Condemned buildings seem unlikely places for a good night out. Except in Budapest, where kerts, or "ruin gardens," fully exploit the long Hungarian summer and the city's decrepit glory.
Every year, new open-air nightclubs and bars appear in demolished or abandoned properties. There you can lounge the night away secluded in the crumbling courtyard of what, a hundred years ago, was the home of a wealthy Magyar gentleman. Some gardens are simple affairs with chairs, candles and a bar. Others are more elaborate, and feature barbecues, dance floors, live music, DJs, film screens and exhibitions by young artists.
Threatened by officialdom -- the city's district authorities are strict with their permits and, with elections looming, complaints by neighbors can mean a quick end to a successful enterprise -- these hidden bars pop in and out of existence. By next summer your favorite hangout may have disappeared, migrated to the other side of town, or have become a heaving meat market populated by intoxicated teenagers. So, sadly, gardens such as Mumus -- a stylish place with a Middle Eastern feel that was popular last year -- vanish. Or, as the fashionable Szoda Courtyard did, they change location to solve the problem.
A result of this impermanence is that gardens put little effort into signposting, making them impossible to find if you do not have an exact address.
I am meeting a friend in West-Balkan, located in a street behind the Corvin cinema. I spend half an hour looking for the place. In that time I walk past the entrance at least three times without noticing it. Nothing suggests there is a popular bar here. Finally, I decide to try my luck. Opening a door, I peek through the gatehouse to see parasols and colored lights in the distance.
West-Balkan is leafy and green. Of the original structure only the gatehouse, gate and courtyard remain. The tall, decaying walls of surrounding buildings lend it an atmosphere of long lost grandeur. Like many gardens, West-Balkan is a quirky place: a huge pair of tinfoil legs dangles from the trees.
Another consequence of locals' complaints are the bouncers, who admonish patrons to keep quiet as they leave the bars. At least they make it simpler to find a garden in the dimly-lit, narrow streets of Budapest's VIIth district. If you see a lone figure sitting on a bar stool in the middle of an otherwise empty road, you know you are on the right track.
This is how I manage to find Szimpla Kert. It comes as a surprise to discover this packed, heaving place coming in from the calm side street. In the summer heat, the disintegrating brick arches leading to the bar give Szimpla a Mediterranean feel. Despite the southern mood, you fully appreciate that you are in the center of Europe. The 20-somethings to 30-somethings here are as likely to speak Russian, Polish or Bulgarian as Hungarian, English, French or German.
Though the future is uncertain, new courtyard bars appear all the time. Tuzraktar ("Fire Warehouse") only started business this summer, but is already one of the most splendid nightly hotspots in town. The walls of this vast yard of a former medical equipment store are covered in giant abstract murals. It is a venue for artists.
"Come and watch the air dance," a young woman says as she leads me behind a heavy black curtain. There, a trapeze artist dances high above the ground between two wings of the building.
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