Cher amis et chères amies,
I
have a confession. Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea where the little Central
European country called Hungary is actually located. Even though I’m convinced
sour cream and goulash soup run through the veins of my
half-Hungarian/Czech-American husband, I’ve never been able to visualize where Hungary
is among the “-ias, -stans, or -akias” situated on a map. For me, the same
thing has always happened when I tried to put together my kids’ puzzle of the
United States. There were all those similarly shaped midwestern states that I
have never visited and are located somewhere between New Jersey and California.
They always defied my attempts to force them into the spaces I thought they
belonged on the puzzle tray.
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| courtesy of ghblanchette.com |
When our son, Matt, decided to pay us
a visit in Grenoble, we planned a short vacation to the family motherland by
way of the city divided by the Danube River—hilly Buda and flat Pest (BOO-daw-pesht).
It was an easy journey: Grenoble to Geneva airport by Aérobus and then easyJet
airline to Ferihegy airport on the outskirts of Budapest. Only one hour and
forty minutes by air, but a world apart from the French life we’ve become
accustomed to.
Here’s a little information for those
of you who are as clueless about Hungary as I was. Hungary is not considered a
Slavic country even though it is surrounded by them, and the language of its
people is unrelated to any Slavic language. Of course, this didn’t matter to
me, as I wouldn’t have mastered this language in five years, let alone the five
days we spent there. The best I could do was to spout out “szia” (SEE-yaw), which means “hello” and “good-bye,” and sometimes remember “köszönöm” (KUR-sur-num), “thank you.” Not to worry—almost everyone
we encountered spoke nearly perfect English. Hungary is part of the European
Union, but it has not adopted the euro (maybe lucky for them), and the forint
(Ft or HUF) is the traditional currency (today's conversion is 237.26 Ft = $1).
Neither geography nor mathematics is my forte, but I admit I had a hard time in
the conversion department, and I caught my breath every time I saw a menu item
priced at 2,300 Ft, which was actually only $10!
We’ve always preferred staying at bed
and breakfasts over the traditional hotel
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| Lajos and Judit |
chains whenever we travel, and that
was the best choice we could have made for this trip. I had found a
recommendation for the Bellevue B&B on TripAdvisor and in my favorite
travel guru Rick Steve’s Budapest
guide. Judit (YOO-deet) and Lajos (LIE-yosh) Szuhay are retired economists and
ballet enthusiasts who rent warm, comfortable rooms and provide a traditional
Hungarian breakfast of delicious breads, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, fruit, and
meats. During our hour-long breakfasts, they would serve up not only fragrant
coffee but also Magyar (Hungarian) history,
Budapest travel information, and little lessons in Hungarian pronunciation.
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| Parliament Building |
The weather for visiting Budapest was
not optimal for sightseeing, but it was not unlike the weather we had left
behind in France—cloudy, cold (0° C), and windy. After standing in two
lines—one to purchase tickets and another to enter—on our first full day, we
toured the late 19th century Hungarian Parliament building in Pest that we had
viewed brightly alit the evening before from the Buda side of the Danube. After
a tour of the sumptuously decorated landmark with a peek at the Hungarian crown
with the bent cross on top sent from Pope Sylvester II for the coronation of
King, later Saint, István (Stephen) on Christmas Day 1000, we were ready for some
warming up.
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| István's Crooked Crown |
In the freezing and subfreezing
weather that is even a little abnormal by Budapest standards for late March,
the last place you might think to go for warmth is an outdoor pool. But this
was no ordinary piscine. Budapest, as
well as the rest of the Carpathian Basin, is blessed with having a thin crust
covering a reservoir of hot water—100° F hot water—and has two dozen thermal
baths called fürdö. The first one we
visited is called Széchenyi, which was
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| Széchenyi Baths |
built
around 1910. The 11 thermals baths there range from 28° to 40°C (82°–104°F) and
are regularly prescribed by doctors for what ails ya. (This science is called balneology.) We
started with the inside thermal baths (the 40° temp.) and then when they closed
for the night, we moved to the three outdoor pools that each varied in
temperature. The wind was blowing overhead, and the air temperature was about
-2°C as we scampered in our swimsuits between the building and the moonlit
pools. The steam rose from the surface, but we were cozy warm beneath the
water. The circular current pool held us in its grip for a few turns, but we
broke free and started looking for one of the floating chess matches that often go on in the water.
