Budapest: Diva of the Duna (danube)
... So goes the subtitle of the Lonely Planet guide to the city. The question that came first to my mind was, "How long did it take them to come up with that one?" Closely followed by, "Did whoever think of it get paid? And if so, how much?" And even though Lonely Planet writes in English, I feel like this sort of slogan is emblematic of the Hungarian tourism information our program saw the need to send us over the summer. As well-intentioned as all of it was, the grammar and syntax was, um, hard to take.
Actually, it seems like most Hungarian signs, plaques, and museum displays translated into English follow the same pattern:
1. the first sentence is very well put together; it's been thoroughly thought out, and it's easy to know exactly what they mean.
2. the second and third sentences are clearly translated, with some obvious errors and stuff that just doesn't sound right, but the meaning is still understandable.
3. everything beyond that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. There is no hope of gleaning any further information whatsoever.
As a result, you know, for example, that you're at the famed Szechenyi Baths. Unfortunately, you don't know where the hell the locker room is and these guys just keep pointing you farther and farther from the entrance and you get totally lost. Fortunately, that example turned out ok; those baths are really nice, fairly reasonably-priced, and clean. But I digress.
The following just occurred to me yesterday evening. Since I got here, I haven't felt at all intimidated by the police... that may not be the right word, but they're definitely hard to take seriously. Anyway, the revelation I had yesterday: the reason I don't think of the police as like real police is because their uniform includes baseball caps. That, more than their silly compact cars, their baggy uniforms, or anything else, makes me immediately think of fake cops (like subdivision security or something) every time I see them.
Speaking of baggy uniforms, Budapest may be a little farther ahead of the cutting edge of fashion than I'm comfortable with. Most men wear awkwardly cut pants that hit them around mid-calf, women wear jeans tucked into those high-top sneakers that are really more like boots that languish on shelves throughout north america, and, worst of all, everyone I've seen wearing a suit has worn a suit that just doesn't fit them. Now, granted, we don't exactly go to school in the financial district (or near Parliament), so it's possible that well-tailored suits exist here somewhere. And actually, we're going to the Opera on thursday, so that should give me a chance to revise my assessment (which I hope to be able to do), although we've definitely heard that people don't wear ties to the Opera, let alone suits, so we'll have to see.
On a closing note, it rained for the entire first week I was here, and it rains depressing here. I was assured that such weather is unusual for Budapest, and the assurances were backed up by a couple weeks on sunshine and 70s, like winter in LA. As of this weekend though, the temperature dropped 20 degrees and it's cloudy. I'm reminded of a Steve Martin essay in which he discusses the contrast in writing styles between being in SoCal and being in "some depressing place like Central Europe", and my faith that it will get sunny again has been shaken.
That's it for now. Szia! (a common Hungarian greeting/farewell that, actually, is derived from and pronounced almost exactly like "see ya")
Actually, it seems like most Hungarian signs, plaques, and museum displays translated into English follow the same pattern:
1. the first sentence is very well put together; it's been thoroughly thought out, and it's easy to know exactly what they mean.
2. the second and third sentences are clearly translated, with some obvious errors and stuff that just doesn't sound right, but the meaning is still understandable.
3. everything beyond that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. There is no hope of gleaning any further information whatsoever.
As a result, you know, for example, that you're at the famed Szechenyi Baths. Unfortunately, you don't know where the hell the locker room is and these guys just keep pointing you farther and farther from the entrance and you get totally lost. Fortunately, that example turned out ok; those baths are really nice, fairly reasonably-priced, and clean. But I digress.
The following just occurred to me yesterday evening. Since I got here, I haven't felt at all intimidated by the police... that may not be the right word, but they're definitely hard to take seriously. Anyway, the revelation I had yesterday: the reason I don't think of the police as like real police is because their uniform includes baseball caps. That, more than their silly compact cars, their baggy uniforms, or anything else, makes me immediately think of fake cops (like subdivision security or something) every time I see them.
Speaking of baggy uniforms, Budapest may be a little farther ahead of the cutting edge of fashion than I'm comfortable with. Most men wear awkwardly cut pants that hit them around mid-calf, women wear jeans tucked into those high-top sneakers that are really more like boots that languish on shelves throughout north america, and, worst of all, everyone I've seen wearing a suit has worn a suit that just doesn't fit them. Now, granted, we don't exactly go to school in the financial district (or near Parliament), so it's possible that well-tailored suits exist here somewhere. And actually, we're going to the Opera on thursday, so that should give me a chance to revise my assessment (which I hope to be able to do), although we've definitely heard that people don't wear ties to the Opera, let alone suits, so we'll have to see.
On a closing note, it rained for the entire first week I was here, and it rains depressing here. I was assured that such weather is unusual for Budapest, and the assurances were backed up by a couple weeks on sunshine and 70s, like winter in LA. As of this weekend though, the temperature dropped 20 degrees and it's cloudy. I'm reminded of a Steve Martin essay in which he discusses the contrast in writing styles between being in SoCal and being in "some depressing place like Central Europe", and my faith that it will get sunny again has been shaken.
That's it for now. Szia! (a common Hungarian greeting/farewell that, actually, is derived from and pronounced almost exactly like "see ya")
posted by sam at
6:31 AM
3 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
By
Rachel, at 9/20/05, 7:08 PM
Go you for jumping on the blog bandwagon (um, blogwagon?) Just watch out for suicidal hacker types. Anyway, "some depressing place in Central Europe" is quite probably Russia, not Hungary. Case in point: I'm wearing my big winter coat and it's not even October...and my host family took one look at said coat and told me that that's what Russians wear "during spring, or a warm fall..."
By
Rachel, at 9/20/05, 7:09 PM
speaking of "suicidal hacker types", i never got a chance to read the second comment "removed by the author". Um, unless that's "author of the post" as opposed to "author of the whole shebang"... which is ambiguous. Anyway, I apologize in advance for whatever sketchy happens to people's comments and stuff.
By
sam, at 9/22/05, 3:58 PM
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