As trumpets blare in the street to the accompaniment of the odd (illegal) firecracker, and an increasing number of (now legal) fireworks, we begin another new Year’s Eve in Budapest.
Janus-like, it is traditional at this time to look both forwards to the coming year, and back at that which lies behind. Here I am forced to admit that while I love the period one used to call Christmastide, I dislike what I find a rather forced sort of celebration and jollity which marks the end of the year. Unfortunately, the problems one had on December 31st will still greet one on the dawn of January 1st, and likewise, the successes and achievements of the old year are not negated by the new. Yet I aquiesce and stay up, sharing in some champagne and enjoying the fireworks I can see from the window.
The fireworks are new: prior to 1989 they were illegal and thus even our November 5th celebrations in Budakeszi at our friend Caroline’s, were marked with sparklers saved from the previous year’s Christmas. Firecrackers became popular – smuggled in from who knows where – in the early 1990s, thrown indiscriminately in the path of pedestrians, or up onto balconies, causing alarm more than actual injury (though this was also not unknown). As a result, they were eventually banned, though this offers no guarantee against your having one casually thrown in your direction as you walk the streets.
In other respects Szilveszter (the saint’s name for the 31st December) has not changed significantly: masks are worn and trumpets are blown – though the Russian champagne we used to buy was (as I remember) better than anything now available, and at a fraction of the price.
I remember just one New Year which was extraordinary – that of 1989-1990. In the quiet days between the celebrations of Christmas and New Year, I ventured out to our local market, Lehel piac, to replenish our supplies. Those who have recently come to Hungary will picture a colourful building with clean aisles and neat shops. Prior to its renovation, this market was reckoned to be the cheapest, in one of the poorer districts, and was a higgledy-piggledy array of stalls where in winter we slid through the mud, slush and trampled vegetables of its largely outdoor premises.
As I alighted from the trolley bus, I first thought the market was closed: there was little sign of movement and a muffled quietness suggested the atmosphere of a late Saturday afternoon when the stallholders would be packing to leave. I proceded into the market itself and found the stall keepers standing in small groups, talking. Behind them stood the grey wooden structures that usually groaned under their burdens of winter vegetables, quite empty. To some westerners who believed that people in communist countries did not have sufficient to eat, it would occasion little surprise that there was nothing in the market, but this was in fact quite the opposite of reality. I had never seen a sight to match this – not a single cabbage nor onion remained. I asked the man nearest me if the market were closed. No, he replied, but people had been panic buying since they had opened at 6a.m. and now nothing remained.
The same was true throughout the city: rumour had it that the Forint was about to collapse and that the only possible course of action was to invest one’s savings in buying goods which could possibly be re-sold later. Shops soon sold out of everything from saucepans to electrical appliances, and when this domestic supply was exhausted, a veritable convoy of well over 100,000 cars and vans headed for Austria – families subsequently returning with two and three fridge-freezers, or whatever they thought they could re-sell when cash would be needed.
2010 will bring elections and unknown changes in their wake. Hopefully, the new year also will bring good in equal measure to unavoidable difficulties.
A Happy New Year to my blog’s readers – I will continue to offer what I hope will be interesting perspectives on life here in Budapest.
Janus-like, it is traditional at this time to look both forwards to the coming year, and back at that which lies behind. Here I am forced to admit that while I love the period one used to call Christmastide, I dislike what I find a rather forced sort of celebration and jollity which marks the end of the year. Unfortunately, the problems one had on December 31st will still greet one on the dawn of January 1st, and likewise, the successes and achievements of the old year are not negated by the new. Yet I aquiesce and stay up, sharing in some champagne and enjoying the fireworks I can see from the window.
The fireworks are new: prior to 1989 they were illegal and thus even our November 5th celebrations in Budakeszi at our friend Caroline’s, were marked with sparklers saved from the previous year’s Christmas. Firecrackers became popular – smuggled in from who knows where – in the early 1990s, thrown indiscriminately in the path of pedestrians, or up onto balconies, causing alarm more than actual injury (though this was also not unknown). As a result, they were eventually banned, though this offers no guarantee against your having one casually thrown in your direction as you walk the streets.
In other respects Szilveszter (the saint’s name for the 31st December) has not changed significantly: masks are worn and trumpets are blown – though the Russian champagne we used to buy was (as I remember) better than anything now available, and at a fraction of the price.
I remember just one New Year which was extraordinary – that of 1989-1990. In the quiet days between the celebrations of Christmas and New Year, I ventured out to our local market, Lehel piac, to replenish our supplies. Those who have recently come to Hungary will picture a colourful building with clean aisles and neat shops. Prior to its renovation, this market was reckoned to be the cheapest, in one of the poorer districts, and was a higgledy-piggledy array of stalls where in winter we slid through the mud, slush and trampled vegetables of its largely outdoor premises.
As I alighted from the trolley bus, I first thought the market was closed: there was little sign of movement and a muffled quietness suggested the atmosphere of a late Saturday afternoon when the stallholders would be packing to leave. I proceded into the market itself and found the stall keepers standing in small groups, talking. Behind them stood the grey wooden structures that usually groaned under their burdens of winter vegetables, quite empty. To some westerners who believed that people in communist countries did not have sufficient to eat, it would occasion little surprise that there was nothing in the market, but this was in fact quite the opposite of reality. I had never seen a sight to match this – not a single cabbage nor onion remained. I asked the man nearest me if the market were closed. No, he replied, but people had been panic buying since they had opened at 6a.m. and now nothing remained.
The same was true throughout the city: rumour had it that the Forint was about to collapse and that the only possible course of action was to invest one’s savings in buying goods which could possibly be re-sold later. Shops soon sold out of everything from saucepans to electrical appliances, and when this domestic supply was exhausted, a veritable convoy of well over 100,000 cars and vans headed for Austria – families subsequently returning with two and three fridge-freezers, or whatever they thought they could re-sell when cash would be needed.
2010 will bring elections and unknown changes in their wake. Hopefully, the new year also will bring good in equal measure to unavoidable difficulties.
A Happy New Year to my blog’s readers – I will continue to offer what I hope will be interesting perspectives on life here in Budapest.
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