Budapest Day 22

This is my last posting until my next trip somewhere. I can hear the collective sigh of relief. And just to sweeten the pot, it will be quite some time before I take another trip. I know it is a long report but it was probably the most significant day of our trip and even if it is only for my sake, I need to record as much of it as I can remember. I promise, no more long torturous e-mails anytime in the foreseeable future.

I think our last day in Budapest was one of the best days of our trip. After breakfast in a cafe, our guide Kate and her driver Frank picked us up for a tour of the Jewish Budapest that is well off the beaten track.

Did I mention that Kate is a Jewish mother? She was concerned about the cold I obviously have and the first stop was to a drugstore to pick up some cold pills. They actually worked! Within an hour or so I had stopped coughing and was feeling a little more alive.

Our next stop was a little obscure park in a Buda residential area. It was the monument to Raoul Wallenberg, the Swedish diplomat we remember as being responsible for saving thousands of Hungarian Jews by giving them Swedish citizenship. The interesting fact is that Wallenberg was not the only diplomat to help the Jews. He was the leader of a group of foreign diplomats who all saved Jews in the same way. The reason that Wallenberg is the only one known by most of the public is because of his disappearance at the hands of the Soviets and the Soviet denial that they even knew who Wallenberg was. When he disappeared, there was considerable global demand that he be released. Although the documents in the Lubliyana prison indicate that he died there in 1949 of 'heart failure', people claimed to have seen him in a Siberian gulag well after that. Why such an obscure placement for the statue? During the Soviet rule of Hungary, the Soviets consistently denied any knowledge of the diplomat. They would not allow the memorial to be erected in a well-traveled and well visited area in the city because of the negative reaction it would arouse among the Hungarians.

The memorial is a statue by Varga, the same artist who created the Tree of Life memorial. It portrays Wallenberg bare-headed, appearing to pat the head of a child who is not there. It is surrounded by two large blocks of Swedish granite donated by his family. On the back of one of the granite stones, there is an etching of a man, supposedly Wallenberg, wrestling with a snake, with swastikas all along its back. This was the image of a statue that had disappeared from another site. Again this was evidence about the constant denial of Jewish history by the Soviets. The engraving stone dedicated the statue to the citizens of Hungary who had been arrested and murdered during the world war. It obviously referred to the Jews without using the word Jew. According to Kate, this was more evidence of the current right wing swing of the Hungarians and their refusal to accept responsibility for the fate of the Jewish population.

                                     

 As we were in Buda, we got driven through the very posh residential area. The streets were all up on a hill and were lined with gated villas. Before the war, this would have been where the very wealthy Jewish captains of industry would have lived. We also drove past a Jewish private school, one of four that exist in Budapest. It was established by the son of the Estée Lauder of the cosmetic empire and called the Lauder School. This was not the first time we have heard the name Lauder. He was also responsible for the revitalization of Josefov in Prague.

The car then took us into Obuda, the third town that amalgamated with Buda and Pest to form the capital city of Hungary. As we drove, Kate pointed out where some of the factories once established and owned by Jews had stood. Most of the area consisted of dull grey rectangular apartment blocks that had been erected during the sixties, but we parked at the edge of the old central town square of Obuda. It was one of the few places where the original buildings still stood. On one side, there was a long building that had once been a royal palace and later converted into army barracks. The smaller cottages around what used to be the barracks were used by the prostitutes that serviced the army. Beside the barracks was another installation by Varga. It consisted of a series of women holding open umbrellas as protection against the rain. It was encircled by beds of flowers still in bloom during November. A tribute to the prostitutes.

                                    

The actual town square was dominated by the town hall. In front of it was yet another installation of a man sitting at a covered table with his book and wine. Unfortunately I did not take notes and I no longer recall the significance of the sculpture. I believe it may have been melancholy over the things and way of life that had been lost under the Soviets. On the wall was a plaque that had been installed just earlier this year. Like the Wallenberg statue, it was dedicated to the Hungarians who had died for their beliefs during the war. Again no mention of Jews.

The main reason for the visit to Obuda, however, was to view the small gallery of Varga's work. Varga is not a Jew although he is married to one. At the age of ninety he is still alive and comes to the gallery each weekend. His work always seems to pack a wallop. The museum consists mostly of maquettes of work he had been commissioned to do. His own beliefs come across very strongly in his work and often it is not the exactly the message intended by the sponsors of the work. He designed the Hungarian House in the Vatican with a very dramatic statue of King Stephen holding the royal crown. There were statues of victims of the war, like that of Randotti. He was a young man who wrote poetry. He died during a mass shooting of Jews. In his coat was a bloodied notebook with all his poetry, influenced by the trials of the Jews during the war. It had instructions as to who should receive the work in case of his death. Thus the journal found its way to being published.

