Budapest, Hungary - Seeing the Sights in Two Days!

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Budapest

,

Hungary

All the Sights in Two Days!

Eight-years-old and sitting in my classroom waiting as the teacher gave out atlases. We were told to open them to the double-page spread showing Europe. I was mesmerized. All those peculiar countries with even stranger-sounding capital cities. Warsaw, Budapest, Bucharestand lots more besides filled the pages. And best of all was the thick black line that split the map right down the middle. Our teacher told us it was the Iron Curtain and it separated the communists from the rest of us. I ran my finger along its length, noting the countries on both sides.

“The red countries are part of the Warsaw Pact,” the teacher told us. “All under the control of the Soviet Union.”

I looked at my atlas, lingering over the red countries. Places like Romania, Bulgaria and Hungary were off limits to a person like me. People from the west just didn’t go there. And why would they want to anyhow? Grey, Soviet-style buildings. Depressed people queuing up at every store front. And the secret police! As a small child I could never have dreamed I’d be visiting such places as an adult. But now, twenty-seven years later, I was going to Budapest, capital of Hungary.

Budapest of course has changed a lot since the 1970’s. Communism is now consigned to the history books. The country is part of the European Union, even planning to adopt the Euro in 2011. Its thriving tourist trade means it ranks alongside Prague and Krakow as a destination to visit in Central Europe. In fact about 400,000 British nationals visit the country every year. Denmark get a quarter of that figure, with Estonia only getting a relatively paltry 65,000 British visitors. The reason for this is simple. Hungary is regarded as one of the safe and easy places to visit in the former Eastern Bloc. And only a couple of hours away by plane. It’s perfectly poised to grab the spill-over of tourists from the Czech Republic and Poland.

“Your flight to Zurich has been overbooked,” explained the representative on the Swiss airline desk at Manchester Airport. “And if you volunteer to go on a different flight we’ll give you 250 euros as compensation. You’ll go to Budapest via Prague and arrive at your destination one hour late. How does that sound?”

I turned to Jodie. She nodded. One hour wasn’t too bad. Besides, the extra cash would come in useful. So we eventually boarded a Czech Airlines plane and then hopped on a Malev flight to Budapest. It was all very straightforward and simple.

We arrived in Budapest around 8pm. It was dark and cold, but not as bitter as it could’ve been. February in Hungary normally meant a harsh snowy winter. As I surveyed the strange sights along the main road to the centre, there was not a flake in sight.

The taxi driver was a pleasant fellow, chatting away to us about where we had come from and our reasons for visiting his country. I noted his very good English and asked him about it.

“Ah yes. I used to be secondary school teacher,” he told us. “I did three years then give up. Couldn’t afford to live on money a teacher gets in Hungary. So I became au pair in London. I learn good English then. But now I live in Budapest and drive taxi.”

I asked him about the recent demonstrations in Budapest. They’d made the news in the UK.

The taxi driver smiled. “The people don’t trust the prime minister. They make protest around Parliament and the government don’t like it.”

At least it wasn’t as bad as the infamous 1956 Uprising. Unhappy with Soviet repression, fifty thousand students marched on Parliament on 23rd October 1956. Other students entered the Radio Building and some were shot at from inside the building by the State Police. News of this spread quickly which increased the disorder. Somewhere else a giant statue of Stalin was toppled and police cars were set ablaze as the protesters took arms. Unable to cope, the Soviet-backed government collapsed. Four days later, the leader of the rebellion, Imre Nagy, formed an interim government with himself in charge, and a ceasefire was put in place. Eight days later though the Soviets retaliated. Red army tanks rolled into Budapest, swiftly crushing the uprising. Nagy was executed, as were thousands of others, and 200,000 people fled the country in an effort to avoid the tightening of the Communist grip.

Early the next morning, the weather was overcast and misty, giving everything a dull and listless hue. Jodie and I headed along Vaci Utca towards the Danube, noting the graffiti scrawled upon many of the lampposts and wall, wondering what the city had to offer.

The Danube looked murky and cold. In the distance was the famous Chain Bridge, a major link between the two sections of the city – Buda and Pest. Buda is the hilly, medieval side, famous for landmarks such as Gellért Hill, the Royal Palace and the Fishermen’s Bastion. Pest is famous for its shops, government buildings and banks that occupy pleasant 19th century boulevards. The two halves of the city were only merged in 1873.

Jodie and I ambled along the river until we came to the bridge. Built in 1849, it was designed by a British engineer with construction overseen by a Scotsman. Just under a century later it was destroyed during World War Two (as were the other four bridges) but it was rebuilt in 1949. Guarded at both ends by impressive stone lions, we took the footpath along it, crossing over to Buda.

The Royal Palace dominated our view. Its dome jutting out from the centre of a long, grand looking building. After taking the funicular railway up to it we walked around the impressive grounds.

