Category Archives: History

All Saints

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A lot of countries in Europe, including Hungary, give a day off for All Saint’s Day on November 1st. Like a lot of cultures, people here use the day to go the cemeteries to visit family member’s graves and the graves of friends. Famous dead politicians, artists, celebrities, national heroes, etc., all receive a lot of visitors as well. It was a beautiful day in Szeged so we took a few hours and walked through two different cemeteries here. The first was where Györgyi’s grandmother, Dr. Szabo Irén is buried. Györgyi brought some flowers and dusted away a few leaves. Then we went to the city’s biggest cemetery to walk around and look at some of the plots of famous Hungarians. Is it strange to say a cemetery is beautiful? Both were. There were opulent and simple graves, family mausoleums and walls of urns. Family members were everywhere: walking, sweeping leaves, recounting stories, lighting candles. There was something very comforting and nice about the whole day. And even though Hungarians aren’t very religious, they do really respect tradition and find comfort in it. I took a few pictures to capture what I could of the atmosphere. I think they speak of the fall and of this town.

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Memento Park, Budapest

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This past week, while Györgyi was hard at work, my parents and I visited Memento Park, located in Southern Buda’s 22nd district.

Memento Park is an outdoor museum/graveyard for the remains of Hungary’s soviet statue past.

The skies were overcast, though it didn’t deter the two tourist busses of people from visiting. We went by car, but unless you are on a tour trip through Budapest, you might not even known that it is out there in southern Buda. It’s almost as if there is a feeling from many (including Györgyi) that these little suffering relics of the past shouldn’t get anymore attention.

I’ve been to Memento Park three times now, and I am always left with a lingering creepy feeling. Like most people who visit and who aren’t from a soviet bloc country, my parents thought that the statues were really fascinating and strange.

There are several public transportation options for getting to Memento Park, including a bus that takes you right to the park from the center of the city. I wouldn’t, however, recommend the walking option, which, according to the website is a 20-30-minute walk from Kamaraerdő through the woods. No thanks.

Leaving for Firenze tomorrow.  La dolce vita!

Visegrád, Esztergom & St. Stephen’s Skull Wrapped in Chiffon

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The last week has been a rainy mess, so we have been a little bit off of our itinerary plans. Luckily we had a relaxing week in Budapest before the majority of our other traveling begins (Monday we are off to Florence).  Last weekend there was a little spot of sunshine and we drove to a few neighboring towns.

Our first stop was Visegrád, which is a town 40K north of Budapest and right on the Danube. The real attraction there is visiting the fortress and getting the most spectacular view of the Danube bend. The Roman initially built a fortress in Visegrád, but the Mongols destroyed it in 13th century. The fortress that we explored was rebuilt in the 13th century when the Mongols left Hungary, during the reign of King Béla IV.

After Visegrád, we drove another 20 minutes northwest to Esztergom to visit its beautiful basilica. Esztergom is the seat of the Roman Catholic Church in Hungary and it has played a really important religious and royal role through the centuries.  The official name of the basilica is the Primatial Basilica of the Blessed Virgin Mary Assumed Into Heaven and St Adalbert.  The title makes me feel a little sorry for the after thought that is St Adalbert. The build itself is the tallest in Hungary and the the 18th largest church in the world. But that’s not all. Plopped down right in the corner in a nice little glass case is the old skull (and a few other bones) of St. Stephen, wrapped, delicately, in white chiffon.

We ended the night by visiting our favorite trout restaurant on the side of the road between the two cities.  Trout, almonds, steak potatoes, huge salads and beer was the perfect reward to a very full (and holy) day of traveling.

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Eger

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Just east of the Mátra mountains is the lovely little town of Eger. While it is recognized for its castle and baths, our main purpose for visiting Eger was to go to St. Andrea winery for a tour and tasting. The region is well known for its wines, but is particularly famous for its “Bulls Blood” red wines. In 1552, 80,000 Turks were advancing toward Eger. Just 2,000 Hungarians, led by Dobó István and including women and children successfully defended the Eger castle. The story goes that during the battle, the Hungarians were drinking the Eger red wine for strength, but all the Turks could see was that the Hungarians had dripping red beards, stained swords and faces. The Turks thought that the Hungarians were drinking bulls blood and were so shocked and scared that the mighty magyars were able to defeat them.

St. Andrea winery is located outside of Eger on a beautiful hillside. We were all very impressed with not only the incredible wines, but with the philosophy of the owners and winemakers. Our guide, Tamás, spoke about how they are searching for the truth in the process, or as he said “the way”. And that more important than selling a million bottles of wine, they want to make a great wine that people appreciate. The tasting was wonderful in addition to the wine, cheese and bread with oil and balsamic vinegar. Inspired by his wife and muse, Andrea, Dr. György Lőrincz’s wines are (like the name of one of his white wine’s suggests) blessings in bottles.

