We decided to walk into town. It took us ages to get our act together. She'd been to the Tourist Office and got various leaflets, and downloaded some from the net. I got out my Rough Guide and showed her the part on Section VII. She was delighted that it was so well described. "Oh, that's what that is!" she said of the statue. "I never knew. You must make me a copy of this, so I can show it to my friends. They always look down on this area. They say it's too dark and too poor to live in. I know where that synagogue is, and the Jewish bakery, I think it's the one down here on Dob utca."
We'd start talking about family - her sister in Venezuela who had brought the hammock back. The Hungarian community there. How they had to be careful how much to tell their father about boyfriends. And then it'd switch back to me, and I'd decide, too, how much to tell her at a time. And I found myself talking of things I have been struggling with too, about men and authority, and how different it is to be travelling by myself.
We strolled out into a warm dark evening to Deak ter, and down towards the Duna, until we merged into a crowd standing in front of the pillared doorway of a grand hotel. On a narrow green strip, discretely roped off from the pavement, jugglers and fire-eaters were blowing out clouds of coloured smoke, and further along, where the green walkway led to the taxi ranks, men in evening dress were escorting, well, who? Perhaps the construction at the road end was for cameras. Could this be a real film set, or just an unreal part of wealthy Pest life-style? "Let's go on. We're nearly at the river, and there's always things to see there. We could have a drink or ice-cream on the promenade." That sounded more like my standard of entertainment, and even more appealing were the market stalls, still open in the warm night air, and laden with embroidered cloths and blouses.
I decided to ask, rather than just wonder: "Where are these from?" "Romania, all from Romania." Of course the stall owner could speak English, and like many waiters too, could speak it more fluently than most others. Should I consider the beige brown cloth with the large heavy flowers embroidered as if they were embossed on it? Perhaps at the end of the week. And did it have a tradition anyway? What did 'all hand-made' mean? I felt too sceptical. And if I bought a cloth I would want to use it and be able to wash it. In a few minutes of loitering, the strangeness of traditional crafts and the values of the western tourist, and the needs of the modern economy had stupified me. We walked to the river.
"That's the Lanchid," said Erzsi. "It's, it's a chain bridge. The amazing thing it was built by the same guy, Jones, who built the bridge just down from Henley, you know, the next town." I thought of any distinctive bridge I knew. Marlow? With it's elaborate painted metalwork, and ornate towers?
"That's it. And I never knew till I came back. I was so excited when I realised. It reminded me of England."
"You liked it in England?"
"Oh yes. My family were so kind. And I could do lots of things. I could use the car."
"We're killing ourselves with cars. You're lucky to have good public transport."
"Maybe. But I'd still prefer to have a car."
And I thought of our au pair students, picking one another up, going to a pub, getting together dancing. Erzsi had been one of them two years ago. They do have a good time, so long as they get on with their family. So I told her, too, about being in the States for a year when I was twenty odd and a student. It's just such a good time of your life to do that. We toyed with the drink and ice-cream idea as we gazed across the river and at the strings of lights. Luckily she had in mind just the sort of thing I like to do. "We could go up there." She was pointing across the lights of the next more solid bridge to the dark hill on the other side. At the top more lights burned. "It's the Citadella, you'll like it."
Not quite sure what she meant by 'go up', we walked across the bridge and descended to the underpass, landscaped, with benches, and people sitting, lying. Was it just the warm evening, or was this their residence? In London it would have been. Here the 'down-and-outs' seemed much quieter. I was surprised that we were walking up, by ourselves, just like that. The tarmac path wound steeply up the cliff, through very dark trees and bushes. The lamps at the corners were not lit. I was very aware that Erzsi is hardly taller than me. What were two women doing in a city at nearly midnight walking up an unlit path on a densely wooded cliff-side? I tensed at a low murmur of voices, but it was just another group of people standing at a corner, talking amongst themselves. At the top the Citadella was a magnificent statue, with tourists taking photos. We descended a wide sweep of road past the last coach, and I heard the clatter of pans from a deep window in the old stone wall of the fortress. Perhaps this was the hostel that had been on my list of possibilities before Erzsi offered that I stay with her.
The kiosk-come-bar by the coach park was still open, and one young man did rather drunkenly try to talk to us, but wasn't persistent enough to follow us to the picnic table. It was the only time this happened. Perhaps being older does have an effect! Harassment by 60 year olds who think they are flattering you is the worst sign of middle-age. We strolled down the hill past villas, with railings and metal garden gates that were all tightly closed. That's what I kept my eye on the most, as this was guard dog territory. I can just about cope with a barking dog, if I can see it first. The famous Gellert Baths were next on Erzsi's list, and then we weakly refreshed ourselves with a milkshake in MacDonald's. Well, everything must be tried, just in case it's different. Past the Engineering University, and my unused booking of a hostel bed there, and then Erzsi located the front of Lajoss university. I shared my dream plans with her: "I'd like to be able to work abroad again for a year, or just half a year. It should be possible now the children have left. But maybe not in Budapest. It seems wonderful, but it's still a city, and I'm not a city person."