For the Language Geeks and Sympathizers

29 09 2009

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Have I mentioned lately that Hungarian is hard?  Very, very hard.  But it’s also like a very trippy version of language Clue.  A whodunit with what weapon in which room.  Because understanding Hungarian is alllllllll about the endings.

I’m going to give you the absolutely easiest example I can.

I make lunch.

This is a fairly easy sentence to create in English, even with a lower level of knowledge of verbs.  I is making lunch?  No.  I making lunch?  No.  But do a little memorization of the forms and you get it:  I make lunch.

Furthermore, in English you signify indefinite/definite with the article:  I make lunch.  Or, I make THE lunch.

But in Hungarian, you have to add endings to just about everything to signify not only person (I–first person singular) and tense (make—present) but also (lunch/the lunch—indefinite/definite) and (lunch—object).  That’s a lot of endings to remember.  I won’t mention them all now.  It’s too depressing.   And this is just for the Indicative.

So here are the words:

root word for to make/do:  csinálni

root word for lunch: ebéd

I make (if it’s just lunch):  csinálok

I make (if it’s THE lunch):  csinálom

lunch (as object): egy ebédet

THE lunch (as object):  az ebédet

See how those endings changed?

And Poof:

1st person singular indefinite:

Csinálok egy ebédet.

1st person singular definite:

Csinálom az ebédet.

And what the heck, let’s do 2nd person singular for present/past/future:

Indefinite:  You make/made/will make lunch.

Csinálsz egy ebédet
Csináltál egy ebédet
Fogsz csinálni egy ebédet

Definite:  You make/made/will make the lunch.

Csinálod az ebédet
Csináltad az ebédet
Fogod csinálni az ebédet

Eighth through twelfth grade I complained about conjugating Latin verbs.  Oh, the endings, tear tear, pout pout.  Ancient language and all, it’s easy to beat up on.  I couldn’t see it then, but my punishment was coming.  And it has arrived in the form of learning Hungarian.


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Categories : Lost in translation

Parable of Traveling

28 09 2009

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Now normally I would skip over the traveling-to-destination part of the trip.  I know you, Internet.  I know you could never bare standing in lines at the grocery store or for dinner, that half of your taste buds are missing because you just can’t wait for your coffee or soup to cool, that you’ve always been the type that only eats the part of the donut with the jelly and you leave the end for your dog or the never finicky neighborhood birds.  You are a just-get-to-the-point kind of animal, and I adore you for it, which is why I almost always just get to the point when writing about travel destinations.  Usually I just start wherever I visited, foregoing the traveling-to details.

But I realized this weekend, during our leisurely drive from Budapest to Pécs, that the small villages that we passed through represent so much of what makes up Hungary, and that I would be doing a service to you if I didn’t write little bit about it.

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We started out early—before 7am, because on Zsolt’s suggestion, we wanted to take the long way to Pécs that would skip the highway and shoot us down to Balaton and then south toward Pécs.  It was an additional 30-45 minutes to the trip, but well worth it.  Here is a simple geographical description of the drive:  farm, village, farm, village, farm, village, farm, city, Croatia.

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The towns are simple towns.  Charming in a way that it’s almost hard to believe exists in today’s loud, busy landscape.  As we drove, Györgyi instructed me on how to pronounce some of the names of the places that were unfamiliar to even her, a model Hungarian: Ságvár, Som, Iregszemcse, Sásd, Magyarhertelend, Meződ (your field) and my favorite: Oroszló – Russian horse.

The truth is that I shouldn’t use the word “simple” because it denotes a kind of innocence or naivety.  It’s very easy for westerners to come through these places with an arc of superiority, an “oh how cute” gaze, leaving with an impression that the people of these places are disposed to idleness, ignorance, even artlessness.

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But I think that these places represent a kind of attitude of the people bent on living their best life.  So it’s easy to see the men chatting over fences, women watering their small gardens, on bikes, selling flowers, etc., and mistake it for a simple, idyllic quality, when really it’s peaceful because it’s a way of living that came from centuries of struggle.  And probably, it takes that many years to learn what is really important.  The truth is that as far as most of us are concerned, it’s still a hard, hard life, and these morning scenes are its few pleasures.

