I'm going to Hungary in approximately two weeks. This I intend to be a fun, educational and valuable trip, a concert tour with my old university's student-run chamber orchestra to be precise, and one that may well be documented on-the-fly via this blog as long as Internet access is forthcoming. You may or may not know that I often turn into a prolific scribbler when on expeditions or adventures, and as around forty per cent of the entire operation will be spent travelling on a bus, I plan to spend at least some of this time writing an account of it, something which will probably end up half-way between a diary and a novelisation. Don't worry, it won't be too frank, and there may be funny bits too.
Following the 'remember to pack a Thermos flask and a change of socks' philosophy, I like to prepare thoroughly for any adventure, a strategy which usually pays dividends (we will brush aside the unfortunate incidents of that misread signpost in Kent, and accidentally driving up Harlesden High St with some dodgy characters about). I have borrowed a Lonely Planet from the library, located our hotel and the transport links, and made an approximate plan for independent sightseeing. I'm slightly miffed that an extra concert on our 'free day' has now appeared on the schedule, scuppering my plans to go in completely the opposite direction (and, frankly, have much better views and much fewer German sunbathers) but it will enable my swanny-whistle to see some service in concert.
Now I should add that I've been to at least some of our planned destinations before, and as a result already posses a map (bus and tram route numbers slightly out of date; could be interesting) alongside the tour itinerary. With so many details and interesting factoids already deliberated, cogitated and digested, really the most useful way I could prepare was by improving my Hungarian, starting from a baseline of next-to-nothing. And as they say on a popular Sunday-night messing-about-in-cars show - how hard can it be?
Now, arguably, I have understood a form of 'Hungarian' since I was 14, as until 1844 Latin was the country's official language (stop being a smart-arse, Simon - ed). But with the dizzy heights of an Italian A-level amongst my past achievements, and armed with a Berlitz phrasebook, Central Library's copy of Complete Hungarian (+MP3 compatible double CD) and occasional reference to Wikipedia, I was naturally confident about mastering at least the rudiments of the vernacular. I find that the logical path is to start with basic expressions (yes, no, please, thank you, beer, wine, taxi) before doing numbers (I can now count to egy milliard, oh yes) and then swearwords. Lest this seem vulgar, I should clarify that these will be swearwords in English, declaimed after one has tried and failed to pronounce a word such as hangversenytarem*.
Hungarian - Magyarul - is part of the exotic-sounding Finno-Ugric language family and has little in common with English other than the concept of manipulating lips, tongue and epiglottis to make noises happen. The alphabet, in particular, seems to have been carefully contrived to trick unwary English speakers, for practically none of the vowels are pronounced as they appear to be written. 'A' is closer to 'o'; 'i' is more like 'ee'; whilst the eight combined variants of 'o' and 'u' (namely o, ó, ö, ő, u, ú, ü and ű) sound closer to the lower registers of a contrabassoon than to any Latin syllable. 'C' and 'dzs' are relatively straightforward: they simply do not make anything like the noises you expect. In a further blow for well-meaning English speakers, the differences between vowel sounds are in many cases subtle but vital. Hú and hű mean completely different things despite the 'u' being just different lengths of the same sound. The words for 'I would like' and 'I love you' are only a single consonant different (Hungarian has a very logical system of word roots, so this is perhaps not as foolish as it may appear) making the simple action of purchasing a train ticket (the word for which just happens to have an irregular, archaic, pronunciation) into a very real danger zone for the visitor. Further on, there is the terrifying arrangement of 'vowel harmony', meaning that prepositions (which are always expressed through suffixes) have to be chosen from several possible options based on the proportion of 'open' or 'closed' vowels in the word. At least all other nationalities will share these same difficulties too...
Speaking of Wikipedia, the erstwhile source of (mis)information has a nearly hilarious story of several Hungarian phrasebooks from the nineteenth century containing the phrase 'My postilion has been struck by lightning'. Naturally, I have already committed to memory this most useful of phrases, never knowing when I might find myself in command of a stagecoach in rural Transdanubia during an electrical storm. On reflection, it may prove more useful in the real world to substitute in the Hungarian terms for 'Renault Megane' or 'English tourist coach'; 'heat shield' and 'come unstuck'.
Anyway, if at any time this post appears to have facilitated humour at the expense of the noble Magyar language, I am doubtless that it will be reciprocated in mirth at my own attempts to express myself once in the country.
*'Concert hall' - a word which I might, realistically, need to utter, and which certainly wasn't just picked at random because it looked impressively long. It's pronounced something approximating to 'hongversheneetorem'.
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