Another statue entitled the passage of time was of a young woman standing, the same woman lying down but now more middle aged and the same woman again, elderly and close to death. I think of the most powerful pieces was of three wounded veterans, all wearing medals from the first world war. I had never heard of this sculptor and yet his work has an enormous emotional impact. Only photographs, of which I have many, can do justice to his work.

                                        

 On our trip to Szentendre, Kate had pointed out the synagogue built in the courtyard of a building. Today we visited that synagogue. It was built entirely on donations in 1926, the heyday of Jewish influence in Hungary. From the outside the only evidence of its existence are the Jewish stars etched on to some of the lower areas of the building. Inside the courtyard, it stands like a small jewel. It is still in use today and there are many Jews residing in this building that is also the site of the Jewish community centre. The bimah is in the centre with the seats in an almost circular formation around it. It is an inclusive effect. One interesting point was that the blessing before reading the Torah was on the bimah in transliterated Hungarian, the only Hungarian we could figure out how to read.

We also visited another large building still being used as a synagogue. The original was built in 1775. The present structure was from the nineteenth century. There was little to indicate that it was a synagogue and I commented that the Jews who had it built must have been very prosperous. Kate explained that the grandeur of a synagogue was dependent on the level of acceptance of the Jews at the time and not on economic circumstances. Today, it has been taken over by the Lubavitch movement. Unfortunately, we could not enter because no one was there at the time.

       

                                                                      Another memorial but this time in Budapest

 Back in Pest, we were shown the shoes memorial. This installation was also placed in a very inaccessible spot. Because of guardrails, it cannot be viewed as you drive by. There is no break in the guardrails nor a crosswalk to provide access to it. The only way to see it is to walk to the installation from a parking area a distance away. All the factors preventing the public from readily seeing this memorial are not coincidental. The Hungarians are keeping it as hidden as possible in an effort to deny their responsibility. The installation of bronzed shoes carelessly scattered at the edge of the river recalls the women and children who were brought to the Danube, told to disrobe or at the very least remove their coats and shoes and then were shot, falling into the Danube. I was curious about why the shoes were removed. Often a gold watch, a diamond ring or even some money was hidden in the heel of a shoe as a last resort. The most heartbreaking part were the shoes of a young child. They were filled with stones and a single candy. Flowers that had been placed there as a memorial were not removed though they were long dead.

                                               

 We were then taken to see the statue of the Prime Minister during the war. Kate claimed that he was more bloodthirsty than even Stalin. This statue had been in a very public place but was the site of many protests and so it was moved into a small gated niche in front of a church among the government buildings.

This is where our tour ended but not our time with Kate and Frank. She invited us to her apartment for tea and canapés and conversation. She told us about her fears that the Nazi Party would have a better showing in the next election because of the discontent about Hungary's poor economic status. She spoke about the rise of anti semitism and the hatred of all things communist, with communist being a code word for Jewish. Her apartment itself was a wonder. Filled with art and an eclectic collection of antiques and tchachkes. It was also huge, many rooms with twelve foot ceilings. It was an appropriate way to end the tour. I asked Kate to arrange a taxi to take us to the airport. Instead, Frank offered to pick us up the next morning, of course for a fee, but with someone who also spoke to us about the current conditions in Hungary. Without Kate and Frank, we would have had a totally unrealistic view of what living in Budapest is for a Jew today.

Time was flying and we had plans to go to see Madame Butterfly at the Opera House at seven. In the meantime, Gila wanted to fit in the Chagall exhibit in the National Museum in the Buda palace. By the time we arrived, it was after four and the gallery closed at 5:30. Traffic across the bridges of the Danube are very congested at that hour of the day as well so we already knew that we would have to get a taxi to the Opera House and keep our fingers crossed that we would make it in time. At that point we did not realize how the Chagall exhibit would affect us. The exhibit also displayed the work of an artist Imre Amos, a young Hungarian contemporary of Chagall who was greatly influenced by his meeting with Chagall. Nowhere in the copious notes about the second painter does it mention that he was a Jew. However, he was presumed to be shot in a concentration camp and somewhat like the poet Randotti, had given the last sketchbook he used to his wife. These stark and moving images were projected on a wall in sequence including the front and back covers.

