Category Archives: Villages

Kecskemét

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On Sunday we visited Kecskemét, which is a city in central Hungary, equal distance (86 km) between Budapest and Szeged. I haven’t been up for actively touring around Hungary lately, mostly because I’ve been so busy with work and making arrangements for the long trip abroad (!), but Sunday reminded me of the importance in making efforts to see as many little towns as possible, wherever they are.

Kecskemét has had continuous inhabitants for 5,000 years, though much of the post-Sarmatian (iron-age Iranians that inhabited Hungary a few millennia ago) villages were destroyed by the Mongols, just like everywhere else in this part of the world. Since then, the city has grown into a trading center and now, a little university town. Despite the soviet efforts to destroy everything productive about the city, such as its thriving wine and brandy industry, Kecskemét is slowly reestablishing those markets.

The biggest thing to happen to the city in a long time is that Daimler is about to open a 1.24 BILLION dollar Mercedes-Benz factory just outside of town, which will provide about 2,500 jobs.

But we didn’t visit for the history, or the tremendous Art Nouveau architecture. We were there to see the Hungarian Museum of Photography (Magyar Fotográfiai Múzeum). It is located in a restored 18th-century Orthodox synagogue and opened in 1991. There is a slight heaviness to this building from a historical sense. Kecskemét had a thriving Jewish community before WWII, when in May and June of 1944, almost all of the community was sent to Auschwitz.

The exhibit running right now is of famed WWII Hungarian photographer, Robert Capa. Capa was born Friedmann Endre Ernő in Budapest in 1913, covered 5 wars, and co-founded Magnum photos. The exhibition space is small and perfectly lit for viewing photographs. And these were original prints, too, including two of the eight surviving shots that Capa took when the Allies stormed the beaches of Normandy (for those who know their photography history, a staff member at Life  in London set the dryer too high in the dark room, which melted the emulsion on the negatives, ruing the other 100+ pictures of that day). The following picture is one of the most Capa’s most famous.

After the museum, we walked through the town a little bit more and came across this fantastic 13th century church dedicated to Mary. It was the most charming, beautiful building in the whole town I think.

And after our stroll, we had to stop at the cukrászda (for purely research purposes, of course).  We had a little cake and rested at a marble table that was old enough to still have a candle holder in the middle of it.

If you’re on a regional tour of Hungary, especially of central and south central Hungary, I would definitely recommend visiting Kecskemét. From its charming architecture and the streets lined with flora to the cafes and restaurants in the city center, it’s definitely worth the hour drive or train ride from Budapest.

 

 

Long Weekend in Békésszentandrás

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Békésszentandrás is a village that is situated along the Hármas Körös River in central eastern Hungary. The village was inhabited about a thousand years ago by ancient Hungarians, though it was depopulated (to borrow a word from archeology) by the Mongols and then resettled a few hundred years later. Of course those settlements were only up for a few decades before being depopulated again by the Tartars. But in typical Hungarian fashion, the villagers came back and moved on with their lives, resettling again by the 18th century, after a young aristocrat bought the territory for about $150. The village has only had public utilities since the 1990s, but you wouldn’t know it from driving through the touristy city center.

Now it’s sort of a weekend vacation spot. Nowhere near as posh or expensive as the Lake Balaton region, Békésszentandrás is still a sleepy little village where weekend homes and fishing huts line the river. Gyorgyi and I, along with 8 friends (Edi, Csabi, Andi, Gabi, Erika, Dezso, Anita and Tamas) spent the end of last week and the beginning of this one at a great little house on the river. We swam, paddle-boated, cooked outside, road bikes and scooters and had a lovely, relaxing mini-vacation.

Kistelek Flea Market

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Kistelek is located in Hungary’s Southern Great Plain region. It’s a village. Or is it a town? I’m not totally sure of the distinction, though this particular place has under 8,000 residents, so it’s pretty small. And once a month in a field in the center of this little town, there is a very large outdoor flea market where people from all over the Great Plain come to sell and barter their treasures.