Two days later, we tried out the Ottoman
Empire-built Turkish bath at Rudas.
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| Rudas Baths |
Built 500 years ago, it is very different
from the Széchenyi baths. First, there is a strict segregation of the sexes—men
can visit on Mondays and Wednesdays to Fridays in loin cloths or nude; women on
Tuesdays; and both sexes (in swimsuits) on Saturdays and Sundays. We moved from
pool to pool, from very hot to cold to modulate our body temperatures from 42°C (108°F) to 28°C
(82°F). Some people, including Matt, doused off with a bucket of cold water
suspended above by a rope before returning to the warmer water. There is a wet
sauna and three progressively hotter dry saunas ranging from 45°C (113°F) to 72°C
(161°F). We could only endure the last for about five minutes.
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| Steve, Matt, and Corinna |
For us, no visit to a European city is
complete without a visit to their market, and on Saturday morning, we toured
the Great Market with fellow B&B guest Corinna who traveled to Budapest from San Diego. On three
levels, vendors sell everything
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| Steve among the Stalls |
from expensive to kitschy souvenirs; embroidered
tablecloths; meats, fish, fruits, and vegetables; and of course, paprika! Yes,
the red stuff—hot and sweet—in souvenir paprika bowls, spoons, and vases. All
that “window-stall"
shopping begged for a
lángos break. We shared one of these deep-fried doughbeds spread with
cheese and topped with garlic and another one dripping with caramel.
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| Cheese and Garlic Lángos(partially eaten) |
The eating
continued with a gulayás (goulash
soup) lunch for Corinna and me, some
nokedli (small potato dumplings) and beef for Matt, and a cabbage dish with
pineapple for Steve at Fatâl Restaurant (nice name, huh?). Later during our trip, we treated
ourselves to the Hungarian equivalent of crêpes, palacsinta, both sweet and savory, as well as a Dobos torta and rétes (strudel). A few pounds heavier, we made . . .
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| Goulash Soup |
A trip to the Hungarian National
Museum to try to put Hungarian history in perspective, and Corinna headed to
the St. Gellért thermal spa for a soak and a massage. By Sunday, our last full day in Budapest, we braved
the cold weather to discover the Jewish Quarter, which had been closed from
sundown Friday evening through the Saturday Sabbath. We skipped the long line
at the Great Synagogue, but we were moved by the Memorial Garden behind it, where
Hungarian artist Imre Varga’s (b. 1923) sculptures to the Holocaust victims—the
Tree of Life, an upside down willow that represents a menorah with 4,000 plus
metal leaves etched with names representing the Holocaust victims, with more
leaves added as they are donated—and the “melting” block art that represents the
forced march of the Jews by the Nazis to the death camps are viewed in silence.
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| Varga's Tree of Life |
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| Varga's Melting Block |
Leaving the Jewish quarter, we
happened upon the most fantastical “indoor” space yet, Szimpla Kertmozi.
Pulling back the black split curtain, we discovered a whimsical mélange of food
vendors, bars, music, indoor gardens, and seating—both on the floor and in the
air.
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| Chairs in the Air |
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| Garden Fantasy |
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| Matt Relaxing on Bathtub Couch |
We ended our trip by hiking up to Castle
Hill, the site we had been eyeing across from our B&B window during our entire
stay. The Fisherman’s Bastion gave the perfect view over the Danube to Pest,
and we had the surprise of seeing what we think is a tethered golden eagle
posing for pictures.
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| Peter Mansfield, 16-yr.-old Martyr |
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| Golden Eagle at the Castle |
The next day, we parted from Matt in
Budapest. He would be off to Bratislava and Vienna before returning to Budapest
to meet up with a friend. We returned to Grenoble, paprika in backpack and
already missing the warmth of the thermal baths.
A bientôt et bises,
Maureen
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| In the Opera District |
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| Long-lost Hungarian Relative? | | | |
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| Castle Hill Spirit |
