[GEFJON. The Norse goddess of the plow, holds the power to move the earth and foretell people’s destinies. It is also the name of the Viking cruise boat that will take us to Amsterdam. Source: Wall mural on the Viking Gefjon. Photo is mine.]

This is where I came in. Budapest: Where East meets West. The Blue Danube is something more than a waltz by Johann Strauss.

~~Tom Kelly Guilty of Treason

It’s beautiful here. They said that, of course, that Budapest is beautiful. But it is in fact almost ludicrously beautiful.

~~Anthony Bourdain

If the question is about Budapest, the answer is yes!!

~~Globe Trove

Beside the nave in St. Stephen’s Basilica in Budapest, there is a slender propane candle burning with a tiny bright flame. I dropped the heavy coin in the slot and stood back to make sure the I had placed the candle in an empty space. I lit it, not for any redemptive purpose, but to ensure that the flame would carry the memory of so many of my friends and family who have passed on.

Too many of my friends and relations are no longer around to read any blog I may post.

So, I dedicate this blog series to those I once loved and who once loved me…

There’s little point to write much about how the trip has progressed thus far. I mean we spent time in New York City picking up any items we left behind in Owego. There wasn’t much so that’s all I’ll say about that.

That leaves the American Airlines flight to London. I’ve made the trip many times and I was used to the usual delays and frustrations. After all, isn’t that what flying is like these days? The flight itself was unusually smooth except for about twenty minutes just south of Irish airspace. We hit turbulence. Not extreme. No one was injured by a flying Samsonite hard luggage. I made promises to every pagan god or goddess that had even the smallest amount of Celtic DNA that I may be carrying. (More on the DNA thing later, if I don’t forget.) I make it a practice to count the number of air-sick bags in the pocket of the seat in front of me. It’s my own litmus test for air turbulence.

A night in London wasn’t really that at all. We never left the property of Heathrow. Just a quick shuttle to a very pleasant and very large hotel full of people who are off to exotic places or waiting for the early flight back to home, where the lawn is waiting to be mowed.

At the hotel, I checked and rechecked for any little items that I may (more than likely) left back home or failed to even think about bringing. I needed a water bottle. You know, like Stanley or Owala. My beautiful Stanley was sitting on the kitchen counter in our apartment. I thought I could rough it and get by with a tall plastic tumbler but I am a man of habits if nothing else.

I needed a water bottle so I was the first in line when the gift shop in the hotel opened. The sweet woman behind the counter looked at me like I was asking for the Holy Grail or the Crown Jewels. No luck. Somewhere in Eastern Europe there is a water bottle. I will find it. But, first…

It’s time to begin a more detailed description of our trip. After all, that’s why you’re sitting in a nice chair and reading this. But, take notes, this will likely get a little confusing.

[My essentials. A good map or two, a Moleskin notebook and a pencil. I also had a free Map of Budapest in my pocket. Photo is mine.]

On May 30, we had a very smooth (and short) trip on British Air to the Budapest airport. It was a late afternoon flight and they fed us well. I had two shoulder bags, the straps crossing my chest like a smart Cossack uniform. We arrived at our hotel in early evening and only felt the need for a quick snack before we settled into our room.

I should explain that Budapest is actually two cities: Buda and Pest. Buda is described as hilly and full of shady parks and unbelievably beautiful buildings. Pest is flat and busy. Our hotel, the Danubius is located in Pest. But you probably already knew that.

On the morning of May 31, we found an ATM and, not knowing how much cash we would need. We were a bit unclear about how much that would be so Mariam entered an amount that seemed reasonable. We walked away with 200,000 Ft. The Hungarian currency is the Forint (HUF). Sounded good to me but in the end it was far too much cash. We could have gotten by with about 100,000 Ft.

So we spent down our monies on a few little things, like my Birthday Dinner.