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As always when traveling through Hungary, I was utterly amazed by how beautiful the country is.  Maybe it’s all the sunshine, or the old-fashioned-ness of the countryside.  And I’m sure there’s some lesson about that single tree on top of the hill.  But really it was one of the nicest drives that I’ve taken since being here.

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By 10am we pulled into Pécs, which was by contrast, a big, buzzing city.  I have a lot of pictures and stories from Pécs, which I will write about later.  Today was just a little praisesong for traveling.


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Categories : Hungarian customs, Lost in translation, The Real Hungary, Tourist, Traveling

Pécs Preview

26 09 2009

We just returned from Pécs, Hungary, which has been selected as the European Capital of Culture for 2010.  I have notes and photos to scroll through before posting next week, but since it was such an amazingly charming city, I couldn’t resist putting up this preview.  


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The Pleasures of Working in a European Office

23 09 2009

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Siófok

22 09 2009

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On the southern shore of Lake Balaton is the town of Siófok.  Some call it the “capital” of Lake Balaton, as it attracts the lakes largest crowds during the summer season.  It’s an old place, going back to the neolithic era, but popularized by the Romans.  During the soviet era, the town was a popular meeting point for German families divided by the wall.  Interestingly, it was Hungary’s defiance to the soviet system in the welcoming of these travelers that was yet another nail in the coffin of eastern bloc.

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Saturday late morning was cool and sunny and extremely peaceful.  Other than a few sunbathers and boaters, the area was very quiet.  The main beaches were closed down weeks ago, so while we were there, the town and lake shore seemed almost sleepy.

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We decided to take a walk down the promenade that was very much like an Atlantic boardwalk.  There were hundreds of closed down clubs, food stands, shops, tattoo parlors, game rooms.  Instead of the signature Thrashes Boardwalk Fries there was Langos Land and places for “cooling” shots of palinka.  I can imagine that during the summer the place was absolutely mobbed with the boardwalk crowd.  I started calling the place Ocean City– or rather a ghost town Ocean City– and for those of you familiar with the Maryland coast, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

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Luckily the town’s signature sculptures were still available for Gyorgyi to pose with each of them (and without even having to wait in line for her picture with the public art!)

We decided to have a gyro at the only open stand and sit on an empty bench right next to the water.  It was a lovely decision because the sun was just warm enough to either wear or not wear a little jacket and the water was so blue/green it seemed still like summer, though without any of the noise.  Then this guy:

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Yeah that guy was rockin’ that speedo hard core.  I can’t believe he wasn’t freezing, but he wanted to take a dip I guess.  More importantly, you can see how shallow the water is at Lake Balaton.  You can walk out for maybe a hundred yards or so and the water still won’t be over your head.  It’s good to accommodate the massive crowd that goes to the Hungarian Sea every summer.

And because Gyorgyi has recently turned into that crazy pigeon lady of Central Park (only with dogs) these two little fellas came up to her while we were sitting.

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And they stayed to beg for food for a long while before running back to their unseen masters.

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We stayed a bit longer and let our eyelids dim in the early afternoon sun.  After eating we walked a bit more among the trees and their falling leaves and Gyorgyi took a few more pictures with friends.

I suppose this entry can’t really serve as some kind of review for Siófok because it in no way represents what it would be like in July.  If you want to go in September, then I would highly recommend it.  It’s peaceful and simple.  In the town there are many other open restaurants and shops (just not right next to the lake) and without the crowds, it’s easy to walk and see and eat and just relax.  I’m not so sure I would be a Siófok supporter in mid-summer, only because me and the ocean-city type are like oil and water.  But if you are in Hungary in the summer and are looking for the place along the lake with big beaches and big parties, Siófok is definitely your lake town.