Györgyi and I went about a month ago early on a Saturday morning. We got there around 6 a.m with other true treasure hunters, but the mass enveloped the field about an hour or two later.

The greatest thing about these flea markets is the amount of stories that are spread out onto the seller’s blankets. These are not professional resellers, like you might find in and just outside of Budapest. These are, for the most part, people who have a little junk they want to sell and do so on flea market weekends.

I found so many things I fell in love with. A 60 year old German bike that I’m restoring to its full poet-on-cobblestones potential. I also found an old typewriter that I almost bought, but because it wasn’t in the powder blue color I was looking for, decided to pass. I’m glad I did because some day I will find that powder blue typewriter and know it was meant to be.

We ate a langos, bought a few old soda bottles, and enjoyed the morning summer sun rising over the rust.

 

 

Csongrád and Travel Fatigue

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Last weekend we went to Csongrád in SE Hungary on the Tisza River. I think I have a little bit of travel fatigue because I wasn’t really feeling interested. 10th-century town? Seen it. Ruins of an 11th-century Benedictine monastery? Yawn. Secessionist-style streets? Nothing new. Cute old people riding a tandem bike past beautifully maintained parks? How long is this going to take because I want to catch up on Real Housewives of New York City.

But I suppose that these little towns have a way of charming even the most fatigued traveller.

Csongrád was founded many, many moons ago by Árpád’s son. Árpád was the Grand Prince of the Magyars who led the ancient, Hungarian tribes into the Carpathian basin. His son, Ete founded Csongrád, which by comparison seems a little ho-hum in terms of accomplishments. But still, he didn’t do a bad job. St. Stephen made it a county seat and it didn’t end up too worse for wear during the Mongol invasion. Later, in the 18th century, Csongrád was a pretty happening fishing center.

We walked around for a little bit, admiring the old signs. The one above is an old ice cream sign. And like the sign, the town seemed a little bit stuck in the 1970s. At least that was my impression of the downtown.

The bookstore does have the latest books, though:

Adjacent to the main walking street, there is a nice park. And at its entrance you will see a sculpture for the 1956 revolution.

It was one of the more interesting revolution sculptures I’ve seen, and I’ve seen my share here. It was a fairly unimposing obelisk, but covering the sculpture and the surrounding ground were all of these newspapers from the days during the revolution.

The monument above was my favorite. I just love this. At the top is a very nice cross and a handsome Jesus, and then BAM–woman holding a skull.  Very creepy. It has to be from the Communist era because it has that lack of detail that is common in those sculptures. But the Party artists weren’t making religious sculptures–they were making workers’ sculptures. So it’s strange and kind of wonderful.

Our final task in Csongrád was to take a look at what remains of the 18th-century fishing village settlement.

Adobe houses + thatched roofs = cute. People still live in these houses, though I read that some have super-modern interiors. I wish Hungary had a Parade of the Homes so I could get a look inside. That day most of the curtains were drawn. They definitely saw me and my Nikon coming.

The town sits on the banks of the Tisza river, and because it is damned just north of town, there is often a sandy beach where you can lay out or swim. Don’t open your mouth, though, because that water is coming from Romania. Sigh. I think I still have a little case of travel fatigue.

Busójárás 2011, Mohács

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On an average day—in Spring, let’s say—the little town of Mohács is home to less than 20,000 people. There are a few factories at the edge of town where many work building giant agricultural machines, and the neighboring city, Szekszárd, is a noted grape and wine-producing region. And on this average day, Mohács surely embodies what most people think of as a quiet down in southwestern Hungary.

But everything changes during Carnival when the Busós arrive.

In Hungarian, the Busójárás means the Busó march or parade. It takes place every year during Carnival, and if you want to know more about the history, read my previous post.

Yes, the Busós (or the men and women dressed like them) were said to have followed the apparition of a warrior knight back into Mohács to reclaim the city from the evil, Ottomon Turks. There is a little bit of that story left in the modern celebration. But the Busós today really embody the mischief and fun that goes on throughout the world during Carnival.

The Busó is Iktomi. The Busó is Trickster.

