Budapest
Budapest
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The distance between Vienna and Budapest is 240 kilometres. Our tour book said it would take 5 hours! In fact, it was probably closer to 7 hours! Just as well, as we needed that time for a prolonged and detailed history and geography lesson from our tour director. The history of Hungary, and the fluid geography of that part of Europe are indeed lengthy and complex.
It was his idea to spend quite some time at the border crossing. “Pisch und pusch” (go to the toilet and have a smoke) were suggested activities, as well as changing modest Euros into an indecent amount of florints. We needed these florints if we need to pisch. We also had plenty of time to look back across the border to the immaculate highway and fields, and contemplate the potholes at our feet, and the row of accommodations various, all of whom had “Paprika” in the title.
On the road again, we noted unruly fields, animals that wanted to be seen and heard (well, I never!) and the dearest villages with the tiniest houses, with the tiniest windows. The most notable architectural feature were the spikes on the rooves, obviously for breaking up the snow and ice. The streets were tiny too, and our coach was ….big. Disconcertingly we also came across huge factory complexes, Communist in origin, now totally derelict. Rusting relics, with acres of windows, none intact, with workers’ quarters nearby in similar condition, but obviously occupied.
The second delay was excellent. Esztergom, founded in 973, the first capital of the country, has the largest church in Hungary sitting on top of the hill. The Basilica is a beauty. The steps up from the bus-park to the church were steep and numerous. You could tell, because there was a WC halfway up. The attendant had paprika hair, and was eating her lunch. We only had a 20,000 florint note, so pressed right on. By the time we reached the top we realized that the local devout were driving to the entrance.
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The view out over the Danube, the old town, and goodness knows how many other European countries was fabulous. “Ecclesiastical masterworks” the guide book says. It is on a grand scale. We are reliably told that it has an echo of 9 seconds, and while we were waiting for our voices to come back, there was no shortage of huge Renaissance motifs to take our breath away. While we were still breathless, Bill spied some steps and a good excuse to blow our 20,000 florints. I thought the steps were leading to the organ gallery, which they were. But the organ gallery was only a fraction of the way up the tower, which led to the gangplank across the domes, which led up another,
more narrow tower, from which we were hauled and counted by a cheerful young Hungarian. Now we could sidle at will around a gangway which was attached unceremoniously to the girth of the Cupola!!! My personal Health & Safety officer was having a lovely time. Others in our sidling group were regretting their bravado. We could check out the river cruise boats on the Danube, see what Slovenia was up to today, what the Hungarians did to their nasty concrete jungles to make them attractive from the cupola. And yes, getting down was a right cow.
The main reason it took so long to get to Budapest was because the closer to the city we got, the slower we moved. Sometimes we didn’t move at all. Roadworks. Lots and lots of really big roadworks. And that doesn’t count all the bits that were closed off in preparation for the National Day. It wasn’t a problem though, because we still had quite a lot of history and geography to get through, and be warned that if we didn’t say “thank you” with the right kind of choking noise at the end, it means “backside”. Well, that put a bit of a damper on the language lesson, BUT we knew we were there when we got to the Zero Kilometre Stone. All highways in Hungary measure from this marker, and I won’t dwell on the fact that it’s been moved a few times.
Our slow progress along Utca Fo gave us some wonderful views of the city on the other side of the Danube. It was with some embarrassment that we realized that one of the larger, squarer, uninteresting new buildings was our hotel, the Sofitel, but we got over that pretty quickly when we realized we were right at the Pest side of the Chain Bridge, and in the middle of all the action on National Day. What we didn’t realize was that the other half of the city, Buda, was rising majestically above us, and was a treasure to be explored later. The two cities were given a common name in 1873, and they actually thought about Pest-Buda. Doesn’t have the same ring. In the meantime, we were practicing, Budapeshhhht! Budapeshhht.
