09-07-2016, 08:03 AM
Friday Aug 25, 2016
I ain’t no pussy. Friday was my last full day in Budapest and I wasn’t planning to spend it in bed.
Contrary to the signals I was getting from my stomach, my mind was sending out the “I’m not sick” message. That was my mantra for the day, no matter how foolhardy.
I told HK that I was going to the Grand market to do some gift shopping and he decided for at least this short period of time, he wasn’t going to be sick, either. Stupidity! It’s catching.
I called Sandor to come by the hotel so I could pay him off. It was also a sneaky method of getting him to give us a lift to the Grand market, although I had plans to use the subway, too. But Sandor agreed to do one last drive for us. It probably had nothing to do with the fact that I gave him more money than he anticipated. He was more than happy to give me a receipt.
It seems kind of fitting that we would hit the Grand Market on our first and last days in Budapest. On the first day, we just meandered through the first floor, eyeballing all the food on display. This time we went straight to the second floor and all the souvenir stands. HK had been told in no uncertain terms that he was not to return to Redwood City sans gifts.
We wandered around twice, buying scarves, shirts, and really stinky soap. HK bought a combination chess set/drinking set for the millionaire. I didn’t buy him anything.
We stopped on the first floor so HK could stock up on paprikas and hot sauce. His packages were soon outstripping mine.
Well, that little journey wiped out HK. I had planned just to hop on the subway back, but HK wasn’t up to it. We caught a taxi back to the hotel. It was time to burn through our extra Hungarian Forints.
The entire time I was in Hungary, I was in contact with two friends of Derek Cotton: Sunil and Gabrielle. They were both Hungarians who currently live in the United States. They had been in Rio for the Olympics for the majority of the time I was in Budapest, but Gabriel had finally returned on Wednesday. She pointed me towards the Hungarian cure for stomach ailments, ‘Smecta’. I bought both HK and I a box.
Gabrielle wanted to get together so I opted to go to the New York Cafe. It was down the street from the Hotel Nemzeti and I had wanted to go there since walking past it on the first day. The New York Cafe was ultra-fancy and received good reviews in my guide books.
The New York Cafe was sumptuous as advertised, from the painted fresco ceilings to the intricate moulding everywhere. It was like being a baroque fantasy.
Gabrielle had lots of good ideas on who I should interview, none of which I could do before I left. When I told her my woes regarding my interpreter, she brought up the fact she had offered to get me an interpreter from the university. Yet another round of face palms. Well, by the time I was in good contact with Gabrielle. I had already acquired the services of Xenia.
I need to look out for Gabrielle’s kids. One just set the Long Jump record in her state. The other is in India building a prototype of a bone conductive amplifier. Basically, he’s building headphones you don’t put in your ear, but vibrate your skull to work.
Although I am trying to set up an interview with Gabrielle’s father, Laszlo Tabori. Tabori was on the same plane as Piller when he defected after the Melbourne games. The way Gabrielle tells the defection story makes it sound a little different than everyone else’s story about the defection. She also offered to help me get a translator in the United states to help translate all my Hungarian interviews.
I had Xenia come to the hotel to get her money for services rendered. I asked her how many hours she had worked. She told me just to figure it out. She would trust me. I was torn between paying her for 10 days of work or 12 days. I had promised to pay her for at least 12 but I don’t think she worked any where near that. Upon consultation with HK, I went with the 12 figure. HK decided she had earned it.
For the first time, Xenia was on time for her appointment. I went over the figures with her. She agreed. When I asked for a receipt, she told me she would have to charge me an additional 27% to cover the VAT. Oddly, in all my dealings with receipts in Budapest, this had never come up. Even Sandor, who I paid twice as much, didn’t ask for the VAT overhead. Yet, my good friend Xenia did. Since HK was with me, I just used him as my witness to the fact I had paid Xenia and opted not to give Xenia 200,000 Forints for a receipt.
Should have stopped. Should have lay down. But no. One of the big stories of the Hungarian Fencers is how Endre Kabos, 1936 Olympic Gold Medalist, had died when the Margaret Bridge had exploded while he had been crossing it by train. The bridge exploded because it had been mined to stop the Russians and had gone off prematurely. Kabos was urged to stay another round of chess but had gone back to his home.
I hadn’t filmed the bridge yet nor the trains that still cross the bridge. Rather than sleep, I got on the Light Rail and headed over to the Margaret Bridge. I only had a little fight with the ticket kiosk. The screen had gotten so hot, it wasn’t registering fingers on the screen anymore. I had to go down to the Underground and use the kiosk there.
I’m sure there were a lot of Hungarian commuters wondering who the crazy man was with the camera filming them going passed. I found a little fenced in area between the tracks and set up my tripod and camera. I filmed plenty of trains. I waved to many train drivers who gave me odd looks.
