A City Divided by the Danube

Transportation in Budapest was better than anything I’d have ever hoped. Growing up in Utah, part of the “great” American West expansion, I’d experienced life from cars, cars, and more cars. Urban, rural, and suburban sprawl was the name of the game. Bikes were at best a hobby or short-range transportation from, I don’t know, one friend's house to the next, if you were willing to climb the steep hills of rural Elk Ridge. In college, I managed to live in an apartment close to campus, so rode my bike regularly, but shopping had to be done by vehicle. Not in Hungary. Between the tram, bus, and subway system, everything was accessible and affordable–so long as grouchy ticket patrols didn’t question your exchange student status. As great as the transit is, Budapest truly opened up to me when I bought a bicycle.

Choma Bikes is a handbuilt bike shop and is run by a college kid named David, a contact from my climbing friend Akos. There was this guy who gathered old bike parts, hopefully not chop-shop stolen bike parts now that I reflect in retrospect, and built bikes for cheap out of mishmash parts.

I took the red line and yellow line up to the northeast end fairly close to Hosok Tere (Heroes Square). I remember this ride, because the second of two books I brought from America, I finished on the ride, Jurassic Park. His “office” was a cramped workshop behind an apartment complex that probably used to be horse stables in another era. The workspace, with a patch of dirt floor before cracked cement slabs and windowless dim, was filled with everything from seats to frames to rims to accessories and tools all stowed on warped shelves with peeling maroon paint. The workbench was cluttered with gear housings and chains and wire shift and brake cables. Our exchange was brief and I bought a red road bike with yellow forks and mostly functional brakes. I bought it for 15,000 forints, around sixty-five dollars equivalent–that’s cheap.

I loved the thing and Hungary truly opened to me. I took the little red bike on my first ride past Hosok Tere, through the Vajdahunyad castle and the Anonymus Szobor, and around and eventually back to my apartment on the Buda side of the Danube, of course taking a moment to ride up and down the wide river banks. From there, be it to groceries, climbing, school, church, leisure, or Livi’s place, I took this bike just about anywhere, and for one month didn’t even bother with purchasing a train pass.

Riding in Europe on a bike is little like riding in the US. In the US, commuting around Cedar City, I can’t count how many close calls I’ve had with drivers who had no perception of my presence. One time I was riding to Main Street and a car pulled right in front of me getting ready to turn. I slammed on my brakes and stopped with the rubber of my tires hitting the car’s wheel well. The woman still didn’t notice me. Just to let her know I was there, I slapped the car hood. Oh, the jump she had. On the streets of Budapest, they had dedicated bike lanes just about everywhere. They even had traffic signals for bikes that allowed you to go protected through intersections independent of pedestrians and other cars. Many cities in America have begun to adopt similar practices, especially with the booming emergence of e-bikes, and it’s something America should continue to develop in the desperate need to move away from car culture, beat urban sprawl, and claim another victory in the many fronts of the climate change battle.

Bike theft is a common occurrence in Budapest, as in many places in the world, so the guy who sold me the bike provided me with a thick black metal bike lock that couldn’t get cut. The lock didn’t last long. A little while after owning the bike I rode to the bank a couple kilometers from my flat. I locked it to a light pole and did my business with the bank considering cash withdrawals. When I came out, the key broke in the lock. Awesome… no matter what I did I couldn’t get the damn thing to turn, even with pliers borrowed from a bike shop next door. That was my first adventure with the thing. I sat there, on the street, probably looking like a bike thief as I yanked and pulled on the lock. As time crawled on and I was going to be late to my next destination the anger and desperation increased. I growled at the thing, cussed, and used language so vile it probably would’ve killed my grandma. At the same time, I’d raise my head to the sky and plead with the heavens, begging God for a miracle. Eventually, be it a miracle or sheer rage–or both–I managed to twist the key enough to loose the latch and bent the unbendable lock enough to get my bike and the light pole free. The stupid thing was plopped in the garbage and I went across the street and bought a fresh lock. This one was a thick steel cable encased in a centimeter of thick plastic. It did better and weathered multiple abuses.

After an evening at Livi’s, I went down to ride back to my place and found that someone had tried to steal my bike. The plastic sheath to protect the metal cable from the rain had a cut through it, but the thief luckily couldn’t breach the cable.

