Strange Museums of Keszthely, Hungary

My 2010 visit to Hungary started at the holiday town of Keszthely, which proved to have several curious museums. 

As the resulting newspaper article has since disappeared from the Web, here it is again for your amusement...

I’m standing two metres from the terrifying figure of a vampire looming over a defenceless white-clad maiden, blood dripping from its fangs... when the lights go out.

It’s not just the vampire I have to worry about in the sudden inky blackness.

Behind me is the infamous Countess Bathory in a bath dripping with virgins’ blood, and further on there’s a gent with a guillotine, and a man road-testing an electric chair.

Luckily, my confused backtracking towards the entrance activates the motion-sensitive lights, and once again the compact interior of the cheery Torture Museum is bathed in a sickly yellow glow. 

At first glance, the lakeside holiday town of Keszthely, Hungary, is an example of old-world charm.

It offers cruises on Lake Balaton, Central Europe’s largest freshwater lake; tours of the graceful Festetics Palace and its vast Helikon Library; and visitors can take a therapeutic dip in the stunning thermal lake at nearby Hévíz.

However, there’s an eccentric, even twisted, streak to this popular holiday town.

One expects a seaside resort to have attractions designed to distract holiday-makers between shopping and swimming - a dull local history museum, perhaps, or a lavender shop.

What Keszthely has is a bunch of small museums ranging from the intriguing to the just plain odd.

Torture Museum: Highlights famous fiends of history and popular torture devices, including the rack and the Iron Maiden, thoughtfully demonstrated using buckets of fake blood and hilariously unrealistic wax models. If you arrive on a quiet day, as I did, the ticket lady from the nearby Doll Museum opens the door and lets you wander about on your own.
Address: Kossuth utca 11, Keszthely.

Medieval Erotic Panopticon: The creators of this basement museum have taken medieval illustrations of sex scenes and, using silicone dummies, have recreated them in amusingly adults-only splendour.

One can only wonder what went through the minds of the University of Fine Arts candidates as they created the spectacular nether regions on display. Remember though - as it’s historic it’s not smut, it’s educational.
Address: Kossuth utca 12, Keszthely.

Doll Museum: After the previous exhibitions, the necessary antidote might be this collection of puppets dressed in folk costumes, located near the Torture Museum.

They’re all well and good, but the real highlight is the museum’s model of the Hungarian Parliament, constructed from 4.5 million snail shells by a single-minded lady over 14 years.
Address: Kossuth utca 11, Keszthely.

Marzipan Museum: If you’ve been searching fruitlessly for a giant marzipan model of a Buddhist stupa, then look no more - it’s here, along with marzipan versions of palaces and model cars.
Address: Katona utca 19, Keszthely.

Bacchus Wine Museum: Ask the waiter to switch on the lights in this cellar museum attached to a hotel restaurant; within is a jumble of casks, barrels, wine bottles, plastic vines, wooden statues and enormous Toby jugs.

Though it resembles the collection of an eccentric wine-loving uncle, the displays are actually well-labelled and informative about Hungarian wines.
Address: Erzsebet Kiralyne utca 18, Keszthely.

Star Castle: And finally, just 15km down the road from Keszthely at Balatonszentgyörgy, this star-shaped 16th century fortress will save you time if you’re in a rush. It has exhibitions of dolls in folk costume... and of wax models being tortured. But don’t worry, there are some nice tame farm animals to pat afterwards in the grounds.
Address: Csillagvar utca, Balatonszentgyörgy.

For more about the museums of Keszthely, visit babamuzeum-keszthely.hu.

Red Relics: The Statues of Memento Park, Hungary

This article from my second visit to Budapest appeared in The Age newspaper in 2010, but is no longer online: so please enjoy. There's nothing I like more than an artfully arranged set of communist-era relics.

Winston Churchill famously described the Soviet Union as a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma”. He might as well have said the same thing about its art.

At the height of Soviet dictator Josef Stalin’s rule in the 1930s, an attempt was made to tame the untameable. A new art movement, sanctioned by the state, would promote the goals of socialism.

The result was Socialist Realism, the genesis of a long line of dreary statues scattered across Europe and Asia, depicting sturdy grain-fed peasants and robust factory workers gesturing heroically toward the communist future.

Curiously, it’s simultaneously both a bland and intimidating style, as I see for myself first-hand at Memento Park on the outskirts of Budapest, the Hungarian capital.