We went for the Busójárás’ main celebration day: the Sunday before Lent begins. And we arrived just in time to see a group of Busós ride a boat across the Danube to the banks of Mohács. They guided to the shore by a raging bonfire.

Then all of the Busós, which must have numbered in the hundreds from all over central Europe, paraded from the river into the center of the city.

And the city (along with the tens of thousands of visitors there to participate in the event) paraded with them.

The people who live along the parade route watch from windows, rooftops and doorways.

Enterprising townspeople sold coffee and spirits on the sidewalk. And occasionally, the Busós stopped in tight alleyways or opened houses for a celebratory toast.

In addition to Busós, there were other people in traditional costumes: women wearing folk dresses, Croatian and Transylvanian, faces covered by lace, a play on mourning and modesty. Keeping in the ghosts.

As scary as they looked in the costumes, the Busós really accommodated the thousands of people wanting pictures and poses. Some were more mischievous than others. Györgyi was poked in the caboose by one of their walking sticks, and we were both squirted with a little, masked water gun.

But we didn’t get doused in coal or goose feathers. And we stayed out of the nets.

I personally was a fan of the Busó accessorizing; especially the donuts pierced through the sheep horns.

There was so much music and groups of folk dancers seemed to just pop up on the side of the parade whenever people felt inspired to move.  And even though Carnival is usually geared toward adults, there were plenty of activities that accommodated the younger Busós.

At one point we passed the coffin, which was said to carry Winter, that terrible monster. Later that night, the Busós would again parade to the river where they would light the coffin, and Winter, on fire.

After a few hours, we watched the lead Busó start the final push to the river, with a band following close behind. A few carried Turkish heads on sticks, just as a reminder of the past.

See, this is why people love Europe. It’s not just the monuments or the food or the universal health care. It’s during events such as the Busójárás where you really feel the link between the people and tradition—tradition that is not just historical, but participatory. The Mohács Busós bring out the best of old Europe. Blending legend and mystery with everyday life.

As we walked back to the car, it was as if I could see Hungary just a little bit better. We departed the parade line and found a few Busós on a side street. They smiled, called out the cheers—Egészségedre—Bless you.

After all, we all have a little Busó in us. We revere the past.  Wish for winter to go. Eat snacks and drink hot wine on the hood of a car on a cold, nearly spring evening.

And every so often, even the most mischievous among us, are caught gazing deep into the blue Danube from the banks of a small, working-class town.

The End of Winter & the Busójárás

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It’s been a miserable beginning to March. Snow and clouds for about six days now, which has everyone’s mood in the pits. But it’s Friday and the sun has just popped one eye open and it seems, at least for the moment, like the weekend and Carnival celebrations will be in full swing.

On Sunday, we’re going to Mohács, a little town in SW Hungary. It will be the place to be this weekend, as people celebrate the Busójárás. The tradition probably dates back to the Turkish occupation of Hungary. The local legend is that the people from Mohács had to flee the town to avoid the terrible Ottoman Turks. And one night at the end of winter, a Šokci man suddenly appeared at their campfire. Šokci are ethnic southern slavs/Croats. So the man told them that they shouldn’t be afraid to return to their homes. That they should prepare weapons because a masked knight would arrive and lead them to scare away the Turks. A few nights later the knight arrived, dressed in a terrifying mask. The people put on their own masks and picked up their weapons. They charged into the city and the Turks thought that they were being attacked by demons. They were so terrified, in fact, that they fled the city immediately.

photo by Istvan Kadar

The story has pre-Christian roots as well, and suggests that the people dressed up as Busós to scare away the winter. Sunday marks the largest celebration. Busós and Busó teams from Hungary and Croatia will be dressed in the sheepskin/straw/mask attire and parade through the city. And at sunset, a giant bonfire is lit and a stuffed straw figure (that represents Winter) will be burned. It’s been a tough winter, so I’m especially looking forward to see it ablaze.