I learned one thing quickly. Heavy trains cause a bridge to shake when they roll by. I have a lot stability correction in my future. I also filmed the Danube one last time. I kept trying to get the jet skis screaming by, but it seems I was always set up in the wrong direction.
I had one more stop before I could quit and it required me to walk from the Margaret Bridge over to the Parliament building. I had read about this memorial to Jews killed by the Arrow Cross at the close of World War 2. The Arrow Cross had just shot the citizens and dumped their bodies into the Danube.
At the spot where they recovered the bodies, a sculptor had put dozens of bronze shoes along the river bank. I felt the need for some shots. The walk also took me by the Hungarian Olympic park. I took the opportunity to film that, too.
It was crowded at the memorial. It seemed like a tour group had arrived at the same time as me. So, I waited. And waited. The crowd thinned. I took some shots. And then this guy decided he would sit down between the shoes and ponder life as the Danube floated by.
But the gods must have smiled on me. The guy looked over and saw me lying on the concrete with the camera. He realized that I was waiting for him to leave and got up quickly and got out of my shot.
After I finished, he came over to talk. He was Italian and mimed that he was a photographer, too. Which was confusing since his attractive girl friend was taking pictures of him. In the real world, you take photos of the hot girl.
I went to the Kossuth station and took one last selfie with the dog statue that is the center piece of the station.
For dinner, HK and I went to our favorite Italian restaurant in the Jewish quarter. Yes, my belly hurt but I was still chanting the “I’m not sick” mantra. We discussed the production and what we had accomplished in Budapest.
At about the same time, we both said we had been thinking of the shape of The Last Captain. I toyed with the idea of structuring the film sort of like Citizen Kane. the film would start with an overview of Piller’s life and then really explore the story with all the oral histories we had heard. What was fascinating about the project was how different the stories were. I thought I could throw a bit of Rashomon in there with all the different view points.
HK had the idea we would start with video of Selberg telling the story of Piller and then go explore the discrepancies in Selberg’s story of Piller using the interviews. Which was a good idea. And if memories served me correctly, I had proposed this idea at the beginning of the trip. My caveat at the time was that it would kill Mark to see Selberg’s story shredded. At least I’m pretty sure I proposed it. This might be the reason I’m writing all this stuff down.
I went back to the hotel and finished packing up my eight bags.
I ain’t no pussy. Friday was my last full day in Budapest and I wasn’t planning to spend it in bed.
Contrary to the signals I was getting from my stomach, my mind was sending out the “I’m not sick” message. That was my mantra for the day, no matter how foolhardy.
I told HK that I was going to the Grand market to do some gift shopping and he decided for at least this short period of time, he wasn’t going to be sick, either. Stupidity! It’s catching.
I called Sandor to come by the hotel so I could pay him off. It was also a sneaky method of getting him to give us a lift to the Grand market, although I had plans to use the subway, too. But Sandor agreed to do one last drive for us. It probably had nothing to do with the fact that I gave him more money than he anticipated. He was more than happy to give me a receipt.
It seems kind of fitting that we would hit the Grand Market on our first and last days in Budapest. On the first day, we just meandered through the first floor, eyeballing all the food on display. This time we went straight to the second floor and all the souvenir stands. HK had been told in no uncertain terms that he was not to return to Redwood City sans gifts.
We wandered around twice, buying scarves, shirts, and really stinky soap. HK bought a combination chess set/drinking set for the millionaire. I didn’t buy him anything.
We stopped on the first floor so HK could stock up on paprikas and hot sauce. His packages were soon outstripping mine.
Well, that little journey wiped out HK. I had planned just to hop on the subway back, but HK wasn’t up to it. We caught a taxi back to the hotel. It was time to burn through our extra Hungarian Forints.
The entire time I was in Hungary, I was in contact with two friends of Derek Cotton: Sunil and Gabrielle. They were both Hungarians who currently live in the United States. They had been in Rio for the Olympics for the majority of the time I was in Budapest, but Gabriel had finally returned on Wednesday. She pointed me towards the Hungarian cure for stomach ailments, ‘Smecta’. I bought both HK and I a box.
Gabrielle wanted to get together so I opted to go to the New York Cafe. It was down the street from the Hotel Nemzeti and I had wanted to go there since walking past it on the first day. The New York Cafe was ultra-fancy and received good reviews in my guide books.
The New York Cafe was sumptuous as advertised, from the painted fresco ceilings to the intricate moulding everywhere. It was like being a baroque fantasy.
Gabrielle had lots of good ideas on who I should interview, none of which I could do before I left. When I told her my woes regarding my interpreter, she brought up the fact she had offered to get me an interpreter from the university. Yet another round of face palms. Well, by the time I was in good contact with Gabrielle. I had already acquired the services of Xenia.
