Time to Tell Granny to Stuff It

Believe it or not, one of the things I treasure about Budapest is its large numbers of old people. After wasting most of my youth in New York, I found the legions of doddering nénis and aged bácsis a refreshing change from the swarms of impatient youngsters who flocked to Manhattan like so many locusts. But now my appreciation for the old is beginning to feel a bit old itself, and I think that it's high time for those of us who still have our teeth to sink them into the legs of some of those in Budapest who don't.

What has me gnashing my fangs this week is the apparently successful campaign by some of Pest's older residents against the archipelago of outdoor bars that used to dot several of the city's downtown districts. One of the best-known kerts - Szimpla Kert - has been forced to shut its doors at midnight, essentially a death sentence for an establishment that caters to a city's nightlife mavens. Meanwhile, most of the other such Pesti-side kerts that I and thousands of other young and youngish Budapesters enjoyed last years are said to be no more, also in part because of a wave of disapproval by the older area residents.

Of course, it may turn out that I am wrong. Last spring I similarly mourned the kerts, only to be pleasantly surprised by the best kert summer to date. But just because someone cries wolf a bit prematurely doesn't mean the wolf will never come.

Before digging into granny, let me explain why the closure of a few bars would make me so rabid.

Last call: Pest's celebrated kerts (in this case Szimpla and Szoda) are being chased out of town.

For one thing, these downtown kerts were the best thing that ever happened to Budapest in the more than half-decade I've been living here. I am not exaggerating. Of all the sites and attractions that make Budapest unique and enticing - its architecture, food, the glorious Danube and the State Opera House - most have been around for a long, long time. The only new thing that I could proudly show off to a visitor from out of town, even a jaded "seen it all" visitor from a place like New York, was one of these wonderful places. And the thought of them being gone makes me wonder if it's time for me to be gone as well.

Of course, thinking that it might be time for me to bolt Budapest is not why I am suddenly looking hungrily at my next-door néni's leg. (Actually, I like most of my own neighbor nénis, who are as chipper and fun as they are old, but you get the point.) It's the fact that many Hungarian kids are probably thinking the same thing as me: Why should we waste our precious youth in a city that is in the death-grip of people on death's door?

I am not talking about the desire of people in their later years for a bit of peace and quiet. That's more than understandable. The demand for public order and measured development that in America and the UK is called "Nimby" ("not in my backyard") can be a socially and economically positive force, leading to an enhanced quality of life for nearly everyone. (Indeed, one of the charming things about the kerts was that their owners generally seemed to have a strong desire to be good neighbors. When you staggered out at 3:00 or 5:00 you would often be greeted by a bouncer waiting out on the street telling people to keep their voices down. This is why some of them can credibly claim to have never actually received a complaint directly from any nearby residents.)

No, instead of Nimby I'd say the problem boils down to what you might call "Niimsh" - "Not if it makes someone happy." To be blunt, there are a lot of unfulfilled, cranky, and envious old people in this town who can think of nothing more enjoyable than denying someone else something that might make them happy. I'm sure you've heard stories about the old codger who, for no reason that anyone can fathom, vetoes the plan by his fellow tenants to swap the attic space for a new elevator and a renovation of the building's public spaces. (Actually, just the other day someone told me of a case in which some old ogre gave the big nem to a fellow tenant who offered to fix up the building's stairwells and entrance hall with his own money, no strings attached.) And what these old grizzled grinches seem to hate most is the idea of young people having the sort of fun that they might have been denied.

So why not just let the uppity youngsters leave? Well, the short answer is that then the city will die - literally. If you didn't know, Budapest has lost several Hundreds of thousands of residents since the fall of Communism, and continues to shrink as younger families take off for the 'burbs. Someone needs to replace the people who are dying, and the logical choice would seem to be those who are not already crowded in the queue around the Pearly Gates, or wherever else all our departed cityfolk go. Someone also has to pay for all these oldsters while they are waiting to peg off.

Meanwhile, the natural engine of redevelopment for an elegant but somewhat timeworn inner city like Pest's is the kind of creative, tasteful bohemians you find at places like Szimpla Kert. Just look, for example, at New York. When I moved to Manhattan full-time back in the late 1980s, many of the neighborhoods that are now Gotham's most socially and economically vibrant looked like the rougher bits of Budapest's District VII look today. Chase the artsy gentrifiers out of Pest and you might as well knock down the barriers on the Duna and let the next flood wash it into the Puszta.

I am not, of course, suggesting that we younglings round up all the old folk in Pest and drown them in Lake Balaton. That would be cruel, and, well, the lake is too small and shallow to put a dent in the problem. Nor am I suggesting that the city embark on a cheezy official outreach program aimed at its younger residents. (Message to mop-topped Budapest Mayor Gábor Demszky: you are old, creepy, and hideously uncool.) Instead, what is needed is a better understanding on everyone's part that what makes any city thrive is a growing population of creative young people who feel welcome and energized. And the best way to get this message across may be for the city's youth to bite the hands that once fed them.