Hazy Daze

Snow fell in Hungary before the end of November this year and the Budapest Christmas markets began early and in the right spirit. On a chilly Saturday, the streets around the city centre took on a festive air. Despite a wicked wind surging in from the Danube and temperatures below five degrees Celsius, the crowds move leisurely. They gaze at the ceramics and wooden cutlery, marzipan liquor from Szamos, lavender chocolate from Tihany and endless baubles everywhere. A lot of time and love has gone into producing these exquisite products but sales are slow. These markets don’t operate on the pile-them-high, sell-them-cheap principle. Their prices are geared towards a western European affluence that may be long gone. Richer folk like Russians, Chinese, Americans and Indians are here in force as well- but they don’t seem to be opening their wallets much either.

Only the food and drink are moving like hot cakes and in some cases are actually hot cakes. The savoury stuff is the main attraction though. Delicious smelling, paprika laden sausages tempt the carnivore within. Lángos with every conceivable topping, much to the chagrin of the purist Magyars, are lined up -good to go. Hot soups bubble in cauldrons, ready to warm the hands and tummies of this diverse and happy crowd. So what, if the goods are too expensive? There’s always mulled wine or fruit brandy to help you forget the prices. Or dull your senses enough so you’ll spend later?

At Vörösmarty tér, there’s an abundance of alfresco eating opportunities. The statue of the great poet sits in the centre of the square tucked up for winter. He looks cosy behind a huge dome to protect him from damaging frost, but is that a glance of envy I see as he gazes out at the feasting? Piles of roast goose and braised purple cabbage must be taunting him in there. Despite the cold, no one offers him a plate. Many are heading for a second mulled wine or a pálinka to make the afternoon glow. They toast one another leaving the concrete man friendless. Yellow-clad rubbish collectors rush around, barely able to empty the ridiculously small bins before even more plastic cups and paper plates fill them up again. These guys are earning their living heroically, even if invisible to the wandering flow of revellers and gluttons. Only Vörösmarty approves of their efforts in keeping his square clean and he’s notoriously slow to dish out the praise.

As the afternoon dissolves into evening, adjoining Fashion Street takes on a festive tone with brilliant illuminations in the air. Frank Sinatra croons along the way and it’s easy to pretend you’re in a Hollywood musical. Camera phones reach up in unison at the beautiful sights and only Fred and Ginger are missing from the scene. Everything is doused in a spirit of camaraderie. The promenade takes on a cosmopolitan air but the spirit of conspicuous consumption is somewhat absent here too. Only a sprinkling of customers can be seen inside the high-end retail outlets. The stall holders in the street look frozen and their goods left unsold.

At the Basilica, there’s a steady trickle of tourists climbing the steps and signing up for festive music concerts. Pleased to be out of the heaving crowds between the stalls, some are even wandering inside to see the interior. Culture vultures lured from the Castle and beer monsters from the party district have wandered over to the markets in equal number. No one is pushing or shoving. The tourists are drawn to the bright lights on a short winter afternoon and simply enjoying being lost in the crowd.

At Deák Ferenc square an ice-skating rink is the big attraction. One or two locals whiz around, impressing everyone with their nifty moves but participation is not limited to the experts. Lines of beginners fortified by beer and wine lock hands and take their chances. Others cling to the sides still determined to make a complete circuit. Hardly anyone is falling down. What could go wrong when there’s so much good will in the air? For a brief while you can forget Gaza and Syria, forget the Ukraine, the tumbling Forint and rising populism around the globe. It seems that the point of attending a Christmas market is not to spend until you drop, but simply be in the company of others as the nights draw in- whoever they are, wherever they’re from. For a couple of hazy, dazy hours, the world feels all right again and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Thank you, dear readers, for sticking with my blogs. Merry Christmas to you all!

Now, where did I leave those mince pies….?

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