With ten minutes before closing we rushed through the Hungarian impressionists, impressive at the very least and tried to see the French impressionist exhibit. Our ticket did not include this show. I had dissuaded Gila from buying the combination ticket because of time restraints. The security also told us that that part of the gallery was closing in twenty minutes. Gila offered to buy the additional ticket at the cash, but it was already closed. She somehow talked him into allowing us in for a marathon dash through an unbelievable rich collection of Monets, Cezannes, Renoirs, Gaugins and Van Goghs. The thought of rushing to the Opera was less than appealing and happily, Gila concurred. We had too much to think about and talk about to just rush off to another event. With some difficulty, we found a taxi and rode back to the Oktagon. In a very rare occurrence, Gila wanted to return to a restaurant we had already been to, the seafood place. Over a relaxed dinner with wine, we were able to decompress somewhat and review what had been especially noteworthy on our trip. The residents' views on present Hungary were frightening and disheartening, but they gave us a glimpse of the real world that is seldom easily open for tourists.

A short stroll, (short because we went in the right direction the first time) brought us back to the apartment to pack and get to bed early enough to be ready for a 5:45 pick up. Fortunately, no lost Hungarians approached me for directions or names of streets. Gila is worried that the guy I directed yesterday may be in Prague.

In summary, WHAT A TRIP!!!

Budapest Day 21

Neither of us was in a hurry to get up this morning. Our original plan was to get an early start so we could retrieve Gila's purchases from the Museum of Applied Arts in the west end of the city and still have time to visit the two art galleries in Hero Square in the east. After being so consistently wrong yesterday, my plan was not even to look at a map. Gila would take the lead.

When we finally left the apartment, Gila tried to find a photograph of the museum on her phone. She was planning to show it to people to get directions. The man in one of the shops on our block said he did not know the meaning of applied arts and so I tried to describe it for him. It was a big building, near a metro station. It had a tile green roof with a dome and needed some renovation. There was some construction around it and it had big wooden doors. The man gently answered that all museums were big buildings. Gila exploded with laughter. My description was akin to asking for the site of a tall condo building made of glass in Toronto. Finally with the help of some buddies, they figured out where we wanted to go and gave us what I thought were good instructions.

However, Gila had not yet had coffee. So before getting on the tram we stopped at a small bakery/cafe for some breakfast, delicious yogurt, a bun and coffee. When we left, we found the tram stop with a tram there. Before getting on, Gila tapped on the driver's window, showed him a sketch she had made of the building we were looking for. The driver pointed to another intersection and told us to get a bus there. We found the bus stop, showed that driver the picture and asked for directions. He pointed back to the tram stop. On the way back to the tram, Gila showed her drawing and asked for directions from five different people, who all pointed to the direction where we had tried to get on in the first place. She was amazed at how many people did not recognize the building. Finally on the right path, we headed towards yesterday's destination to retrieve her purchases. The bag was just where she has left it. It was finally time to start for today's museums. The tram to the Oktagon was no problem. But now it was time to transfer to some conveyance of transportation along Andraissy St

Gila looked for another tram in that direction, but there were no stops. Again, she showed her drawing of the museum we were headed for and again the building was not recognized. Gila had seen a bus stop in the form of a blue sign so we began walking up this elegant avenue. I remember someone telling us that to get to Hero's Square you had to take a subway line, but I was not navigating today so I tried to say as little as possible. Several blocks later we finally found the Autubusz sign. Even Gila commented that this seemed excessively far for the placement of a transfer spot. As we approached the stop, the first bus drove by us. Gila busied herself sketching the area. I was on the lookout for another bus. One stopped right in front of us, but it was a tour bus letting off tourists for some guide commentary. The next bus was a Hop On Hop Off bus. At last the city bus approached and drove right by us. I thought it was because we weren't right at the stop, so we moved the two feet to the sign and Gila continued to sketch contentedly, while I waited somewhat impatiently and cold. When the third city bus zoomed past us, we concluded that perhaps the bus was not the way to get to our destination. Gila looked for a taxi. I looked for the next metro stop. The subway entrance appeared first so descended from the street to the platform. The station was really short in length. Was it because the subway train itself was short? Or was it that the train was short because the station was also short? While trying to figure this out, we continued to add characteristics to the by now imaginary building we were looking for. It had been a former palace. It had peeling paint. It was hard to stop giggling. On the train, Gila resumed asking passengers if we are the way to Hero's Square. At the station Horos something or other, I figured that the first word must be hero and we got off. Seeing the square now void of tourist crowds spread out in front of us as we climbed the stairs was a relief. It is not so easy taking on the navigation!

