Dohany Synagogue
St. Gellert with an admiring pupil
Elisabeth ('Sisi') Bridge links Buda to Pest We are staying at the K + K Opera Hotel right next to the Budapest Opera House. Breakfast is a meal so substantial that we don’t eat again until 10 PM. We exit the K + K and walk a few blocks to the old Jewish quarter. Security is tight for the Wallenberg Memorial and the Dohany Synagogue. The Dohany is the largest synagogue in Europe and second largest in the world. In the synagogue is a traveling exhibit of Chagall paintings. It’s too nice a day; it costs extra; we don’t go.
Instead, we stroll to the Danube waterfront to buy tickets for a Sunday cruise on the river. Sorry - sold out! I step into an antique shop where a small ivory netsuke is calling my name. Only $250!!
We decide to hike to the hilly Buda side of the city - across the “Sisi” bridge, up the Gellert Hill to the Citadel and then down the back of the hill to the Taban or hot-springs district. Here the ancient Celtic inhabitants would sit in the hot water snacking on wild grapes and mastodon jerky while waiting for spring. Much later, Scandinavian diplomats would build embassies and art-deco hotels with saunas and swimming pools heated from the very same springs.
HUNGARIAN- ONE EASY LESSON
Language is a big problem in Budapest. Hardly anyone speaks English. The Hungarian language was brought to Hungary by mistake when Attila, the original Hun, made a wrong turn in 896 CE. He was looking to sack Rome, that being the Holy Grail of Hundom, but stopped in Budapest for a hot bath and voila - a whole country speaking Hungarian.
Incidentally this was also where we got the famous quote, “I think you’re making a wrong turn, Hun.” Spoken by Mrs. Attila of course but in Hungarian, so no one in Europe understood a word. Mrs. Hun had her heart set on spending the winter in Italy with the Pope but, true to his macho origins, Mr. Attila ignored her totally. No one else in the horde much cared one way or another. If grapes and hot baths were good enough for the Celts, they were good enough for barbarians too.
Which brings us to the one word of Hungarian that we manage to learn. It means “Thank You” (we hope). The first time we hear it, we think it’s pronounced “Goosin ‘em”. It’s very hard to express our thanks without breaking up. Especially after we forget the last part and can only remember the “goosin” part. Imagine the consternation of the polite Hungarian waiter who brings an extra plate to the table only to have a group of seemingly sedate American customers yell out “goosa -me” and fall off their chairs laughing. “Goosa -you” is also hilarious.
Bye and bye we find out that the actual expression of Hungarian gratitude is spelled Koszonom and is pronounced “cursin em”. This is a major improvement over our previous efforts. We’ve been cursin’ em in Hungarian ever since.
THE MIRACLE OF ST. GELLERT
At the Citadel, Rena and I try on some surplus Russian military headgear while Bernie manages to lose her guidebook in the ladies toilette. The three of us ponder the fate of St. Gellert, patron saint of Hungarian primary school teachers. Gellert led a saintly life and taught the children of the Hun invaders how to read and write Latin. Some years later, a group of his former pupils recognized their saintly, white-haired teacher. They promptly lassoed him, dragged him behind their horses, stoned him and lanced him through the heart. (Latin, apparently, was not their favorite subject.) Death by former students qualified him for martyrdom – (as if teaching a classroom full of obstreperous Huns was not punishment enough). Beatification followed martyrdom sometime in the 11th century.
While we are looking at St. Gellert’s femur and other bits of bone, Rena goes to the same toilette as Bernie and donates her sweater. An hour later Bernie and Rena realize they are missing one sweater and a guidebook. They go back to the toilette and retrieve their goods from the efficient Magyar toilette attendant. It’s another miracle for the blessed St. G! Is there a patron saint of things left in public toilets? I nominate Gellert.
THE ETERNAL SEARCH FOR FOOD
Hiking down from the Citadel, our stomachs begin to growl. It is quite hot and we are thirsty. We skip the Semmelweis Medical Museum and cross over the “Sisi” bridge into Pest. After Rena buys two embroidered table cloths, we cash some dollars at the local beauty parlor and, flush with forints, saunter into the Central Cafe for a light snack - coffee laced with vanilla ice cream and accompanied by Dobos torte - seven layers of butter creme separated by thin slices of chocolate cake. Topped with caramel! Yum.
This pretty much settles our appetites. Back to the K+K for naps and showers. At night, our maniacal cabbie, Karolyi, takes us to the Hungarian State Folklore Orchestra. The orchestra plays beautifully and the dancers are enthusiastic, but I get distracted by the cello player on the end who is a dead-ringer for Gene Wilder. I kept expecting him to fall off his chair or shoot his bow out into the audience.
After the concert we stop at an outdoor cafe to eat. After two hours with nothing served but a salad and a bowl of goulash, we plunk down some forints and leave. Now we know why Hungarian girls are so thin!