Another fun time with the bike, once the winter came, the roads became slick with ice. I’m experienced with such things, but that doesn’t mean the blackest and most vile of ice doesn’t get the best of me. On the way to my advanced o-chem lab, I caught a patch mid-turn. My side went to the pavement while my bike shot into the snow and bushes. I sported a bruise for a few days and a sore limp until the evening, my lab partners noticing, asking, then laughing along with me–after those who understood translated for me, of course.

Yet, every time I think about that bike, I think of Anett. She continued to climb with me and Cinzia and Dani, and we continued as friends. She even pulled some strings at both her dorm gym and the university’s wall, and they both let me set routes. I did some pretty challenging but fun ones.

As Christmas neared, she invited me on a charity bike ride through the streets of Budapest. I had never been so cold in my life. On and off rain, sleet, and cold, we rode around ten kilometers through the streets. People decorated their bikes and dressed like Santa. I was given a red Claus hat and a white pair of cotton gloves which immediately soaked through. We threw Lindt chocolates to children and passersby on the streets. It was a fun magical ride past the narrow corridors of the city. It never occurred to me that of all our friends, I was the only one invited. Once finished, my hands were soaked and so numb they ached. I raced home as fast as I could and in my flat I peeled the cotton gloves off my beet-red fingers. I ran my hands under cold water and it stung and burned. I have a chronic fear of frostbite, and that, I fully believe, is the closest I’ve ever been to the actual condition. I sat in my flat, in bed, watching movies on my laptop with my hands aching and stashed under the blankets.

As the weeks wound down and my departure back to the United States encroached, the completion of my jazzy, proggy, and terrible ode to Mike and Kendle came toward completion. I mentioned it, during our climbing sessions and all three readily said they wanted to hear the song. So, one day, I invited Anett, Cinzia, and Daniel to come to my church building to hear my raucous rendition. I rode my bike to Anett’s dorm complex and locked it up to a bike stand while waiting for all three to show. Together we took the red line to the church even stopping to have some cheap Chinese and some bread at a pastry shop. While we walked I had that old debate in my head, I was taking a batch of non-member friends to my church. Were they going to get swarmed by missionaries, was I expected to preach and convert? I mean, it wouldn’t be bad, and I’m sure, just like my Swedish friend from the Hostel they’d probably show a little curiosity and then continue with their daily lives.

That wasn’t what went down in the slightest. I showed up with the three in tow and took them to the chapel where the piano is and Livi was there, too. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but she smiled at me and rushed up. “I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said and gave me a light kiss on the lips, not the platonic double-cheek kiss, you know. I introduced my friends and the air had changed ever so slightly. Dani and Cinzia blinked in surprise and Anett scanned the chapel with its narrow pews, plain wooden podium at the front, almost the same industrial design of every church worldwide. Her architecture brain critiquing or admiring or somewhere in between. As I explained that I was going to show them my song for Mike and Kendle’s wedding, Livi, too, stayed to listen. Anett seemed to remember something and said she has to hurry. I wondered if religion and the church make her feel awkward. I sat and played through the song, of course still making a few mistakes. When I finished playing, the small intimate audience cheered and congratulated me on my strange arrangement. They don’t understand the lyrics, so I had to explain how the anchor refers to building a climbing or rappelling anchor, and the long miles of Mike and Kendle’s long-distance relationship made the love stronger and redundant like you want in an anchor. He drove hours every other weekend for almost a year. I also gave a little background to the inside jokes as well.

Again, I was bashful about all this and Anett leaves in a hurry and said she had finals and other stressful work. She left but Cinzia and Daniel stayed and Livi and I gave them a tour of the chapel and the upstairs where an activity I didn’t know about was happening. They met some of the members and luckily no preaching or scripture is pushed on them. Livi decided to head back with me so together we all ride the train until Cinzia and Daniel got off at their respective stops. We continued in silence on the train and Livi wasn’t talking much, which was different. Again, for some reason, I felt small next to her. She’s a powerful woman, and this happened often. She’s four years older, more mature, and very committed to the life she wants. A career woman eager for marriage and a family.