I need to look out for Gabrielle’s kids. One just set the Long Jump record in her state. The other is in India building a prototype of a bone conductive amplifier. Basically, he’s building headphones you don’t put in your ear, but vibrate your skull to work.
Although I am trying to set up an interview with Gabrielle’s father, Laszlo Tabori. Tabori was on the same plane as Piller when he defected after the Melbourne games. The way Gabrielle tells the defection story makes it sound a little different than everyone else’s story about the defection. She also offered to help me get a translator in the United states to help translate all my Hungarian interviews.
I had Xenia come to the hotel to get her money for services rendered. I asked her how many hours she had worked. She told me just to figure it out. She would trust me. I was torn between paying her for 10 days of work or 12 days. I had promised to pay her for at least 12 but I don’t think she worked any where near that. Upon consultation with HK, I went with the 12 figure. HK decided she had earned it.
For the first time, Xenia was on time for her appointment. I went over the figures with her. She agreed. When I asked for a receipt, she told me she would have to charge me an additional 27% to cover the VAT. Oddly, in all my dealings with receipts in Budapest, this had never come up. Even Sandor, who I paid twice as much, didn’t ask for the VAT overhead. Yet, my good friend Xenia did. Since HK was with me, I just used him as my witness to the fact I had paid Xenia and opted not to give Xenia 200,000 Forints for a receipt.
Should have stopped. Should have lay down. But no. One of the big stories of the Hungarian Fencers is how Endre Kabos, 1936 Olympic Gold Medalist, had died when the Margaret Bridge had exploded while he had been crossing it by train. The bridge exploded because it had been mined to stop the Russians and had gone off prematurely. Kabos was urged to stay another round of chess but had gone back to his home.
I hadn’t filmed the bridge yet nor the trains that still cross the bridge. Rather than sleep, I got on the Light Rail and headed over to the Margaret Bridge. I only had a little fight with the ticket kiosk. The screen had gotten so hot, it wasn’t registering fingers on the screen anymore. I had to go down to the Underground and use the kiosk there.
I’m sure there were a lot of Hungarian commuters wondering who the crazy man was with the camera filming them going passed. I found a little fenced in area between the tracks and set up my tripod and camera. I filmed plenty of trains. I waved to many train drivers who gave me odd looks.
I learned one thing quickly. Heavy trains cause a bridge to shake when they roll by. I have a lot stability correction in my future. I also filmed the Danube one last time. I kept trying to get the jet skis screaming by, but it seems I was always set up in the wrong direction.
I had one more stop before I could quit and it required me to walk from the Margaret Bridge over to the Parliament building. I had read about this memorial to Jews killed by the Arrow Cross at the close of World War 2. The Arrow Cross had just shot the citizens and dumped their bodies into the Danube.
At the spot where they recovered the bodies, a sculptor had put dozens of bronze shoes along the river bank. I felt the need for some shots. The walk also took me by the Hungarian Olympic park. I took the opportunity to film that, too.
It was crowded at the memorial. It seemed like a tour group had arrived at the same time as me. So, I waited. And waited. The crowd thinned. I took some shots. And then this guy decided he would sit down between the shoes and ponder life as the Danube floated by.
But the gods must have smiled on me. The guy looked over and saw me lying on the concrete with the camera. He realized that I was waiting for him to leave and got up quickly and got out of my shot.
After I finished, he came over to talk. He was Italian and mimed that he was a photographer, too. Which was confusing since his attractive girl friend was taking pictures of him. In the real world, you take photos of the hot girl.
I went to the Kossuth station and took one last selfie with the dog statue that is the center piece of the station.
For dinner, HK and I went to our favorite Italian restaurant in the Jewish quarter. Yes, my belly hurt but I was still chanting the “I’m not sick” mantra. We discussed the production and what we had accomplished in Budapest.
At about the same time, we both said we had been thinking of the shape of The Last Captain. I toyed with the idea of structuring the film sort of like Citizen Kane. the film would start with an overview of Piller’s life and then really explore the story with all the oral histories we had heard. What was fascinating about the project was how different the stories were. I thought I could throw a bit of Rashomon in there with all the different view points.
HK had the idea we would start with video of Selberg telling the story of Piller and then go explore the discrepancies in Selberg’s story of Piller using the interviews. Which was a good idea. And if memories served me correctly, I had proposed this idea at the beginning of the trip. My caveat at the time was that it would kill Mark to see Selberg’s story shredded. At least I’m pretty sure I proposed it. This might be the reason I’m writing all this stuff down.
I went back to the hotel and finished packing up my eight bags.
As a matter of fact, my anger does keep me warm