Throwing florints to the wind, we had decided to take the Optional Excursion, “River Cruise by Night with Dinner”. Excellent decision.
(image placeholder)
This city is brilliant by night, with special buildings and structures lit imaginatively and spectacularly. There are so many of them, from the neo-Gothic Parliament to the Buda Palace to the Statue of St Gellert to the many imposing bridges. Most photographers, with the enhancements of instant preview, realized that they could not do justice to the fairyland in front of us, and simply joined in the general oohing and aahing. Oh,yes, and it was a full moon.
Frankly, our history lessons on the coach were rather useful. This country, and this city are the product of a long and colourful career in European politics, and it is very important to the Hungarians. Heroes’ Square was built in 1896 to mark the millennium, 1000 years of Hungarian civilization in this place. If you wished, you could note the Celts, Romans, Goths, Avars and Franks, who pre-dated the Magyar invasion of the 10th century. There’s been a bit of how’s-yer-father since, of course, if you want to think about the Tatars, the Turks, the Austrians, the Germans and the backdoor Soviets, but the Hungarians are very good at celebrating the good bits.
Restoring, or re-building special places (puts a nice twist on “neo”-anything) is continuing apace, as finances allow. Great work has been done, but occasionally we came across a building that looked a bit worse for wear. One place on Castle Hill serves as a reminder of the most recent revolution. Our city guide was quite dismissive of the shrapnel-pitted walls. “That is simply the result of cross fire. There was absolutely no aerial bomb-bing!!” It made “simple crossfire” sound like something all the family could play.
We had to walk the last 500 metres up Castle Hill, and we were very pleased to leave our large coach teetering on a tiny little road when we discovered the whole hill is riddled with catacombs and caves. The weight and vibration of a large tour coach could undo a thousand years of tunneling at the change of a gear.
The view from Fisherman’s Bastion was fantastic. Like an idiot, I thought you’d need a terribly big fishing rod, and very long line, to be successful from the bastion. It was actually the site of a medieval fish market! Silly. The Hilton is cunningly tucked in amongst it all. It’s façade is almost entirely reflective, so it looks like all the old stuff around it. Talk about doing it with mirrors!
Matthias Church is 700 years old, and is a work in progress. Restoration of these Gothic buildings is slow and very expensive. The tiled roof, as always, is spectacular. The personal H& S officer noted the number of Gothic turrets a) missing, b) lying against the base of the church and c)tied on with what appeared to be thick string. And there we were, standing on a hillside that resembled a well worn sponge!
More work was required on the historical thing. Bill was willing, and I was like a dog with a bone, so with the assistance of colourful map, Mr Compass, the street sign “Muzeum korut”, and a little old lady who felt we need help crossing under the intersection (and she’d be right) we spent a few hours at the National Museum. It’s built as a neo-Classical palace, and the entrance and main staircase were wonderfully grand. We tried to press florints on the man at the ticket office, but he refused our offer. We got tickets, but they didn’t seem to cost anything.
Wiser now, we looked at the floor plan. Decided to give the Roman Lapidarium a miss, having only a fleeting interest in valuable old stone collections. Ditto to “the barbarian peoples under the shadow of the Roman Empire”. We were Magyar-focussed, and the twenty (20!) rooms of the history of Hungary between 1000 and 1990 should fill a few information gaps. It was grand, and superbly-displayed. I liked the running map, which showed the modest Empire get bigger, bigger, smaller, biggest, and now, really small. Hungary lost 70% of its land after WWI, thought they’d get it back if they went with Hitler, changed their mind when he wasn’t looking such a good bet, and bugger me, still didn’t succeed. They are still really ticked off about it. Watch this space.
We thought we needed to put variety into our programme. We’d go shopping, a novel touch for a Sewell itinerary. Central Market is rather fun. We shopped, chose several pieces of embroidery from the acres on display on the upper floor, retreated for a beer, and then wandered very happily amongst the food stands below. So much sausage, so many capsicums, so many jars of paprika.
