Verhovayak Lapja, 1937. január-június (20. évfolyam, 1-26. szám)
1937-05-29 / 22. szám
PAGE 10 MAY 29, 1937 (Cont’d. from preceding page) pretty safe bet you won’t sit down to a lonely dinner table. After the belles, let me tell you something about the baths. They’re marvelous. The reason Budapesters are so crazy about their baths, dates way back to the 15th Century during the time of the Turkish occupation. Those old Turks had baths built just äs they used to have them at home — and some of the establishments are still standing and in use. They’re not like the usual Turkish baths, where you get merely a hot room, cold plunge and a lick and a promise — those in Budapest are unusually interesting because of their elaborate layouts, oriental, mosque-like architecture, and also because of the medical waters which spring out of the ground right into the bath house. Some of the waters are so strong you aren’t a’lowed to bathe in them without a doctor’s prescription. The baths present striking sontrasts — from the old ones built by the Turks over in Buda to an ultra-modern establishment such as that housed by the Hotel St. Gellert. This hotel-sanitarium offers not only all sorts of medicinal baths for those taking the cure, but it also boasts of the famous artificial wave pool. Now there is nothing very startling about artificial waves — plenty of our own amusement parks have had them for years. But, just as the cafés on Budapest’s Corso differ from most waterfront bars, so does the St. Gellert artificial wave affair differ from those of American’s Luna Parks. The whole place has been planned and planted perfectly. Brilliant flowers abound, fountains splash water into the pool, and there is an attractive restaurant at the edge of the pool. In fact, it’s the type of place one usually finds at a smart private club — except the St. Gellert’s is more elaborate. Other open airbaths, all in beautiful settings, are the Széchényi Baths and the Palatinus Baths on the same Marguerite Island to which I have referred. These bathing places play an important part in the lives of Budapest’s men. They spend hours in them. Take Mr. Nándor Incze. He is one of the town celebrities and in turn entertains all visiting celebrities. Incze publishes the leading illustrated weekly (a combination of the New Yorker, Variety and Walter Winchell), controls most of the market for Budapest’s great output of plays, and has his finger in an infinite number of activities. Speaking of nights, don’t spend all your Danubian evenings gallivanting around with the fair sex. Do as the gay Hungarian aristocrats do and every so often set aside a night to spend with the gypsies: Strictly a stag affair. You sit around singing and drinking until — well, until you can’t sing or drink any longer. Pretty much the same sort of thing as our keg parties when each one tries to stump the other with old songs. You know the sort of thing *— “Do you remember the name WirhovayokJopp THE PRIDE OF SOUTH BEND, IND. HUNGARIANS, THE VERHOV AY A. A. BASEBALL TEAM The boys just started their games and win them one after the other jn the Studebaker Park. Their first victory was over the Elkhardt Triangle team. They won this first game 11:2. Front row, left to right J. Kuhár, W. Podemsky, F. Hoffer, P. Szalay and S. Hoffer, manager; — back row, left to right E. Burkhart, C. Hessler, J. Török, S. Sayer, C. Morenc, E. Wentland, I. Rokop, S. Török, V. Nemeth and A. Boros, captain. Detailed account of their games and successes will be given in our next issue. of this one Anna Held used to sing?” . . . “What Lehar operetta was this waltz from?” . . . and so on into the dawn. But in Hungary the business of digging up songs from the past is more intricate. At a Zigeuner song fest there are about four thousand (yes, literally) old gypsy refrains which can be brought forth. Incze claims he knows four hundred. On such evenings the “gentlemen” often buy champagne for the gypsies, they themselves sticking to Vin ordinaire. Apropos of drinking, those who love the grape will be in for a treat in Budapest. Not merely with heady tokay, the pet drink of the land, but because of many lesser known, though equally good vintages. A word about tokay. You probably think of this famous Hungarian wine as a rich, sweetish beverage only drinkable with a dessert or fruit. It’s true most tokay is rather on the sweet i side, but not all. You can get an excellent dry type, fine as an aperitif. And there’s some of it in this country too —- it’s called szamorodni, dry. After tokay, the next most popular drink is a peach brandy called barack. Always a favorite in Hungary, barack has, since the visit of the former King Edward (then Prince of Wales) to Budapest in the summer of ’35, become so popular that it is in great demand not only in the bars of Budapest, but in London as well. The bartenders at the Dunapalota evolved a cocktail in honor of “Edward,” which is known around town as the “Prince of Wales.” It’s really just a sidecar with barack substituted for cointreau. If you’re a wine lover you’ll find many Hungarian vintages to your liking. Some of the lighter types are of the order of Rhine or Moselle and can’t be exported because they don’t travel well. But others such as bikaver, szürke barat and debroi hasleveli are to be found here in America. They have a pelasant, exotic tang to them, these Hungarian wines. I Pretty soon you begin to imagine that they “bring out the gypsy in you.” But it’s more than mere imagination. Actually Hungarian doctors prescribe tokay in the same way that their confréres in neighboring Vienna give gland treatments. The cuisine in Budapest is a pleasant surprise to any man who enjoys his food and especially xperimenting with new dishes. Don’t get the idea that Hungarians live on goulashes, chicken paprikas and noodles. Although all- three are found on every menu, there are plenty of other treats in store for a gourmet-minded tourist. Take the fish from Lake Balaton. It’s