It’s a striking place, with high red brick walls bounding three large oval-shaped grounds, a central garden with a big red star picked out by red blooms, and an impressive collection of the massive Socialist Realist statues which once stood throughout Budapest.

It suggests an immense parade ground into which a detachment of Red Guards might suddenly march, scattering the handful of dawdling onlookers on this wet spring day.

Stepping into the grounds, I at once encounter an immense statue of a Soviet soldier standing with chin tilted arrogantly, a rifle strapped across his greatcoat. His right arm is held high, grasping a staff from which a carved flag hangs.

My first impression is of the sheer brute force manifested in this intimidating figure. The second is of what a bad piece of art it is. The flag is particularly awful, a clumpy solid mass rather than the intended depiction of cloth ruffled by the wind.

This gem once decorated the 19th-century Austrian-built Citadella on a hill overlooking the Danube. In the company of other stone soldiers, he played support act to a giant female figure bearing a palm frond, representing liberty. The woman with the palm remains in place; her Soviet entourage does not.

Clearly this grim art style was in the service of ideology and oppression, seeking to overpower the individualism of the viewer.

However, as I walk around the grounds in the company of Orsolya Madary, the park’s enthusiastic communications manager who has a precise knowledge of each piece’s history, I begin to realise that the statues have an another, unexpected aspect.

In a nutshell, they’re funny. Though designed to inspire fear, they also inspire humour. In fact, with their absurdly oversized limbs, stiff expressions and ungainly depictions of movement, the figures are nothing less than a po-faced set of posers who are begging to have the piss taken out of them.

And it’s not only we inhabitants of the safe and comfortable present who see the joke. As we progress, Orsolya relates how Hungarians used to give the solemn statues unflattering nicknames.

Pointing at a clumpy composition of a worker with hands outstretched in front of a Soviet soldier with upraised arms, she says “That was known as The Fishermen. You see, one is gathering his nets while the other is describing the length of the one that got away.”

Further on we meet The Basketballer, a chunky plasticine-like figure with one arm outstretched to the sky as if trying for a basket; and The Linesmen, two figures with small flags who could just about serve at an AFL fixture.

There are also the newly-nicknamed Mobile Phone Marketers, three abstract figures wearing ammunition belts, each with a hand raised to their right ears as if simultaneously saying: “I’m on a tram. A tram!”.

My favourite, however, is a vast muscular figure striding forth with an upraised hand trailing a long piece of cloth. He’s presumably bearing the banner of socialism toward the enemies of the state, but locals snidely referred to him as The Cloakroom Attendant, vigorously returning a scarf you’d just dropped.

Hungary’s communist regime was no laughing matter, obviously, but such everyday humour was a small, regular protest that stole puffs of wind from its sails and turned it into an object of quiet ridicule.

Back at the entrance, I browse the shop’s array of humorous communist-themed items that further take the mickey out of the totalitarian past.

Then, as I pocket my Best of Communism music CD and step past the rusting main gates toward the bus stop, I encounter the last exhibit - a mighty plinth bearing a gigantic pair of boots. No figure above, just boots.

It’s a replica of the remains of an eight metre high statue of Stalin which once stood above a grandstand in the centre of Budapest. When the revolt against communist rule broke out in October 1956, the citizens took to it with saws.

Only the boots remained, and they’ve endured as a comical symbol of communism’s eventual impotence and overthrow. It’s less a case of the emperor having no clothes, than of the boots having no emperor.

Find Memento Park's opening hours and entry fees at its website.

Cacao & the Writer: My Chocolate-Coated Travel

In my work as a travel writer, there are recurring themes.

One of them, I realised the other day, is chocolate.

I was writing a chocolate-related travel article for a major publication, in this case related to London. As I typed, a reference to cacao reminded me that I'd seen a cacao pod in person in Borneo, when I'd visited Malaysia in 2009:

This got me thinking about other times that chocolate had featured in my travels.

