Kálmán Faragó (1978)
About me
I’ve done a variety of things in the past, a good part of them centred on words: poetry, translation, journalism. I have a history of English studies at college, and of a mighty array of knicks and knacks that are not proper jobs. I like hearing stories and telling stories: they’re edifices built of facts (or falsehoods, or falsehoods that are truer than facts, as the case might be), but they tell us everything that facts alone never could.
About Budapest
Because it’s old and full of memories, and because it’s young and alive and constantly growing and changing. Because it has bright, sun-drenched streets, and because it has dark subterranean rooms. Because it has smooth telamons and cream-coloured houses from the century before the last, and because it has exposed brickwork and corrugated plastic.
Because you can settle in with a beer and friends in a loud place, or you can walk a mile alone on a very quiet road. Because within an hour, you can get from a bustling historical city centre to an empty suburban street that could as well be in a different country.
Because it’s beautiful and because it’s ugly and both sides know they couldn’t exist without the other.
