What Happened in Hungary: Day Five

The Independence Monument

Monday morning arrived and with it my usual cup of strong coffee.  This was the only day of the tour we'd not be playing a concert, meaning I could lighten my bag down to a modest selection of stuff I'd actually need rather than all the extras for music. We finally were able to use our English bus, meaning I could resume my seat behind the driver on the lower deck. (Upstairs would probably have given better views but most people had gravitated to where they'd sat on the way out, meaning there was no room and anyway, I like to sit close the the road if only to be at the level of everybody else in the city streets). The morning's sightseeing tour was most welcome and reminded me once again of the last time I'd been here. I also took great advantage of having a far superior camera on this visit and photographed most things of interest and a few 'arty' shots (might have got a bit snap-happy at times).  First we went back up to the Citadella to see the city in the day, and, with the aid of an artillery piece as a prop, our Fixer explained the hammering Budapest took from both sides at the end of WWII and the construction of the massive pillar at the top of the hill. It is often mistakenly referred to as the Liberty Monument when in fact it's no such thing - it's the Independence Monument and it was largely erected by the Soviets. Next, Buda castle and all the associated paraphernalia (Matyas Church, History museum, Fisherman's Bastion) nearby. Sheesh, it was narrow enough coming up here on a 'normal' bus the other day, let alone a gigantic six-wheeled twin-decker.  We hopped out through the emergency door (wrong side of the road, remember) and were given half an hour to wander round the hilltop; not really enough as Companion and I had to write off going inside the church (I've been before, lots of effigies of dead kings and usual churchy stuff) and still hurry round the battlements. I took great delight in finding the statue of Zoltán Kodály, still sitting on the end of a bench, cigar in hand, which I and several other members of my youth orchestra had been photographed with seven years ago. Companion went for a comfort break whilst I looked round the cobbled streets and painted houses and then the giant eagle overlooking the city next to the Museum.  At the other side of the square there is a balcony overlooking the Buda Hills (the climbing of which is another thing I won't have time to do...) and a row of Hungarian flags which were most photogenic.

Back on to the bus, and down the hill again to cross the river into Pest.  Budapest is, unsurprisingly, made up of Buda and Pest (and technically also the area round the hotel called Obuda, 'Old Buda') with the former being old and castle-y and the other being metropolitan and very Austro-Hungarian Empire. We will omit the Soviet bits in the suburbs.  The metropolitan-ness was immediately apparent in the number of grand mansions and the trams running on the river embankment.  It was wonderful until both the road and said tramway had to pass under the pillars of the Széchenyi Chain Bridge (a scaled-down version of which I crossed in Marlow on my Thames Path adventure) in a very narrow tunnel with a bend in it. Large buses are equipped with reversing cameras but not ones indicating the roof clearance and so the drivers had to trust that the suspension was down at lowest. Even then there was an added problem of the tunnel having buttresses at the sides which forced us into the middle of the road. You can imagine how pleased many Hungarian commuters were at our creeping forward through the cavern.  Once out (without any further damage to the ski box) we headed up the river towards the commendably over-the-top Parliament building, based on the design of our own seat of democracy. I hopped across another tramway to hear the history given by our Fixer on the 1956 uprising, something I remember well from my last visit and GCSE History.  There is a block of pink marble containing an eternal flame as a monument to the Hungarians killed in the street fighting, although it might as well be for the entire nation whose hopes of greater freedom had to wait another 35 years to be realised.

The reminder of this most important event makes me consider what the country actually is and was. Hungary seems to have been for most of its history both proudly individual and yet under some kind of foreign hold - the lesser name in the title of Austro-Hungary, ostensibly an independent country yet under the grip of Russia, a people and language whose origins lie far from Europe. And yet one thing that I was delighted to find on my return here was that Hungary today is both a modern state and yet has kept outside, depersonalising influences at an acceptably low level. There are comparatively few signs in English compared to the touristy bits of Italy or Greece. People drive foreign makes of cars but closer inspection reveals they are mostly models actually built in Hungary or Romania. Corner shops and supermarkets are not all owned by Tesco or other foreign chains. Hungarians, for the most part, keep their culture their own. We rolled through more of Pest, more sights, more life, past the Synagogue and the Eastern Station and round the football stadium, and more and more I liked it here.

