At various times over past years I have been seduced by the brazen, in-your-face attitude of New Orleans, the timeless history of Rome, the energy and bustle of Hong Kong and the regal dignity of London but nothing compares to the Monica Bellucci-like grace and beauty of Budapest. You are Cleopatra to my Marc Anthony, Cathy to my Heathcliff, Bacall to my Bogey, Fiona to my Shrek. I went away for a while but now I’m back and you have vaulted again to the top of my charts.
Speaking of charts, we had a dance night on the ship a couple of days back. The most modern song I think, was Crocodile Rock. I bought that Elton John song when I was 17. It was on a pre-recorded cassette tape. I’m now…..somewhat older. And by-the-way, for those of you under 60, the song “Crocodile Rock” is on the long-playing record, “Honky Chateau”. It was released when Elton was still pretending he was straight in about 1972. We also heard songs like “Rock Around the Clock” and “Johnny B Goode” and others that made me feel young because they are so old. I don’t think there were any Taylor Swift or Rhianna songs. I wouldn’t have known if there were.
Watching the dancers I was once again reminded that there is nothing quite as undignified as a man over 40 years of age dancing. Unless you’re Michael Jackson (and there are, or were, some question marks there) or an actual ballroom dancer who knows the steps. So when the ship has a dance night it’s great to see the ladies stand up, close their eyes and teleport back to the mini-skirted, bra burning, pill-freedom of their youth as they shimmy and shake if not quite as fluidly as in their youth. The blokes should watch them. That’s all. We watched them when they were 20, dancing round their handbags, and nothing’s changed. Well, that’s not entirely true, but let’s leave it there and put memories of the Summer of Love back where they belong – behind an opaque curtain made of Indian hemp, cheesecloth and cheap plonk.
Back to Budapest. This next bit fits more with the first paragraph but I didn’t want to spoil the neat “chart” segue into the second paragraph. Anyway, there is only one (very) high rise building in this city because the Danube River is part of the city’s world heritage status so can’t be hidden behind a Manhattan of glass. So there’s only one huge glass tower owned by the local oil company (booo I hear you say, for no good reason) a long way away from the charm of the inner city, a good chunk of which was commenced in 1896, 1000 years after the formation of Hungary. Apparently 1896 is like the Hungarian answer to the question of life, the universe and everything which is, as everyone who has seen or read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, 42, a number with no connection whatsoever in a mathematical or philosophical way to 1896. Some of the bullet holes from the 1956 revolution are still visible as are some from WW2, again inflicted by the Russians during the siege of Budapest. Bullet holes notwithstanding, what a place.