Eating Our Way Through Budapest

A lot of travel destinations claim good food. And as a matter of fact, testing different cuisines is probably my most preferred method of exploring a new place. What better way to acquaint yourself with your surroundings than by snagging a snack from a street vendor, and then sitting on the curb and watching the world go by as you savour it? Or stumbling across that tiny cafe tucked inside an unassuming alley…the one that just so happens to boast the best cappuccinos and pastries in town?

A few weeks ago, I met up with my friend Kerry in Budapest, and I had been well-prepared for the culinary delights that awaited us. My friend Paula, who is Hungarian, had armed me with a list of ‘must-eats,’ and I was ready for the challenge. From paprika chicken and goulash to lángos and dobos torte, we had our work cut out for us. I also had a list of suggestions from the ever-ready travel guide known as…Pinterest. So needless to say, we wasted no time getting started upon arrival! After a few hours of exploring, we stumbled across a pub containing what is possibly the most well-known Hungarian dish…

Paprika chicken (tasted a lot better than it looks)

With that first meal complete, we started the ball (of gastronomic delights) rolling and just kind of…kept on going.  I know it sounds trite to say that every morsel we put in our mouths was delectable. I hate it when people over-idealize anything about a travel destination (food, scenery, culture, whatever) while everyone who is forced to listen rolls their eyes behind their backs. And of course, not every single thing we ate was incredible. But believe me when I say that mostly, it was. It just was.

On Day 2, our itinerary included a stop at Gelarto Rosa, a tiny gelato shop known for sculpting ice creamy roses of all colour combinations. It was conveniently located directly across from the St. Stephen’s Basilica, one of our destinations for the day. So after stopping in the church to ooh and ahh at its breathtaking architecture, we made a beeline for some gelato roses. Only afterwards did I realize that I should have picked more interesting colours than cream and…white. Oops. Kerry’s rose, however, was definitely Pinterest-worthy.

As you can see, the weather was not exactly cooperating with our vision of a leisurely gelato in the sunshine. We decided to combat the chilly winds and threatening rain-clouds with a visit to one of Budapest’s most well-known spa baths. After soaking up enough steam and natural hot spring waters to warm up sufficiently, we re-hydrated with a lemonade in the park. And yes, even the lemonade in this city is spectacular…

The sun came out!

We took a break for a bit as our stomachs were protesting from an overload of calorific combos , but were back at it in full force the next day with one of the biggest ticket items on our list: the Great Market Hall. For those of you from Vancouver, the Great Market Hall is a combination of Granville Island and a food festival at BC Place. It basically has loads of stalls with kitschy tourist stuff for sale, as well as a lot of cool handmade items. And then you turn the corner and reach the food section, and immediately forget about anything that came before. A smorgasbord of treats and specialties were on offer, and we decided to sample as much as we possibly could. As we hopped from stall to stall and piled our plates, we were sure that we wouldn’t be able to eat everything, but somehow we managed to. I wanted to stop at a few points, but there are moments in life where you just need to persevere…

In no particular order: goulash, cabbage roll, potato/sausage/cheese combo

And somehow, by a sheer miracle of the human body, we found room for dessert…

Kerry meets “Walnut Dream Langos”…

We rolled walked out of the hall and back to our flat, our time in Budapest coming to a close. We only had a few hours before we had to catch our night train to Prague, but we had one final non-negotiable stop. Paula, who had given us many of the great recommendations for our trip, had basically said that if we only ate one thing in Budapest, it had to be a slice of dobos torte. As Wikipedia states, this little devil is “a Hungarian spongecake layered with chocolate buttercream and topped with caramel.” The amount of butter that apparently goes into it is ridiculous. Good thing calories are processed differently when you’re on vacation, right????

 <photo thanks to Wikipedia>

Few cities can combine phenomenal food with affordable prices, but Budapest is one of the ones that manages it. It has not yet been tarnished with the paintbrush of mass tourism, and so has the rare added perk that the people putting the food in front of you are also usually serving up a genuine smile (as well as a potential commentary about the dish they are placing in front of you). The city is also refreshingly unpretentious.  There are definitely more than your fair share of fancy dining opportunities…but what stands out in my mind are the little bakeries that dot so many corners, full of locals grabbing a pastry and a coffee on their way to work. Or the sharing of snacks on a park bench. A gelato in a courtyard. Or kicking off your shoes in a park and cracking that beer open while the sun streams down.

 

(ok, I cheated…this picture was taken in Prague 😉

Just One More Menengiç…

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to take a trip to the southeast of Turkey with my two friends Emilie and Özlem. After landing in the infamous and commonly mispronounced Batman, we kicked off the adventure with a minibus ride to our destination, Hasankeyf. After living in Turkey for more than three years, there is nothing new about being crammed companionably inside a small bus (dolmuş), pressed up against friends and strangers alike. There may technically be a capacity limit, but the reality is…there is always room to squeeze in ‘just one more.’ In my three years here in Turkey, I can only count a handful of times when I have actually witnessed someone being refused entry. You just make room, even if that means sharing an impossibly small space with a stranger and practically being squeezed onto their lap.