The end of the little tour came when we rolled into the car park next to Heroes' Square and the driver performed a superb feat of reverse parking the massive bus.  We were now free for the rest of the day - no, you read that correctly. The plan was that the bus would stay here and then take people back to the hotel at 6 so they could change for dinner and then a possible visit to the Gödör Klub (which is actually, and I'm-not-making-this-up-actually, pronounced Giuuuuurdduuuhhhh).  This was, luckily, optional and I had every intention of staying in the city all day to maximise my sightseeing time. Possibly slightly dazed by the onset of boundless freedom, our party all drifted in the general direction of the bright yellow Széchenyi thermal baths (Mr Széchenyi was a prolific lender of his name to public building projects, it seems), which wasn't a bad idea as they were a good way to spend the afternoon and they had a small restaurant. We hacked out a plan for the afternoon over lunch - she would go for a swim and I would go exploring before meeting up and climbing over Margit sziget (Margaret Island), then use various modes of public transport to meet the people going to the hotel and back.

Companion and I agreed on a time to re-convene and went our separate ways. I was, if not exactly as gleeful as someone who has been given the keys to a garage full of powerful automobiles, considerably relishing the chance to actually get some sightseeing done at my leisure. The first thing to do was to descend a rather unassuming set of concrete steps in the corner of the park.  A clue to what made this seemingly mundane entrance rather more special was the yellow wrought-iron sign above them which read 'Földalatti'. This is a nickname that's become almost an official term, rather like using 'Tube' for 'Underground'. In fact the analogy is a perfect one, for what lies at the bottom of the steps has quite a few names: the Millennium Underground, the M1, 'the yellow metro', MillFAV, but the sign above the entrances translates endearingly as 'little subway'. Stand back from the platform edge, there's a (small) train coming.

I rather like sampling the public transport systems of foreign cities, especially if they have an idiosyncratic style and some historical significance, and Budapest's certainly qualifies on both counts. For a start, both the metro line and the street above are a UNESCO World Heritage Site (the only underground railway to hold such status) and recent restorations have preserved the stations' Art Nouveau look - wooden panelling and the glazed ceramic tiles which had been found to be such a good material on the only subway that preceded it, London's Metropolitan. In fact the Földalatti of 1896 was in some ways more advanced than the Metropolitan Line: it was built as a proper underground railway, not just a mainline that went in a tunnel through the city centre, it had electric trains from the very start and the engineers did a very clever job of fitting the whole thing in between the street above and the sewers below (the track is only 3 1/2 metres below the tarmac). You can see how narrow the tunnel is by the fact there's practically no platform - the train carriages only have wheels at the ends and the floors sit just above track level.  It's pity that the current rolling stock are dull Soviet-era boxes, for the original cars were as lovely as the stations - those belonging to one of the two companies originally running the railway had mahogany cladding and included a private carriage for the Hungarian emperor and the royal family (I doubt the London Underground has ever had a 'Royal Train'!). They have one preserved in working order, and still get it out for a special trip down the line every now and again.

I bought a day pass for considerably less than the London equivalent and stood on the southbound platform at Széchenyi fürdő. A boxy little yellow train breezed in and played a jingle when the doors opened (not quite so nice was the harsh buzzing sound when they closed) and then proceeded down the line. I decided to alternate between subway and surface so I got off at Hősök tere and walked along the avenue to Bajza utca (try pronouncing that after half a bottle of Unicum), then M1 another stop to Kodály Korund, where Andrassy út starts to get interesting.  The avenue was built in parallel with the Földalatti as a grand boulevard from down-town Pest to the gardens of the Varosliget, and is a reminder that at the time Budapest was as modern and prosperous a city as London, Paris or Vienna, being the centre of the huge Austro-Hungarian empire.  The ornate and sometimes over-lavish residences along the avenue and its side streets cancel out any notion of it having been a provincial backwater or Soviet-era concrete jungle, at least in this part of town.