First begun in the 13th century, it became home to Hungary’s Kings, but then a series of mishaps befell the palace. Under Turkish rule, it fell into disrepair. 140 years later it was completely flattened when Christian soldiers managed to expel the Turks. Then it was rebuilt in 1749 but destroyed once more exactly a hundred years later by a Hungarian Uprising which left it as rubble for decades. And then it was rebuilt once more, with the Germans making it their headquarters in 1945. Unsurprisingly, they caused extreme damage in the process. But the present Palace was rebuilt in the 1960’s to house important Hungarian museums.

Also part of the Castle District is the Old town. Essentially just four streets, it’s full of colourful houses and museums, all recently renovated. Its pride of joy is the superbly named Fishermen’s Bastion. Resembling a fairy-tale castle, the bastion was actually built in the early 20th century as an impressive ornament for the city. Named after fishermen who once defended the castle walls in the 18th century, it certainly stuck an impressive sight. The view of the Danube below was also striking, though marred slightly by the mist and haze.

“Will you stop saying it like a swear word,” said Jodie as I rolled the word bastion off my tongue for the tenth time. “What is a bastion anyway?”

“A bastion is part of a fortress that sticks out. If a Fokker airliner had a defensive section it would be called a Fokker Bastion.” I said the last bit a bit louder than I’d meant too, causing some nearby people to turn around and regard me suspiciously. We hurried on.

Just behind the Bastion was the Mátyás Church. Dating from the 13th century, its darkest period came under Ottoman Rule. For a century and a half, the Turks turned the church into the city’s main mosque. Worse, the interior frescos were whitewashed and all the furnishings were ripped out. After the retreat of the Turks in 1686, it was reinstated once more as a church, but it wasn’t until the end of the 19th century that it was restored to its original design.

Adjacent to the church was the Statue of St Stephen, the first King of Hungary. Below it a couple of men dressed in traditional costume were holding onto large birds of prey. A small crowd had gathered around the pair, and the men were putting on a show.

“Look at those bloody bastions,” I said, gesturing towards them. Jodie ignored me. She was getting good at that.

Ten minutes later, we were at the other end of the Old Town. Pretty buildings were all around, and up here, graffiti was at a minimum. At the end of one street was Vienna Gate, named originally because it was the only gateway to the Austrian capital from the walled city of Buda. The original gate was destroyed in 1896, but was rebuilt in 1936. We walked through it, heading back down towards the Danube, pausing en route to look at two more fine churches.

St Anne’s, a twin-towered Baroque-style church, looked good with its gold designs. Further along, the Calvinist Church is one of Budapest’s more unusual. Built between 1893-6 on the site of an old medieval market, the church is neo-gothic in style, with a beautifully-designed roof of fetching colours.

After crossing back over Chain Bridge, we headed to the Basilica of St Stephen. Finished in 1905 after fifty years of construction, it’s Budapest’s largest church, able to contain up to 8500 people. Dedicated to Hungary’s first Christian king, it actually contains his mummified hand. Another interesting fact is that after the original tower bell was plundered by the Nazi’s in 1944, German Catholics paid for a new one as way of compensation.

Based on Paris’s Champs-Elysées, Andáassy út is almost one mile long. Along the street were a few more famous sights that we wanted to see. First up was the Hungarian Opera House. We pottered around the entrance without actually going in. Short on time, we walked on, eventually arriving at number 60, the striking House of Terror.

Letters were stencilled upside down and back-to-front on its awning. Had the day been sunny, a shadow of the word terror would’ve been cast onto the building below. But with the overcast conditions, we saw nothing.

“What does that cross and star mean?” asked Jodie pointing up to the awning.

The star was easy. I told her it was the symbol of the Soviets. I had to consult the guide book for the crossed-arrow symbol though. “It represents the Arrow Cross Party,” I explained when I’d found the relevant page. “They were the Hungarian Nazi Party.”

The building became the Nazi headquarters during the war, and then afterwards, the home of the Communist secret police. Nowadays, the building hosts a museum, with each room offering a different theme describing life under Nazi and Soviet brutality. It’s also a reminder about all the people who died within its walls.

“I want to try some famous Hungarian cake!” Jodie announced as we headed back towards the centre of Pest. We’d read that Gerbeaud’s Patisserie was famous for its coffees and cakes. Twenty minutes later we were sat inside easting a delicious slice of cake each in the surrounds of 18th century opulence. Afterwards, we headed back outside to take a late afternoon stroll to the Market Hall, the largest in Budapest.

European markets are always great fun and this one was no different. Long sausages of every description hung from stalls presided over by men with white overalls and bushy moustaches. Meat of all kinds, including but not limited to, pig’s trotters, huge lolling tongues, and unrecognisable slabs of white stuff which we assumed were animal fat, were on display in the extensive market hall. We walked around, fascinated by it all.