I chose an old and very elegant restaurant called the Central Café. We ate inside where it was cool and near the restrooms. It took me about five minutes to find the men’s. I chose a table close to the live music. There was a piano player, a bassists and, of course, a violin.

Now you must understand that this dinner is very special. More special than most of the others that celebrated my progression through life. I was turning 79 years, 79 orbits around the sun and 79 days since that day in Binghamton General when my mother was slowly recovering from the shock of having another boy. She wanted a girl very badly. I had a name…Rosemary. Instead, I was Patrick.

But that’s life, isn’t it?

Additionally, I found out several years ago that I had a significant amount of DNA from Eastern Europe (on my mother’s side). So, was I part Hungarian? Romanian? We had no idea, but here I was on the edge of Transylvania (mostly Romanian).

To make a long story short…I ordered what that certain amount of DNA told me to order. I had a bowl of Goulash. And I loved it.

Enough about my genetic background. Let’s get back to the Grand Tour of Budapest on the Hop-On/Hop-Off bus.

We hit all the important places that most tourists want to see but I saw the one site that I had read about in my research. St. Stephen’s Basilica. At the end of the Hop-On tour I knew that the next morning we simply had to return to it. And we did.

We took an Uber, driven by a more than helpful driver. He spoke broken English but the speed that the information came into the back seat was a little overwhelming. If you’re wondering, the trip cost all of $17.00. A real deal.

Now here is where I have to slow down in my narrative of my sightseeing. When we entered the front door following a group of French high school students. We went further into the rear of the church.

Nothing, and I mean nothing in my researches prepared me for what I saw. Few words can adequately describe the ornate grandeur, the opulence, the art, the color, the icons and the statuary that filled the interior. I’ve seen St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome…this was a very close second in it’s profound beauty.

[St. Stephen’s lies at the end of this beautiful walkway. Photo is mine.]

[The main altar. Photo is mine.]

The photos in my film roll truly don’t tell the true story. No photo can, really. You just have to trust me.

As we were making our way along the nave, a group of people gathering around a large glass case. I needed to investigate. Somehow in my reading, I failed to find any mention of what holy treasure that was housed in the glass.

I stood and took a photo. I know enough about large churches to know that whatever was in the glass case was of some importance. I knew it must be a relic of some kind, obviously a relic of St. Stephen himself. And I wasn’t wrong.

[My first view and photo of the relic. Photo is mine.]

I couldn’t make out what I was seeing until I moved forward a few feet. This is what I could clearly see now:

[The mummified right hand of St. Stephen. Photo is mine.]

The accuracy and authenticity of this Class A relic is obviously open to debate, among the church authorities, believers, non-believers and even atheists. It’s not the purpose of this blog post to take one side or the other. I simply found the relic fascinating, real or not. One important note I should add is that King Stephen (later canonized to sainthood) died on August 15, 1038 CE. The man’s right hand is 1,000 years old! By most standards, that is certainly something to think about.

Then we walked from St. Stephen’s to the bank of the Danube. There, a fifteen minute walk was a memorial that was unlike anything I had ever seen.

The Shoes On The Danube Bank.

I knew I would need to take a deep breath and a moment to clear my head from mummified hands to truly appreciate this memorial.

[The Shoes on the Danube Bank. Photo is mine.]

In December, 1944 into early 1945, the Nazis made the Hungarian Jews remove their shoes before being shot and pushed into the Danube. As many as 3,600 hundred Jews were murdered at this site by a branch of a Hungarian army. These soldiers were tasked with murdering their own countrymen. Many more Jews, an estimated 20,000 were killed during the Arrow Cross Massacre. The memorial was erected in 2005. Period-appropriate shoes made of Iron and fixed to the stone embankment.

There are no words…

I saw shoes of children, old men and women’s style shoes, many with flowers, coins, shiny pebbles inserted. I saw a pair of workman’s boots. I thought how destiny and fate works. They could have been my grandfather’s, father’s or even my own boots.

So ends the first full day of our trip along the Danube.