Campsites have a difficult time out of season. Most close altogether, transmuting into strange little glamping-pod ghost towns. Others diversify and let out the space to groups and organisations. Several times we’ve been told we can only stay until Thursday morning, because then somebody is moving in to set up an event for the weekend.
At Jasov, in Slovakia, it is the turn of the annual Pit Bull and Staffi Weight-pulling contest. Some pretty impressive canine specimens pitch up, along with their proud (and equally scary looking) owners. We used to have a beautiful Staffi called Gizmo, so we aren’t phased, but the campsite clears incredibly fast, I must say.
One chap comes over to borrow a wrench from Steve: he needs it to fix some tracking that will be used in the contest. The dogs are going to haul a loaded cart along it for several metres.
of concrete blocks on the right.
So we head off and take a jaunt down towards Budapest, in Hungary. This means meeting up again with the River Danube. It’s a flighty little stretch of water – it gets about a bit. So far, we’ve run into it in Germany, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary and Croatia. I’ve noticed that khaki is its hue of choice, although it will don shades of silver, slate, greige, black, brown or olive if the mood takes it. But not once, not once have I seen it blue.
But Budapest, tho
Sometimes we are clever but mostly we are just lucky, which explains our arrival in Budapest for the start of the St. Stephen’s Day Festival. I’m not going to give you a history lesson about King St. Stephen (Google him if you’re interested) but he was a really big deal. All I will say is that he was the first king of Hungary as we know it today, and their version of King Arthur and the Pope rolled into one. They’ve got his right hand in the Basilica, and it gets paraded through the streets, to much fanfare and celebration.
I am concerned that parking will be an issue, as thousands of people flock to the city for the event, but a helpful traffic cop tells us, ‘park where you like – it’s free’. Seriously? No one EVER says parking is free in the UK. We find a spot alongside the river, opposite parliament (here it is beautifully un-reflected in the khaki green Danube).
We take a very short walk to ‘The Street of Hungarian Flavours’. Here you can taste everything from the soup, to goulash, to langos (a sort-of pizza dough that is stretched, and flash fried, and then covered in garlic sauce and grated cheese), to spit-roast pork, and beer, and ice-cream, and cakes, and more beer – really, lots more beer.
Our UK Health and Safety would have gone nuts. There are open fires with massive bubbling cauldrons right on the street, with no barrier between them and the crowd full of darting kids. I bloody love it.
The ‘street’ leads up to the castle on the hill, where the ‘Festival of Folk Art’ is in full swing. There’s a hell of a lot of beautiful embroidery, as well as traditional crafts from visiting nations such as Tibet, China, and Nepal.
Of course, there are crafts here that nobody should make, show, or try to sell… 
…and this strange, hairy, masked guy in bloomers keeps showing up. But that’s part of the fun.
We also see the Changing of the Guard. They have two types here: one is a dainty quick-swap two-step; the other is the full turn-turn-step-turn-kick-turn version, with drums. We watch both.
Then we hear music, and a handsome Australian chap shoves a paper into my hand. He’s part of a group that sings mainly Bartok, and they’re just finishing their rehearsal. The paper has the words to the folk songs they’re going to sing (with audience participation), so we decide to give it a go. Apart from the obvious (we don’t understand how to pronounce any of the words, and don’t know the tunes) it all goes swimmingly, until the guy with the bagpipes comes to the front of the stage.
Now, I assume that these are traditional instruments, because there’s absolutely no excuse for them otherwise. Apart from the bagpipes – which both look, and sound, as if the guy has trapped a startled pig under his arm– he has a tin whistle (sigh), and a long, bamboo, tubey thing, which he blows down. Well, they all have them, actually. It is very impressive – not.
And finally a recorder – which he hums into as well as blows into it, thus adding a weird didgeridoo-type of element. To say it is shrill is to be kind. Within a minute I have the sensation that all the fillings in my teeth are vibrating (and when, three weeks later, one of my fillings falls out, I know who to blame).
Then it is time for the finale: fireworks over the Danube. And they are great because even crap fireworks are great, and these are not crap. They last a full thirty minutes and include some that I genuinely haven’t seen before – they form gyroscopic shapes, which I thought only Gandalf could do.
Eye candy
We decide to check out some of the galleries and museums while we are here, and start our tour with the Museum of Applied Arts – an amazingly lovely place. The green majolica-tiled roof alone leaves me open-mouthed with awe. But then I walk inside, and gaze up into a Moorish wedding-cake of a building. Sooo pretty. Here, take a look.
On display are some wonderful examples of Art Nouveau and Art Deco work, as well as objects from as far back as the Middle-Ages: they are still in damn good, or even pristine, condition.
I’m very impressed with how they’ve been displayed – not so many examples that you’re either overwhelmed, or bored by the repetition – but really beautiful or interesting pieces, grouped with style and sensitivity.
This little archer (below) has lost his bow, but fair dues – he’s 1800 years old. And check out the tiny ‘hand’ clasps on this original Hussar’s jacket. Fabulous.
When we visit, they also have a special exhibition focussing on colour. It covers three large rooms, each filled with exhibits of red, or blue, or green. The idea is to intensify the experience of that particular colour. Ha, as if I needed any encouragement.
