Among the Magyars

We are in Budapest, on a wooded hillside, high above Buda. The campsite is the final stop of a defunct tram line, the charming ornate station forming the reception and restaurant where Magda serves us breakfast (with paprika).

Once again, we raced over the border without applying shoe leather to brake pedal, but saw little of the Hungarian countryside under the brooding low cloud. The day is getting tired and there is now no time to explore the city until the morrow. How does the voice Google Maps navigation manage to pronounce the streets of Budapest? I can’t and Carolina struggles, but the Oxford/estuary tones tell us to take Szekerely Mihaly with confidence and aplomb

But now we are to be entertained for the evening by Stephen and Edina, names from the pre-trip address book (my, this is just like a gap year!) who have invited us for dinner with Mamma cooking authentic Hungarian food.

It is a lovely evening, the food delicious, and of course laden with Paprika (although not the Hortobagy Palascinta a yummy pancake filled with cooked meat and sour cheese). With every delectation Stephen dived off into his basement to return with a bottle of a different colour. I asked about paprika and felt a little silly when shown it unground – of course it’s just a chilli – but an exceptionally nice chilli, with loads of sweet flavour and not too much heat.

We learn about the city and discuss what we might visit in the morning. What neither of us had realised is how young the city is. In many ways it reflects the history of the Magyars themselves; get a place of your own, someone comes and burns it down, build it up again, then, would you believe it? Another geyser comes along and does the same thing!

King Stephen may have been crowned in the eleventh century but even before that the Magyars had had to fight their corner. They weren’t pushed out by the Huns (although whether they were there then is questionable) but they were knocked over by the Mongols in the thirteenth century, then there were the Ottomans and the chaos of that part of Europe during the Habsburgs, but in spite of this they’ve still their spot on the Hungarian Plain. Perhaps not surprisingly given the above, Budapest, insignificant as two cities in the early 19th century, only grew into the Parisian style city of grand boulevards and monuments after unification in 1873.

Edina and her mother chattered away in Hungarian and I was struck immediately a familiarity to the lilt of the phrasing. I have had much more to do with Finns than Hungarians, and what I was hearing was very like Finnish.

Leigh Fermor is good on this, in his infuriating style. He starts off well, describing a conversation with a Hungarian about how similar were the two languages. “Oh, about like English and Persian” is the reply. But nevertheless, Hungarian is unique in Europe as being of Ugro-Finnic origin rather than proto-Indo-European of the rest of us, including the Slavic languages. Leigh Fermor then goes on to describe Hungarian as “…an agglutinative language – the word merely conjures up the sound of mumbling through a mouth full of toffee…. “ – so far so good - “It means that the words are never inflected as they are in Europe, and that change of sense are conveyed by a concatenation of syllables stuck on behind the first; all the vowel sounds imitate their leader, and the invariable rictus on the leading syllable sets up a kind of dactylic or anapaestic canter which, to a new ear, gives Magyar a wild and most unfamiliar ring.” Mmm. Not so sure.

Back to reality; Stephen is opening a bottle of Tokaj...... and then a fine red. The evening unfolds in way that appears to be international!.

The following day we took the tram to explore the city. Of course, it is beautiful, but what is more surprising is that most of it is not ancient. Visiting 150 years ago there would have been very little to see of the grandeur and finery – no statement boulevards or grand schema – but the marvellous topography was here, and St Mathias gorgeous church. This is a metropolis of 2 million people at and at first glance it seems to work. Buses are everywhere, trams too. Trains somewhere and a subway we are told. Easy to get around, easy to admire. The view from the castle across the river to the parliament building must rate as one of the finest cityscapes anywhere. Even Leigh Fermor got it (which I admit to being slightly surprised by) describing; “this frantic and marvellous pile … architectural dash could scarcely go further.”

Carolina wanted to visit the National Gallery and I was her willing consort. How special to see these wonderful works by Hungarian artists. Beautiful, emotive at times political but at others simply poignant, it was two hours that brought an instant insight into Hungary over the last two centuries. Highly recommended.

By the time we left the morning after to cross the Great Plain and rev Lupetto into a gallop to scale the Romanian border we had gleaned a tiny bit of understanding about what it is to be Hungarian. Respect, affection, courage, inventiveness and a strong a valid sense of nationalism.