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Categories : Lake Balaton, Tourist, Traveling

Patron Saints & Fog

18 09 2009

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It was a very foggy six am this morning, so thick, in fact, that we couldn’t even see across the river to Buda.  Even as I sit here now  at nearly 9am at my desk facing the river and the water tower on Margit Island, I can’t see the steady-moving river.  Probably by eleven, the sun will burn most of it away.

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Despite the humidity, it was such a peaceful run today.  It had that quality of dream-running, which every runner knows by sensation rather than the visual details.  The heart is pounding, legs moving, lungs expanding and contracting, and yet somehow the view is blurred by the pale sheet of dreaming.  Like mist.  Or, like this morning’s fog.

And because it is Friday we decided to take a different route home, in order to swing by the bakery to get a few fresh kiflis (simple crescent bread with salt on top).  And I don’t know if it was the the different route through old 13th district, or whether is was because of the fog, but I saw so many new things I had never seen before.

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Street signs, old cafes just turning on their lights and preparing their pastries, vegetable stands where owners with their 4am hair lightly water and sweep the stoops.  And on Visegrádi utca this strange little inlaid statue of a saint pouring water onto a burning building.  It looks like it says Saint Flora, but she is the patron saint of the abandoned, converts, single laywomen and victims of betrayal.  So maybe they cut the name short or smashed it into the bottom, just out of sight.  Saint Florian, who is the patron saint of chimney sweeps and fire fighters.  The date:  1935.  And the building was built up again, perhaps damaged again during the war and other occupations, and still stands today.  It’s amazing what you notice in the fog.  Probably because your eyes are just waiting for a cleaning and then you really take in what is available to be seen.  And I know that there is an undisciplined tendency to use words like “perfect” on Fridays, but it was a good morning.

This weekend is the cheap movie weekend here–film days–film napok.  Almost all movies throughout the city are 500 forints per ticket ($2.75) regardless of the time so I think that we’re going to go.  And if the weather holds, we’re going to try to explore the pest side of the river closer to Elisabeth Bridge.  And if the weather doesn’t hold, I won’t mind it.  I’ve really enjoyed the rain in the last two days and what has been lingering in the air after it falls.


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Categories : District XIII, Weekend Plans

The Slant Door

16 09 2009

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In a country as unstable, so prone to invasion and revolutionary change, the poetry of stability has remained just out of reach – George Szirtes

Because I’ve been stuck in my own work and in a new habit of reading contemporary American fiction, I lost site of one of my major goals in spending this time abroad in Hungary:  to discover, read and try to make my way through some of the major Hungarian poets, and especially contemporary ones.  What I didn’t realize at the onset of making that goal, was that this task was a very, very difficult one.

It has been hard, to say the least, to find translations of a lot of contemporary poets, which only makes me long for the ability to comprehend this language as clearly and luminously as I know the poets deserve.  I have read excellent translations of poems by Ágnes Nemes Nagy and Gyula Illyés.  László Nagy, István Simon and Ferenc Juhász are phenomenal 20th century poets who have added an incredibly important dimension to what I understand to be “working-class” poetry, which of course has an entirely different meaning in 1950s Hungary than in the United States.  These are poets who abandoned romanticism, idealized the onset of socialist policies in the 1940s, and then quite quickly, in the 1950s, were disillusioned and disheartened by the outcomes, all elements that greatly affected the language of their political landscape, especially as many of their work was suppressed by the Stalinist regime.

It is said W.H Auden, among other important poets, critics and readers believed that Ferenc Juhász’s poem, “The Boy Changed into a Stag, Clamours at the Gate of Secrets” was the best poem of the century.  Of course I’m skeptical of any such classification, but it is significant that this exclamation exists in the world of contemporary poetry without any (even extremely sophisticated) English readers and writers knowing about it.  Sándor Weöres, perhaps one of the best of this generation, was rumored to be considered for the Nobel Prize over 10 times, if only there had been some graspable English translation of his works.