Medicinal bathing was put on the agenda. Checking out a couple of baths over the river from our hotel, we discovered that one had boys and girls on different days, two were being “renovated” and the last was “closed tomorrow”, which is what we think two damp old crones shouted at us. Nothing for it, we had to find and travel on the oldest metro line in Europe, which had elegant underground stations with totally unintelligible names. I mean, what can you do with Bajcsy-zs utra or Hosok tere?? We were heading for Szecheny Furdo, and we knew if we got to Mexikoi utra, we had to get out and come back one. Absolutely no problems. The only real problem was recognizing the ornate grating in the street as entrances to the station. We only walked past it 3 times.
We found the baths all right. After queuing for a little while, and looking longingly out at the senior Hungarians frolicking in the big pools, we were rejected by the ticket lady. Obviously we didn’t look the type for the aquatic medicine she was offering. How come Katherine got in?? After barking at us a few times, we picked up “uzzer zide!!” and indeed the uzzer zide is exactly what we wanted, to play in the big pools, not be pummelled in the private pools. The uzzer system was challenging.
The fee to get in was pretty high, but you got a partial refund when leaving - the longer you stayed, the smaller the refund! You work that out without a single word of Hungarian. We weren’t even game to say “thank you” in case it came out “bum, bum, bum”. Reluctantly we went our separate sex ways to the changing rooms. Modesty was not a consideration, indeed not an alternative. Acres of aging Hungarian flesh met me at every alcove. The locker issue was “solved” by the arrival of a stern woman, looking for all the life like a nurse out of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”. She whipped my possessions away, stuffed them in a locker, wrote something like a number in chalk on the inside, gave me a little tag and sent me on my way. I had noted that the number inside was not the number outside. I tried not to fret.
Bill was quite unconcerned about reuniting with his possessions. His supervisor was a personable, English-speaking young man. Unfortunately this fellow wasn’t there when Bill tried to remember his alcove and locker number on the outbound journey. Several trials, and he was on the verge of being imprisoned for impersonating a genuine swimmer. The exercise was worth it. Wonderful tepid pools, filled with locals on a public holiday. Sun was shining, the whirl pool was fun, and for the first time in 10 days, the swelling in my feet went down.
National Day was a big deal. The whole city was fluttering with red, white and green flags. The previous afternoon we had walked across the Elizabeth Bridge, where half the fireworks display was being set up. The personal H& S officer was pleased to note that the pyrotechnicians didn’t seem to be smoking too close to the boxes. The aerobatics team practised as we crossed the river. It was no problem. They missed the bridge by absolutely metres.
The river esplanade in front of our hotel, which had previously been populated by casual promenaders, now had tens of thousand of people packed in amongst the beer stalls and pretzel stands. Every vantage point on the Buda side was taken.
Let the airshow begin. Fast, lethal-looking planes followed slow, cumbersome, lethal-looking planes. The aerobatics team tied knots in their wake, and a little red fellow cheerfully flew under the Chain Bridge several times. Can’t understand why the Auckland authorities get so edgy about such a thing. Safe as houses. Not all the attempts to catch them on camera were successful.
The fireworks display started at 9.00 pm, from both the Chain and Elizabeth Bridges, and went for over half an hour. I heard that it cost 1.2 million Euro. It made everybody happy, and only the churlish would consider how many potholes that amount of money would fill. Our Australian companions said it was much better than the Sydney Harbour displays. It was certainly very colourful and loud and we had never seen anything like it before.
The morning after had that feel about it. The crowds were gone. The cleanup was finished. A lone merry-go-round (don’t take “merry” too literally) was all that was left on the Rakpart. Little piles of ash and the odd shell on the Chain Bridge were all there was to show from the previous night’s conflagration. A graceful ride up the funicular was perfect on a sparkling late summer morning. Walking down the hill, criss-crossing the funicular line on lovely old bridges, we were nonplussed to hear, then see a small aeroplane flying low and slow along the river. As it headed straight towards the Parliament, we were appalled that we might be witnessing history in the making. It was only when the giant red, white and green confetti started drifting
down through the trees, that we (I) breathed freely.