Sucker for Contrasts

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The temperature peaked around 55 degrees on Saturday and we enjoyed a brisk little drive through several small villages in SE Hungary: Klárafalva (Clara’s village) and Ferencszállás (Frank’s accommodation). At one point our phones thought that we had crossed into Romania. I don’t think that we actually went over the border, but cell phone towers are almost as good a border-crossing indicator as anything these days.

I enjoy driving through these kinds of villages. Klara’s and Frank’s are somewhat more run-down than villages in the north and west, but not totally unusual. They are sandwiched between Szeged, where there is a big international student, science and arts population and Makó, famous for its onions and garlic (and also, unfortunately, its trough, which contains one of the largest natural gas fields in Europe. Drill baby drill!

There really isn’t any industry in these villages. Farming is slow right now, not only because of the winter, but because the fields have been flooded for weeks, slowing early seed and bulb planting. The Hungarian newspapers have said that the property values have decreased by 50% and unemployment is critically high.

The photographs that I took on Saturday are not typical of all of the homes and businesses there. I feel like I must mention that, because no doubt someone will Google “Hungarian village” and my pictures of a flooded field and messy yard will come up and he or she will think yeah, that’s what I thought. There are many nice little homes that speak to the generations of people who have lived in them. Sometimes it seems that time is moving more slowly there, but no one is really bothered by it. The trabant or polski fiat parked next to the side of the road. Or the stands of onions, garlic and potatoes at the foot of every other driveway. But I guess that day I was caught by the way the sun seemed to be working to better certain dilapidation. Sun on the elongated drain pipes, dropping rain into the creek. Sun on the bricked-up windows. Two dogs behind the panzio, barking at the Romanian semis. I’m a sucker for contrasts. They get me every time.

The Neighboring Village, Midday

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The weather has been beautiful the last few days. 50+ degrees and blue skies that almost convince away February. Since Gyorgyi and I work from our home office, we have been taking some liberties with traditional work hours, enjoying cappuccinos in the center of town while everyone else scurries to work. And at lunch, we explore the neighboring villages to find the cutest vegetable stand and néni working it. Trabants, bikes and shadows.

Winter

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Let me begin with a Mea Culpa. I’ve been so busy that I couldn’t get my head around posting any updates last week. That and the weather is thoroughly winter. Okay that’s not quite true. No one knows winter-bleak like an Ohioan. So the 2 C and partial shade really doesn’t cut it for excuses. But for Szeged, Hungary’s city of sunshine, a few days without the amber bounty seems, well, apocalyptic. Amen.

We’ve been spending early Sunday mornings driving to flea markets in the county. Each Sunday a different village hosts the flea market. There isn’t one today because it’s the rare 5th Sunday of a month.

I would say that 75% of the fun in going to these markets is the drive to get there. These are real, Hungarian villages. Tour busses cannot fit along these roads, and when the major highways were designed (for maximum efficiency in getting through Hungary quickly), no one thought to link these villages into the main pathways. But that seems to be alright by the people, and certainly alright by travelers looking for a little slice of authenticity. Especially here in Hungary’s Great Plain, the wide spaces and chilled wheat inspire adventure. I think I’ve probably always been a country girl at heart. Nothing pleases me more than seeing a chipped wooden sign advertising horse studding, or a little donkey in the distance rummaging for feed.

Most of the markets are set up the same. At the entrance you’ll find the animals: chickens, ducks, geese. Sometimes pigs and goats, but not always, and not this time of year. And all kinds of food for the animals. And puppies! Most of the puppies! are pure breads, though not always. Last week a man was giving away shepherd mixes because, as the man told us, the “mom” was a little bit of a farm tart. But he wanted them to go to a good home.

Most of the people that frequent these places are those living in the county. Farms, mostly, and some pickers. Good people with somewhat difficult lives. The market is the place to buy everything. From gulyas cauldrons, horse reins, spark plugs for an old Fiat to liquorish and bras (not usually at the same stand).

I love to go.  I love to watch the hundreds of people looking for treasures. I love to watch Gyorgyi haggle a few cents off of a little piece of pottery. The air is filled with the smell of mulled wine, fried kolbasz and langos. It really is the cure for any partially sunless winter blues.

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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