In 2010, when Narrelle Harris and I were travelling through Hungary, we dropped into the classic Budapest cafe Gerbeaud. My order was a csokoládé kávé, coffee blended with hot chocolate, amaretto and whipped cream. Alongside it was a perfectly formed slice of Sachertorte:

In May last year I was introduced to great Middle Eastern chocolate, not something I'd been expecting after the terrible chocolate we used to endure when living in Egypt in the 1990s. These locally handmade beauties were on sale at the shopfront of Salma's, a chocolatier in Muscat, Oman:

Closer to home, in 2007 I visited Adelaide and went on a tour of Haigh's chocolate factory. This South Australian brand has several outlets in Melbourne, and it's hard to resist its dark chocolate peppermint frogs. This was the factory shop:

In 2012 I travelled to Quebec City, Canada for the first time and was delighted to discover the Érico chocolate shop and museum, whose exhibits including chocolate clothing:

On the other side of Canada in 2013, Narrelle and I visited an excellent chocolate maker and cafe in Gastown, called East Van Roasters:

And while travelling on the South Island of New Zealand in 2011, I stopped with some colleagues for lunch at She Chocolat, a chocolate-making business with a restaurant overlooking beautiful Governors Bay:

So what's the chocolate-related story I'm writing at the moment? Can't tell you... yet. Follow me on social media (see the links in the right-hand column) to find out when it's published.

I will reveal it has a historic context... and this is how it ends up:

Tasty.

Are Museums Boring?

We were talking dull museums on Twitter today.

It started when someone enthusiastically endorsed this article from the UK's Daily Telegraph, "21 Reasons Why I Hate Museums".

Aside from wondering what had happened to articles structured around a mere five or ten points, I found myself in two minds about this piece.

On one hand, I kind of agree with its main point.

Too many people trudge around museums while on vacation out of a sense of duty, regardless of whether the exhibits are engaging or they're interested in its subject matter.

To my mind, this approach is a hangover from the 19th century idea that travel should always be educational and instructive.

By contrast, I've been in cities where I've read a description of the major museums, and then decided I'd rather go on a walking tour or hang out in an interesting neighbourhood.

I can't speak highly enough of this latter strategy, if thought and research is applied to the selection of neighbourhood. I've had some great articles result from simply exploring in this manner (eg my day hanging out in St Roch, Quebec).

On the other hand, I feel the Telegraph article is unfair in dismissing museum visits altogether.

For my money, there are two key elements which must be in place for a museum visit to be a highlight of your holiday:

1. The museum has a creative and stimulating approach to addressing its subject;
2. The subject is something you're personally interested in.

The second point is really the most important, as a personal interest in the subject matter will excuse a fair bit of dodgy presentation.

As proof that interesting museums exist (at least for me), here are twelve accounts I've written of museums which were personal highlights because the above elements were in play:

• Schindler Factory Museum, Kraków, Poland.
• Pick Salami & Paprika Museum, Szeged, Hungary.
• Museum of Old & New Art (MONA), Hobart, Australia.
• Museum of Australian Democracy at Eureka, Ballarat, Australia.
• Grammy Museum, Los Angeles, USA.
• La Chascona, Santiago, Chile.
• Spirit Museum, Stockholm, Sweden.
• Neon Museum, Las Vegas, USA.
• Shangri La, Honolulu, USA.
• Million Toy Museum, Ayutthaya, Thailand.
• Sandringham Museum, UK.
• Discovery Pavilion, Quebec City, Canada.

What about you? Which museums moved you, and why? Leave a comment below.

Europe Summer Series: Pécs, Hungary (Part 2)

Welcome to the final instalment of my previously published print articles on Central and Eastern Europe. In the previous post about Pécs, Hungary, I discussed the city's long connection with Zsolnay porcelain. Now to enter the museum...

The Zsolnay Museum is an eye-opener. It details porcelain’s use as decoration, but also its history as a practical architectural element, being part of drainpipes, fireplaces, and even picture frames.

There are some intriguing early 20th century porcelain artworks hanging on the museum’s walls, and some novelty pieces such as marvellous Japanese-made works that were modelled on items found within the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamun’s tomb.

Elsewhere in the exhibits there’s a spinning table set with porcelain tableware, floral designs for garden use, and an elaborate golden bust of the founder of Hungary, St Stephen.

Out in the garden, sitting near a pair of ceramic elephants and soaking up the afternoon sun, I’m pleased to have discovered that porcelain is more interesting than I had expected, and also why it forms a visible part of the identity of Pécs.

Lunch below stairs

Sated with ceramics, we decide to have a late lunch at Cellarium. As the name suggests, it’s located within a cellar eight metres below ground, which we reach via deep stairs down a stone-lined tunnel.

The restaurant tables are spread throughout a series of nooks and crannies, which we discover were ancient catacombs; legend has it that 17th century locals held secret meetings here away from the eyes and ears of their Turkish rulers.