“Did you know Zsa Zsa Gábor was born in Budapest,” I remarked to Jodie as we perused yet another stall, this time offering a wide range of cheeses. “And so was the bloke who invented the Biro pen.” Jodie nodded, faintly interested in my recall of facts about Budapest. “And that’s not all, Ernő Rubik, inventor of the Rubik Cube was born here as well.”

“Was he. Let’s go and see the Hotel Gellert.” I think she wanted me to shut up.

With dusk fast approaching, we headed back out, crossing the Danube once more, this time along Elizabeth Bridge.

At the other side was the famous Gellért Hotel, site of one of the best-known thermal baths in Budapest. We entered the grand-looking building hoping to see it for ourselves, but were scuppered by a man telling us it had just closed. Slightly irked, we exited the doors and instead climbed the short way up Gellert Hill to see the Cave Church.

Built in 1926 and based on the shrine at Lourdes, exiled Polish monks used the small church as their place of worship. Actually part of a larger network of caves, the grotto is also known as St Ivan’s Cave, named after a hermit who lived in the caves supposedly healing people with its natural spring water. In the 1960’s, after accusing the monks of treason, the Communists sealed the entrance to the cave. It was reopened in 1989 with a Papal blessing, allowing the monks to return. After a while browsing inside the church we climbed back down the hill, heading off along the Danube, soon passing the Statue of St Gellért.

The vast monument, perched high upon the hillside, is a tribute to Bishop Gellért, an 11th century figure supposedly murdered on the site where the monument now stands. The poor sod was put inside a spiked barrel and then rolled down the hill into the Danube by a mob opposed to his Christian ways. Poor geezer, but at least he’d got himself a good statue. It looked mightily impressive with its night time illuminations.

The next morning, our last day in Budapest, we decided to see two more of the major sights we’d missed the previous day.

First up was the Houses of Parliament. Built between 1885 and 1904, it is Hungary’s largest building. Resembling London’s Houses of Parliament, during Soviet times, the gigantic dome was adorned with a red star. Just next to it, on a small piece of greenery was a small statue of a man sitting down and holding a hat. His forlorn expression was made even more poignant in the overcast morning. Droplets of water hung from his nose, making him look even more miserable. He was Attila Jozsef, a famous Hungarian poet. And his story of one of tragedy.

Born in 1905 to a soap factory worker father and a peasant mother, Attila was poor from the start. Dad absconded when he was just three-years-old, leaving his mother to provide for himself and his two elder sisters. Times were very hard for the family. His mother couldn’t afford to keep her son so Attila was fostered.

Ill-treated by his new guardians, the boy managed to escape, returning to his mother, but she died soon after. In his adulthood, he tried to support himself by selling his own poetry and at the same time started displaying early signs of schizophrenia. Never marrying, but often falling in love with women treating him, his condition worsened. On the 3rd December 1927, aged just 32, he laid himself down across a railway track where a passing train killed him.

Next we caught a taxi up to Gellért Hill. During the middle ages, witches supposedly celebrated their Sabbath on the hill. But today, the area contains residential houses belonging to the affluent of Budapest. But the Citadel, perched on the very top of the hill was what we wanted to visit.

Built by the Austrians after the revolution of 1848, the Citadel served as a fortification and look-out point. Its main purpose was to intimidate the local population and as such became despised as a symbol of repression. With its four metre thick walls, it played a part in the Second World War too. German forces became trapped in the citadel bombarding the city below from the relative safety of its high position. The Red Army eventually secured the area, taking over the whole city after a grisly battle.

Today, the whole complex has been renovated, featuring shops, cafes, and even a nightclub. But most people, including Jodie and I, were drawn because of the massive statue perched on the end of the citadel. Known as the Liberation Monument, it is visible from all over the city. Constructed by the Russians as a tribute to their troops that died fighting the Germans, the forty-metre tall woman stands proud, holding the gigantic palm leaf of victory, while at her base, two equally proud looking statues represent good and evil. A fourth statue, that of a Russian Soldier, was removed after the fall of communism and relocated to a statue park on the outskirts of the city dedicated to many of the old soviet monuments.

And then it was time to go home. Another successful jaunt into the former Eastern Bloc.

Plus Points

Lots of interesting things to see.

Gorgeous food (especially the goulash stew we had)

Friendly people (one barman even took a photo of us together)

Safe city (we witnessed no threatening behaviour anywhere. Women walked freely at night by themselves.)

Relatively cheap (except for the bar with gin and tonics)

Gerbeaud’s Cakes! (we had two each)

Statues everywhere (If you like that sort of thing)

Minus Points

Mad drivers (we witnessed two bad car crashes in our short stay!)

Graffiti (it’s everywhere)

The run down appearance of a lot of old buildings (But renovation is going on)

Beggars (some look incredibly needy)

The bars seemed very spread out (but maybe that was our poor navigational skills)