The train tickets are 2nd class, so I'm scared. Second class on Intercity routes are cramped, and you never know who you'll end up sharing space with by the luck of the draw.
When the train pulls out we are sitting facing a mother and son. The mother is about 55 and reading Lakás Föld ("Apartment World" magazine - a shelter porn rag for upwardly mobile Hungarians). Her 20-something son is dressed like a football thug and reading some Fidesz newspaper. I love the son's shirt... a mod-ish black polo with Magyar flag red-white-green trim around the sleeve hems and collar, and a map of Hungary where the Ben Sherman logo usually is. Just a couple of average Hungarian family members going home on the train. We share the tiny table between us and each side tries to ignore the other, lest we come off as rude by staring.
An hour into the trip I wander a bit and take pix of the countryside. As I've heard, it does look like the USA's great plains. You could mistake it for Kansas, except for these tiny houses that appear among the fields in flurries now and then. Dinky 1- or 2-room cottages about the size of a large Tuff Shed, except with taller ceilings. Workmen's houses?
Two hours after pulling out from Nyugati in Budapest we arrive at Debrecen and bop across the street for the tram. The station isn't very far from the main old town center, and makes a nice walk - but a tram is nicer if you have bags. The tall communist-era apartment building across the street from the railway station is hideous enough to give you bad dreams. It really is a monument to... something.
Piac Utca, the main street which bisects the town center, is a pleasant surprise. As you see with other cities of this size in the region, the center of Debrecen is an old town with restored cathedrals, commercial buildings that are hundreds of years old, and a colorful little tram line running the gauntlet.
We pass the big hotel in town, the Aranybika (the "Golden Bull"), a sprawling complex that dominates Kossuth Square. It's really the place to stay in town, but I found the rooms were too pricey and the corporate chain's website made the place look very cold.
Not far from the Golden Bull Aranybika is our place, the Némethy Panzió. Looks nice from the outside, but inside - well...
Our room got lots of natural light... because we got one on the ground floor on the street. Had lots of space... all the better to show off the stained, cigar-burned carpeting. And the staff was cheerful... mostly because for one reason or another none of our requests could be fulfilled, which left the staff well-rested and ready to greet us with serene smiles whenever we advanced upon the desk.
The place seemed eerily quiet too, which we couldn't figure out because they claimed they were booked solid. Because of this, and since we found this place to be a kind of anti-Aranybika, I immediately dubbed the place "The Lonely Bull". This USA pop culture joke was lost on Andi, and I had to explain that it was an old instrumental hit song. She learned the melody quickly enough though, as it was my wont to whistle it whenever the desk clerk answered our requests with a feeble excuse or a shrug of the shoulders.
But the Némethy is very inexpensive - just under US $50/night - so all things considered, it's not a bad place to stay on a budget.
Still in the early afternoon, we tripped into town to look around.
First thing was to search for an étterem where we could have a late lunch. The Flaska Vendéglö is supposed to be great, but we bypassed it on a hunch and went with another down-home restaurant, Lucullus. Turned out to be an excellent choice. This basement restaurant, tucked away in a small arcade, looks like a tourist clip joint from the outside but actually it is the hot place in town among the locals. You know a restaurant is good if you pack them in at 3 pm on a weekday for food. Chicken liver broth with vegetables, sirloin soup in bread, BBQ pork Lucullus style, chicken with smoked pigs knuckle and trappist cheese, all topped off with a Tuborg. Excellent.
We walked about a bit and saw some of the town center. Art nouveau architecture all over the place, mixed with the older classic style and a few socialist shoeboxes. Strange clubs called Cool Music and Dance Club and Club Silence. "Club Silence" - I'm speechless.
Stopped in at the top cukrászda in town, Gara, for coffee and édesség. Gara has very good selection of magyar-style pastries which I like better than the more hyped variety in Vienna. They are very similar, but to my palate the Austrians too often defile their amazing chocolate creations with layers of their funky jams and jellies. I think it's a government subsidy program to dispose of rejected fruit preserves by hiding them in layers of sachertorte and passing them off on unsuspecting tourists. But nobody ever complains, because the coffee in Austria rocks so hard.
In the early evening, it's off to the Aquaticum Wellness Hotel to try out the mineral baths. Just 4 tram stops down the line, it's not far and not too expensive.
The only challenge at Aquaticum is finding the actual bathing area. It looks completely dead from the outside. But following some cryptic arrows leads to a reception area on the mezzanine of the hotel complex.
The Aquaticum has tree large pools of different temperatures, plus two hot/cold side by side in the center of the room if you want the polar bear treatment. For an extra charge you can use the pools outside too. Despite the late hour, 7 p.m., the place is packed with folks of all ages. The water is natural mineral spring water, so it looks murky, and feels a tiny bit slippery. But it's supposed to be excellent for you. I guess 10 million Hungarians can't be wrong!
One funny thing about the men at Hungarian baths... the older and more barrel-chested guys are, the smaller they wear their swimsuit. And the younger and trimmer they are, the longer and sloppier they wear their boardshorts. One guy I saw here who looked like the ghost of Leonid Brezhnev had a belly the size of a Volkswagen beetle (the new version) and speedos the size of Mariah Carey's wedding night thong. All you can say is: nem bizony!
After a pleasant couple of hours hopping in and out of pools it's back to the hotel on the tram. Everybody on the tram and on the streets is under 25 and well into the beer. Some regional football rivalry is fueling the nuttiness. The non-stop kocsma down the street from the panzio that was full of old workers at 4 p.m. is now at 10 p.m. packed with young bucks and dollies full of face metal who are wishing the barkeep would put on some Kaiser Chiefs instead of the borzasztó classic rock now blasting out the open street windows - windows that double as seats now that every chair is taken.
Back at The Lonely Bull, nothing near as lively is going on. Doors to the empty rooms are now closed, filled with late arrivals, but the eerie silence remains. The night clerk looms up like Anthony Perkins and we ask him for an extra blanket. He returns his trademark zombie smile and says no dice - you're already using it. It serves as the mattress pad on your bed, and it's our only extra. Another whistled chorus of Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass echoes through the reception area.