Of course we could not head directly to the first of the two museums. More photos of the square had to be recorded and our stomachs'' growling was a clear sign that it was already lunchtime. In front was of us was a cafe advertising pizza, so in we went. Both of us had a big bowl of soup before finally crossing the street to the museum entrance. By now it was after one o'clock and we had only just arrived at the first museum. Navigating in a foreign city wasn't all that easy. We purchased our tickets, dropped our coats of in the cloakroom and at long last we were ready to enter the Caravaggio exhibit. I flash my ticket. Gila's was nowhere to be found. She returned to the cloakroom and even emptied her knapsack but that ticket had found its way to the twilight zone. Gila went back to the cashier and asked for another ticket. The woman agreed that she remembered that Gila had bought a ticket, but it being lost was of no concern to her. After a flurry of Hungarian with anther employee, Gila was finally supplied with a replacement ticket.

The exhibit displayed a series of works on the same topic, like David slaying Goliath painted by both Caravaggio and his followers in a similar style. To get in there was an electronic door that led into a tiny plexiglass room with a second security electronic door. It was a little like the decontamination area for visitors to the Starship Enterprise. It was a very long exhibit winding its way through a great number of rooms. When we were both done, Gila was for visiting the second gallery on the other side of Hero's Square, so we headed for the cloakroom, got our coats and bags and headed out the building via the gift shop. I don't think there is such a thing as a museum gift shop that Gila doesn't browse. This was was not to be the exception.

Somehow we then decided to see the permanent collection instead of heading for the modern art gallery and had to descend to the cloakroom once again. We were becoming quite intimate with the lift. We wandered through many rooms of European works from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century and disappointed that there was no work more modern than the nineteenth century. While waiting for Gila outside the WC, I noticed another room labeled the twentieth century. Before I could say a word, Gila disappeared into the gallery without a word, leaving me with our belongings. Even after the announcement that the museum was about to close, there was no sign of Gila. As the cleaning crew descended upon the place, Gila emerged, camera in hand gushing about the work she had seen. Now, at long last we were both done.

Suggestion one was to find a place to eat dinner and then head by taxi for the apartment. With only the cafe where we had lunch at visible, we proceeded to Suggestion two. Go to the Oktagon to eat dinner there. It was now past six in the evening and I had already forgotten that I was taking a break from navigating and led us to the metro. I had to remind myself that Gila who could read maps better than I was in charge. At the Oktagon, she chose the direction we were going to try. After two blocks of cafeteria style establishments and a trendy second hand clothing store. It was time to return to the Oktagon and head in another direction to find a place to eat. There seemed nothing all that appealing until we came upon a seafood place called the Big Fish. You chose the fish and sides you wanted from the counter and sat down waiting to be served. It was both delicious and light.

After a session of therapeutic talk, I proposed a cafe for dessert, Gila was for a taxi home and she was in charge. We both knew we were very close to the apartment, but we got a tour of downtown Budapest. We both commented that we were going in the wrong direction but the driver kept pointing to his GPS and showing us he was following it. We did get back to the apartment although it did take us considerably longer than the day before.

Once we were trying to get into the building, a young Hungarian man asked for the name of the street up ahead. Did I know? Did that stop me? Again no. I explained that I didn't know the name of the street, but pointed him into the Oktagon. Of course, Gila burst into gales of laughter. I spoke no Hungarian, got us totally lost on several occasions but still thought I was qualified to lead the poor man astray!

Enough for one day. Tomorrow Kate will give us a private tour of the Budapest Jewish community. I have promised not to make any attempts to take over tomorrow, our last full day of out trip.

Budapest Day 20

Today was another transfer day. These are the days I have the hardest time with. Perhaps because packing and unpacking is annoying, especially since there seems to be more to pack each time. Perhaps because it is a very humid and rainy day and perhaps because the cold seems to be quite happy resting in my chest.

We had to say goodbye to the Corinthia Hotel today. I wouldn't have minded finishing off our trip there as this is the place to go if you want total attention to every detail, if you like elegance and if you want to feel like you belong to the 'haves a lot' rather than the 'haves enough'. We lingered over breakfast and said good bye to a very nice older couple from Connecticut who we had spent some time with. There was some last minute packing (repacking), looking for lost items, like the adapter I borrowed and finalizing tickets for the performances over the next few days with the concierge.