Our first encounter with Hungarian food was a bit flukey. At Esztergom we opted to go up to the Basilica first, while the rest of our party chose the buspark café. Many were still waiting for their meal when we came back down 90 minutes later. “Forty minutes to get a beer!” we were told. From our vantage point on the cupola, we had seen there was a regular little village down below. Our delicious falafels in pita bread were delicious, at a fraction of the florints, and served at the speed of light, we being the only customers at this shady lean-to with outside table.
After that it was goulash all the way, and very fine brews we found. River Cruise with Dinner was goulash, with plates and plates of cold meat. We resorted to stealing the garnish off the meat platters for salad. Some of our dining companions didn’t like the 3 types of pickled cabbage, but you needed it for colour. Goulash for lunch came in bowls, with lovely bread. Our final hosted dinner had free-range chicken as the main course. Free range? Where had these poor birds ranged from? The Russian Steppes? Certainly had legs for walking, but it’s amazing what a little paprika can do. The weather was hot, the beer was good, and the coffee was brilliant.
(image placeholder)
As we drove out to the airport, the large, bland apartment buildings gave way, to our surprise, to what appeared to be quarter acre sections, with bungalows in the middle of each one. Prosperity within the European Union was starting to kick in.
One thing that we will remember was the way the Hungarians never miss an opportunity to take the Mikhail out of the past Communist regime; this poster was one of many similar
It’s always nice to leave a little something behind in a city you have enjoyed. We left Bill’s Swiss Army knife with the excitable Security Officer at checkin. He had a gun, and he really wanted the knife. Bill was OK with that. He wasn’t planning to peel anything for hours.
(image placeholder)
The distance between Vienna and Budapest is 240 kilometres. Our tour book said it would take 5 hours! In fact, it was probably closer to 7 hours! Just as well, as we needed that time for a prolonged and detailed history and geography lesson from our tour director. The history of Hungary, and the fluid geography of that part of Europe are indeed lengthy and complex.
It was his idea to spend quite some time at the border crossing. “Pisch und pusch” (go to the toilet and have a smoke) were suggested activities, as well as changing modest Euros into an indecent amount of florints. We needed these florints if we need to pisch. We also had plenty of time to look back across the border to the immaculate highway and fields, and contemplate the potholes at our feet, and the row of accommodations various, all of whom had “Paprika” in the title.
On the road again, we noted unruly fields, animals that wanted to be seen and heard (well, I never!) and the dearest villages with the tiniest houses, with the tiniest windows. The most notable architectural feature were the spikes on the rooves, obviously for breaking up the snow and ice. The streets were tiny too, and our coach was ….big. Disconcertingly we also came across huge factory complexes, Communist in origin, now totally derelict. Rusting relics, with acres of windows, none intact, with workers’ quarters nearby in similar condition, but obviously occupied.
The second delay was excellent. Esztergom, founded in 973, the first capital of the country, has the largest church in Hungary sitting on top of the hill. The Basilica is a beauty. The steps up from the bus-park to the church were steep and numerous. You could tell, because there was a WC halfway up. The attendant had paprika hair, and was eating her lunch. We only had a 20,000 florint note, so pressed right on. By the time we reached the top we realized that the local devout were driving to the entrance.