We get back to her flat and the moment the door shut and it was confirmed her roommate wasn’t present (who, like mine, was always gone) she turned on me. “How come your friends never knew about us?” she asked. I’m confused, of course. “What do you mean?” but of course, I know. Again, like everything in my life, I’ve created a duality between my climbing and study life and my religious life. Livi fell into the spiritual life. My friends both at the university and the climbing gyms, up until now, had no clue I was in a relationship with Livi, or that she even existed.

We fell into a tense silence and I’m speechless, grasping for an excuse. “I don’t know. I guess, it just never came up,” I said defensively.

“What about the one girl?”

“Which one?”

“The one that left early.”

“Oh, Anett?” I said, shifting awkwardly.

“Did she not know?” she asked.

I shrugged, then nodded.

“What are we, Chris?” Livi asked. I struggle and couldn’t confess my doubts. In less than two weeks, we were going to be continents and an ocean apart. Mike and Kendle may have pulled off a long-distance relationship, but there’s a difference between being a state apart and a world apart.

“Do you even know why she left early?” Livi asked me.

Once again, I gave a deflecting shrug, “I figured she didn’t feel comfortable with the church. She’s atheist, I think. She also has a final project due.”

“No, she likes you.”

I stopped there and stared at her stupidly.

“She what?”

“She likes you.”

“No she doesn’t,” and I thought I was telling the truth. “We’re just friends.”

“When she saw you and me, she wasn’t happy. That’s why she left early.”

“No,” I said so confused. “She turned me down.”

“What do you mean?” Livi asked. Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed. Hands were on her hips.

“Before we were dating,” I quickly clarified, “A little before I took you on our first date, I asked her out. We finished climbing and I asked her to go get dinner together. She said no. She said she’d rather keep climbing and wasn’t interested. Ended up going with just Cinzia and Daniel,” I said, stupidly innocent.

Livi shook her head and started to laugh. “You asked her out?”

I nodded. “Before we were anything,” I clarified again.

“And she turned you down.”

I nodded.

“And you never tried again?” she asked.

“Why would I? She said no, clearly she just wanted to be friends.”

Livi laughed harder. I soon discovered that Hungary has a much different dating culture than America… or at least, little Chris Mormon Utah culture. All dating has a dating game that the flirting ones in play. In Hungary, Livi explained, when a guy asks a girl out, playing hard to get, some girls will turn them down. As they continue to talk and stay friends, eventually, the guy asks the girl again and she’ll finally agree. Anett was likely waiting all along for me to ask her again, to say yes, to go out for that dinner I had asked her.

By now, I’m shocked and feel dumber than a fly bouncing into a window for escape. The apartment is dim, and despite the tension having diffused I can’t focus. Livi seems satiated about our relationship, that I haven’t been cheating on her or anything, but she was still perhaps annoyed that I kept our relationship a secret from the other half of my social life. As for me, I was still running through memories looking for the signs that Anett wanted more than the friend zone.

Eventually, late at night, after a desert, making out, and wanting to be alone in my flat, I left to catch one of the last trains to Anett’s dorm complex. I think of my argument, fight, discussion? I don’t know what to even call it, whatever I had with Livi, and the fact that my time here in Hungary is nearly coming to a close crashed upon me. I’ve had an amazing adventure here in Budapest and have accomplished and done things I normally wouldn’t have done in life anywhere else. Yet, there was still a duality I sought to maintain, and only when my arbitrary standards came into check did the two paths cross. Indeed, the next time I saw Daniel and Cinzia they questioned me about Livi and asked why I never told them I was seeing someone. Of course, I would use the same old Hungarian mentality that’s buried somewhere in my blood, “You never asked and it never came up.” Dani would agree and shrug it away, but Cinzia and her sweet, bright Italian self would continue to dig for details I didn’t want to give. Brings a grin to my face, at the least.

By the time I arrive at the plaza at Anett’s dorm complex, it was cold and snow started to fall again. I had proper gloves finally. I paused a moment and looked up at her dorm building. Somewhere on the upper floors amidst the glowing lights, the cramped halls that smelled of wine and humidity, she was sitting at a drafting board finishing her final architecture project. As I cross the plaza I find my small red bike sitting in its parking stand where I left it nearly unmolested. I unlock the bike and am about to ride when I notice something different. Gently tucked into the water bottle holder on the frame is a bright, ripe tangerine left for me.