Central European triad (5): Budapest

Part of Buda Castle and Matthias Church

July 29, 2015, Wednesday/ 12:29:01/ ELSIE ALAN / GEBZE

The Warsaw Central Train Station, located under a huge mall, is a pretty entertaining place to wait for your train.

Lute even met a nice Turkish boy in the Starbucks there. We did some shopping to replace a piece of Bev and Craig's luggage I had accidentally broken a few days before, so what with the Museum of the History of Polish Jews, getting our luggage from the hotel, finding our way to the mall and shopping for luggage, we were more than ready to snuggle into our compartment on the train, with our wonderful Polish snacks and beverages, and once again sleep the sleep of the innocent, as the train clackety-clacked hundreds of miles to our third and final Middle European destination, Budapest, the capital of Hungary.

Ah, Hungary; what a history this little country boasts! We've all heard of Attila the Hun -- there is a decades-old argument still going on as to whether the Huns, who established an impressive if short-lived empire in Europe during the fifth century, were originally Turkic or Mongolian. From whichever part of Asia they originated, they were the ancestors of the Magyars, who more or less founded the region known called “Hungary” by us Westerners and “Magyar” by the people who live there; Hungary is known as “Macaristan” in Turkey. The people of Hungary credit the Magyars, as opposed to the Huns, as having been their ancestors, although of course history generally is more complicated than that, and Hungary's is really complicated.

I'll just mention, as an example, that one of Hungary's mot important medieval kings, King Sigismund of Luxemburg (Luxemburg?!), was not only the Holy Roman emperor (he came right after Charles IV, whose several likenesses we admired in Prague), he was also king of Croatia, Germany, Bohemia, Italy and, of course, Hungary. Now, that's complicated! And of all the beautiful cities he had direct access to, being the king-emperor and all, he chose Budapest as his main residence, or actually Buda, as the western third of the modern city was called then. “Buda” is a version of the name “Bleda,” which was the name of Attila the Hun's brother and co-ruler; some sources maintain that Buda the city was named for him, although other sources say not. I choose to believe the former, for no other reason than I like some order and romance in my historical place names. Buda is hilly and forested and lies on the west bank of the fabled Danube River, she of several national boundaries even today, and the northern limit to the Augustan Roman Empire (along with the Rhine and the Euphrates) in the early first century. For much of her history, Buda was populated by Germanic peoples.

Pest, on the other hand, whose name I have no idea whence it came, is much larger, lies on the east bank of the Danube and has been mostly peopled by Magyars. Pest is flat, for the most part, and nicely laid out with ring roads and connecting streets radiating out from the river. Pretty Margaret Island lies in the middle of the river. Chain Bridge is the main connecting bridge from Pest to Buda, although there are several other older and prettier bridges. Pest is where our apartment was located, and I must say Lute outdid himself this time: Not only was the apartment spacious, well located and perfect in every way, but just beneath it was a Turkish café! It wasn't that we needed a döner fix; we took it as a good sign, that we were meant to be there.

Because we took a night train, we still had plenty of time to look at the city the same day we arrived. Our gracious landlady had steered us to the nearby old Jewish quarter, so off we went; this trip was turning into an investigation of Middle European Jewish culture. The quarter was hip and old at the same time, with loads of cafes and bistros tucked into ancient, out-of-the-way winding streets, along with small kosher grocery stores, neighborhood synagogues and shops. We ended up near the river, as one always does in Budapest, at the site of the Dohány Street Synagogue (1859), the largest synagogue in Europe, with its stainless-steel weeping willow memorial to the Hungarian Jews who died in the Holocaust. It was closed to visitors by then, but we enjoyed just staring at it from the outside.