And finally, after the wine tasting, we went back to Eger for dinner right next to the castle at a great restaurant called Imola. The restaurant was recommended by St. Andrea herself, and the food was wonderful. We ordered ham and cheese plates, gulyas soup, beef cheek, stuffed peppers, trout, veal stew and duck. And we were so stuffed from the wine and food that we couldn’t even order desert. So despite the trickling rain and cool weather, it was a beautiful September 1st in Eger.

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A Visit to Former Yugoslavia

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My mom and I were sitting in the flat. We had our usual night watching the quiz shows and having dinner in front of the TV. No matter how loud the TV was, we still couldn’t overcome the sounds of the bombs. It was scary. But we didn’t talk about it. It was kind of a don’t-talk-about-it or don’t-notice-it, as if talking about it would make it serious

I sometimes looked out of the window, because it seemed closer. We heard the airplanes, too. And since we never heard them before –my hometown is not a used air corridor of Hungary- it gave us more fears, of course.

I never went to Yugoslavia those times. I didn’t know how close it was. When I heard the bombs or whatever those sounds were, I realized it was much closer than I could ever imagine.

We saw it in the news. The war started at the Balkans. We saw some pictures, videos. I can hardly remember them, but the picture in my head. Bombs exploding. Sad and dirty faced crying adults and children.

–Györgyi, reflecting on the sounds of war in the former Yugoslavia

Saturday we went to Serbia.  Our purpose was just to spend the day there and go to the market in Subotica. Though Belgrade is only about an hour and a half away from Szeged, when we crossed the border into Serbia, we knew immediately it had been a mistake to go on Saturday. For several weeks, the border agents have been fastidiously serching cars for illegal Turkish workers and contraband. When we saw the line of cars trying to get back into the EU, we decided to try to find another border to cross back into Hungary.

Serbia has a long and extraordinarily complex history that ranges from the 7th century all the way until 2006, when the country became independent from Yugoslavia. Like Hungary (and also once party of the Kingdom of Hungary), Serbia has been a place of medeival power, continuous invasion, and political termoil. Serbia is also the home of one of the 20th century’s great monsters: Slobodan Milošević.

When we were driving we got lost a few times.  First of all, our British GPS does NOT want anyone to drive through Serbia.  It will take you 8 hours out of the way in order to avoid it. So we had to rely on Györgyi’s Hungarian instinct to find her homeland.  We were close several times and even thought we might be able to just sneak back into Hungary on a back road that no one looks after anymore.  But as the road got close to Hungary, it just ended.  Then nothing but expanse of fields and barbed wire. And the river.

I have a recurring nightmare about border crossings.  I think it is because I was fascinated by East and West Germany right at the time in my childhood when I really started watching the news with my parents at night before bed.  And I still have the same dream.  Being in a foreign, unfamiliar, usually dangerous place.  I’m trying to get across the border and failing or getting caught.  And then running or driving as fast and recklessly as possible, all the while my loud and uncontrolled heartbeat is giving away my position to whoever is chasing me.  Sometimes I’m trying to get someone else across.  When I was little I was trying to get across my little brother. Sometimes he was a baby or his knees were too chubby to run fast. Or my mom who was always losing things along the way.  In recent years its been Györgyi or Bárnabás.  Something on Saturday really triggered that old panic in me again.

We went through a few small towns and a gas station attendent spoke Hungarian so Györgyi could ask the way to the nearest border crossing that might not have such a long line.  We went and waited for 30 minutes.  When we got to the border, the Serbian guards didn’t let me out.  My heart was beating and beating.

So we headed back to the long line at the main EU crossing.  On the way, we saw many characteristics of village life. Bicycles, tractors, and a train station that was only large enough for 1 or 2 people to wait for the train.  Even though it was just 10 km from Szeged, it seemed like a totally different world.

Last year in Salzburg I met a couple who went to Kent State. They were living in Belgrade as part of a US government team (are now too, I assume) and we chatted for a few minutes about Serbia and the crossroads of Central and Southeastern Europe.  They said that even though Serbia is trying to pull itself out of the traumas of the past, having recently applied for membership in the EU, the capital city is still strikingly gritty. And maybe if I had been in a better mood, if I hadn’t been worried about getting denied re-entry and having to sit for three hours in the main line, we would have just gone to the market, visited a little lake, and headed back to Hungary with a much different impression of Serbia. But it still didn’t feel like Europe. And not in the same way that Croatia doesn’t feel like Europe. I don’t want to use a word to describe it that will be misconstrued as being negative, so I think I will just borrow from a fellow ex-pat with experience in Serbia.  It was gritty.

