Mussolini made the trains run on time. I’m not sure that Admiral Horthy, the Hungarian WW2 leader, had quite the same effect on Magyar Rail. When I negotiated tickets from Budapest to Zagreb the lady behind the counter suggested we take the afternoon Inter City Express – Hungary’s finest. It would go straight to the destination, she said. Much faster than 3 Hours on a bus, she said. No stops, no changes, she said. The woman is a filthy Hungarian liar.

The Rosewood to Ipswich Express rail-motor only stops at Thagoona, Wulkuraka, and will also occasionally stop at Thomas St, but only if there are passengers who wish to disboard. We stopped at every Hungarian hamlet from Budapest to the border. There we were instructed to disembark, and were herded on to a bus. After nearly two hours we were once again herded out of the bus and on to a railway siding called Magzojokjli (or some such) only to have to wait for the next ‘express’ to Zagreb. After a journey of nine hours finally we arrived at Croatia’s capital. I hope the ticket lady has to eat the same lunch I had today.

However we do love Croatia. Zagreb was a tense place during the war with Serbia. Cluster bombs were dropped on outdoor markets during market days killing scores each time. The opera house and other landmarks were shelled -sixteen ballerinas were injured in one attack on the opera house. (Vicious fighters those ballerinas – no wonder the Serbs wanted to take them out of the war.) After the war there has been a slow but steady recovery. They were last a separate nation in 800ad and it has taken a wee time to get back to that, but it is something that is cause for great pride. Stick that up your nose Mr Milosovic.

Yesterday Ivana and Ksandro – the couple who own this apartment, drove us to Samobor, then to lunch at their weekender in the hills above the valley. I could live there. It might be a bit of a commute to Lofty, Charlie would need feeding, and the kinder would have access to our cellar and our cars – all arguments against. However to eat food that is grown by the people who sell it to you, to drink wine made by the people who sold it, to share a meal with the people who have just made an absolute killing renting their apartment to us is very special indeed.

Tomorrow we head for Ljubjiana, again by the ICE. This time I am prepared. I have practiced a smirk (a particularly difficult face to do my children) ready for the moment when the ticket lady suggests we take the Inter City Express. I have practiced the knowing smile for the moment when she says there are no stops. Then I will tell her that even the Rosewood to Ipswich express rail-motor sometimes stops at Thagoona. And Thomas Street. At that moment she will know that a man from Rosewood is not to be fooled.

Can’t wait.

Farley C-S

   
                 

  
I have just been kissed by a man. 

I don’t remember my father kissing me. I would have been terrified if my grandfather Evans tried to kiss me. My brother NEVER kissed me. But Czarba from Kecskemet kissed me, not once – but twice.

Czarba is a cello teacher at the Kodaly Institute in Kecskemet. He has taught some famous musicians (though, strangely, he had never heard of the Rosewood Renaissance Quartet). He has done workshops across the globe, and last year worked with some of Australia’s best at Fairholme, hence the connection. He invited us to share a restaurant meal in Kecskemet, and in doing so gave us all a lesson in true hospitality.

He had hopped on the train two stops before our destination so that we wouldn’t miss our stop, found us somehow, then escorted us off the rattler. There we met two of his past students – a Finnish couple who were on tour doing a series of concerts across Europe but who had taken time out to dine with Czarba. We were given a guided tour of the Institute before eating a traditional Hungarian meal – soup, goulash, pancakes and way too many different varieties of alcoholic drinks. He was the perfect host throughout the afternoon.

After lunch it was stroll/stagger to the station to catch a slow train back to Budapest. It was then he kissed me. Twice. Once on each cheek. As he only kissed Linda’s hand, I am taking this as a sign of how much he obviously enjoyed my company and that he immediately recognised the enormity of my prodigious, though somewhat untapped, musical talents.

The greatest of lessons afforded by travel are those that are unexpected. I didn’t realise how much I would enjoy a trip to this small Hungarian town. I never thought goulash tasted like that. I never imagined that I would ever dine in a Hungarian restaurant with a pair of Finnish concert cellists and their much adored 72 yr old master. And I didn’t expect to be kissed by a man, twice, in one day …

   
  
  
               

Obviously there has been an issue with people on the Budapest Metro moving around large numbers of unwrapped saplings.  It’s good that they’re finally doing something about this problem! 

 

Two questions spring to mind.  Where is Maryanne and why is Uncle Fester giving my good wife the thumbs up?

As my friend Remington would say….

‘Farley, life can be weird like that sometimes.’

  

  Ten years ago our family had our first trip to Europe. We tried to do too much on too little money.  By the time we arrived in Budapest the cash had almost run out, Nat was sick and Mitch had become a teenager almost overnight.  He had left a trail of belongings throughout Europe – cameras, clothing, other odds and ends. We loved the trip, but not Budapest.

This time it is so different. Linda enjoyed her conference and I enjoyed wandering with Maryanne. We have loved Budapest.

(My gait goes: walk – stroll – trudge – hobble – cramps – stop)

We have changed, but so has Budapest. Hungary had a tough transition from communism to capitalism. The political corruption had the opportunity to morph into free trade corruption. Some of the more elderly locals still long nostalgically for the certainties of socialism – full under-employment, free health care, cheap shitty crap from Russia aplenty. There was less crime and the place was dour but more innocent- none of the Brit Boys Brothel Tours, stag parties or hens’ parties that have become a feature of Budapest today.

Hungary now, Budapest in particular, is a lot more optimistic and a lot more forward looking. The Germans have invested a great deal of money, Budapest has had several coats of paint and the place is full of energy.  The young people are staying, or even coming back. There is less reliance on tourism as the main earner of foreign currency. The driver who took us round today came back from Germany five years ago and will now be here to stay.