So, with everyone in, we rattled down the open highway together, nothing in sight but rolling hills, green meadows, and a stray cow or sheep. Throughout the entire ride, we were closely monitored by a fierce old teyze (meaning “aunt,” but also used as a respectful term for any older woman). She was deeply curious about this strange trio of girls, and insisted on making her inquiries known…the only obstacle was that she didn’t speak Turkish (and definitely not English!). A large portion of southeastern Turkey is of Kurdish origin, and we came across many people throughout the weekend who spoke only Kurdish. However, this teyze insisted on having her questions answered, which we managed to accomplish through the helpful translations of a fellow passenger 🙂 She was certainly a force to be reckoned with!

We finally reached Hasankeyf and located our pansiyon (which wasn’t too hard, seeing as there are only two of them in the town!) After checking into our room – simple and basic, but with a full view of the Tigris river – we began to wander through the streets getting our bearings. We turned our attention to our stomachs, as we had taken an early flight from Istanbul that morning. Almost immediately, we stumbled across a small cafe which promised a traditional Turkish breakfast – music to our ears! We weren’t disappointed. Along with all the usual staples (fresh vegetables, village eggs, bread, jams, a variety of cheeses and olives, and of course Turkish tea), we were also served a plate of some of the most incredible honey we had ever tried in Turkey. The grand finale was a cup of menengiç kahvesi, which we later found out was not actually coffee at all, but a caffeine-free drink made from pistachios, and intended to mimic Turkish coffee. Whatever it was or wasn’t, we fell in love and drank it at any opportunity throughout the weekend (it also warmed us up considerably as well!)

Now properly fueled, we were prepared to explore. We started in the town centre, browsing the many colourful carpet stalls, then branched off into the surrounding streets which gradually transformed to country roads and hillsides. It didn’t take long to realize that Hasankeyf is incredibly rich with history and beauty. However, it is also a place trapped in a state of perpetual limbo – awaiting almost definite flooding due to the construction of the Ilısu Dam. The construction of the dam began in 2006 and will eventually flood Hasankeyf, affecting about 185 settlements. The more we saw of the town, the more we were saddened by this. Hasankeyf is one of those places that makes you feel as though you have just stepped into a time machine. Life goes on in the simple, uncomplicated way that it likely has for centuries.

We explored old mosques, churches and caves, all with the constant ebb and flow of the Tigris river as our backdrop.We came across children almost everywhere we went. They played in the streets without any sign of an iphone or video game, industriously occupied by games almost identical to the ones I remember being entertained by in childhood. Elaborate and mysterious systems involving little more than sticks, mud and water; comprehended solely by them. They barely glanced up as we passed.

We hiked up into the hills and explored cave after cave, as sunlight spread across rolling green hills. At one point, we came across a group of adolescent boys and initially exchanged looks of apprehension. Would they take this opportunity to put on a show of bravado? We prepared for annoyance of some sort. However, we quickly came to realize that their ear-to-ear grins were as innocent as they seemed. They wanted to chat, offered to show us around, even picked flowers and shyly presented them to us. We couldn’t help but compare them to North American teens of similar age, and wonder if this would ever be possible in the US or Canada?

Photo credit: Emilie Varlet

Mausoleum of Zeynel Bey

The next morning we were greeted by sun, and we quickly dressed in anticipation of breakfast. As we sat down, we were greeted by the waiter along with his young protege Isan – a boy about nine or ten years old who was clearly vying for the title of the most charming waiter in Hasankeyf. As we sat down, commenting politely on how beautiful the morning was, Isan piped up stating “Even if it wasn’t beautiful before, it would have transformed as soon as it saw you.” He took it upon himself to hover around us attentively throughout the entire meal, constantly asking if there was anything else that we needed. Finally, Özlem stated that the only thing she needed was a kiss from him. He shyly acquiesced, and then later graced us with a presentation of a Turkish pop ballad, which he belted out with everything that he had. We left the restaurant wondering where he had acquired his precocious ways, and wondering what he was bound for.

Photo credit: Emilie Varlet

As much as we would have loved to hang out with this little ladies’ man all day, we had a plan to visit Mardin – an ancient city known for its architecture and history – located about one hour away. After another few dolmuş rides, we reached Mardin and didn’t waste a second as we immediately began to take in the incredible designs of the buildings, mosques, and medreses. It was easy to see that this was a city steeped in tradition and generations of customs. We probably sounded like broken records as we oohed and ahhed continuously over the intricate details and age-old inscriptions.

The Great Mosque of Mardin

   

Emilie and I, hungry to see more, decided to wander up to the top of the hill overlooking the city. Özlem opted to relax in the city centre and take it all in (and, we suspected, enjoy another menengiç or two), so we parted ways for a bit. As we snaked our way up through the winding streets and shadowy alleys, there seemed to be something new to discover at every turn.