Györgyi was growing up in Szeged when the war was going on so close to home. She was in her teenage years then, and the fighting came very close to the border. I asked her to describe her experience, which is what is transcribed at the beginning of this post. I remember the war too, but only on television. And only as flashes of light streaking across the sky and President Clinton sitting behind his desk and explaining the positions in his slow, southern drawl. The comfort of distance.

We finally made it back to the EU border and the guard asked Györgyi in Hungarian if the American lady had ever experienced something like that crossing. She answered no.  And I think I felt kind of stupid and a little ashamed. Like as the American lady in the line of thousands of people, I was somehow more delicate than anyone else, more unprepared for the truth about borders and their significance. Getting in. Going home. But I’m trying to make up for it, I hope, by learning what I can and talking to people who lived through it and around it. There’s a great book of poetry by Lee Peterson called Rooms and Fields: Dramatic Monologues from the War in Bosnia.  I highly recommend it to anyone looking for some voices of this region in a not-to-distant past. After my experience on Saturday, I think I’ll read it again too.

Dózsa

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Last Saturday night we went to see a dance at Szeged’s open air theater. The production was called Dózsa and it was a folk-dance production about the life of Hungarian hero György Dózsa. For those unfamiliar with Hungarian history, just imagine they made a folk-dance production about William Wallace.

György Dózsa was a 16th-century professional soldier of fortune and (probably) nobleman who became famous first for bravely defending the Kingdom of Hungary against the invading Ottomans. Leo X’s papel edic gave legitimacy to this Crusade and Dózsa was appointed the leader of the movement, recruiting students and peasants to fight.

Not surprisingly, the peasants and other lower classes weren’t paid well (or at all), fed or clothed, and they revolted. When the landowners and nobility demanded the peasants come home to work the fields, they banned together and started brutally killing the landlords, burning homes and castles to the ground. In fact, they nearly destroyed Buda.  Dózsa actually wasn’t all that thrilled with this turn of events, but he wasn’t able to control the peasants either.

Ultimately he was captured, along with some followers. He was brutally (with a capital B) tortured (forced to sit on a heated iron throne and a heated iron crown was put on his head, mocking his ambitions to be a leader or king). His followers fared even worse—some flesh pulling, mutilation, forced cannibalism.  Pretty horrifying medieval torture stuff.

It’s a little unclear why he was turned into a Christian martyr figure, though that was emphasized in the 19th century, after some record (and I use that term very loosely) of monks who claimed to see the Virgin Mary in his ear when he was dying.

Anyway, as usual, it all worked out for the Ottomans. Because after over 70,000 peasants were tortured, killed or suppressed, they didn’t really feel motivated to fight for the kingdom anymore, and the Ottoman Empire easily swept into Hungary (in some cases, even seeming like saviors).

The dance was spectacular, actually. There were amazing folk dances and even guest dancers from Turkey and Romania. Very high energy.  Amazing set design. During the death-scene Dózsa climbed into this HUGE iron helmet, which was set on fire. Plus being outside at the theater is incredible. The night air and cool breeze shooing away the heat of the day.

During the play they really emphasized the Christian martyr connection, with a brief part of the play dedicated to how Dozsa would fight for Capital Him, God, instead of the landowners and nobility. I found it to be bizarre, since it really changed the historical importance and legend of the man who, despite being a nobleman and with absolutely everything to lose, wanted to help the little guy.  If anything, his story shows how the papacy corrupted wholly and in cooperation with the wealthiest of the kingdom, something that wouldn’t change in Hungary, at least, until the 19th century. The resulting laws of the Hungarian Diet increased the status of the nobility and even further decreased the rights of the peasants.

While there were countless Christian warriors at that time fighting in crusades, and perhaps Dózsa and his men fought the Ottomans under that guise, when the peasant revolt began, it no longer had to do with fighting for some greater power, but rather fighting for the people.

Despite the glitches in historical accuracy, the dancing was really great, and isn’t that the important thing? I’m really glad that we got a chance to see it, and I hope that we’ll see another show this summer (hopefully an opera!).

The Visitor

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As I mentioned in my last post, my brother, Brian, came to Budapest to visit me for two weeks.  He just went back to Colorado Springs yesterday, and I finally had a little bit of time to take a look at the pictures we took. It was a fully-packed two weeks and we all had a great time. We spent the first part of the time exploring Budapest. And since he is a History teacher, we made sure to see the relics and museums of the various conflicts, occupations and revolutions.  We did some touristy things and some non. By the end of the trip, he knew his way around the market, how to order a cappuccino and scones, and the value of sausage and palinka.  We had a wonderful party with friends in Szeged, and at the weekend he was even able to eat a shnitzel in Vienna.  We ended our trip with a four day adventure in Bovec, Slovenia, which is by far the most beautiful place I’ve seen. He went mountain biking, while Györgyi and I went on a white water trip. The next day we all went on ATVs in the mountain passes. I know I could drag out a blog post all week long and the next, probably, just to tell every detail of his trip. But I think the pictures will do a better job with the story. To see the set from the last two weeks, just click on the picture below.