(image placeholder)
The view out over the Danube, the old town, and goodness knows how many other European countries was fabulous. “Ecclesiastical masterworks” the guide book says. It is on a grand scale. We are reliably told that it has an echo of 9 seconds, and while we were waiting for our voices to come back, there was no shortage of huge Renaissance motifs to take our breath away. While we were still breathless, Bill spied some steps and a good excuse to blow our 20,000 florints. I thought the steps were leading to the organ gallery, which they were. But the organ gallery was only a fraction of the way up the tower, which led to the gangplank across the domes, which led up another,
more narrow tower, from which we were hauled and counted by a cheerful young Hungarian. Now we could sidle at will around a gangway which was attached unceremoniously to the girth of the Cupola!!! My personal Health & Safety officer was having a lovely time. Others in our sidling group were regretting their bravado. We could check out the river cruise boats on the Danube, see what Slovenia was up to today, what the Hungarians did to their nasty concrete jungles to make them attractive from the cupola. And yes, getting down was a right cow.
The main reason it took so long to get to Budapest was because the closer to the city we got, the slower we moved. Sometimes we didn’t move at all. Roadworks. Lots and lots of really big roadworks. And that doesn’t count all the bits that were closed off in preparation for the National Day. It wasn’t a problem though, because we still had quite a lot of history and geography to get through, and be warned that if we didn’t say “thank you” with the right kind of choking noise at the end, it means “backside”. Well, that put a bit of a damper on the language lesson, BUT we knew we were there when we got to the Zero Kilometre Stone. All highways in Hungary measure from this marker, and I won’t dwell on the fact that it’s been moved a few times.
Our slow progress along Utca Fo gave us some wonderful views of the city on the other side of the Danube. It was with some embarrassment that we realized that one of the larger, squarer, uninteresting new buildings was our hotel, the Sofitel, but we got over that pretty quickly when we realized we were right at the Pest side of the Chain Bridge, and in the middle of all the action on National Day. What we didn’t realize was that the other half of the city, Buda, was rising majestically above us, and was a treasure to be explored later. The two cities were given a common name in 1873, and they actually thought about Pest-Buda. Doesn’t have the same ring. In the meantime, we were practicing, Budapeshhhht! Budapeshhht.
Throwing florints to the wind, we had decided to take the Optional Excursion, “River Cruise by Night with Dinner”. Excellent decision.
(image placeholder)
This city is brilliant by night, with special buildings and structures lit imaginatively and spectacularly. There are so many of them, from the neo-Gothic Parliament to the Buda Palace to the Statue of St Gellert to the many imposing bridges. Most photographers, with the enhancements of instant preview, realized that they could not do justice to the fairyland in front of us, and simply joined in the general oohing and aahing. Oh,yes, and it was a full moon.
Frankly, our history lessons on the coach were rather useful. This country, and this city are the product of a long and colourful career in European politics, and it is very important to the Hungarians. Heroes’ Square was built in 1896 to mark the millennium, 1000 years of Hungarian civilization in this place. If you wished, you could note the Celts, Romans, Goths, Avars and Franks, who pre-dated the Magyar invasion of the 10th century. There’s been a bit of how’s-yer-father since, of course, if you want to think about the Tatars, the Turks, the Austrians, the Germans and the backdoor Soviets, but the Hungarians are very good at celebrating the good bits.
Restoring, or re-building special places (puts a nice twist on “neo”-anything) is continuing apace, as finances allow. Great work has been done, but occasionally we came across a building that looked a bit worse for wear. One place on Castle Hill serves as a reminder of the most recent revolution. Our city guide was quite dismissive of the shrapnel-pitted walls. “That is simply the result of cross fire. There was absolutely no aerial bomb-bing!!” It made “simple crossfire” sound like something all the family could play.
We had to walk the last 500 metres up Castle Hill, and we were very pleased to leave our large coach teetering on a tiny little road when we discovered the whole hill is riddled with catacombs and caves. The weight and vibration of a large tour coach could undo a thousand years of tunneling at the change of a gear.
The view from Fisherman’s Bastion was fantastic. Like an idiot, I thought you’d need a terribly big fishing rod, and very long line, to be successful from the bastion. It was actually the site of a medieval fish market! Silly. The Hilton is cunningly tucked in amongst it all. It’s façade is almost entirely reflective, so it looks like all the old stuff around it. Talk about doing it with mirrors!
