View from the Basilica
Quick view of the Pest side of Budapest from the top of St. Stephen’s basilica.
Dome of the Basilica from Terry Cokenour on Vimeo.
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Wrap Up
We returned to Houston on Friday night after a long delay in London and lost luggage. The jet lag was definitely far worse coming back. I didn’t feel quite human until about noon today. The smoked ribs and sausage at my brother’s place definitely helped bring me back to form!
The trip was absolutely wonderful, wonder-filled. We learned so much and saw more of the people and culture than we expected to. Great thanks go to the Seller’s for their warm, generous hospitality and priceless assistance in planning our days. Without their help the trip we certainly have been far less productive.
Likewise, great thanks to the Keierleber family for loving our youngest daughters and giving them a great stay away from mom and dad. We can tell the girls really enjoyed Mr. Paul and Mrs. Tricia.
Christina and I are still adjusting to being back. It seems wierd because we were only in Hungary for 12 days, but I think we both allowed ourselves to imagine we were living there. It was a bit of grown-up make believe I suppose.
So, we’re just about caught up on sleep and getting ready to jump back into our family routine. We’ll have more news soon, but for now we’re quite busy sorting through pics, video, momentos, and catching up with life back home.
Here’s a pic that Keith Sellers took (he’s a much better photographer than I am).
Terror House
There’s a building in downtown Budapest with a terrible history. During WWII the Nazi’s used it to interrogate and torture those suspected of being against the totalitarian state or sympathizing with those who did. Religious leaders, civic leaders, their families and friends were brought there.
After the Allies defeated Germany, it was decided that Hungary would be under the rule of the Soviet Union. They went from the frying pan into the fire. While the communists celebrated how they “liberated” Hungary, they soon put this building to the same use it experienced under Nazi fascism. The torture continued. Hungarians were targets of their own state.
The building was recently turned into a museum; a monument to honor the victims and to put names and faces to evil committed there. It’s now called “Terror Haza” – Terror House. There’s no video/photo allowed inside, except for one wall which honors the victims. The Nazi’s and communists kept detailed records of their interrogations, records which helped to construct the monument.
Terror House from Terry Cokenour on Vimeo.
Budapest Street Musician: Harmonica
I came across several street musicians in one of the squares here in Budapest. I almost passed them by, but then I remembered a conversation my buddy Ryan and I had about street players and in good conscience I had to go back, give up some cash, and record some for the world to see. Apologies for the shake…I’m a terrible cameraman.
Here’s to you Tank.
Budapest Street Musician – Harmonica from Terry Cokenour on Vimeo.
Bumping Around Pest
Today was a relaxed day doing tourist-y stuff in Pest. It was a welcomed break after the marathon 8 hour church fellowship of Sunday. The time together was encouraging and challenging, but draining because I was trying to understand as much Hungarian as I could, whether audible or unspoken cross-cultural clues. Plus, figuring out what to preach to a small group of international believers and unbelievers from Hungary, Romania, Nigeria, and America, while working through a translator had some challenges of its own.
Anyway, today we slept in a bit and then headed to the urban beauty of Pest. The Danube cuts Budapest in half, hence Buda and Pest. Buda (pronounced buddha) is hilly and green. It holds the Hapsburg palace, citadella and other grand spots. Pest (pronounced pesht) is flat and very dense. It’s where the parliament and other government buildings are, as well as many other attracts. The architecture of Pest oozes old-world charm. The mix of old structures with hip cafe’s and new cars produces an interesting old/modern feel.
We first went to St. Stephen’s Basilica. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. The detail and craftsmanship were astounding. The reverent atmosphere was captivating. But the gospel is not there. In it’s place are tea lamps resembling prayers for the departed which the faithful offer up…for a fee (Forints or Euros…Forints are a better deal). There are also the statues of saints with inscriptions that cry for the saint’s intercession, with the coin drop-box close by. I felt terrible for those in the pews, and those paying to pray. The need to hear of the great high priest Jesus whose intercession on the cross paid for their sins, once-for-all. The need to know his freedom, and not the bonds of man-made laws that set aside the truth of God for man’s comfort.
Well, after the main room we went to the back where they keep the right hand of St. Stephen himself. That’s right (pun intended), they have ol’ boys hand in a glass case in the back, and once a year they parade that sucker around town, worshipping the rotten thing. It’s times like today I understand why Jesus did not leave any imagery of himself behind. We would have worshipped it instead of him.
After that we headed to the top of the basilica for some crazy views of the city. The ladies sat this part out. I can’t imagine why they didn’t want to climb four stories of narrow circular metal stairs to stand on a two foot wide catwalk around the dome of the basilica.
Then we stopped at Mokka cafe, one of the many hip little cafes that dot every block. It was some of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted (Grace had a virgin pina colada that HAD to be made from the stuff tinkerbell uses to fly…it was ridiculously good). Lastly we found some street musicians…but that’s for the next post.
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