Weekend in Hungarian Wine Country

After a horrible week of feeling taken advantage of by AIS parents, a getaway from the selfishness was just what I needed, and so to a friend's restored wine press weekend house in Hungary a group of us gathered for good food, great wine, and fun at the flea markets in and around Budapest.  At dusk we were treated to bats swooping about, and even a den of fox flitting across the paths. Just what I needed.

Isn't this a lovely place?  I returned home and told Tony that I wanted one, but across the other border in CZ because the little bit of Czech that I pretend to know is far more than the great deal of Hungarian I do not know. 

I would so copy the style of the stairwell in my press house. Highest form of flattery, right?

 The village is home to about 3.000 persons, and with about 300 press houses in one condition or another.

 These houses fall into the, "other" condition. Thatched roofs! Wow.

Traveling to the flea markets was not without a little traffic along our way. 

I am not a huge bric-a-brac fan, though I enjoyed tagging along for the sport of people (and bric-a-brac) watching, and was not disappointed on either front.

Don't you wonder from where these items "went missing" during the Social Times?

Apparently I have good taste. Even with the tremendous currency exchange I still could not justify adding Hungarian porcelain to my collection. Even handpainted Herend porcelain this gorgeous.

More than just tchotchke at the market. Fuzzy ducklings, chickens, and at least a hundred kinds of Hungarian paprika plants.

Along with beautiful handmade linens.  Of course I purchased; I have a weakness for eastern european grandmothers.

I sent this photo to Tony, telling him that it would be the ideal stove for my Czech wine press house, and could sense the eye roll all the way from Vienna.

Egészségére! to my kind of wellness weekend. 

Sopron on Sunday

Bureaucracy. Sometimes it's a good thing. Tony had planned travel for this week, but the country issuing the invitation did not approve the necessary visa until two days after he was supposed to have arrived, and after he had made arrangements for another colleague to give his presentations. Obviously the planned travel was canceled, and so we decided to head out on Sunday for lunch. But to where? 

Almost always we elect to leave Austria on Sundays because the country is closed. We have auto vignettes to visit all of the neighbors, and I keep individual pocketbooks with Czech Koruna and Hungarian Forint leftover from previous outings, so all we really needed was a destination with good dining not too far away. Sopron came to mind; after all, we would likely be "hungary" when we arrived.  Punny, I know.

Sopron is a terribly interesting city. Following the breakup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Sopron was initially awarded to Austria. This didn't sit well with the locals, who voted in 1921 to return to Hungary.  In 1945, the border city was heavily attacked by the Russians and nearly destroyed.

In 1946, many ethnic Germans in Sopron and across Hungary were deported. Those who spoke Hungarian were permitted to become Hungarian citizens.

Sopron also happens to be the town where the Iron Curtain fell first in August 1989, three months before the Berlin Wall fell.  The short story is that Otto von Habsburg, no longer having an empire to run, kick-started a discussion in June 1989 with Hungarian leaders of what Europe might look like without borders. The Hungarians agreed that a brief opening of the gate at Sopron ("just a few hours" was the plan), to allow Austrians and Hungarians to picnic together, would be a good demonstration of the ridiculousness of the borders in general. 

One thing led to another, and in August 1989 Austrians, Hungarians, and many, many, many East Germans flocked to Sopron (and, ultimately, to West Germany). This brief opening of the gate was one of the sparks that led to the fall of the Berlin Wall, but Berlin had better PR managers and so received all of the media attention.

The town is slightly shabby, but with a lot of character. I decided I need to return when I can dedicate a longer stay and sunnier weather to wandering the town with my camera.

As it goes around these parts, the city of Sopron was also once an ancient Roman town; the Main Square sits atop the ancient Forum. Fascinating.

In the square we found a restaurant populated by persons speaking Hungarian; a place filled with locals is usually an excellent recommendation.  Indeed it was. And, thankfully the menu was available in German, because Hungarian really is a foreign language to us!  We started with Knoblauchcreme Suppe (Creme of Garlic Soup). In Hungarian? Fokhagyma kremleves. 

Yep, Zander for me. Again. Thick, chunky filets lightly battered and served with lemon. Yum.

Near to Sopron is the former family home of István Széchenyi, a famous Hungarian statesman. Széchenyi is a little like America's Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin; his family collections are the foundations of the Hungarian National Library and the Hungarian National Gallery, and he was a strong supporter of the Hungarian National Academy of Sciences. 

The extensive gardens of the estate made for a nice way to walk off our hearty Hungarian lunch. Near to the estate was a siege of white herons!  A lovely way to end our outing.

Tomatoes and Tri-Points

Austria was closed from Friday evening until Monday morning (National holiday on Saturday and the usual Sunday Shutdown), so the impetus to keep from going insane with boredom was strong. Thankfully our neighbors to the north and east were open, and at the ready with entertainment. 

Saturday's outing took us to Breclav, just across the Czech border. I have mentioned on several occasions that Central Europe needs little reason to bring out the alcohol, and in Saturday's case, the motivation was a celebration of the tomato. Tomato ketchups, tomato sauces, tomato chutneys, and tomato sandwiches tempted visitors to the small, but delicious festival.

What did I say about the alcohol? By noon the Bloody Mary table at the festival looked wasted, pun intended.

When combined with a quick visit to Tesco for a few provisions (the parking lot of which was amply filled with Austrian vehicles, I might add. Hypocrites, I might also add.), and lunch at my favorite border restaurant (the parking lot of which was also filled with Austrian vehicles), our outing was the perfect light escape from my shuttered adopted country.

On Sunday we set off for adventure, to find the geographic point where Austria, Slovakia, and Hungary meet with a side visit to one of our favorite museums, the Danubiana Meulensteen.  The plan was to approach the Tri-Point from the Hungarian or Slovakian side beforehand, as both seemed closer on the map to our museum destination.

To be on the safe side I paused at the Hungarian border for a vignette should I happen to land on a toll road and was directed to what seemed like an abandoned building. Jack asked, "Do you want me to go in with you?"

Not a completely abandoned building, thankfully, but instead occupied by someone who clearly could have been former Stasi. I wrote my license tag on a scrap paper and handed over 3.000 Hungarian Forints.  Vignette in hand, we headed off. Within moments, Hungary! That's where the fun ended, alas, because all routes to the Tri-Point had us traversing either restricted roads or across seemingly impassable railroad tracks, and none of us knew how to shout, "Don't shoot, we're just crazy Americans" in Hungarian. 

Down but not out, we decided to visit the museum and plan a new re-con afterwards. Back into Slovakia we went. The Danubiana never fails to disappoint, and the combination of modern art and the warm breezes from the Danube made our spirits happy.

Lunch in a small village near the museum that we discovered on our last visit also gave us time to plan our Tri-Point mission.

How many Zander and Forelle filets have I consumed since living here? I have run out of fingers to count, many times over. Nothing beats a perfectly grilled whole fish in these parts. (And yes, Jack took the bacon strip from atop my fish.)

In short order after lunch we crossed into Austria via back roads. Obviously this crossing did not exist during the Cold War; in fact, the crossing is so unremarkable that Slovakia didn't even bother with a sign!

Through the fields we went. Slovakia on the left; Austria on the right. (Can't tell the difference, can you?)

Soon we reached our destination.

Thankfully this informational placard could explain some of the Druid-like constructions along the boundaries.

We have little doubt that our lame attempts at Selfies will appear on the Facebook page of the guy in the background, who arrived shortly after we on his bicycle. 

Selfies aside, the historical significance of being able to visit this little place was not lost on any of us.