I felt not only safe but remarkably at home strolling down the quiet service roads separated by trees from the main 6-lane highway.  Having said all the above, I started to think that the overall architectural style was a mix of borrowings from other capitals - the arches and mansard roofs of the Parisian streets, columns and porticoes from Italy and the stone and plaster walls in a more Germanic fashion. Presently I came to the first 'sight' of the street (assuming on is walking towards the river) the House of Terror. This is the former HQ of the secret police where first Communists, then Fascists and finally anyone who was politically problematic would end up for questioning and worse.  Further down, beyond the busy road intersection of the Oktogon and the long, thin Jokái tér, was the next Millennium Underground station to be named after a landmark - the Opera.  Budapest obviously needed a landmark opera venue what with all the rich music-making going on there, but the Viennese faction prohibited it from being grander than that in the imperial capital and so it's not quite as large as it might be.  It's still pretty ornate, with decorated ceilings and a statue of Liszt sitting in an alcove with a large book, as if he's waiting for it to stop raining. I had a peek into the foyer, which did not disappoint either.

Further along, Andrassy út ends at a junction with Bajcsy-Zsilinszky út (I'll get back to you about the correct pronunciation of that) and so I detoured a little to see the Szent István Basilica, the city cathedral of Pest. I'd been inside on my last visit and thought about going up the dome but decided it would be better with more time so I made do with the outside and went back south towards Erzsébet tér and eventually arrived at the riverside. The M1 ends near here at Vörösmarty tér so I'd have an easy journey back up to the baths to meet Companion.  Where I'd ended up was the far side of the Széchenyi Chain Bridge (leading over to the castle and the tunnel under it) and Roosevelt tér which had a great view of said castle and the funicular.  Downriver to the left were the Citadella and the modern Erzsébet bridge. I wandered round the nearby streets onto Vörösmarty tér - and then it was time to get back on the little yellow train for nearly the entire length of the line back to the baths.

Liszt, outside the Opera

Companion arrived presently, looking very refreshed - in fact the water seemed to have given her almost a glow from all the minerals it contained.  I related to her all that I'd seen and she though it remarkable enough to warrant looking for herself, so with another day pass in hand we went straight back down the line several stops to see the Opera and mansions and whatnot before returning - again - to Széchenyi fürdő.  The next part of our journey was to get the tram to the north-west to Margit Island. I had a good idea of where the closest stop was so we set off across the park, past the funfair and the whining, ancient trolleybuses until we came to a stop on the side of a major thoroughfare. Because of the space available to post-war town planners, the tram lines run in the space between the two carriageways and thus the tram stops are in the middle of the road rather than adjacent to the pavements. I could see the stop but no obvious way to reach it. There was no bridge and no sign of a tunnel (and tell me, do you really want to use a subway in a rather less attractive part of an East European city?) and the traffic was coming fast; at least 70km/h.  Worse, the road layout was a large free-flowing junction with flyovers and ramps.  We got across two subsidiary lanes reasonably easily but had to wait ages on the verge whilst the near-constant traffic on Hungaria Körut sped by.  Eventually some combination of factors engaged to create a big enough space for us to leg it across the road and tram line, over the grass and onto the island platform. And imagine my annoyance at seeing at the far end there was a subway after all.

The No. 1 came shortly and we got on board the yellow and white vehicle, standing at the rear of the middle car of three. It was an old tram, probably built well within the Communist era, slow and with firm suspension under the high floor, but with plenty of character and surprisingly quiet.  It rumbled through four or five stops until we got off on one side of Arpid hid, a long bridge over the river. There's no traffic allowed on most of Margaret Island so the bridge incorporates the entrance to a car park at the northern end.  The island is long and thin with a bridge at each tip, and trails all over its woods and gardens. It is Budapest and yet not Budapest and has had various uses in its history; a convent, a harem, formal gardens, a diving complex, an art galley, hotels and a running circuit. We soon came to a bandstand by the fish pools which seemed to play music even in the absence of a band and then the water tower which peeps above the trees. It was too late for it to be open but had it been we could have ascended the stairs and taken some great pictures of the city from the top.

The rest of the island is mostly either woods or gardens. A steady stream of joggers came past on the perimeter path so we headed down the middle of the island, past a ruined priory and the diving complex.  There's a music festival held on the lawns every year although the island was peaceful at the moment. Eventually after about an hour's wandering we came out onto the other end by a fountain that played to the musical accompaniment of Kodály's Háry János suite.  From there it was a short walk to catch the No.4 tram on Margit hid.