Ecseri Piac

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Ecseri Piac (market), located in Budapest’s 19th district, is one of the largest outdoor flea markets in Eastern Europe. It is bric-a-brac and kitsch galore, and I’ve been wanting to go ever since I came to Budapest but for some reason I just never found the time. Finally a few Saturdays ago we drove over to the market and meandered through just about everything you might expect to find at a flea market in a country with a history as rich, diverse and strange as Hungary’s.

We arrived at about 8, which could be considered late for real bargain hunters, since the doors open at 6 a.m on Saturdays. But when we got there, there was still a substantial crowd. The vendors had all their wares unpacked from boxes and cardboard crates.

Porcelain? Check. Old military patches? Check. Farming equipment? Check. Paintings of Mediterranean Jesus?

Check. There were a lot of Jesus things, actually. But I wouldn’t say there was a theme to any of it. I think you could find just about anything at Ecseri. And even when you go there not wanting or expecting anything, I imagine that a common reaction to the sea of stuff is: I think I need that.

Sculptures. Heirlooms. Old Clocks.

And a lot from the Soviet-era. If you’re interested in Soviet or Communist history, go to a flea market in Central or Eastern Europe. It’s living, three-dimensional history in a place like Ecseri.

As a closet romantic, I really love old typewriters. And there were quite a few at Ecseri, equipped, of course, with the Hungarian keyboard.

There were a lot of old toys. Scary, scary old toys and stuffed animals and dolls whose vacant, 19th century eyes really gave me the creeps.

I don’t know why anyone would want an old stuffed animal with someone else’s baby’s saliva on it, but it’s always those old bears that turn up on Antique Roadshow and end up being worth thousands. Some of the fancier booths had beautiful jewelry and very expensive looking estate silverware.

And various replacement pieces in case you lost your giant home crucifix.

It’s a place where you can’t help but imagine the charm of older times.

A place where the stories of the old uniform, Russian icons, antique water jugs, and family portraits are more important than the items themselves. I think flea markets must be one of the last places on Earth where strangers talk to each other face to face.

You can reach Ecseri, which is on Nagykörösi út, by public transportation, but it’s just as easy to catch a cab, since the market is just outside of the city. Take a Hungarian friend if you really want to haggle prices, because as the flow of tourists have increased over the years, the bargains have decreased. That’s not to say you won’t find bargains, but probably you have to know your stuff. Keep in mind that if you want to purchase antiques, no one will stop you, but you have to have permission from the Museum of Applied Arts before taking them out of the country. Whether you are looking to spend an early morning in sensory overload, learn more about the history of the Magyars, or find an elusive Herend Porcelain vase to take back to your home country, Ecseri is definitely not a place to miss in Budapest.

Yellow

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Easter weekend has come and gone, and though it’s just Tuesday, I’m a little behind on my days. We had a day-off for the Easter Monday tradition, which frees up a full day for Hungarian men to throw water on women in a fertility ritual that pre-dates Christianity altogether. (We stayed inside with movies and Turkish food).

On Saturday we went to the Hungarian National Museum (me, Györgyi and her nephew Máté). I’ve never been to the National Museum. It’s beautiful, and an emblem of many freedom movements for Hungarians, since it is where poet & revolutionary, Petőfi Sándor, recited his famous call-to-revolution poem).

They have a huge Hungarian collection, which I’d like to see on another day when I really have time and energy to explore. On Saturday we were there to see the collection of photographs from this year’s Hungarian Press Photo exhibition.

After the exhibition, we went to the castle district (District I) to walk around. And of course to take the required parliament-in-the-background group photos.

To be completely honest, I’m really not a big fan of the castle district this time of year, or day, or holiday. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen these places in all of their quiet loveliness that I really can’t stand to be there fighting through the crowds. This is, I admit, a curmudgeonly view. But it’s where I am with my love/hate relationship with city tourists.

I was happy to look up and see that the top portion of scaffolding has been removed from Mátyás Templom. Which means that they might be nearing the end of renovations–hopefully by the time my family arrives this summer.

My crusty outlook improved when we went to the back of the castle wall, where there is a walkway overlooking the Buda Hills. There were almost only locals back there, doing what locals do best in the spring sunshine–enjoying it.

We admired the universal language of spring holidays, documented in chalk.

And what’s more Spring than PUPPY!  And the real 2010 Easter Miracle? — That these two gentlemen didn’t get their dog dognapped, by me.

The Castle District is about colors.

And contrasts.

Which are never more apparent than in the eye of an easy, afternoon sun. It makes you wish that window was your window, that bench, your bench.

As the shadows follow you through the narrow alleyways, you imagine the history of afternoons here, and a kind of gentle time passing.

With loving family.

And loyal friends.