I bought another adapter at a nearby store and we headed out for the Museum of Applied Arts a beautiful building, although a little worse for wear, with a green ceramic tile roof. I'm afraid I was a terrible companion once again. Gila, being Gila noticed every sign and store in this new neighbourhood and realized that it was the XXX section of town. She was amazed to find it located in so open and busy a city square, but unfortunately, I couldn't muster the same enthusiasm. The best I could do was wait as patiently as I could under a tree, hoping to stay as dry as I could while she captured all the details on her camera. Even standing outside the actual building, she wanted to point out all the features that appealed to her. All I wanted was to get in out of the rain.

It is strange that most of the exhibits were temporary and to see these displays, you had to buy a dual ticket. Seeing only the small permanent works on display was not an option. I enjoyed this museum more than I expected. The interior of the building was completely white with ornate arches all around. The centre was an atrium topped with a rose window. Grand marble staircases graced each side of the hall. The first floor was devoted to modern Italian designers. Although their chairs, tables and shelves have become part of the modern idiom, it did not appeal to me. Gila was fascinated by the strength of the design and wanted to photograph the showcases, but this was not permitted, so while I enjoyed a cup of tea, she went through the exhibit again making notes and sketches of the show. The second floor consisted of beautiful inlaid and carved furniture pieces, vases, plates, silver sets and even antique clothing and lace gifted to the museum through the years by patrons. Another exhibit consisted of ceramic, tiles, pillars, cornices and the like used in the Paris exhibition of the late nineteenth century and bought by the museum in 1900. This was the first exhibit of these works since they had arrived in Hungary over a hundred years ago. There were also graceful personal care items by Lalique, Tiffany lamps, stained glass panels, goblets and every size and design of vase. The third floor displayed unusual examples of bookbinding and a wonderful exhibit of carpets, clothes, sabers, daggers and pottery from the Ottoman Empire.

I have to admit that I enjoyed this site more than I had anticipated. I also went at my own pace and didn't mind resting while Gila took her time recording it all on her camera and sketch pad. It was now time to find our way back to the hotel, claim our luggage and find our new lodgings, a small but very neat little apartment only a few blocks away from the hotel and even closer to the Opera according to the map.  As close as it was, we took a taxi considering that it was still raining and our baggage is becoming more and more bulky. Good thing! We might still be looking for the right place if I were charged with finding it.  The building looks like many of the complexes in movies filmed in Hungary, a central open court, with the hallway to each of the apartments on an outdoor balcony with wrought iron. Like so many other places we have seen, the exterior is a little shabby, with peeling paint etc., but thankfully the interior of the apartment has been maintained. Rather than rushing to another gallery and trying to make the opera on time. We spent the afternoon settling in. I napped. Gila painted, sketched, wrote, surfed the net? Take your pick.

Unfortunately, my navigating skills have seriously deteriorated and it is unlikely that I can blame it on feeling unwell. When we left the apartment for a bite (we hadn't had lunch again), I steered us in the totally wrong direction. We found somewhere to eat a snack, but by that time we discovered, after asking a few passers by, that we were far away from the Opera House. A taxi was a very quick and easy solution. It took less than five minutes by car. I should have learned from that what to do when lost.

Our seats were in the centre of the third row and thank goodness the soprano in the lead sang instead of screeching. I am not an aficionado of Opera. I have only been to two previous performances and I suppose my reaction was based on that lack of experience. La Traviata is performed in Italian with surtitles above the stage. I kept glancing at the translation realizing each time that I understood more of the Italian sung than the Hungarian written above the stage.

The costumes of the ladies of the chorus were frilled and tiered looking exactly like the crocheted dolls that sit on toilet paper rolls. In another scene, the dresses looked like draperies and shower curtains. One particular gown had two large circles on the bodice that looked like the demarcation of her breasts. Violetta, the main character has consumption, but the force with which she was able to sing seemed very powerful for a person with breathing difficulties. It is not a wonder that Violetta died after getting out of bed and singing her heart out. Having expended all that energy and breath, she collapsed on the stage. The other thing I had not seen before were the curtain calls after each act and a very lengthy one at the end of the performance. The music was beautifully lilting and despite a few missed notes in the first act, the lead soprano had a lot of nuance in her singing. The singer who played Alfred was often drowned out the orchestra, but the performance improved as the play progressed. Alfred's dad was very effective. He had a supreme control and range. I am learning an appreciation of opera. We will see if Madama Butterfly on Thursday evening will meet with my approval.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Although it was late, we set out to find a meal. We found several open restaurants in Liszt square. Dinner was much appreciated by this time and although the restaurant was closing, we were allowed to finish our meals in leisure. During dinner I checked the map a number of times and I was sure that it was just a short walk home. My navigation license, however, is being revoked and I am delegating myself as follower for the rest of the trip. I am definitely far less effective than a GPS. I took us completely in the wrong direction and we were wandering alone through Budapest at midnight. Of course, being stubborn, I was sure I could still find our way. Gila the more reasonable of the two, decided a taxi was the solution. She was right. Thank goodness one of us has a functioning brain and good sense.