There are still some huge challenges. Linda spoke with teachers and social workers who work in the Eighth District and our driver took us there today. This is where most of the Roma live.  Taxis won’t go in there at night, ambulances take a police escort. The human devastation caused by drug addiction and alcoholism was on the streets to be seen at 9am this morning. Other parts of the same district are better – more multiculturalism with a large population of Turks and Chinese expats – but still the feeling af a ghetto 2km from the wealthy city centre.  (Mind you, Redfern and Belview Hill are almost neighbours, or Wine Drive and Wirra Wirra Street)

We have more exploring to do. A restraurant meal at Bock Bistro a couple of nights ago would rate in our top two or three best meals ever. We have another restaurant meal tonight. We are going for a dip in one of Budapest’s thermal baths, having some conference attendees from the Shetland Islands over for dinner, and catching a train to a small town outside the city – all in the next two days.

More Walk – stroll – trudge – hobble – cramps – stop.  But I wouldn’t swap it for quids.

F C-S

   
                        

 I have noticed the particularly striking nature of many of the Magyar women, though not all. 

As  dear Mother would say, 

“Farley, it appears she may have let herself go.”

  

  

  

 

 

Today has been our first full day in Budapest and Linda’s first day at her conference. It has wonderful to see this city again as my initial impressions ten years ago were soiled by an awful apartment, foul weather, holiday fatigue and a rapidly diminishing bank balance. This time – none of the above. It is a beautiful city to stroll around.
Whilst Linda was conferencing, Maryanne and I walked from the Buda side back to our HUGE apartment. The city was built on a grand scale and most of the significant buildings were constructed during the height of Austro-Hungarian dominance in this region. The parliament building on the banks of the Danube looks out over one particularly poignant monument – sculptures of shoes. In 1943 as the Nazis were retreating their allies in Hungary (The Arrow Cross Movement) took it upon themselves to rid the city of the last of the Jews and Roma. All remaining Jews and Gypsies were marched to bridges or to this embankment on the edge of the river, forced to remove their shoes, then shot. Their shoes had value – their lives had none.    
More wandering, more photographs and a leisurely lunch in the afternoon. The food is generally cheap and of a high standard. I have eaten slow-cooked beef cheeks before and without exception they have been tender. Today’s beef cheeks were very tough indeed. I wondered perhaps if that particular animal had spent an inordinate amount of time drinking through straws or whistling? This would certainly explain the well toned cheek muscles (obviously waltzes and Hungarian folk tunes would be the cow’s music of choice – though Catrina’s people would be better able to answer this. I’m not some Hungarian whistling cow expert.)  
Home was a stroll up Andrassy utc. one of the more famous European boulevards. It was built with the intention of providing a suitable avenue for victorious Hungarian armies to parade. Sadly for the Hungarians this has never happened. Since about 1800 Hungary has managed to lose every single campaign in which they have participated. Every nation in the vicinity has beaten Hungary – some more than once. In fact if you wanted to practice winning a battle you would start with Hungary. The invasion of Serbia to start WW1 – disaster, wars against the Romanians – disasters, along side the Germans in WW2 – disaster, taking on the Russians again in 1956 – disaster. I’m sure they had wonderful uniforms and some fine marching music – even a marching herd of whistling cows perhaps, but none of it helped. Sometimes you should just admit that you are Hungary the Defatigable, chew on some tough beef cheeks, then go home. Parades are stupid anyway.

F C-S

  
    

We have left the Land of the Turk.  Our last morning was typical.  Walking along a local street we were called over to join a group of men and share their food.  The previous morning, despite the lack of a common spoken language, there were laughs together in the bakery where we had breakfast each morning. They were celebrating the failure of Erdogen’s party to win a majority in the elections and were willing to share the moment with strangers

The generosity and hospitality of the people we have met has been an outstanding feature of both of our visits to this country.  And it extends beyond tourists.  Turkey, although not hugely wealthy, currently cares for one and a half million refugees. ( Pakistan – 2.5 million, Iran 1.5 million, even tiny Jordan 1 million)  At least Australia does its bit.  We paid good money for those four people to be shipped to Cambodia, PLUS we help New Guinea and Nauru look after our assylum seekers.  Gotta be proud of that!

Aussie Aussie Aussie!

PS

A challenge to our kinder – see if you can find the photo of a man wearing my new sun-safe hat. A clue – it’s not pic one – they are Syrian refugees. 

  

  

  

  

  

  

        

  

  

 

 

   

  

  

  

  

   
      

in a rather sad day for Lady C-S and myself (How can Her Majesty’s birthday honours have come out without a gong for either of us?) I decided to look to the Turks for examples of resilience. It was all around us in the way they approach workplace health and safety!

 

The smoking you know about – it toughens their lungs

   

The footpaths teach how to roll with the fall

   They always attempt to conceal the drop into the pit

 Then make sure there is broken glass and cat urine at the bottom to teach self-administered first aid and recovery from infection

 The workers never put up signs when working on the street – this improves the reflexes of the both the drivers and the workers
 

  A pair of Adidas runners provide full ear and eye protection when using jackhammers

 Buses should always go through the middle of pedestrian squares if it is faster than using the outer road. The driver of the blue bus is a soft wimp.
 The head of a sheep is perfectly edible so long as it still has some teeth
 

  One way signs are bullshit. One way spikes are far more effective
 Finally, by leaving a range of side arms unattended on a counter top (the owner was outside having a smoke) you can teach people to both steal and shoot.