is. She still doesn’t know where he is.

Coffee was a lovely moment in a tiny café where an engaging young woman recommended an accompanying slice of apple pie. She chatted to an older couple & kept an eye open for new customers…she said these were her grandparents, so we were able to show pics of ours.

On the big bus. It seemed to have quite a few Aussies, so we kept quiet, not least because of a foursome – we think parents with a grown child and partner. There was lots of muttering about arrangements, and the dad became agitated at an extended time at one of the stops and the heat. He wanted to go upstairs but his wife told him it would be worse up there, so he muttered to her, and remonstrated with the driver. The bus moved on, and there was another delay at the next stop as passengers came on and got off. The Aussies got off too – he was muttering that he had advised against this option, but no one listened. They were on the way to the Synagogue too, we think, but we didn’t come across them again. First Semester Psychology exam question: “Is travelling with your parents (as an adult) a good idea?”

First view from the bus of the Synagogue was of crowds but strangely that was not the case. We bought our tickets (expensive) and sat for about 15 minutes waiting for the free guided tour. The tour started with a speech in fast forward, no pauses for breath, by a young woman who was not Jewish. It was, despite our ‘right age’ brains struggling to keep up, informative, and brutally honest about the history of Jews in Budapest.

Following the twenty minutes lecture we accompanied her through the Synagogue with commentary as we went.

At the end of the formal part, we were free to explore various exhibits/museums. We descended into an extensive display/exhibition of the recent history of the Jewish population of Hungary, with some historical context, becoming focussed on WWII and its immediate aftermath. The main focus was around the Budapest ghetto from late 1944 until the Soviet liberation in early 1945. The stories were stark, honest and confronting. D commented after exiting that the way this had unfolded has eerie parallels with what is happening at home today.

In the courtyard behind the Synagogue was a wrenching sculpture of a Weeping Willow tree, with 6000 leaves, with names inscribed, representing the 600,000 Hungarian Jews killed in WWII. There were also plaques acknowledging the people recognised by the state of Israel as ‘Righteous amongst nations’, amongst them the well-known Raoul Wallenberg and perhaps lesser-known Sir Nicholas Winton, subject of a moving BBC show now on YouTube: https://youtu.be/6_nFuJAF5F0?si=RKc6INwBatw3wQ0Y And the movie One Life.

A walk to Parisi Udvar that T had noted yesterday, for a refreshment. “Intricate mosaics shimmer across the vaulted ceilings, while the stained-glass masterpieces of Miksa Roth filter the daylight into a kaleidoscope of colours. Delicate ceramic details, ornate arches and gilded accents reveal themselves layer by layer, inviting guests to pause and admire the craftsmanship of a bygone era.”

Menus placed in front of us: D perused, but no beers! Approached the elegant and appropriately aloof staff (this was, after all, a pretty ritzy place and D was in a T-shirt) asking if beers were possible. ‘I’ll bring you another menu’. When that arrived, we had two choices of beer, hidden at the bottom of a middle page. But when the beers arrived, they were much appreciated.

T engaged the woman sitting at the next table, asking if she knew about the history of this gorgeous café & arcade. This opening then became shared conversation about where each of us was from (this couple was from Virginia & were travelling in Central Europe by train, next stop Bratislava). Some discreet commentary about politics and world affairs. It was a lovely hour.

Next door was Cinema Mystica “A home of light, sound, arts and magic. A sensory journey that leads across various new media installations.

The spaces are transforming to mystic worlds where the borders are blurred between vision and reality, where the viewer becomes a part of the art and the magic happens…

The producers of the Cinema Mystica retaught the relation between technology and art, created an unparalleled audiovisual experience that’s absolutely unique.” Well, yes, sort of…all a bit underwhelming and what to say about those avatars?

Walked to St. Stephen’s Basilica for a 2000 concert, a gelato on the way. The string orchestra was very good, again with offerings familiar to us. D was irritated, once again, with those needing to video parts of the performance.

Back to to get the Metro – heard some Eva Cassidy from a nearby park so investigated. It wasn’t live singing but recorded music with very competent dancers. Maybe they were from a dance school?

Took the Metro for the first time for part of the journey home. Quite easy but once again no courtesy or manners in boarding or on board. Not one young person, in the considerable majority, offered a seat to an older person. One young couple brushed past us to grab two seats that became available at the first stop – and got off with us at the next stop. D gave the chap a Paddington stare but doubts he knew who Paddington was. T commented that it would be pretty scary being a single older person in this environment. The young are ascendant and fast, giving no quarter to folk of uncertain age.it’s been a very different experience than we had in Spain last year.