A Summer Break in Budapest: Part 2

 5 mins. read

Part 1 & Part 3

Saturday 29.07:

Birthday D-Day. I don’t have time this morning to lament what's left of my youth vanishing over the horizon (40 is the old age of youth, according to Victor Hugo, one of my favourite quotes). Nor how underwhelming my 40s have been thus far. I like to keep busy, as you should know. I’ve booked a place on a tour of Budapest’s Jewish quarter; a tiny district with a vast history. 

En route, I make eye contact with an older black woman. I smile and do the universal nod of recognition/solidarity. I’m especially keen to acknowledge my Afrodescendant sisters. The respect is mutual. More generally, I'm relieved to see several melanated faces about.

Once again, a huge group gathers for the tour. Divided in two, our half is led by Andor- a guide of sharp, deadpan wit and broad pop culture knowledge. He’s mastered English enough to convey his dry as a bone humour with no difficulty at all. He’s also extremely well travelled. He has far more extensive first hand experience of the African continent than I, having traversed more than half of it. 

First stop of the tour is the Dohány synagogue (above right), the second only in size to that in Jerusalem on a world scale. Tivador Herzl, the founder of political Zionism, was born a stone’s throw away. He was bilingual in Hungarian and German, with nary a word of Hebrew. 

The synagogue is most Hungarian in that it’s a mish-mash of the country’s cultural influences. A Moorish façade, strong hints of Eastern orthodox design and a Baroque/Roman Catholic interior (including an organ once played by Franz Liszt). We are told that actor, Tony Curtis (né Bernard Schwartz) - the son of Hungarian-Jewish émigrés - funded some of the building. It is out of bounds to the general public that day, being Sabbat. To my great regret, I'll miss the chance to explore the resplendent interior later on in the trip.

Hungarian Jews had assimilated so much before the Second World War, they saw themselves as Austro-Hungarian first and Jewish second. And yet for all their patriotism, they were held responsible for the region’s unfavourable outcome in the Great War. When asked about the surviving Jewish population, the guide gives an overly-complicated answer, narrowly focusing on religious practice as an indicator more so than ethnicity. (None of my Jewish friends or acquaintances are especially observant, if at all). 

There could be another more plausible reason for Andor’s equivocation. As he and one of his colleagues point out just before we set off, Hungarians are a melting pot of ethnicities.

The inevitable grotesque history of murderous racism and scapegoating soon comes to the fore. Hungary was said to have had the second largest Jewish population in Europe prior to the Second World War. The Hungarian authorities approached the slaughter of Jews with an exceptionally perverse zeal. According to our guide, every one in 10 Holocaust victims was believed to have been Hungarian, with up to 600,000 of the country’s Jewish population wiped out; over 400,000 sent to Auschwitz alone.

During a water break , an Australian participant asks about Viktor Orbán’s attitude towards Hungary’s Jewish population. ‘He’s an Anti-Semite!’, I reply. Andor confirms. He also draws parallels between Orbán’s Hungary and Russian authoritarianism; albeit being a lighter version. 

St. Michael's Church in Budapest's Castle District
(image: Buda Castle)

The tour ends in the remnants of what was once a Jewish ghetto. Andor explains the presence of metal shoes that I have noticed lining some banks of the Danube. They are a memorial for Hungarian Jews ordered by Nazis to strip naked before being shot into the river. Andor believes it’s too easy to blame this on madness. He attributes it to pure evil. I remind him that the seed of evil exists in us all. It's not just "those bad people over there". We don't know of what we're capable in particular circumstances. Blame it on my own Judaeo-Christian upbringing. I believe human nature is fallen without exception, although not irredeemable. 

Andor shares a story about family friend, Eva Székely, who survived the Jewish ghetto to become an Olympic swimming champion. The story goes that her would-be executioner switched to join the Communist forces once the Nazis were defeated.

Andor sticks to his promise to end the tour by lunchtime. I say farewell to a couple of participants with whom I’ve become acquainted; the aforementioned Australian and another solo female traveller from the Netherlands (again), Amy. I appreciate her independent mindset. I’m quick to commend intrepid women. We have snatches of thought-provoking conversation between stops. 

She wants to reconnect before we both leave Budapest. I mention a Jazz concert that evening for which I’ve reserved tickets at a bargain price. Amy is keen. We make plans to meet up at the venue. We don't think to exchange numbers. It’s not to be. I’ll discover that the concert has sold out, which might explain why Amy is a no-show. Ships passing in the night.

(image: Trip Advisor)

After the tour, I go on the hunt for the famous Retró Lángos restaurant where, according to all the tour guides, I can enjoy the best of the traditional Hungarian bread-based dish. After a few wrong turns, I locate Retró thanks to the help of a kindly older American couple based in the neighbourhood. 

The pastry tastes very similar to Jamaican dumpling, except it’s flat rather than cylinder. It’s nice enough, but not earth-shaking. The chicken topping is too curried and salty. Once I’ve consumed something savoury, I head to the Chimney Cake Shop near Elizabeth Square for a highly indulgent pastry and ice cream dessert. 

Before going home, I’m adamant about crossing the river to the Castle district. The vista - both in the hills and of the Pest side of the City below – is marvellous. Alas, being a Saturday it’s also heaving with tourists. Neither is the beautiful St. Michael church open to visitors. I rush back to my rented studio for a useless attempt at a power nap. I’m back out again to the classy Opus Bar for dinner and Jazz. 

I’m becoming familiar with Budapest’s Metro for the first time. It’s efficient and consistently newer and cleaner than the underground systems of Brussels or London.

Before I alight, a sweet and diffident young woman pays me a lovely compliment whilst exiting the train.

At the Jazz club, I’m due to meet a small group from Internations, through which I first hear of the event. I’m a little apprehensive on entering, taken aback by the bigger than expected group. The organiser, an American with Hungarian ancestry, helps put me at ease.

Entertainment is courtesy of the delightful Czakó Virág Quartet; guitar, bass, drums and vocals. The stars of the night are guitarist Attila Rieger and of course, Virág herself. She is much younger than I anticipate, barely in her 20s. Although Virág’s range is not extensive, she plays to her strengths. Blessed with an enchanting tone - a tad reminiscent of Melody Gardot - she has a solid Jazz vocabulary with unforced and accomplished improv. Her English pronunciation is near flawless and, where relevant, her Portuguese isn’t bad either. Virág’s repertoire includes Jazz standards and lesser known compositions, Bossa and even an Elvis cover; all regaled with her particular flair. She isn’t too much in her own head. Her technique complements rather than interferes with the feeling. Bref, the combined effect is understated yet mesmerising. The audience remains attentive, none of the usual low hum of chatter. 

Throughout Virág’s performance, I’m making mental notes. I like being both impressed and challenged by other singers. I’m reminded that I remain only an aspiring Jazz vocalist. This is the Real McCoy. I’m effusive with praise during the interval. Czakó humbly receives my accolades, informing me she’s continuing her Jazz studies at the Hague. I also learn that the quartet is a family affair. The bassist is her father and the drummer her boyfriend.

I linger long after the show to converse with other guests, including a handsome Flemish man who relocated from Brussels in 2022. We swap notes on our favourite Jazz haunts in the Belgian capital, before what’s left of the group escorts me back to the Metro.

Soundtrack: After Dinner We Talk Dreams + Side Dishes by MICHELLE