Champagne Socialist in Budapest

Its raining tonight in London. A soft, summer rain with a soothing patter that freshens the air--and hopefully rinses away the grime, pigeon droppings, and piss off of Seven Sisters Road. If it is acid rain, I'll choose to focus on how it will even more thoroughly scour the street.

A few days ago I was in Budapest, listening to thunder and watching rivulets flow down Vaci Utca street, past the Herendi crystal store, the Burger King, and an H & M. Those who had travelled there in the past told me that the city was unrecognizable from its days of complete disrepair. A Romanian man told me that he had frequently travelled to Budapest when he was my age to play tennis. He competed in tennis matches all around the areas occupied by the former Soviet Union, and he and his friends understood that Hungary was the most free country at the time because it was the only place in Central and Eastern Europe where one could buy jeans. Now there are sleek sushi restaurants around the perimeters of the central squares.

The Danube flooded during my visit. It rose to cover the highways on both the Buda and Pest sides of the river, and swamped a row of park benches where I had been walking a few days earlier. There was a summer festival on the Chain Bridge, and as the festival-goers drank Soproni and listened to Roma music, we watched the water creep higher onto the road underneath us. The river lapped at one lane so the road was closed to cars, but people strolled along the water's edge in the other lane, including a bridal party. The bride didn't seem to mind the water soaking into the hem of her puffy dress. I wondered how many times the river had engulfed such a resilient city. Even overwhelmed, the city is elegant and emerges resplendent: