Christmas Eve, 2013: Budapest is one of the most cultured capitals in Europe. Elegant, sophisticated, and a patron of the arts – one can find a wealth of classical enchantments here: ballet, concerts, opera.
My Hungarian rhapsody started a little off-key. Furious north winds delayed my flight out of Manston, thus setting off a chain reaction for my conecting flight in Amsterdam. After an arduous journey, I arrived in Budapest sans luggage. Stress levels were high as all my Christmas presents were in my checked luggage. Customer service spoke basic English and showed admirably restrained interest in the problems of affected passengers. We were told in no uncertain terms that although the luggage would arrive on the last flight that day, around midnight, delivery would not happen for a few days at least. Understandable because of the holiday period, but extremely frustrating no less. A toiletry bag and a 30 Euro discount voucher off KLM flights were my consolation for this abject inconvenience.
The taxi ride to the city centre cost about 7000 Forints (about £25). Being Christmas Eve, the streets were mostly deserted and the ride was smooth and uneventful. My dear friend, Ildiko, greeted me with her usual verve, but was shocked to hear about my luggage woes. However, there was no time to mope.
We were off to Ildiko’s best friend Kati’s house to celebrate Christmas the Hungarian way. We only had enough time to bundle up presents before Kati’s husband, Elec, picked us up in his car. Luckily, I had split a few presents into my carry on bag so I did not have to turn up empty handed.
Everyone was running around. Kati was getting the food ready with her mother, while her mother-in-law kept the newborn baby entertained. Clever Rosika, their daughter, asked all manner of interesting questions such as “What happens to us when we die?”
Traditional Hungarian delicacies were set on the table. The main dish was something called töltött káposzta, or stuffed cabbage roll, if you prefer. The dish is prepared by steaming cabbage leaves til they are soft, then stuffing these with rice and pork and herbs, and then cooking the “packages” again in a broth made from sauerkraut seasoned generously with paprika.I wasn’t sure I would like it, to be honest, but I had to admit it grew on me. It’s actually a very heavy and stodgy meal.
Over the next few days, we visited more of Ildiko’s friends, and at each place, There was more töltött káposzta. I can safely say that I exhausted my requirement for stuffed cabbage for the next twelve months.
At Reni’s house, her husband Richie introduced me to the famous Hungarian tipple: palinka (more commonly marketed as schnapps). His were all home made, and highly potent. Thank goodness for more stuffed cabbage and duck to absorb the alcohol.
That evening, in a chic apartment close to the imposingly majestic Hungarian Parliament, and facing the Danube, we had dinner at Andras and Gedda’s. More stuffed cabbage, followed by turkey.
In between, we also visited Gabor in his New York-inspired loft style apartment and caught up with Haydee, Esther and Bernice. I also caught up with my Austrian friend, Christian and his girlfriend Maria, and another Hungarian girl, Kryszta.
Food punctuated all the meetings. Desserts were delicious and yummy. A traditional roll made with either ground walnuts or poppy seeds is the beigli. This is made every Christmas. Other amazing things I tried were the chimney cake, the eszterhaszy cake (a layered cake), and the Gerbeaud (a sinfully rich chocolatey creation). Budapest is a permanent abode for the tooth fairy.
The people I met were so wonderful and lovely. More importantly, they were highly educated and intelligent, and we had many a lively conversation. Even Reni and Richie’s 12 year old daughter had her own fashion blog. The big worry pervading the general thinking was the current government and its increasingly radical and nationalistic policies. My Hungarian friends likened it to a return to the Communist ways. People are thinking about leaving the country to seek a better future for their children.
The nationalistic movement, as we have seen in countless periods and countries, can be manoeuvred in various directions. Indeed, I experienced some of this “nationalistic” pride myself. While waiting for a friend on the lush Andrassy avenue, I was asked by a local drunk to “go home” at the top of his lungs, while brandishing his half empty bottle at me.
I took time to visit one of Budapest’s famed hot thermal spas. Due to the Christmas holidays, the spa was packed with patrons. You have to bring your own bathing costume and a cap if you wish to swim in the pool. I’d visited various baths in other countries and found the water invariably too hot for comfort. I was amazed that in most pools, you could just slip in with ease, like you do in a bath that was just constantly right.
Despite the crowd, I managed to get a two hour soak and even braved two laps in the freezing pool outside, while snowflakes feathered. It worked up quite an appetite too and I was grateful for Ildiko’s picnic basket of beigli and other delicacies which I wolfed down by the bank of the Danube. I finished it off with a small burger at (oh dear) McDonalds. My excuse is that it is located inside a train terminal building built by the great Gustave Eiffel (yes, he of Gay Paree), and I needed an excuse to marvel at the architecture.
What is Budapest without culture? As one of my many Christmas presents, Ildiko took me to a concert of divinely gorgeous music. I didn’t manage to catch The Nutcracker at the Opera House, but you simply can’t escape Hungary’s Austrian legacy no matter where you go.
Despite a few discordant notes here and there, my Hungarian rhapsody has truly been a virtuoso triumph, orchestrated with precision by the inimitable Ildiko. And to her, I am eternally grateful.