We split up then, Bev and Craig off to seek some Hungarian edibles and Lute and I to Chain Bridge; I was determined to see the Danube as the sun went down. By now we were pretty tired, and I for one was counting each step forward as a victory. I'm usually too lazy to keep going when I'm tired, but I got stubborn and made it on to the big bridge, and it was so worth it. We gazed north at that majestic waterway, and imagined the Lorelei, singing their siren songs in the fading sunlight. (OK, OK, the Lorelei are normally on the Rhine, but there is no reason they couldn't be on the Danube, as well.) On our left, on its western summit, rose the 15th-century version of Buda Castle (there were two previous ones), with its elongated copper dome and massive buildings. Behind and ahead of us were other, fancier bridges. To our right was a beautiful old twin-towered church with youngsters skateboarding in front of it; beyond the church was a huge, modern Marriott Hotel. Riverboats full of tourists traveled up and down the Danube. As we stood and drank in the scenery, the sun set and lights began to twinkle on. The bridge behind us was all green lights, and the one in front looked outlined in golden fairy-dust. The riverboat wharves lit up as well, and so did the boats themselves. The dusky world got magical, and my feet didn't hurt anymore.

The next day we all got on board a hop-on-hop-off tourist bus; there are several companies in competition (and some in cahoots) with each other, so prices were negotiable and the freebies were many. We covered a lot of ground and felt we got our money's worth, traveling all over downtown Pest as well as over to Buda. What I remember most is Heroes Square, with several monuments in a huge space surrounded by museums and other interesting buildings. The best thing about the square was the statue group of mounted Magyar horsemen, caught by the artist as they got ready to found Hungary. The fierce, masculine figures reminded me of the spectacular statue of Sallaha'din, near the Citadel in Damascus, which I hope is still there.

Once again, Bev and Craig left for parts unknown, while Lute and I continued on our trusty bus to Buda Castle. I went in to see the gorgeous interior, which houses the Hungarian National Gallery. I stumbled into the 18th-century painting part of the exhibit and got stuck; it doesn't get more romantic than 18th-century renditions of tales from Hungary's incredible past, especially while viewed in a Holy Roman emperor's private residence. I also found a painting of a young and pretty Empress Maria Theresa, the ruler, in her own right, of the Austro-Hungarian Empire; she eventually had 16 children, one of whom was the ill-starred Marie Antoinette, but most of that was still ahead for the imposing young woman in the painting.

I found Lute in the museum's open-air café, where he was enjoying a tryst with his smartphone. We sat and looked across the river at Pest, feeling lucky to be sharing such a lovely afternoon together. We noticed some clouds heading our way through the blue of the Hungarian skies; in less than 10 minutes the skies had turned black, then they opened in a thunder, lightning and deluge display that left us gasping with awe and delight, and maybe just a little fear. The umbrellas began to give way, and everyone ran for cover in the open-sided café against the building. For the next two hours the rain never let up, except to hail occasionally; the servers were so panicked they were driven to smoke cigarettes on duty; one woman said over and over, “This is not usual!” There was no place to sit, and the 14 tourists and workers could do nothing, not even have a drink, because the computers were down (well-disciplined, those workers).

Finally, I had a thought born of an aching back, and wondered if there were any trash bags to use for raincoats. Lute picked up on my idea and pestered the stunned employees until they got the idea, and produced the trash bags. Lute and I had by then adopted four little Asian girls -- two Japanese, one Korean and one Taiwanese -- and we poked neck holes in the bags, got them covered up first and then ourselves, and herded them out of our tiny shelter and into the museum proper, where it was dry and we could all sit down. I'm afraid we rather startled the museum employees, but what were they going to do? Especially when the rest of the marooned crew joined us, looking like some weird tribe of zombies, raised from a very wet grave.

Fortunately, the rain let up a bit just as the museum was closing; the guards had made it very clear that we would have to leave, deluge or no. The storm had stopped all traffic in the city, but a bus driver stranded on our side of the river took on all comers, for free, and got us all to the other side in safety.

Meanwhile, Bev and Craig had gone home, had a nap and missed the storm. They wondered why we were too tired to go out that evening…