Hot Water

All things Hungarian. Who knew Buda and Pest were two separate towns until 1873? Joined now in name and also by four very pretty bridges crisscrossing the Duna. Only Hungarian High Altitude flour, along with Hungarian gulyas, rings a bell.

Gulyas, which in Hungarian means herdsman or cattle stockman, is a stew made of meat, potatoes, carrots, spices. Under my careful preparation when I  used to cook for my kids,  it morphed into everything I could find in the refrigerator combined into one pot.

And Hungarian High Altitude Flour has a Colorado connection. John Mullen patented the process of milling flour using the method started in Hungary. He brought it to Colorado, founding a flour milling empire that made him one of the richest men in Denver. The Flour Mill lofts by my townhouse were once a part of his Hungarian High Altitude brand. The high altitude part is simply because the flour was grown in Colorado, Montana, and the Dakotas.

Not many have heard of "taking the waters" in Hungary, but we jumped in today. A trip through Budapest on the bikes brought us to the center of City Park, where we locked the wheels outside an old, ornate, peeling yellow building. A complex built in 1913, when statuary and decoration were in fashion. The Szechenyi Spa and Baths. After being assigned a changing cabin the size of a coffin, we closed the door behind us and changed into swim attire.

Squeezing out and walking the few steps into the pool area, we had our choice of; left, a wave pool; center, a huge lap pool; right, a warm, 25 degree celcius pool. We chose the warm but, I wanted to go inside a small door on the far wall promising more hot water and soaking.

We took the plunge, entering a tomb-like cavern. Slick rock floors. Dripping. Steamy. Echoes. Bodies. Butt cheeks. Pot bellies. Fountains. Water. 

One 40 degree pool, next to a 20 degree pool for the heat-ice experience. Laura partook, I declined. Pools behind low arches and mysterious corners where only the veteran Hungarians appeared to go. More arches, columns, mosaic tiles, doorways. Dripping, echoes, puddles, low ceilings. Enough of the cave, we walked outside after a half hour or so.

In the warm pool again, I noticed a sign reading szauna, pointing down a stone stairway. Laura declined. I made my way into a long room. More flesh. Arm to arm on long wooden planks, two deep, three high.  I was reminded of chickens roosting in chicken coops. Sweat. Heat. Dripping. Sweat. Men, with the occasional bikini top mixed in. Squirming, sweat, sighs, drips, heads in hands.

Back outside, we tried the wave pool, where people of all ages and nationalities bumped and stumbled around a circular course, laughing like two year olds being tickled. Then back to the warm. Laura tried a power nap as I watched men playing chess on a watery board placed on a step of the pool. Conversations with strange sounds. Vratch, schzra, kooch, vlut, zloty. Every so often I heard a word like John Travolta or something actually familiar to my language challenged brain.

Tomorrow we will board a train for Kracow, Poland. After i post this, for the last time we are heading to an etterem, (restaurant) with genuine Hungarian flour and gulyas.