Behind the Iron Curtain, Budapest
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| Grand Hotel Margitsziget (photo Danibus Hotels) |
The
1970’s saw the first signs of a warming behind part of the iron curtain
when the most ingenious countries began to beckon to the international
tourist and his dollars.
I had a childhood friend who became U.S. ambassador to Romania, and for a while I thought of going to Bucharest;
but I was probably waiting for an invitation to the embassy residence
which never materialized. Then I briefly thought of going to Prague which has always been a popular destination with the French, but the political climate there was frequently too volatile for my timid tastes.
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| Life of the party (Tsar-Devica) |
I am a little ashamed to admit that I ultimately opted for Hungary due to the fact that Elizabeth Taylor had recently given her much publicized 40th birthday celebration there.
I chose the Grand Hotel Margitsziget in Budapest
(in English it’s generally called the Margaret), which I thought E.T.
had commandeered for her party. It was only later that I learned the Taylor shindig was in fact held at the Intercontinental. Never mind, it was still the catalyst that got me to Hungary.
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| Vintage postcard of Margaret Island in 1929 |
Here I need to digress a little back to my first trips to Venice.
When I began traveling in Italy,
I decided to make an effort to learn the language, and I made the
acquaintance of a mostly out-of-work Italian actress whom I hired as
professor.
My
idea was to tape a maximum of phrases which I would play and replay
with a kind of fanaticism for many months. I had a precise idea of how
and what I wanted to learn, and though it was in some ways effective, it
was certainly not the most serious method.
Concentrating
on hotel and restaurant vocabulary, I tried to memorize phrases
intended to send out the image of a more worldly and less touristy
tourist than I really was.
Having weathered the first years in France
learning a new language, I well knew the importance of accent.
Extremely, perhaps excessively motivated, I would repeat my tapes
morning, noon and night for months before traveling. Ultimately, what little I did speak, I managed rather brilliantly.
The
downside was that the Italians I found myself in contact with
invariably assumed I mastered their language far better than I did.
Also, having no grammatical formation to fall back on, I tended to
forget everything about as quickly as I had learned it.
In
the short term, however, the results were often spectacular. If I
found myself, say, in need of some salted peanuts and a non alcoholic
red San Pellegrino (then a few seconds pause before adding) “…sensa limone, per favore,” well, I could manage this exceedingly well.
Encouraged by my Italian success, I decided to do the same thing when Ann and I travelled to Hungary. At Unesco, there were a number of Hungarians, and I finally cajoled one of them to assist me in recording a few phrases.
Hungarian
was MUCH harder than Italian, and I concentrated all of my energy over
the months preceding our trip to rehearsing a handful of idiomatic bits
and pieces. In addition to Hello, Goodbye, thank-you, and what a
magnificent day it is (or alternatively, what a shame there is no sun
this morning), I mastered a complicated order for Coca-Cola with a lot
of ice and a wee slice of orange. Another linguistic pièce de résistance was an order for a decaffeinated espresso with granulated sugar on the side.
Ann spoke quite satisfactory German, which was then much more useful in that part of Eastern Europe than either English or French. Nevertheless, we agreed that I would attempt my Hungarian phrases as often as feasible.
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| The Széchenyi Restaurant slightly modernized today (google photo) |
On
the first dinner at the Margaret Hotel’s Széchenyi Restaurant, the
waiter appeared appropriatedly impressed by my initial Hungarian
phrases, and had managed to decipher everything through dessert.
When
I requested the coffees (one normal and a decaffeinated, if you
please!), my order was met with an oddly blank stare. I repeated,
enunciating each word carefully. A polite look of utter bafflement.
Finally admitting defeat, I turned the task over to Ann who proceeded to
finalize our order in German.
The
young waiter had a surprising reaction. He explained that he had
perfectly well understood my Hungarian. “I understand what you are
saying,” he explained in German. “It is just that I cannot imagine how
one can possibly remove the caffeine from the coffee.”
My
Unesco “tutor” had in fact left her native country and language before
World War II. Although she had translated my phrase into impeccable
Hungarian, she hadn’t realized, herself, that decaffeinated beverages
had yet to make their way behind the iron curtain.
SIDEBAR --More about the Margaret
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| Margaret Island 2006 (without the peacocks) |
Hungary back in the iron curtain days was considered more open and westernized than most of the satellite countries, but only just. I found Budapest extremely gray and uncared-for that first trip, and the people somewhat unwelcoming.
As I said, my introduction to the Margaret was a case of mistaken identity, as I was sure it had been the site of the recent Burton-Taylor birthday affair. Incidentally, their Intercontinental is now a Best Western, so it’s all quite relative.
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| The Burtons and Princess Grace in Budapest (photo tsar-devica) |
If
you are wondering what the Burtons and Princess Grace and the like were
doing there in the first place, well, for economic reasons Mr. Burton
was filming the undistinguished multinational “Bluebeard” with a cast
of international beauties, and Ms Taylor was there looking after her
interests. I seem to remember
reading that the whole point of organizing the birthday bash (with 200
guests streaming in from all over the globe) was to relieve the
monotony.
The Margaret was built 140 years ago on a beautiful island of the same name on the Danube separating the two cities of Buda and Pest. Quite a number of handsome peacocks used to roam about, adding to the picturesque of the gardens. (On a recent trip I saw no more peacocks, but the island was just as beautiful.)
I
remember that the young waiter who served our coffee (with caffeine
intact) was smiling and friendly; but if I recall so well, it is because
he was about the only hotel employee who could have been so described. Most
of the personnel were efficient, and some were helpful; but I remember
none other than the waiter ever returning a smile or as a general rule
even making eye contact.
Many of the traditional Budapest hotels, like the Margaret, have always offered extensive spa facilities, cashing in on the area's "healing waters." In the 1970's the Margaret’s spa clientele was mostly Hungarian, Russian or German. In
recent years, with the addition of an extensive medical programme of
cosmetic surgery, Americans, British and even a few French have joined
the generally overweight hotel guests availing themselves of the
so-called beauty treatments.
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| A nearly unchanged Grand Hotel Margitsziget today |
When I returned in 2006, I was curious to compare the differences. I
stayed again at the old Margaret, and found to my stupefaction that the
hotel personnel behaved approximately the same as I had remembered
–suspicious, curt and unsmiling. Training might well have included the strict rule to never let slip any unnecessary “please” or “thank-you.”
Budapest, itself, had changed spectacularly. The gray of my memory had all but disappeared, but the hotel had not much evolved along with the new Hungary. In fact, had I not known better, I would have sworn the same staff was holding down the fort 30-odd years on.
P.S. While in Budapest in 2006 I did discover --thank goodness!-- the Gresham Palace, and that is quite another story. Stay tuned.
Your input is welcomed: hotel-musings@hotmail.fr
CROSS REFERENCING … a look at other postings
Next Friday: "The Paris Hiltons and the Ukrainian Mafia"
http://frankpleasants.blogspot.fr/2013/05/39-living-it-up-on-park-lane.html