The problem with translation, George Szirtes argues in his article, “Anxiety, Density, Flight: An Introduction to Contemporary Hungarian Poetry,” is the isolation of the Hungarian language.  “Ironically,” he writes, “a country that had given so much to music, science, medicine and theory prides itself most stubbornly on its literature, by which it means, primarily poetry.  Few, however, outside the language community, have been in a position to vouch for its quality.”  Even more troubling is that poets who have been translated widely and well, like Miklós Radnóti and János Pilinszky (who was translated by Ted Hughes) and have entered the canon, have done so only as “witnesses and victims.”

Oh.  And where are the women?

Just this week I read The Slant Door by the author of that brilliant article, George Szirtes who left Hungary in 1956 as a refugee.  He was 8 years old at the time, and has since gone on to published many books of poetry and translations.  This particular book is his first collection, for which he the Faber Memorial Prize.  Though after reading his article on Contemporary Hungarian Poetry I feel extremely unqualified to write a substantial review of the collection.  I will say, however, that the language is clear and delicate, almost domestic, and it was a delight to read.  And since I haven’t posted a excerpt of a Hungarian writer in a long time, here is a excerpt from his poem, ‘The Town Flattened”:

Sun blurs the trees.  Along the slats
light rattles like a carriage.  The porch
sighs out another century but we maintain
our distance, preferring the panoramic
view afforded by this vacancy
between two paths.  Surely if we touched
the trees they would sound like crystal.

If nothing else (especially for my poetry friends out there), I hope that this post will encourage you even more seek out writers who you may have never heard of from faraway places with names that are difficult to pronounce.  Like the rest of you, I too often panic that there aren’t enough hours in a lifetime to read all of the books I want to read, or feel I’ve missed out on.  But I think there’s additional education in learning the pleasure of writers addressing familiar topics and theories but from a totally different experience in the world.  Word!


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Categories : Hungarian writers, Lost in translation, Writing

Storms, and waiting for them

14 09 2009

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It’s been a weird few weeks of weather here in Budapest.  I’ve spent falls a lot of places now, from the Ohio valley and Indiana forests to Georgia pine country and the Hungarian plains.  And I’ve learned to accept that the weather is not going to be how I remember it growing up in Ohio, which I must argue has probably one of the best autumns in the whole universe.  It’s been sunny and cool in the mornings now, and sunny and warm in the afternoons.  And in the evenings the sun skirts down the shingles of the old cotton mills and electric works and a magnificent orange settles right at my eye line where I watch it from my balcony.  And still, I can’t help but want a few storms.  It must be the Ohioan in me that thinks, in those moments of beauty, where’s the rain?

We had a few clouds here and there, but nothing too significant.  The picture above is from two weekends ago when a huge system moved across the Danube and into the heart of Pest.  It was awesome to watch.  We didn’t get any rain at all, from where we sat two blocks down, but we could see the whole storm bunch and move across the city.

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A complication of the no-rain — coupled with the fact that this is a pretty old city with more than its share of particles floating around the air –is that my allergies are going haywire.  To top it off, you can’t get a good, heavy dose of speed-laced cold medicine anywhere in the country, something that you know is working because your heart feels like it might explode at any minute.  (Mom– please send mucinex asap).

But I’ve taken it in stride by playing many rounds of Cranium.  For those of you who have never played Cranium, you need to leave your computer right now, drive to the nearest store, and buy.  it.  immediately.

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Even though these things have nothing to do with Hungary or Budapest, it is what I have been doing over the last few weeks, so I thought, why not, I’ll post it for everyone in the world to see.  If it isn’t already obvious, I am the world’s worst drawer.  The picture above is my attempt to draw “lipstick.”  Now, granted, I had to keep my eyes closed while drawing, it’s still pretty awful.

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To make matters worse, Györgyi is apparently one of the world’s greatest clay free-sculptors.  Riding Saddle, no problem!

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No one guessed or appreciated my sculpture of the DNA double helix.

Anyway, that’s all I have to write about.  I’d love for it to be the case that I would always have glamorous tales of travels to recount, but just like everyone everywhere, I have weekends where I’m stuck in at home, playing games for geeks, and waiting, patiently for a few fall storms.