It’s a marvellous place, full of atmosphere, and we’re able to find ourselves a quiet candlelit table in a small side chamber, away from larger lunching groups. It has a low arched brick ceiling and is lined with cushioned banquettes, the tables set with linen cloths.

From the interesting menu I order “prison officer rolls”, basically segments of a pork schnitzel which has been stuffed with smoked spare rib meat and horseradish, and served on a bed of oven-baked potatoes. It’s excellent, with baked vegetables as an accompaniment.

Our excellent wine is a dry red from the nearby Villány region, whose warm sub-Mediterranean microclimate provides ideal conditions for grape growing. It’s tasty, like a fuller-bodied chianti, and perfect with our food.

What’s equally appealing is the price tag, just 1,950 forint (about $10). That’s the other great lure of Hungary - it offers similar attractions to Western Europe, but at much lower prices.

Roman tombs with a view

Our final expedition is to the Cella Septichora Centre, beneath the grand cathedral in the northwest of the Old Town.

Located underground, it’s the remains of a Christian tomb complex from the 4th century, when the city was part of the Roman Empire. Interestingly, it was never completed - perhaps the empire wasted away before the final tombs were excavated.

It’s an impressive set-up - an underground labyrinth pierced by walkways through low-ceiling tunnels leading to remnant tombs. Particularly interesting is the tomb distinguished by the painting of a jug within an alcove behind it.

There’s something haunting about this once important place that is now in ruins, having been concealed over the centuries beneath other sacred buildings.

There’s also contemporary input within the tombs. When the centre was being constructed, an artist was commissioned to create a series of works to be placed within the large open space at its entrance, provoking questions of spirituality and identity.

The most moving of these is a large angular metallic sculpture full of gaps and slots. As we walk around it, we realise that the gaps momentarily align when seen from three subsequent positions, revealing a Muslim crescent moon, a Christian cross and a Jewish Star of David.

In a place as ancient as the tombs, in a city that has been home to people of all these faiths, it seems a neat reminder of the complex roots - and diverse beauty - of Pécs.

Europe Summer Series: Pécs, Hungary (Part 1)

Happy New Year! The final instalment of my previously published print articles on Central and Eastern Europe takes us to the city of Pécs in southwestern Hungary...

The bull’s head reminds me of the ornaments that used to stand on my grandmother’s mantelpiece.

It’s ceramic, with a green and gold glaze that looks almost unearthly in its gleaming smoothness.

But this is no miniature ornament - it’s life-sized and a prominent element of a fountain in the Hungarian city of Pécs (pronounced paych).

In fact there are four glazed bull’s heads on this elaborate piece of street furniture, surmounted with shields and other fine decorative elements.

Beyond the fountain, as the street opens out into a broad public space, is Széchenyi Square, the centre of this attractive city in Hungary’s southwest.

Although it’s part of Central Europe, Pécs looks somehow Mediterranean with its sand-coloured tiles and stone buildings, bright sunlight bringing them to life on this warm spring day.

And there’s even more porcelain on public display, I realise, as my wife Narrelle and I walk around the perimeter of the square, glancing up at the magnificent 1898 County Hall, a solid but elegant structure whose roof is an interlocking pattern of shiny red and orange tiles.

A mosque that’s also a church

Eclipsing that 19th century remnant, however, is the striking building set in the centre of the long sloping square, a squarish stone structure with arched windows, a large green dome, and... is that a cross or a crescent moon on top?

It turns out that it’s both; for Pécs is a city with a history of conquest. In the 16th century the city was snatched from the Kingdom of Hungary by the invading Turkish Empire, who held onto it for 160 years.

During that time they built a mosque in the middle of the square, which was duly transformed into the church after the Turks were ousted.

Nowadays the Mosque Church (originally the Mosque of Gazi Kasim Pasha) is a museum, but it’s also a symbol of the waves of cultures which have washed through this town.

But what about all the porcelain? More of that little mystery later. For now, we enter the Mosque Church, where we learn it’s been much reconfigured over the centuries.

Its decor has now been returned to how it looked in the Middle Ages, with many original Turkish elements revealed through restoration: including the prayer niche, Arabic calligraphy and coloured decorations on the walls.

It’s a beautiful interior in which Islamic elements join with Christian ones to create a fascinating whole.

Ceramics with a past

Of course, none of this has helped us solve the mystery of the shiny ceramics - but the answer is waiting for us just 200 metres north, in the Zsolnay Museum.