called fogas and is to my mind equally as fine as the muchvaunted sole from the English Channel. Most of the chefs concoct wonderful egg dishes for luncheon menus (you’ve probably had only a continental breakfast), often combining the extremely good Hungarian mushrooms with the eggs. Ecrivettes are smaller than our shrimps but unusually succulent. Their goose liver is noted and is not as rich as the French pate de fois gras. An entree very popular in Budapest, is made of targe mushrooms stuffed with goose liver and herbs. Veal takes on an entirely new accent at the hands of a good Budapest chef. Fruit is large luscious and Americans longing for the corn they are missing at home, beam, when they arrive in Budapest and see the unfamiliai sight of people tackling corn on the cob. Not only is it served at all restaurants but, just as they do at our own country faire, street vendors sell it piping hot with butter and paprika. In boosting Budapest as a man’s town I can’t, of course, claim it equals London as a masculine shopping haven. Although there are some exceptional haberdashery shops along the street back of the Corso, the articles are not sufficiently attractive to worry about. But shoes — that’s different. Many beau brummels consider that some of the best shoes in the wor'd are made in Budapest. I know men who, though they order suits from Savile Row, have their shoes made by Csákány, the pet bootmaker for the Hungarian aristocracy who are exceptionally fussy about their footwear. As to sports, Budapest abounds in them. Perhaps swimming should be mentioned « first — they’re almost fanatical on the subject of bathing and life in the water. In fact it’s said that every man you meet on the street in Budapest is either coming from or going to a pool. There’s good tennis in beautiful surroundings on the Margueite Island. Also polo. The Hungarians; you know, are famous as horseman. Their bigplain, the Puszta, is very much like our Western prairies and the cowboys have much in common with our own bronco busters. Fortunately, the motor age has not spoiled the picturesque sight — not even in Budapest — of prancing Hungarian horses drawing carriages. At several of the country inns, when you get off your train at the nearby station, you are met by a gaily painted carriage back of two, perhaps three, stations. A grand idea for horsemen who visit Budapest is to join a riding pai'ty which follows trails for days, sometimes weeks, throughout the country, stopping at farms, hunting lodges and sometimes old castles for the night. Shooting and hunting (especially for boars) are often included in these safaris. Yoit can get information about them from travel bureaus in Budapest, and incidentally, the Hungarians are extremely hospitable, giving a warm welcome to strangers within their gates. And, golfers, there are some links laid out on the high hiiils back of Buda, where you are treated to such magnificient views it is hard to keep your eye on the ball. Incidentally, right near the links is a sanitarium-hotel, which is patronized by those who, after doing Budapest as it should be done, feel the need of a breathing spell. This Svábhegyi Sanitarium can be treated merely as a hotel, and if you have nothing really wrong with you and only wish to lie and relax, the doctors and nm-ses will leave you quite alone. Just as many men vary the monotony of too much society and too much of the fair sex by occasionally taking nights out with the gypsies, so do knowing gents indulge in a bit of slumming as an antidote to an overdose of the Ritz, diplomatic dinners, and the glitter that is part of Budapest’s social scheme. It’s good fun to see the seamy side of life along the Danube and one of the first places to start happens to be the easiest. Although the Hungária draws as smart a crowd as any hotel in the city, not two hundred yards away is one of the toughest spots of the town. From - the hotel you’d never see the place because it’s tucked away beneath the Corso, almost underneath the elegant Hungária. I refer to a little bar patronized by sailors from the river boats (which are tied up in front), taxi-cab drivers and the type of belles you’d expect to find in such a spot. But it isn’t just another dump, it has real color. Even here you have Zigeuner music, although there are only three pieces to the band. Ranchmen in high boots and broad sashes, peasants in brilliant flowered dresses — all mingle with the waterfront characters and the city slickers. A bar of bohemian variety is the Bigszinhaz Caffee, a modernistic affair where the younger element sit for hours over card games, sip coffee or tokay and exchange gossip of the intelligentsia. It’s like the Dome on the Left Bank — or rather, as the Dome was in its heyday. Then you should also drop into a boite, Csengey, run by Seress Rudi, the fellow who wrote Gloomy Sunday, that sad, sobbing song which they say caused so many suicides in the Danube. Rudi himself strums the piano and manages to live up to the sad picture you’d expect from the composer of such a ballad. Final'y, as a last stand, there’s Balázs’ Coffee House. When the Arizona and other night cluubs have closed, you can breeze into Ba’azs’ about five in the morning and help get yourself in shape by downing the specialty of the house, cabbage soup. The Hungarians claim it’s especially good for what ails you when you find yourself still out at such an hour. Probably the thing that makes Budapest dearest to man’s heart is the fact that life in this gay capital is so cheap. For instance, a treatment at one of their elaborate Turkish baths — including a half hour or more massage — costs less than fifty cents; a shave and facial massage, about twentyfive cents. There’s an excellent hotel on Marguerite Island where, with the privilege of taking your meals at any of the attractive restaurants on the island, you can live en pension for about three dollars a day. And that’s no boarding house existence — it means ’jving de luxe.