Tomorrow we have to return to the Museum of Applied Arts. Gila bought a book, a lovely clutch bag and very interesting bookends in the shape of flames early in our visit. She decided to leave the bag in the gift shop while we continued our visit. Because of her concern for me, she forgot to pick it up on our way out. Then we have to head in the exact opposite direction to visit the museum of fine art and the Hungarian National Museum in Hero Square. As I am becoming a liability rather than an asset, Gila is getting the map and will be in charge for the remainder of the trip. I don't want this wonderful adventure to end on a sour note.

Budapest Day 19

I started this morning with a visit to the spa and my favourite, the hot tub. We then got to enjoy the most incredible breakfast imaginable. The service is so attentive that it seems obsequious at times, but the space is amazing. The outer part consists of a six storey atrium with a domed glass roof. It looks like it used to be the space between two buildings or where another building altogether stood. The inner section that appears to be yet another building annexed to the hotel has several cold buffets, a hot buffet and an omelet station. The seating area is graced by a stained glass ceiling. Everywhere you look you can see repeating motifs or shapes, diamonds in the grillwork but also in the marble floor and the lotus in all the wrought iron balconies that open onto the atrium and the mounted wall lamps. The beauty of the space was overwhelming and almost brought Gila to tears. And that was even before we tasted the breakfast! Before leaving she photographed every minute detail.

Then we met our tour guide, Kate, once again, for a trip to Szentendre, a small community a half hour outside of the city. On the way, Kate pointed out significant landmarks and amusing stories about them all. A former train station, designed by Gustavo Eiffel, was turned into the first McDonalds behind the iron curtain. It is a beautiful space with high ceilings worthy of the name Eiffel. The Hungarians thought that having a piece of American culture was so amazing that it became the place for romantic dates although the local cuisine so bests anything McD can even think of. The Hungarian Prime Minister was so impressed by it that when Bush Sr. came for a visit, the state dinner was held there!  She pointed out a small synagogue in Buda found in a courtyard of a building adorned with Jewish stars. The story is that a religious Jew living in that building was getting on in years and walking to the services on Shabbat was too much for him. Unfortunately, I don't remember where the funds came from, but a small sanctuary was built in that courtyard for him. We passed another large synagogue that did not reopen after the war because it could not gather a minyan.

Apparently, everywhere you dig, Roman ruins are discovered. Under a bridge we saw the remains of a Roman bath. Further on were two amphitheatres. Without the exterior walls they were not as impressive as the Roman coliseum although it was built in the same design and one of them was just a large as the one in Rome. The ruins of a town or community, an aqueduct and a Roman legion camp were also on our route. 

                                                                      The  Romans had built a town called Aquincum on the shores of the Danube where Budapest currently stands. Thus all the ruins. Unfortunately the bus was traveling too fast for photo ops.

Kate also told some funny stories about life under the Soviets. The funniest one was about a car called a Trabant, manufactured in East Germany. 

                                                 

She recalled it when one of the cars came along side our bus. The car was advertised as being very light weight with the remarkable asset that it did not rust. The reason was that it was constructed of cardboard with a thin plastic coating on top. It could rot or dissolve but it did not rust!  It had a two stroke motorcycle engine that mixed oil with the gas. The smoke from these cars continually greyed every surface almost immediately. Pastels colours would be used to refresh buildings and in no time the Trabant would turn them grey. She also told us about an ad that featured a Trabant with the trunk open and vegetables falling from it. A horse directly behind the car was eating not only the veggies but also the car. It was an insurance company's ad that announced that this claim was also covered.

The village of Szentendre was established by Serbs who were fleeing from the Muslim Ottoman Empire in the sixteenth century. They received permission and the land for their community and the architecture and layout of the streets resembled a Mediterranean village not one in central Europe. 