Established here in 1853 by businessman Miklós Zsolnay, the Zsolnay Porcelain Manufacture company became one of the world’s largest creators of porcelain in an age when it was novel, decorative and more practical than its alternatives.

After being popularised at World Fairs in Paris and Vienna, Zsolnay grew to become the biggest porcelain manufacturer in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, of which Pécs was then a part.

Having then survived two world wars and a communist regime, Zsolnay’s output was revived in the post-communist economy, and the company now supplies large amounts of goods to IKEA.

Business aside, its history is on display in the museum placed within a 13th century house, just within the city’s old medieval city walls. 

Given that my perception of porcelain still belongs to the dull old-fashioned objects that once adorned my grandmother’s living room (I seem to remember a large glazed golden snail that functioned as a flowerpot), the Zsolnay Museum is an eye-opener...

[Next post: Ceramic elephants, ancient catacombs dining, "prison officer rolls", and subterranean Roman tombs......]

Sated in Hungary (Part 2: Wine)

Last week I wrote fondly of the tasty food of Hungary. This week I'm moving on to its equally impressive wine...

Wine Museums, Keszthely

The attractive town of Keszthely sits at the western end of Lake Balaton, Central Europe’s largest freshwater lake and the landlocked nation’s seaside.

It’s a pleasant holiday town, if somewhat sleepy when I visit out of season in mid-spring.

Despite its modest size, the town is home to two wine museums. The most imposing is situated in the brick-lined cellar of the Festetics Palace, a graceful 18th century structure in its own landscaped grounds.

The House of Balaton Wines exhibits some 1500 Hungarian vintages, with 30 or so available on rotation for tasting sessions.

Down the road in the basement of a more humble building, the three-star Hotel Bacchus, is the Bacchus Wine Museum. It’s a slow day so a waiter from the adjacent restaurant has to unlock the museum for me.

It turns out to unexpectedly interesting; in addition to covering the history and regions of Hungarian wine, it’s packed with old casks, winemaking implements such as curious doughnut-shaped ceramic bottles, and romantically dusty old wine.

[Believe it or not, as of December 2012 the following attraction has been transformed into a spy museum! I've retained the text as a historical record, and to give a sense of the cellar complex beneath Buda Castle.]

Royal Wine Museum, Budapest

Standing on the Szabadság Bridge at sunset, the first thing that strikes me about Budapest is its grandeur.

As the joint capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the 19th century, the Hungarian capital shared in the imperial trappings of Vienna, and it shows. The Danube is wide here, with soaring iron suspension bridges linking flat commercial Pest with hilly Buda.

The centrepiece of Buda is Buda Castle, a vast walled complex stretching for some 1.5 kilometres on a hilltop above the river. Buildings have come and gone within its walls over the centuries, and a set of rediscovered medieval wine cellars below demolished houses have recently been linked up to form the Royal Wine Museum [now closed, see explanatory note above].

The twisting and turning underground route is an atmospheric trek through cool sloping passageways, with folk music playing over speakers.

Along the way I learn about Hungarian champagne (who knew?) and encounter ancient wine apparatus including wooden goblets, then descend into much deeper cellars going back to the 13th century. There’s even the remains of a Jewish mikveh (bath) hidden down here.

At the end I sit outside in a pleasant shaded courtyard while a uniformed man pours a glass of apricot-flavoured palinka, the Hungarian spirit literally translated as "burning water". It packs a punch, but is not unpleasant.

The Valley of the Beautiful Women, Eger

To the east of Budapest in hilly wine-growing country most well known for the dessert wine tokay, Eger is a picturesque collection of old buildings including a prominent castle and a remnant minaret from the Turkish occupation.

Its local wine-related claim to fame is Bikavér, a full-bodied red which is said to have fortified the soldiers who resisted the first Turkish siege in 1552.

The best place to buy Bikavér is definitely the Valley of the Beautiful Women, just outside town. Both kitschy and rewarding, the valley is a collection of old wine cellars dug into a rocky horseshoe-shaped valley.

Visitors wander around, buying 100ml samples from random cellars and eating local dishes, before producing their own containers to buy larger take-away amounts of wine.

It’s an attractive way to spend an afternoon. In reasonably quick succession I try samples of Bikavér, then a nice dry rosé, then tokay.