Matthias Church is 700 years old, and is a work in progress. Restoration of these Gothic buildings is slow and very expensive. The tiled roof, as always, is spectacular. The personal H& S officer noted the number of Gothic turrets a) missing, b) lying against the base of the church and c)tied on with what appeared to be thick string. And there we were, standing on a hillside that resembled a well worn sponge!
More work was required on the historical thing. Bill was willing, and I was like a dog with a bone, so with the assistance of colourful map, Mr Compass, the street sign “Muzeum korut”, and a little old lady who felt we need help crossing under the intersection (and she’d be right) we spent a few hours at the National Museum. It’s built as a neo-Classical palace, and the entrance and main staircase were wonderfully grand. We tried to press florints on the man at the ticket office, but he refused our offer. We got tickets, but they didn’t seem to cost anything.
Wiser now, we looked at the floor plan. Decided to give the Roman Lapidarium a miss, having only a fleeting interest in valuable old stone collections. Ditto to “the barbarian peoples under the shadow of the Roman Empire”. We were Magyar-focussed, and the twenty (20!) rooms of the history of Hungary between 1000 and 1990 should fill a few information gaps. It was grand, and superbly-displayed. I liked the running map, which showed the modest Empire get bigger, bigger, smaller, biggest, and now, really small. Hungary lost 70% of its land after WWI, thought they’d get it back if they went with Hitler, changed their mind when he wasn’t looking such a good bet, and bugger me, still didn’t succeed. They are still really ticked off about it. Watch this space.
We thought we needed to put variety into our programme. We’d go shopping, a novel touch for a Sewell itinerary. Central Market is rather fun. We shopped, chose several pieces of embroidery from the acres on display on the upper floor, retreated for a beer, and then wandered very happily amongst the food stands below. So much sausage, so many capsicums, so many jars of paprika.
Medicinal bathing was put on the agenda. Checking out a couple of baths over the river from our hotel, we discovered that one had boys and girls on different days, two were being “renovated” and the last was “closed tomorrow”, which is what we think two damp old crones shouted at us. Nothing for it, we had to find and travel on the oldest metro line in Europe, which had elegant underground stations with totally unintelligible names. I mean, what can you do with Bajcsy-zs utra or Hosok tere?? We were heading for Szecheny Furdo, and we knew if we got to Mexikoi utra, we had to get out and come back one. Absolutely no problems. The only real problem was recognizing the ornate grating in the street as entrances to the station. We only walked past it 3 times.
We found the baths all right. After queuing for a little while, and looking longingly out at the senior Hungarians frolicking in the big pools, we were rejected by the ticket lady. Obviously we didn’t look the type for the aquatic medicine she was offering. How come Katherine got in?? After barking at us a few times, we picked up “uzzer zide!!” and indeed the uzzer zide is exactly what we wanted, to play in the big pools, not be pummelled in the private pools. The uzzer system was challenging.
The fee to get in was pretty high, but you got a partial refund when leaving - the longer you stayed, the smaller the refund! You work that out without a single word of Hungarian. We weren’t even game to say “thank you” in case it came out “bum, bum, bum”. Reluctantly we went our separate sex ways to the changing rooms. Modesty was not a consideration, indeed not an alternative. Acres of aging Hungarian flesh met me at every alcove. The locker issue was “solved” by the arrival of a stern woman, looking for all the life like a nurse out of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”. She whipped my possessions away, stuffed them in a locker, wrote something like a number in chalk on the inside, gave me a little tag and sent me on my way. I had noted that the number inside was not the number outside. I tried not to fret.