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Categories : Art, Budapest, District XIII

Sleepy, Tokaji Sunday

10 09 2009

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We woke up early on Sunday, out of habit more than anything else, and so we waited in the room for about 30 minutes until we knew the breakfast would be ready.  Most hotels that you stay at in Europe offer a free breakfast included with the price of the room.  Of course some are better than others, and they all feature local tastes.  In central Europe there are lunch meats, breads, cheeses, coffee, mostly.  Sometimes there are hot items and sometimes there are eggs (mostly for the English and Americans).  The shock of seeing raw bacon served next to the other deli meats has mostly worn off me, though my gut is still to look around and see if anyone else has noticed they forgot to cook the bacon.

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The breakfast at the Gróf Degenfeld Castle Hotel and Winery was very good.  And the upside of it being a smaller hotel is that when we sat down, the breakfast server came to us and asked what hot items we would like to have prepared.  It was not an extra charge, which was fantastic, and we could have anything from omlets to french toast to cooked bacon!

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After breakfast we walked around the grounds of the hotel a little bit.  We didn’t bring our bathing suits, though the weather would have been perfect for a swim in the afternoon.  But it was nice to see the small, indoor wellness facilities and the lovely pool enclosed in pine.

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We went back into Tokaj so that we could see a bit more of the town and buy some wine before driving back to Budapest.  The first thing that we did before losing too much energy was to climb to the lookout above the river.  From the top, you can see more of the region and also the Zemplén mountains.  Incidentally, Zemplén (the region in Slovakia) is where my maternal grandmother’s family came from.  I hadn’t expected it to be so close to Hungary, but I’m really glad I was able to get a few pictures for my grandmother.

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I’m so glad that we decided to go to Tokaj at this particular time of year, because without the hoards of tourists spilling through the town, you get a chance to see it in its simple, sleepy form.

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And though there were some people roaming around the streets, preparing for a little local band performance, attending the shops, steaming milk for cappuccinos, it was still very quiet.

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It was only about 10:30 by that point, and still too early for lunch, which we had planned on getting before going back to Budapest.  So we did the only sensible thing to do on a quiet Sunday in a quiet wine town: sit outside and have a glass of wine.

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We sat for a while just enjoying the sunshine and watching locals walk up and down the brick streets, saying hello to neighbors and shop owners.  Other restaurants were just opening and waiters were clearing off tables and stick debris that was still blowing around town from the storms two days earlier.  It was a really dreamy experience.  My camera died right after this picture, though I think it too fell under the influence of the calm and peaceful town, and probably, just had to go to rest for awhile.


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Categories : Food, Hungarian wine, Tourist, Traveling

Wine of Kings and Queens and You and Me

9 09 2009

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The story goes a little something like this:  17th century Hungary and the Turks are burning their way through the land and people and goods like it’s no one’s business.  Inconveniently they arrived in late summer to what is today northeastern Hungary just at the dawn of grape-harvesting season.  Obviously the people had a little bit more to worry about than wine and so they left the grapes alone.  And there they sat on their sad little vines until the very beginning of November.  When the people finally had time to go and collect them, they all were devastated to find that the grapes had, apparently, “rotted.”  Well one brave soul called Laczkó Máté Szepsi decided to give these grapes a go anyway and made, what some argue, was the first aszú (grapes with noble rot).  These wine-myth stories get a little muddled in history, especially because the timelines are a slighty off.  Hungary was just finishing up with the Ottoman invasion, for example, and the anti-Hapsburg movement was underway.  But mostly it’s not important who was the invader or the pillager or the occupier.  The important thing is that a little miracle was rotting on the vine.

There are other wine-myths in Hungary surrounding the Turks, and as in all of the surrounding regions that have claimed to have the first aszú, most of these stories are built up by people who are damn proud of their wine.  One thing is true, however, that the Tokaji-Hegyalja wines probably have the finest sweet wines in the world, even getting the royal wink of France’s King Louis XVI who, after sampling the sweet aszú wines, deemed that the Tokaji wines were “Vinum Regum, Rex Vinorum.” Wine of Kings, King of Wines.

