A holiday in ageless Hungary

With music at every corner, history at every turn, Budapest is surprisingly enchanting

Isn’t it beautiful?” my husband asks, gazing at the Danube and the beautiful Buda castle on its opposite bank. “Yes,” I breathe, looking at the drain under my feet. A city that embellishes its manhole lids so beautifully that I want to make table tops out of them is a city worth its salt to me. So we walk along, me admiring Budapest’s remarkable sewerage works and the husband taking endless pictures of its stunning architecture, bridges and more. At the landmark Chain Bridge that connects the twin towns Buda and Pest, a busker plays an old Hungarian gypsy air on two dozen wine glasses. I think to myself that as first days in unfamiliar cities go, mine has begun pretty well.

I’m in Budapest at the time when refugees from Syria are pouring into Hungary, crowding its border and thronging its railway stations. Criticised for razor-wire fencing its borders, the nation seems to have now quietly recognised the futility of attempting to stop the unstoppable. On the touristy streets of old Budapest, however, there seems little evidence of all this turmoil. I’m surprised, as the city gives the impression of a perpetual dialogue with its governance, history and politics. Over the days, however, I realise it’s entirely possible that spirited debates on the refugee crisis have been happening all around me, but in Hungarian. For me, a stranger to Slavic languages, Hungarian is a source of mystery with unpronounceable double consonants and unrecognisable nouns. Armed with an outdated Lonely Planet guidebook and dodgy map-reading skills, we’re constantly lost — as much in the city as we are with the language.

Hungarian parliament

Memorials need no language though, and I come across one while walking to the Hungarian Parliament, situated so picturesquely by the Danube and overlooking the castle, that it’s a wonder the lawmakers get any work done. En route, I see rows of battered bronze shoes by the river’s edge. These commemorate the people, young and old, who were shot and thrown into the river here by the Nazis during the Second World War — a constant reminder to Hungarians of a not so distant and not very pleasant past. Later, on my way to St Stephen’s, the largest church in Hungary, I see a modern sculpture of an imperialist eagle swooping over Archangel Gabriel, commemorating Germany’s supposed invasion of Hungary during the Second World War. Next to it is a silent yet loud protest — rows upon rows of war memorabilia through which citizens are owning up to their country’s active role in the Nazi regime. Hungary willingly participated in the execution of thousands of Jews as well as gypsies, gays and dissidents during the war, and many of its citizens want to collectively acknowledge this aspect of their shared past.

St Stephens church, Budapest

The following morning, I wake up to the horrifying news of the lynching of a man in Dadri back home on the suspicion of eating and storing beef. My sadness over the rapidly diminishing plurality in our own country is compounded somehow by the fact that I am going to visit a 14th century church that was used as a mosque for almost a century and is now also a secular venue for classical concerts. I have evening tickets to a performance by Duna String Orchestra at the historic Mathias Church. I traverse the relatively steep ups and downs of Buda Hill and reach, out of breath but with a little time to spare. This is serendipitous as I find that an orchestra is also performing outside the church in the Fishermen’s Bastion, the terrace with arguably the best views of the city. With La Vie en Ros e playing in the background, a spritely little autumn breeze cooling our faces and the breathtaking vistas beneath me, going inside the church when the concert is about to begin seems almost unnecessary. Thankfully, I am not disappointed. The acoustics of the cathedral are as elegant as its gilded frescos, and the acclaimed classical orchestra plays some of the most popular compositions of Bach, Vivaldi and Beethoven under the altar.

Concert over, head somewhat in the clouds, I walk back to Pest for dinner. When I hear the string quartet at Café Panorama Terasz overlooking the beautifully lit Dana Castle on the banks of the Danube playing, I have to sit down to appreciate the wealth of classical and popular music I’ve heard during our short stay in Budapest.

Jaltarang on wine bottles

Over the next few days, I notice something I’ve never before experienced in Europe. The Indian currency goes a long way in Hungary, with Rs 1 equalling approximately 4.2 Hungarian Forints. So even when the husband and I have extravagant multi-course meals washed down with several glasses of Palinka (the local fruit-based brew to which we discover a certain affinity) in outdoor cafés overlooking the glittering Danube, our bills, converted to Indian rupees, stay within reasonable limits. And when we explore the edgy Jewish quarter with its imposing Synagogue and Terror Museum (shut, like everything else is in Budapest, on Sundays), the right hand side views of café menus seem even rosier. As I walk past plush shop windows, I find it tough to believe that it was only in 1989 that the Iron Curtain finally lifted over this Magyar metropolis (although its economy had so many elements of free market economics that many dubbed it Goulash Communism).

Eventually, it is time for me to leave Budapest. The evening before I am to leave, I return to Gerebeaud’s and the Bistro Panorama Terasz for that last gelato and final tipple of Palinka. The violinists serenade me with Besame Mucho again, and the lyrics compel me to make even more of my last night in Budapest. I go for one last walk on the Chain Bridge, lingering before its stone lions for a while before sinking into bed and dreaming all night of returning to Budapest one day soon.