Part twenty-three - Budapest & Wagrain
As ANTON VON STEFAN’s biographer, I must at all times be prepared to board a plane, a train, a bus, a taxi, or a helicopter brandishing my passport and my infrared, heat sensitive glasses to keep the author somewhere in my sight. Yet, he eludes me often enough. I had just ventured to a city to the south of Vienna and was upon his trail, having found the tavern where draught Guinness was to be had, and had sat down with the man. The local papers all had his picture on the front paper as he had apparently been a integral part of a sport team which won the gold medal in Eistock Schiessen. Not only did they win, but the other newspapers just had picked up the fact that the team, The Stadtbeisl’ won with a record 230 out of a possible 250 points, an unheard of score. Thus, they have been named the Eisstock Kaisers (Emperors of the sport) and have made the sports pages of papers printed in Lower Austria for the 14 & 15 of January!
Having just sipped the first pint of the fine Irish beer offered, I noticed he was nowhere to be seen. When he was not to be seen under a table, a bench, a chair or even a rock, I concluded that the author, ANTON VON STEFAN had apparently moved on.
I took out my portable notebook computer, dialed in my favorite pages and was able to track a booking by the author into the 4 star Wellness Hotel in Budapest, Hungary; but, wait, he had booked train tickets on both the Raaberbahn and the ÖBB, two separate routes. One would take a passenger through Sopron, Hungary via a rather obscure route, the other was the direct route from Vienna’s main train station (Hauptbahnhof) via the Hungarian rails EC345, the Alava Express, departing from Vienna’s Westbahnhof and passing through Vienna Maidling. As I know the author too well, I went to Sopron, Hungary, but he had already passed through. Not to be outdone, I took the next train to Györ, as I also knew that the express from Vienna went through Györ before reaching Tatabanya, a Hungarian city with a stop just before arriving in Budapest. Using my knowledge of the rail routes, I thus had both avenues of his departure under surveillance.
Yes! He was on the express in car number 214. He had not eluded me yet.
Not wishing to intrude, I sat in the car next to the dining car expecting his arrival. As the author is known to quaff a good, foreign beer any chance he has, it was a very statigic place to wait. Less than fifteen minutes after the departure from Györ, the author came by for a Hungarian beer. I casually got up and stood beside him at the bar. Offering to buy his the beverage, he granted me time to discuss his current travels. After a few minutes together, he went back to his seat, I to mine.
In Budapest, he visited the main historical parts of the Pest side of the city, yet he also travelled outside of Budapest to a flea market. Therein you can buy everything from a Thompson submachine gun to a good piece of handmade jewelry. I can unequivocally state that the author bought a black Persian lamb hat, a Russian fur hat, and a Russian copy of a 1932 Lica camera. He also picked up an antique oil lamp as well as a number of old Hungarian bank notes, adding to one of his many hobbies.
As he had mentioned the possibility of a rather lengthy stay in Budapest (he is actually working on four of his tales which will likely be in Volume II of his ‘Tales of Terror and Imagination’), I thought I would have some time to relax in this Hungarian city. I did accompany him on a liesurely amble across the Charales Bridge to Buda, and we climbed the hillside up to the cathedral of St. Mattias and to the palace complex. Then, he and a friend vanished into the blue (of the Danube?).
I was not able to catch any other sighting of the author in Budapest, and he had not left any return address at the hotel. I am aware that he worked tirelessly at the hotel’s poolside, dipping on occasion into the hot tub, and that he did finish the rewriting of all four tales he had brought with him. He is, I may add, still most welcome at this hotel as he did leave a sizable tip for the staff.
Returning to Vienna, I was not able to find any trace of him. Only after looking into the file of one of his relatives, did I find that this individual had opted to book a quiet vacation into the Alps where ANTON VON STEFAN hopes to continue with his work. As I think my intrusion in Hungary may have cut his travels in Budapest short, and as I know full well he is in earnest on finishing his second book, I will leave him in peace in the quaint Alp town of Wagrain for now, but I am keeping him in sight, none-the-less.
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