In Continent & Adrift - Part 2

Budapest II

Next day we caught a train out of Budapest to visit some of Mary’s extended family. They live not far from Lake Balaton, about an hour-and-a-half out of the capital. But first, some back story:

Back in the seventies, when Mary was a mere slip of a thing, she visited Hungary with her mother. They stayed with her father’s mum and during their visit, met a man whom she understood to be family. She wasn’t sure of the connection but noted a strong resemblance to her late father. Fast forward some five decades and Mary receives an enquiry from a young Hungarian woman, wondering if she might be the same person who met her dad in her great, great aunt’s kitchen back in the late seventies. And so, a connection was established. Mary and the young woman, Annamaria, began to communicate via Messenger.

As it happened, Cassandra and Colin were due to visit Hungary a few months later and a meeting was arranged. The hapless young couple were subjected to a barrage of relentless hospitality. Staggering under the weight of homemade wines and smoked meats, they emerged bloated and barely ambulant. Their account of the experience left me in a state of alarm as the date for our own visit approached.

In the event, our visit proved trouble-free. Annamaria, her brother Attila, her mum Marika and dad Istvan are wonderful people who made us very welcome.

Annamaria lived and worked in the UK for a while and she is employed by an Australian company, so her English-language skills are excellent. She advocated on our behalf and was able to moderate her dad’s more outrageous excesses of hospitality.

Annamaria’s mum, Marika, prepared a fabulous banquet that we did our best to get through and afterwards we were given a tour of Istvan’s and Marika’s farm. As expected, Istvan seemed determined to burden our return journey with a selection of homemade alcohol and assorted small goods. I was reluctant to attempt entry through Gatwick with a smoked ham slung around my neck and a string of onions hanging from my belt, so we settled on a couple of bottles of wine and some jars of his homegrown honey.

We caught the train back to Budapest and spent the evening at Fisherman’s Bastion. This is located on the Buda side of the river, on high ground near the castle, overlooking parliament on the other side of the Danube. Like the parliament building it is little more than a century old. The style is described as neo-Romanesque. It’s a popular tourist spot.

Next day we did a tour of the caves under Buda Castle then followed it up with more photos of the Parliament Building.

Mary told us that it’s impressive inside but unfortunately by the time we got around to it, all tours were booked out. 

The Big Day

Wednesday was the big day and the reason more than any other that we were in Hungary. From the outset, as we began to plan our overseas trip, Mary insisted that we must spend some time there. The discovery of her Hungarian relatives only strengthened her resolve, but the real reason for the visit related to family even closer to home.

In 1956, when Soviet tanks rolled into Budapest to crush Hungarian independence, Mary’s parents, Maria and Reszö were forced to flee. Their story is the stuff of Hollywood movies: a tapping on the window in the middle of the night, a perilous crossing through a moonlit forest, the barking of sentry dogs, the crack of small arms fire, the cries for mercy, the thud of bullets into human flesh, the screams of the dying.

Maria and Reszö made it through the forest together with their toddler son and at last found their way as refugees to Australia. They established a life here – not exactly on their own terms, but they made the best of what they had, living successful and honourable lives. Reszö died of cancer, aged 44. Maria survived him by 37 years, dying of stroke in 2011, aged 78. It was a long and lonely widowhood. Both Maria and Reszö were cremated, and it was always Mary’s intention to return their remains to the country of their birth. On a Wednesday evening in mid-August 2023, almost twelve years after her mother’s death, she at last achieved this long-cherished ambition. The wind was rising, threatening to turn our solemn occasion into farce. Scattering her parents’ ashes from one of the Danube’s beautiful bridges could have added more drama but was likely to end badly. We made our way down to the river’s edge and, with the five of us bearing witness, Mary carefully placed her parents’ ashes in the Danube - the storied and historic river that had been so central to their young lives. It was a special moment, made all more memorable by an approaching storm. As we performed our commemoration, clouds were gathering and sheet lightning pulsed, casting a glow on buildings all around.

We finished our brief ceremony and caught a bus back into the centre of Pest. Cassandra and Colin had booked us into a restaurant they knew of and really loved. Cassandra assured us that Mazel Tov was just a short walk from the bus stop. Not short enough, as it happened. The skies opened and down it came. We pushed on, sheltering under awnings as best we might, but could not avoid getting drenched. It was like showering with your clothes on. Tom was philosophical.  ‘Memories are made of this,’ he said.

Mazel Tov was an inspired choice and a big thanks to Colin and Cassandra for insisting on it. The food was excellent and the atmosphere a delight. Tom was right. It was a night to remember. Mary recalled that her mum had always loved storms and felt certain this was her way of expressing appreciation. I thought she could have waited five minutes.

That was our last night in Budapest. We were due to fly out next day. Colin and Cassandra had to go back to work, Tom and Mon would do a quick flit through Italy, Holland and France, and Mary and I would head off on a jaunt through south-west England. We would all meet up again in London in twelve days’ time, before heading off to catch up with my side of the family in Edinburgh.

On Thursday Colin, Cassandra, Mary and I flew to Gatwick.

Tom and Mon headed off for a couple of days in Venice and a memorable rendezvous with bed bugs. Their luggage must have known. It went to Vienna instead.

End of Part 2