                         

Now it is a perfect tourist destination. Once it was an artist community and today, the shops along the main street all sell Hungarian crafts, from traditional clothing, hand carved secret compartment boxes, sheepskin vests and hats, leather bags, embroidered linens and clothes to designer Italian fashions and vintage soviet hats and uniforms. We were there to help the Hungarian economy and to take advantage of prices considerably lower than those in the city if you found something you wanted.

On our return, we had a short rest and headed out for a guided tour of the famous Hungarian Opera House. Over the top and angepatchked are the best way to describe the building. It was even more ornate than the Benedictine Abbey in Melk. Part of the tour included a short (thank goodness) performance by a soprano. She was so loud it sounded more like shrieking than singing. I only hope she is not one of the performers in the opera we are seeing later in the week.

                       

                       

Having missed lunch because we were too busy browsing and shopping, it was time for dinner. On our walk home we found a restaurant not yet full because of the early hour and enjoyed another Hungarian meal with dessert. If each restaurant had the same dessert menu, we would have already tasted them all and would have been able to pass on this course, but how can you pass on warm plum strudel with vanilla ice cream if you have never had it?

Back at the hotel we packed. Our check out is tomorrow and we will be moving to an air bnb place nearby for our last three days. Unfortunately, the cold that I started to develop a few days ago is doing better than I am. So, after another jacuzzi session, it was off to bed hoping that the cold would be gone by morning.

Budapest Day 18

   

Upon rereading this missive, I again realize that the detail may be much more than anyone elsemay be interested in. I have written it to retain my own memories. But if you only want to know what we did or saw, here is the condensed version:

We left the ship to numerous renditions of So Long Farewell.

We were bussed to our new very ritzy hotel.

We went on a Jewish Interest tour in which we saw several memorials as well as the Great Synagogue and the Holocaust Museum.

Lunch was at a Hungarian bistro at which time we could finally check in, rest, reorganize and visit the sumptuous spa, an included amenity.

We dined at another Hungarian restaurant with gypsy music.

Read on only if you are bored and have nothing else to do for the next half hour. You have all been warned so I expect no complaints about my excessive recount.

Today we disembarked from the MS Sound of Music. I can't tell you how many times I heard people singing 'So Long, Farewell'. But our tour is not yet over. We transferred to a five star hotel in the city. I thought the Imperial in Prague was posh, but it cannot stand up to our new hotel, the Corinthia Royal Hotel. It is a huge building. The lobby is a six storey atrium that is spectacular even on a rainy day. The hotel in Prague had every surface adorned in some type of art deco. This hotel calls attention to itself with its quiet elegant simplicity. Orchids and lilies adorn every counter. In addition, most of the rooms face a courtyard and the trams from the street cannot be heard. By the time we were able to check in I both felt and looked bedraggled. I'm sure that if our room had not been reserved by Gate 1, we would have been shown the door.

On the bus, we met our new tour manager. Wow!! She is humorous, fluent, articulate and holds a doctorate in ethno-cultures. She was the one who led the Jewish Interest Tour. Her commentary in the Great Synagogue gave us a great deal of insight into the attitudes and culture of the Jewish population in 1850. The Hungarian Jews like the Germans were very well integrated and considered themselves Hungarians first. By this point in the nineteenth century, many of the affluent Jews wanted to modify their beliefs so that the practices were more in line with those of the Catholic. They were called neologues. They decided to build their own synagogue but instead of hiring one of the many Hungarian Jewish architects, they hired an Austrian named Forster. Unfortunately he knew nothing about Judaism, but conscientiously traveled to Spain to research the design of synagogues there. What he did not realize was that the Sephardic temples in Spain were very Moorish in design. Many of the elements of this synagogue resemble a mosque, but many more are representative of a Catholic cathedral.

These are some of the features the architect got wrong: The many stained glass windows have eight, not six sided stars. The bimah was placed at the front instead of in a central location as was the style then. Two pulpits were built on either side but Jews did not deliver sermons from the sides of the church. All the pews had kneelers at the front although Jews don't kneel during prayers. There are two towers outside that look like minarets. The inside is totally Moorish. In all despite, the conventional  features, it feels far more like a church than a synagogue. The community became concerned about the non-Jewish look and hired a Jewish architect to advise them how to rectify the problems. His suggestions included moving the bimah back to the centre, removing the kneelers and removing the pulpits, but all of these features had already been built and paid for so they stayed. The only 'Jewish' addition was a little roof over each pulpit whose underside had a painted Star of David.

