For the love of Buda

Two days passed before I realized how laughable my Friday afternoon was: I walked to Buda castle after exploring the gray and quiet streets of that western half of the city, and stopped at a ledge overlooking the Danube to read Kafka's The Castle. Granted, the book's castle is more metaphorical than physical, but it exists nevertheless. My intention was only to navigate through Buda because people (myself included) tend to spend more time on the Pest side of the river, but the day was such a welcome break from the rain and snow, I wanted to take a Czechoslovakian break.

The next day I returned with friends to meander through the castle's underground labyrinth, which is not as cool as it sounds, my friends decided. And they were just obtuse, I decided. It was, after all, a simple chain of subterranean, naturally sculpted tunnels, which can make for an excursion with the right expectations. I read the description at the entrance, so I was excited by the prehistoric age of the labyrinth and its history of sheltering the war-trodden. It also prepared me for the "cave drawings" and stone carvings that were not prehistoric so much as entertainment. Probably my dismay over the manufactured attractions in Rome also softened the blow, so the "artifacts" were not as odious as the clammy musk of the low-hanging passageways.

But what I couldn't have expected amid the dripping ceilings and ominous music was the exhibit of the "Other World." First we came upon a cordoned fossil of a footprint, and I waited as my friend read the description. "They're just laughing at us," he concluded, walking away in disgust. The footprint turned out to be a shoeprint from the specimen "homo consumerus," and other relics followed, stone impressions of a laptop, cell phone, and Coke bottle (see photo), among others. I found it hilarious that those who ran the labyrinth would ever have thought to produce something like that. At the same time, as with the music, the drawings, and the dining area, the "remnants" really said something about the desperation to please tourists and the dearth of better alternatives.

But as I said, I enjoyed my first maze, as you can find enjoyment in nearly anything, and after crossing out my friend's overblown sarcasm, I wrote something to that effect in the guestbook: "Thank you for the labyrinth. I appreciated it for its history. People who come here expecting fireworks and can-can dancers prove the joke of homo consumerus."

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Listening to: Janet Jackson, "Together Again"