Bill was quite unconcerned about reuniting with his possessions. His supervisor was a personable, English-speaking young man. Unfortunately this fellow wasn’t there when Bill tried to remember his alcove and locker number on the outbound journey. Several trials, and he was on the verge of being imprisoned for impersonating a genuine swimmer. The exercise was worth it. Wonderful tepid pools, filled with locals on a public holiday. Sun was shining, the whirl pool was fun, and for the first time in 10 days, the swelling in my feet went down.
National Day was a big deal. The whole city was fluttering with red, white and green flags. The previous afternoon we had walked across the Elizabeth Bridge, where half the fireworks display was being set up. The personal H& S officer was pleased to note that the pyrotechnicians didn’t seem to be smoking too close to the boxes. The aerobatics team practised as we crossed the river. It was no problem. They missed the bridge by absolutely metres.
The river esplanade in front of our hotel, which had previously been populated by casual promenaders, now had tens of thousand of people packed in amongst the beer stalls and pretzel stands. Every vantage point on the Buda side was taken.
Let the airshow begin. Fast, lethal-looking planes followed slow, cumbersome, lethal-looking planes. The aerobatics team tied knots in their wake, and a little red fellow cheerfully flew under the Chain Bridge several times. Can’t understand why the Auckland authorities get so edgy about such a thing. Safe as houses. Not all the attempts to catch them on camera were successful.
The fireworks display started at 9.00 pm, from both the Chain and Elizabeth Bridges, and went for over half an hour. I heard that it cost 1.2 million Euro. It made everybody happy, and only the churlish would consider how many potholes that amount of money would fill. Our Australian companions said it was much better than the Sydney Harbour displays. It was certainly very colourful and loud and we had never seen anything like it before.
The morning after had that feel about it. The crowds were gone. The cleanup was finished. A lone merry-go-round (don’t take “merry” too literally) was all that was left on the Rakpart. Little piles of ash and the odd shell on the Chain Bridge were all there was to show from the previous night’s conflagration. A graceful ride up the funicular was perfect on a sparkling late summer morning. Walking down the hill, criss-crossing the funicular line on lovely old bridges, we were nonplussed to hear, then see a small aeroplane flying low and slow along the river. As it headed straight towards the Parliament, we were appalled that we might be witnessing history in the making. It was only when the giant red, white and green confetti started drifting
down through the trees, that we (I) breathed freely.
Our first encounter with Hungarian food was a bit flukey. At Esztergom we opted to go up to the Basilica first, while the rest of our party chose the buspark café. Many were still waiting for their meal when we came back down 90 minutes later. “Forty minutes to get a beer!” we were told. From our vantage point on the cupola, we had seen there was a regular little village down below. Our delicious falafels in pita bread were delicious, at a fraction of the florints, and served at the speed of light, we being the only customers at this shady lean-to with outside table.
After that it was goulash all the way, and very fine brews we found. River Cruise with Dinner was goulash, with plates and plates of cold meat. We resorted to stealing the garnish off the meat platters for salad. Some of our dining companions didn’t like the 3 types of pickled cabbage, but you needed it for colour. Goulash for lunch came in bowls, with lovely bread. Our final hosted dinner had free-range chicken as the main course. Free range? Where had these poor birds ranged from? The Russian Steppes? Certainly had legs for walking, but it’s amazing what a little paprika can do. The weather was hot, the beer was good, and the coffee was brilliant.
(image placeholder)
As we drove out to the airport, the large, bland apartment buildings gave way, to our surprise, to what appeared to be quarter acre sections, with bungalows in the middle of each one. Prosperity within the European Union was starting to kick in.
One thing that we will remember was the way the Hungarians never miss an opportunity to take the Mikhail out of the past Communist regime; this poster was one of many similar
It’s always nice to leave a little something behind in a city you have enjoyed. We left Bill’s Swiss Army knife with the excitable Security Officer at checkin. He had a gun, and he really wanted the knife. Bill was OK with that. He wasn’t planning to peel anything for hours.
posted by Don Balkwill at 3:06 pm
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