 

                                                                

                                                       The Synagogue Garden

 The women's section was two storeyed and wrapped around the main floor. In this Shul, there were 64 torahs in the ark of the covenant. Most of them were rescued from camps, found after being safely hidden or taken from synagogues that could not gather together a minyan for prayers and remained closed after the war. 

                                       

                                           The women's balcony

We moved onto the garden. When the Jews were confined to the ghetto, they were not permitted to bury their dead in the cemetery outside the ghetto walls. As a result, the dead were buried in this garden, in total, 10,000, one layer of bodies on top of the next separated only by a covering of lye. At the end of the war, the bodies were removed and buried in the regular cemetery. However, family members wanted to commemorate their dead in some way and began placing individual small marble markers back in the garden so now it truly looks like a cemetery. There is also a monument to the Jews who died while in the army labour camps. It is very disturbing. At one end are coffins from which bodies are falling, rising and as skeletons, marching along.

In the back section of the temple property is the Holocaust memorial by the same sculptor as the one in the garden. It is called the Tree of Life and takes the form of a weeping willow, but when you look carefully you can see that it also looks like an upside down menorah. The end of the branches have metal leaves with the names of victims engraved. 

                                

                                    The Treeof Life

Further back, there is a stained glass memorial created by a camp survivor. It is called the Inferno and resembles swirling flames rising to the air. Each colour in the piece is representative of aspect of her experience, the yellows the stars the Jews were forced to wear, the red, the crematoria, the black, the ashes, the brown, the Nazi uniforms and so on. The colours become less intense towards the top of the piece representing hope. Of course photos would be much better than my descriptions, but they will have to wait until I download them from my camera.

                                                 

Our next visit was to the Holocaust museum. It is the most moving and chilling one we have seen yet. It is housed on the property of a synagogue that never reopened because there weren't enough Jews for a minyan. The property, however, is encased in a structure that looks like a sarcophagus. Inside the walls, all the angles are askew. Before entering the underground exhibit, there is a four-sided glass wall naming the 1,414 communities in Hungary that were wiped out by the Nazis. The exhibit follows the fates of a number of families through the war years, again giving a very human face to the number six million. The fate of  Roma families is followed as well. Moving from one room to the next is like walking through a maze. Black glass walls painted with evenly spaced white lines border the exhibit. The lines represent the members of the families in the exhibit. At the death of one of these people, the line abruptly stops but the space remains. 

                                        

                        White lines: family members Blank spaces: those who have died

By the end of the exhibit, only a few of the lines still exist. Very effective and frightening. The first rooms portray life before the war and the music is lively, like that played at a wedding. As the rights of the Jews were rescinded, the music changes to marching feet and at the end of the exhibit is the sound of only one beating heart. I have never seen Gila so moved by anything we have seen. Even recalling it brings her to tears. Becoming more in touch with this 'history of victims’ has been one of the most important parts of this trip for her. She is amazed at what she does not know and hungers to get all the blanks filled in immediately. Her interest in the galleries of Budapest has waned in light of what she has experienced.

The final part of the museum is the synagogue itself, built at the same time as the Great Synagogue but far more modest. 

                                              

                                                  The Holocaust Museum Synagogue

Unfortunately, due to time we were rushed through the museum but the impression was nonetheless strong. As impressed as I was with Daniel Liebeskind's museum in Berlin, this one is even more upsetting. That was the end of the tour, but Gila and I both wanted more. We asked our guide if she could recommend a guide. Apparently, she does private tours and we are hiring her to take us around on Thursday morning.

On our return we still could not check in so we went to a recommended restaurant nearby. The waiter asked us where we were from. When he heard that it was Toronto, he wanted to know about the CN Tower!  

                                             

                                                 Lunch at a Bistro

After lunch we finally got to our room. Like the lobby it exudes quiet yet simple elegance. The amenities include a sumptuous breakfast and a SPA! After unpacking, settling in and resting, we headed to the jacuzzi. Nothing could have been more rejuvenating at that moment. I didn't leave the spa until all my skin was completely pruned.

Dinner was at a Hungarian restaurant that played gypsy music while we ate. These were not run of the mill musicians and the music certainly enhanced the attentive service and the delicious food. Beside us was a young Irish couple and we shared some of our experiences with one another. The highlight of the evening was the playing of Hava Na Gila. Of course Gila let the musicians know it was her song and tipped them generously for the performance that evening.

The waiters were in no hurry to get us to leave and by the time we were back in our room it was closing on midnight and the spa was closed. Our day tomorrow definitely will start with a hot tub session.