I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
I first went to Budapest in 1993. Dad, being a history buff, had always wanted to go. It was part of trip around the world with my parents and my brother Alastair. After leaving Disneyland and Hollywood, we flew to Europe. Budapest was the first stop. Talk about culture shock. The country was a different beast back then with Russian street names crossed out etc. (Cue: Dad’s knowledge of the communist regime etc) Supermarkets didn’t exist. You had to buy things from different places. We rocked up to the YHA only to find it was closed. And all I remember is some man being conveniently on-hand to offer us his apartment. We went up four flights of stairs to this pokey little place with two beds: a double for Mum and Dad and a single for Al and I. Naturally, we topped and tailed. He was having a growth spurt and so his feet were very much more at my head level of the bed and it didn’t work! I remember in the middle of the night he whispered angrily that if I didn’t move my feet (MY feet?! Did he not realise his feet were the issue here?!) he’d punch me. In hindsight I’m sure it was brotherly love but at the time I wasn’t risking it. I jumped into Mum and Dad’s bed and explained the situation. (They’d actually been listening to the whole palaver from their bed, two feet away, and had found it rather amusing.) So, true to form, a solution was brewed up and two armchairs were subsequently tied together with the bungee cords from our fold-up metal suitcase-trolley-carrier-thingees. (This was before suitcases with wheels, at least in our family). I slept much better, even if I was sleeping in a quasi-yoga position with my feet resting on the back of the opposing armchair. The highlight of our Hungarian trip was going to a puszta. We saw a wonderful horse-riding display with one man riding six horses by standing up and straddling two of them and holding onto another four. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to Zorro and I wasn’t disappointed. There was also some wonderful gypsy music and then, for lunch, we were treated to goulash. Now, to an eight and a half year old, goulash does not sound appetising in the slightest. It was, however, the most delicious soup I’d ever tried and I promptly went back for seconds!It would be 11 years before I would return to Budapest in a somewhat different guise as a member of the New Zealand Youth Choir. We were touring Eastern Europe and had sung in Sopron already. On one of the days we stopped at the Matthias Church up on the hill and were amazed at the beautiful interior which in some ways was a time capsule for Hungary in that it showcased various influences from the ruling empires since the 13th Century.Fast-forward another nine years and I was now a King’s Singer performing in St Stephen’s Basilica — a far cry from the little boy who watched Hungary’s version of Diego de la Vega strut his stuff, but my love-affair with Budapest continues and it will be an absolute delight to perform once again in the Palace of the Arts tomorrow. Mum and Dad aren’t around to reminisce with but I have another set of parents now, my in-laws, Tom and Anne, and it’s going to be incredibly special having them in the audience this time to celebrate a personal milestone of 25 years since I first encountered this beautiful city on the banks of the Danube. Oh yeah, and apparently The King’s Singers are celebrating something, too...