Parliament building from Margaret Bridge/ Margit hid

The new tram was huge; in fact they're the longest in the world.  We were only going down the road to the Nyugati pályaudvar (western station) and could almost have just walked down the tram.  From the Italianate façade of Nyugati it is only a few stops on the M3 to Deák Ferenc tér.  The line is completely different to the Földalatti - a full-size metro in proper 1970s Soviet style, complete with ancient-but-clean Russian rolling stock. It was nearly dark when we emerged from the underground station and sat in the square trying to make contact with the rest of the orchestra. A couple of text messages and several circuits of Erszebet tér later we found our friends coming along the street by the St István basilica. From there we went en masse to find our dinner. I need hardly add I had walked perhaps seven or eight miles and my stomach was really on empty by this point.

The restaurant was an amazing place. I remember describing an all-you-can-east buffet near Atlanta as a temple of food, but this beat that back several miles.  The décor was ultra-cool, the tables packed and the servery was piled with every type of food you can imagine and many you can't.  There were entire separate areas devoted to sushi, salads, Hungarian specialities, cakes and breads.  And the food was, genuinely, extremely good. I must admit I did feel slightly underdressed for the occasion.  Companion and I had waltzed in wearing walking shoes and with rucksacks, water bottles and such like, and sat down with a satisfied but weary we've-had-a-nice-trip-but-the-feet-hurt-a-bit-now-and-we-wouldn't-mind-some-National-Trust-tea sigh whilst a number of the others who had been back to the hotel were in elegant evening dress (actually, it was mostly the girls).  On the other hand, they'd been unadventurous, I thought.  Anyway, let's go through what I ate...

First up was a bowl of gulyas soup with some bread the likes of which I'd never had before.  I was so hungry this was gone before most people had even got back to the table. Next I decided to go for all the Hungarian stuff including braised duck and red cabbage, delicious Hortobágy-style meat pancakes, paprika chicken, all kinds of stuff.  This was washed down with wine and water in equal measure.  Now I was into my stride I had, for contrast, a sushi course (California rolls; the big ones with the red eggthings inside; the prawn's tail on a block of rice; copious amounts of wasabi and ginger so you can feel it come through my nose).  Next was another cold course, a sample of all the various game and meat - veal roulades, miniature pies, pastries, interesting cheese creations, exotic salad.  I could have had ox tongue as well, but coming from a northern background I'd been eating this since before I could walk so it wasn't really anything special (to my amusement several people seemed to think it was something to nom because ohmigod thats like so disgusting i cant believe it ive got to have it just to say that i ate some, which i thought was faintly ridiculous).  I was considering winding up the hot courses and starting work on the deserts when somebody - who will remain nameless but will nonetheless have my eternal gratitude - made it known that the grill had shark!  I was over there in a flash.  'Seretnék cápa ak afrikai hars...harc...oh, the catfish thing!' I cried with considerable relish (that is, I ordered it in a manner that I relished, not that I had it with Gentleman's Relish or a similar condiment) for they did indeed serve African Catfish, cooked before your very eyes. The two types of fish were subtly different; the shark more meaty and strong and the catfish softer and more subtle, like plaice.  Nom-nom-nom.

A short pause after I had put the fish away to sip more wine. Now for puddings (and if you haven't been keeping count, I am now on my sixth course).  I took a bowl and proceeded to sample - as well as I can remember - a generous portion of profiteroles (I didn't take more than other people; the portions were just generous by default), a nice little chocolate and icing thing called an Esterházy cake (which makes it on my list of Musical Foods for the Haydn connection), and some tiramisu.  I may also have been offered more profiteroles when this was finished. Finally, watermelon slices and other fruits.  Some people would die from just looking at that much food. I had simply been very, very hungry when I started.

Although I'd considered it at times I'd never really been that fussed about going to the Gödör*.  I was pleased that my decision was eventually justified on two counts: first because even at not-yet-11pm there were nasty-looking characters hanging around outside and people who were scarily drunk (and not in a merry plate-stealing way like our lot; they really weren't cheerful) and second because everyone who went said it was a massive disappointment - apparently there was no live music (some reports say no music at all) and most of them dispersed home or to other centres of entertainment in a short time.  I found a few other folks who were equally disinclined and headed through the cosy streets and not-so-cosy drunks back to our waiting bus outside the Basilica. We had the front of the top deck to ourselves, which I always like (especially on the London buses which have panoramic windows up top) and could see the streets and avenues of Pest by night.

Next time: Some people play music using sandpaper, and we put a big coach on a small boat...

* Gödör means 'pit' and that's what the club is: a former underground bus station under Erszebet tér which has now been turned into a multiplex music venue.