It started out as a really nice afternoon, the sun was shining and I enjoyed this holiday with a late lunch in my favourite downtown Budapest café, listening to Paolo Conte and reading a book.

The 23rd of October 2006 marked the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution and half of Budapest was on its feet, waving Hungarian flags and other insignia to what started as a peaceful demonstration calling for the prime minister’s resignation.

Around 6 pm I left the café to go home, usually a 5 minute walk down the nearby Boulevard and past the synagogue. I noticed how more and more people had started coming from the Boulevard towards the café and felt a strange tension in the air. Thinking I’d be home in a few minutes I moved into the direction of the Boulevard, towards a stream of people, thinking I’d be able to get home quickly, seriously underestimating what was happening on the Boulevard. At the end of the little street riot police in full protective gear, helmets, masks, shields and batons blocked the passage to the Boulevard and told people to move back.

My eyes started burning and it took a moment before I realized that it was from the tear gas the police used but I figured I’d manage, after all home is just around the corner. When I first heard loud shots being fired repeatedly on the Boulevard I started to get a bit worried.

Just before the line of police I snuck through the side door of the corner building and walked through the court yard to get through the building’s main door and onto the Boulevard. I stepped out onto the Boulevard and into a war zone. The door locked itself behind me and there was no way back, I felt like I was trapped “behind enemy lines”.

On the left there was debris lying around everywhere, the two meter high letters of a display proclaiming Budapest being the capital of Freedom were scattered around the wide, four-lane road, wrecked bicycles, devastated public toilets, a damaged bus completing the picture.

On the right, hundreds of riot and mounted police were trying to fight back the protesters. Water cannons were lined up and a platoon of reinforcements arrived as I was trying to cross the Boulevard to find a way home.

My house was about 300 meters away but the main street and the square in front of the synagogue were competely blocked by police on one end and protestors on the other. You could see the smoky tails of tear gas grenades being shot at the crowd and rubber shotgun shells were spread all over the ground.

The tear gas was getting so intense I had difficulties keeping my eyes open and breathing. I felt a burning on my tongue and in my throat as the whole Boulevard and square were covered in a dusty fog from all the tear gas. People were covering their faces to avoid it but it was impossible.

I arrived at a corner with a crowd of people when the police moved towards us, trying to push us back, causing a man to trip and fall. He was lying on the floor without moving and only when the police let us go and moved towards the big crowd again people were able to help him. I called a police man for a medic but he would just try to play the situation down. Eventually a medic came and provided first aid to the man on the ground.

Horse mounted police equipped with swords (!) were looking down on the scene, but would not react at all.

As the police moved forward again, towards the main crowd, constantly shooting tear gas to push the crowds back I managed to sneak through a little gap and down another side street. I figured I could just walk around the block and to get home before the fighting reached my house. Mistake…

I walked around the block and managed to get as close as about 100 meters from my house but I could see that the end of the little street was blocked by more riot police. All of a sudden I heard a squooshing sound and saw a tear gas grenade flying towards us, shrapnel hitting a man in the head. It landed about 3 meters away from us and three other people and I jumped into a small alley for cover and trying. The air was blurry and the tear gas burnt a lot. I ran on and into a house entrance where some people let us in for cover. I waited behind the door to catch my breath as riot police were moving into the little street to disperse the few people there and more shots were being fired. The man who was hit in the head was also there, pressing the wound as blood ran down his face. He didn’t want to stay and ran out and away from the police. Like many, he was just a civilian who happened to be on the street, on his way home and who had nothing to do with the protestors.

Once the police passed the house I was hiding in with another guy we looked out and separated, me running left while he went right. Although I had no idea who the guy was, we parted as if we had known each other for our entire lives, like good friends, wishing each other luck and all the best in this mess. Strange feeling.

Now I was at least behind my house looking at my windows but knew I had to go around the block to get to the main entrance, right into where the main fight was going on with a few thousand protestors on the one side and a few hundred riot police with a water tank on the other. I walked down the block and came round onto my street, towards the retreating crowd and towards the approaching police. More shots were fired, more tear gas grenades launched as I reached my main door and ran inside. Finally I was safe. It was 8.30 pm.

I ran up to the third floor and rang my neighbour, whose flat is looking at the main street. I rinsed my eyes and we went onto the balcony.

Bizarrely, we were now looking at the action from a prime spot, like watching an Opera from the balcony, like generals looking down on their troops from a hill: the protestors to the left and police moving in on them from the right, building a front line that spanned the entire width of the street. It was a bizarre scene. Below me a police man was shooting rubber bullets at the protestors, who were busy disassembling fences and trying to block off the street, holding signs, chanting songs, waving candles.

As the front line moved on the main street and away from our house I realized what a battlefield the street was. Here and there a candle survived the water cannons and remained as a silent reminder of the fact that it started as a peaceful demonstration. This is when I finally went home.

Only now that I write this down in such detail do I realize what was going on in the streets of Budapest last night. It’s probably one of the most extraordinary situations I have ever found myself in. It was really scary. Even now I can feel my eyes burning from the tear gas and although the tear gas has vanished, the police has disappeared and the streets are clean again it will take some time until all scars are healed.

50 years ago there was a revolution on the streets of Budapest. Looking at the pictures on TV tonight there was hardly any difference to what happened last night, only this time it was in color.