Our stroll home is very pleasant with no tropical downpours. The lighted chain bridge and parliament buildings and the bulk of St. Stephen’s Cathedral guide us back to the opera house and home. Five squares of Toblerone and another hit of Ambien and it’s lights out.
DAKTARI
Instead, we stroll to the Danube waterfront to buy tickets for a Sunday cruise on the river. Sorry - sold out! I step into an antique shop where a small ivory netsuke is calling my name. Only $250!!
We decide to hike to the hilly Buda side of the city - across the “Sisi” bridge, up the Gellert Hill to the Citadel and then down the back of the hill to the Taban or hot-springs district. Here the ancient Celtic inhabitants would sit in the hot water snacking on wild grapes and mastodon jerky while waiting for spring. Much later, Scandinavian diplomats would build embassies and art-deco hotels with saunas and swimming pools heated from the very same springs.
HUNGARIAN- ONE EASY LESSON
Language is a big problem in Budapest. Hardly anyone speaks English. The Hungarian language was brought to Hungary by mistake when Attila, the original Hun, made a wrong turn in 896 CE. He was looking to sack Rome, that being the Holy Grail of Hundom, but stopped in Budapest for a hot bath and voila - a whole country speaking Hungarian.
Incidentally this was also where we got the famous quote, “I think you’re making a wrong turn, Hun.” Spoken by Mrs. Attila of course but in Hungarian, so no one in Europe understood a word. Mrs. Hun had her heart set on spending the winter in Italy with the Pope but, true to his macho origins, Mr. Attila ignored her totally. No one else in the horde much cared one way or another. If grapes and hot baths were good enough for the Celts, they were good enough for barbarians too.
Which brings us to the one word of Hungarian that we manage to learn. It means “Thank You” (we hope). The first time we hear it, we think it’s pronounced “Goosin ‘em”. It’s very hard to express our thanks without breaking up. Especially after we forget the last part and can only remember the “goosin” part. Imagine the consternation of the polite Hungarian waiter who brings an extra plate to the table only to have a group of seemingly sedate American customers yell out “goosa -me” and fall off their chairs laughing. “Goosa -you” is also hilarious.
Bye and bye we find out that the actual expression of Hungarian gratitude is spelled Koszonom and is pronounced “cursin em”. This is a major improvement over our previous efforts. We’ve been cursin’ em in Hungarian ever since.
THE MIRACLE OF ST. GELLERT
At the Citadel, Rena and I try on some surplus Russian military headgear while Bernie manages to lose her guidebook in the ladies toilette. The three of us ponder the fate of St. Gellert, patron saint of Hungarian primary school teachers. Gellert led a saintly life and taught the children of the Hun invaders how to read and write Latin. Some years later, a group of his former pupils recognized their saintly, white-haired teacher. They promptly lassoed him, dragged him behind their horses, stoned him and lanced him through the heart. (Latin, apparently, was not their favorite subject.) Death by former students qualified him for martyrdom – (as if teaching a classroom full of obstreperous Huns was not punishment enough). Beatification followed martyrdom sometime in the 11th century.
While we are looking at St. Gellert’s femur and other bits of bone, Rena goes to the same toilette as Bernie and donates her sweater. An hour later Bernie and Rena realize they are missing one sweater and a guidebook. They go back to the toilette and retrieve their goods from the efficient Magyar toilette attendant. It’s another miracle for the blessed St. G! Is there a patron saint of things left in public toilets? I nominate Gellert.
THE ETERNAL SEARCH FOR FOOD
Hiking down from the Citadel, our stomachs begin to growl. It is quite hot and we are thirsty. We skip the Semmelweis Medical Museum and cross over the “Sisi” bridge into Pest. After Rena buys two embroidered table cloths, we cash some dollars at the local beauty parlor and, flush with forints, saunter into the Central Cafe for a light snack - coffee laced with vanilla ice cream and accompanied by Dobos torte - seven layers of butter creme separated by thin slices of chocolate cake. Topped with caramel! Yum.
This pretty much settles our appetites. Back to the K+K for naps and showers. At night, our maniacal cabbie, Karolyi, takes us to the Hungarian State Folklore Orchestra. The orchestra plays beautifully and the dancers are enthusiastic, but I get distracted by the cello player on the end who is a dead-ringer for Gene Wilder. I kept expecting him to fall off his chair or shoot his bow out into the audience.
After the concert we stop at an outdoor cafe to eat. After two hours with nothing served but a salad and a bowl of goulash, we plunk down some forints and leave. Now we know why Hungarian girls are so thin!
Our stroll home is very pleasant with no tropical downpours. The lighted chain bridge and parliament buildings and the bulk of St. Stephen’s Cathedral guide us back to the opera house and home. Five squares of Toblerone and another hit of Ambien and it’s lights out.
DAKTARI
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