Eski kapı (old door)

The view at the top did not disappoint. We were surrounded by beauty – rolling green valleys, far-off mountains, and a bird’s eye view of the buildings below – some still topped with snow. Just as we were getting ready to leave, we were stopped in our footsteps by the call to prayer emerging simultaneously from the many mosques dotting the scene before us.

As we made our way back down the hill, we accidentally stumbled into a private home, thinking that it was another site to explore. But instead of reprimanding us, the owners excitedly invited us in and insisted that we come upstairs, see the view, and stay for tea. Although we didn’t have time to take them up on the latter, we did enjoy a few minutes of the view from their balcony, and complimented them on their beautiful home. As we left, Emilie and I discussed the wonder of the fact that hospitality like this can still be experienced – hospitality with no ulterior motive, just the desire to welcome someone into your living space with grace and simple pride. The incredible thing is that I have experienced this exact same hospitality more times than I can count, even in the hectic metropolis of Istanbul. It is a value that is still held so strongly here.

Limited by time and chased by the setting sun, we were off in the pursuit of yet another minibus to get us back to Hasankeyf. We were reluctant to leave Mardin – after all, how could you not love a city where even the post office takes your breath away?

Photo credit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mardin

Once again, we were back on a mini-bus and heading home. Although this was the most packed ride yet (with us as the last passengers to board), people still insisted on giving up their seats, or sharing their already minuscule space with us. Finally, with everyone crushed together in a companionable silence, we drove off into the night under an enormous expanse of blazing stars.

Don’t Go To Chicken

This blog has been in the works since I first moved to Turkey….even if “in the works” at times meant nothing more than a faint glimmer in the recesses of my subconscious. And like a lot of well-intentioned plans, this one took just a leeeeeetle longer to get going than I had originally thought (three years, to be exact). I guess most plans don’t take three years to get off the ground. But not everyone has perfected the art of procrastination quite as succinctly as I…

So, since this blog is a new beginning of sorts, I thought this would be an appropriate opportunity to reflect on my initial move to this wild and wonderful country that I currently call home. When I pause to think about the fact that that was three years ago, a whole range of emotions washes over me. Shock at having survived the (at times) ludicrous process, nostalgia for those early days when every corner of the city sparkled, pride in the ways I’ve evolved and stretched, and a deep sense of awe at all that has transpired in just three short years.  People have asked me time and time again what my thought process was in deciding to move to Turkey. The conversation usually begins a little something like:

“So….why Turkey????”

Followed by detailed questions about the plans I made beforehand, the research I conducted, and the many solid reasons I had in place to inspire my move. In response to which I hum and haw and…usually change the subject. Because the truth is, I knew very little about Turkey before moving here. I was bored stiff in Canada and itching for a change, itching to strap on my backpack and just…GO. I knew very little about the details of my job or living situation in Istanbul, and quite honestly I didn’t really care. I took a wild and terrified delve into the unknown. What kind of lunatic moves across an ocean while barely knowing the rudimentary facts of their destination??? People tell me all the time that I’m brave, but it didn’t feel brave. It still doesn’t. It feels like the only viable option for my sanity. An option that sometimes requires bravery? Definitely. But still, the only one.

At the time that I was preparing to leave Canada, I was spending quite a bit of time with one of my closest friends, whose daughter was about six. This kid was (and still is) pretty entertaining, and she had it in her mind that I was not moving to Turkey, but to “Chicken.” Every time I would stop by the house, I would hear the question “When are you moving to Chicken?” or “Do you really HAVE to go to Chicken???” Pretty funny but meaningless, right? Fast forward to departure day. I am having some serious second thoughts about this whole moving across the globe thing, and have barely slept the night before. I fire a quick email to Suzy (the mom of Chicken Cutie) voicing the totally rational and logical thoughts that always grace our minds at 4:30 am. In short, I was petrified. I was sure I had made the wrong decision, convinced that I needed to back out. Her response, however, was bang on:

Okay. Here it is. You have your entire life to be in the rat race. You have nothing holding you back right now so the chance to live is NOW. When you’re 80 and sitting in your wheelchair at the old folks home… *shudder*… what sorts of memories are going to stick with you? What kinds of things would you regret not doing? I have a hunch (and it’s a fairly large one!) that you’d regret not going to Turkey. Bottom line. Just because you’re shitting bricks about it certainly doesn’t mean that you’re making the wrong decision, it just means that you’re scared. And since when has fear ever been truthful? Hardly ever.

What would I do if I were you? I’d go to Turkey. Don‘t go to Chicken.

Direct and to the point, with no cushy beating around the bush. That’s Suzy for you. And you know what? That definition of courage has never left me. It’s not about the absence of fear, or some epic act of bravery that sets us apart from the norm. It is simply coming face to face with that fear…so close you can smell its breath…and then recognizing it for the liar that it is. And realizing that the choice to resist giving in to fear is one that we do or do not make on a daily basis. It’s in something as large as taking a risk with a new relationship, or trying a new skill even with the knowledge that we will look absolutely ridiculous. It’s in something as minute as letting someone make their own decisions without trying to control their every move. Something as simple and freeing as letting go of anxiety, and breathing in and out with no thought for anything but this present moment.