On the way in there’s a scanner, which picks up the colours in our clothing, and works out the percentages. Then it finds something on display that most closely matches what we’re wearing. Steve has on blue jeans and a grey jumper, and is matched up with this plate. I’m wearing a navy and white patterned top: it finds me a piece of navy and white patterned fabric. I know it’s only a machine, but I don’t think it tried very hard.
We also wander off to the Ludwig Museum and see some nice Picasso’s, and then to the National Hungarian Museum, which houses the coronation mantle of good old King St. Stephen. The mantle is 700 years old and still survives, because it is mostly made of gold thread. More interesting, we find, is the section on the top floor of the museum, showing objects and propaganda from the communist era.
The Music Museum on Castle Hill is quite nice, and has a lovely little exhibition of Ditta Pasztory-Bartok’s clothing from the 1930’s onwards. We also check out some Vasarelys, and visit the utterly brilliant Museum of Trade and Industry, which is funky-old-packaging-and-beer-poster heaven.
One day we have lunch with a view, from the Fisherman’s Bastion on Castle Hill. This is a gorgeous neo-gothic terrace, with Disney-type turrets, built as a lookout and fortification in the late 19th century. We ride up in the funicular. Cos, why not? At the top we see a guy with a golden eagle, offering you the chance to have it sit on your arm (for which read, sink it’s talons into your flesh and peck out your eyeballs), all for a mere 6 euros. Bargain.
As I said, we are luckier than we are smart, and on one of our last days in Budapest we chance upon another festival. This one is a bit like our Harvest Festival, with lots of dignitaries in regional costumes carrying baskets of local produce. They walk up, two by two, and place them on a huge map, outside the Basilica.
Inside, we finally get to see the hand of King St. Stephen (having drunk too much beer to catch it on its jaunt around town the previous week). And here it is – THE HAND OF THE KING – been around since 1038. That’s a set of right royal knuckles you are looking at there.
Further down the road we encounter another piece of history: the stunning Emanual Tree. This moving memorial to victims of the holocaust has the names of thirty thousand of them inscribed onto it’s delicate leaves. It was commissioned and paid for by the actor, Tony Curtis, and stands behind this beautiful synagogue.
Ruined Romans
I lived in Bath for ten years, so I know a bit about what the Romans did for us and, better still, I know what they buggered off and left behind them. The Roman Baths are one of my favourite places and – as is usual with any of our national heritage – they are meticulously maintained, thoughtfully laid out, and cost a pretty penny to visit.
So when we learn about all the Roman ruins in Budapest, we are quite excited – a town at Aquincum, and an Amphitheatre in Buda. Well, alrighty.
And the first place we discover is the Roman baths. Notice I have not used a capital letter on baths this time. That is because they are not given quite the same level of reverence in these parts.
Well, when I say, not given quite the same level, what I mean is they are treated like old bus stops: ie., open to the public, totally unmanaged, and under a flyover.
I’m not even joking.
But to be fair, they took out the good stuff – you know, plaques to the Emperor Claudius, and interesting tombstones, etc. – and put them on display elsewhere.
Well, when I say elsewhere, I mean they stuck them on the walls of the underpass.
And I’m still not kidding.
Slightly appalled, we go in search of the Amphitheatre.
And find it – fenced off, used as a roundabout, and overlooked by crappy flats. Sigh.
Thankfully, at Aquincum – the Roman town just to the north of Budapest – they’ve got it right. We spend a happy afternoon just wandering around, watching lithe, green, lizards dart under the cobbles, and study the artistry of the stonework. Yes, it’s right next to the main road, but that means everyone gets a free look as they drive into town.
Esztergom
Our actual campsite is at Domos, to the north of Budapest; somewhere between Esztergom and Visegrad. We both need hair-cuts, so we potter into Esztergom, looking for someone with scissors and a modicum of skill.
Now, Esztergom has been inhabited for 20,000 years, and there is evidence of a very early Celt settlement here. It was also the capital of Hungary, until that upstart Buda got all above itself in the middle-ages, and our old friend King St. Stephen was crowned here.
So although we can’t find a barbershop or hairdressers’ (they all shut at noon, apparently), we do find a rather nice castle and a basilica.
Visegrad
The next day, we leave a little earlier, and try our luck in Visegrad. We think we’ve struck lucky, in that we’ve find one that is open. However, the lady cuts our hair as if she has a train to catch, and Steve ends up still fairly shaggy, whilst I am distinctly lop-sided. Ah well, at least my hair is short enough to stop bitch-slapping me in the face every time I drive along with the windows open. And she does have a rather interesting tiled sink/channel thing.
I’ve spotted a nice looking restaurant here, so we pop back later for dinner and find out that – although the Hungarians are a bit blasé about the Romans – they take the Renaissance very seriously indeed. Visegrad was once the royal seat of King Matthias, and Visegrad isn’t about to let you forget it.
We walk into the restaurant expecting the usual incomprehensible menu, plastic flowers, and a TV screen. What we find instead is this – a full medieval banqueting hall!
The waiters are in full costume, and so are the diners! Steve takes one look at the thrones and declares, ‘I want to sit there’. We order some medieval platter – we’ve no idea what to expect – and then follow the waiter to get kitted out in full medieval clobber. We both have crowns, and Steve is offered a choice of swords and other weaponry.
The food is fab. Goose liver, and roast goose, braised red cabbage, and a nice chestnut puree thing for pud. Plenty of leftovers to take home. Happy, happy me.
And it must be said that – despite the dingey Danube – Budapest and its surrounding have done us proud.
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