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Decades after escaping its borders, my parents took me to their hometown, this dreamlike city torn between East and West. The graffiti shouting, “Russians, go home!” had disappeared. But the past still sang urgently down the old-world streets, all pink, green, and gold. The Szechenyi Baths are golden yellow like krémes. Locals play chess there…
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“Oh, you’ll have fun, Mancunians just want to drink and fuck.” My friend’s remark flickers in my memory as I lay trashed on the 200-year-old library floor in a velvet romper at 6 AM, The Fall blaring in the background. Haunted libraries, gay discos, Gothic churches, post-punk pubs, underground lavatories, abandoned warehouses, Victorian swimming pools,…
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Viv Pencz 