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We left a rainy and gray Budapest late Saturday morning and by the time we neared Tokaj-Hegyalia it was immediately clear why the region is so famous for its landscape and climate.  The weather was perfect and the early afternoon absolutely dazzled through the windows.

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We arrived in Tokaj around 12:30 and decided just to look around the outskirts of the town.  It was so calm and quiet I could have laid down under the bell tower and pine and fallen asleep.

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After a short walk around to find the restaurant where we had dinner reservations, we drove back out of Tokaj 7 or 8 minutes to another small, charming town, Tarcal, which is where we were staying at the Gróf Degenfeld Castle Hotel and Winery.

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Count Imre Degenfeld was one of the founders of The Wine Association of Tokaj-Hegyalja in 1857.  The hotel was once a country house on the Degenfeld royal estate, and as we learned was also a school for winemakers before the family converted it into a historic hotel.  I have to say that it was one of the nicest hotels I’ve stayed in since coming to Europe.  It was a 4-star hotel, but these star ratings are a little lose, especially in this part of Europe.  But it was very luxurious.  The 19th century decoration was elegant and the rooms were shockingly spacious.  The staff was attentive and friendly.  There is 1 suite and 20 rooms and from what we experienced, I would absolutely recommend this hotel to anyone who is going to be in the region.  Having a car helps, of course, because the hotel is about a 10-minute drive outside of Tokaj.  But, if you don’t have a car, (or if you’re planning on hitting the sauce along the charming tasting rows) the hotel can arrange a car into town.

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We arranged for a private cellar tour and wine tasting for Saturday afternoon, and it was truly a wonderful experience.  First of all, we were the only ones in the whole winery and on the tour.  I was a little big surprised because I thought there would be others, but it was just the three of us.

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Our tour guide, Reni, took us through the winery and then into the ancient cellar.  The tour was really informative and it lasted almost an hour.  We asked questions, saw the lovely rows of casks made strictly from oak from the Zempléni Mountains, and learned a lot about the vineyard and the region’s wine history.

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After the tour of the facility and cellar, we went back to the hotel to the tasting room for our deluxe wine tasting.

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I won’t go into details about all of the wines that we tasted because if you are interested, click here for the tasting list, notes and package prices.

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By far, we enjoyed the Tokaji Muscat Lunel 2007.  It is a semi-dry wine, which has a lovely and refreshing bouquet.  It’s definitely a summer wine, but one to drink all year for that summer feeling.

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Nota Bene:  Reni did NOT short glass us (this is something my parents will be very glad to hear).  And though we were taking lots of notes and asking good questions, by the time we hit our 8th pour, we were pretty sauced.  At one point between the 6th and 7th wine, Györgyi asked Reni if she takes candles into the cellar to protect from any surges of Carbon Monoxide, after which I threw my horrifying-topic-switch hat in the ring by discussing early mining practices and birds dropping dead in cages in mine shafts.  Regardless, it was good that we had a little water and bread and made it back to our room without too much trouble to rest before dinner.

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Before going to dinner, we walked around the vineyard a bit and took some pictures.  I don’t know if it was the remnants of the wine or just the simplicity of the evening sunset, but I felt very sentimental in those vineyards.  The evening was just lovely and I hope anyone who visits Hungary can get a chance to see the wine region.

We had a light dinner of fish at Bonchidai Csárda where we sat on their terrace overlooking the Tisza river.

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We went back at sunset and both were in complete silence admiring the beauty of the countryside.  There’s something really wonderful in that feeling that the land is getting sleepy with you.

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Back in our hotel room, we enjoyed the bright moon and the open windows streaming in the vineyard air with a crisp bottle of the Muscat Lunel.

It’s easy to see why the likes of Voltaire, Heine, Goethe, Liszt, Beethoven etc., exalted the Tokaji wines.  They are wines that truly sing of their lovely region.  The wine of kings and queens.  And the rest of us looking for a little slice of that loveliness.


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Categories : History, Hungarian wine, Traveling

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