The cellars vary greatly in appearance, from classy set-ups with uniformed staff to simple venues run by the vineyard owners. At my last cellar, I’m ushered in by an elderly lady to be met by a grizzled old man in track pants and a jumper, presenting a much-thumbed guestbook and welcoming us in German.

He’s a definite character, quickly filling glasses of tokay and slapping down a half-filled bottle of another wine, so we can pour our own samples. We can still see the original chisel marks on the bare walls of the cellar, and it’s cold within its depths.

Luckily, the tokay is warming our interiors quite nicely.

To read Part One (Food), click here.

Sated in Hungary (Part 1: Food)

A year ago I wrote about my visit to the Salami Museum of Szeged, Hungary; but it wasn’t the only culinary adventure I had on that 2010 trip through Hungary.

I love Hungarian cuisine, with its spicy paprika and flavoursome sauces, accompanied by excellent wine.

Here are five more ways to eat and drink your way across a Central European country that’s still waiting to be discovered by many travellers.

This week, food experiences (and next week, wine!):

Viennese-style Coffee Houses, Budapest

Another throwback to Budapest’s imperial glory days is its exceptional selection of classy art nouveau cafes.

They include Gerbeaud, in the centre of the Old Town and serving renowned sacher torte in an interior of chandeliers, mirrors, wood panelling, vintage wallpaper and marble floors.

Here I order a csokoládé kávé, a tall glass of coffee to which is added hot chocolate, amaretto and whipped cream.

No further proof is needed that I’ve passed beyond the Italian espresso-based coffee world and into Viennese decadence.

Another marvel is the New York Cafe, which began life in 1894 as a high baroque coffee temple with an abundance of gilded fittings and marble, Renaissance-style paintings, and rows of devilish faun statues holding lanterns on the external walls.

In communist times it transformed into a sporting goods store before being reopened as the relatively drab Hungaria, but in 2006 it was renovated back into its high style and its original name - which it derived from the insurance company which once owned the building.

Other grand Budapest coffee houses include the Centrál Kávéház, with high ceilings and excellent cakes; and Lukács, a fancy joint which was once the hangout for the communist-era secret police, whose headquarters stood nearby.

Cellarium, Pécs

In Hungary’s southwest near Croatia, Pécs enjoys a warm sub-Mediterranean microclimate which prompts the excellent wine grown in the nearby Villány region.

The city itself also has a Mediterranean look, with lots of sand-coloured stone and bright sunlight. The Turks ruled here for a century and a half from the 16th century, so there are old mosques and remains of Turkish baths among its sights.

The Cellárium restaurant is also worth a visit. Located eight metres underground, its tables are spread out through a network of catacombs that the locals allegedly once used to hold secret meetings under the noses of their Turkish rulers.

It’s a place with tons of atmosphere, and it’s easy to avoid the tourist hordes by tucking yourself away in one of the smaller side chambers with only a table or two.

The menu has plenty of examples of Hungarian cuisine, from the familiar goulash stews and soups to “prison officer rolls”.

I order these, to receive what looks like pieces of a pork schnitzel stuffed with smoked spare rib meat and horseradish, served on a bed of oven-baked potatoes.

It’s excellent, and the accompanying bottle of Villány red is even more attractive at 1,950 forint (less than $10).

Next week: I focus on Hungarian wine experiences, involving a palace, a castle and the Valley of the Beautiful Women… [click here to read Part Two]

Meaty! The Salami Museum of Szeged, Hungary

“Slaughtering called for a number of separate professions, such as the stabbing master, the guts cleaner and the salami making itself...”

Urgh. They say you should never enquire too closely into how a sausage is made.

The same is true for salami, judging from this caption at the Pick Salami and Paprika Museum in Szeged, Hungary.

I was fearful of this institution being packed with lots of boring industrial information presented via small, dusty captions.

However, the meat-flavoured museum in this attractive city on the Tisza River in the nation’s southeast turns out to be good fun.

In addition to the occasional “Too much information” text on how salami is created, there are interesting, simply presented displays involving industrial equipment and overall-wearing dummies. 

The dummies lack facial features but come complete with enormous moustaches, cloth caps, and in one case, a brush that’s applied to the “noble mould” that encases the salami as it matures (best not too ask too much here either).

What’s interesting in the story of Pick Salami, named after the company’s 19th century founder Mark Pick, is how much it parallels the political and industrial history of Hungary.

As I make my way past dummies extruding meat into sausage-like casings, or hauling salamis dangling from sticks hung over their shoulders, I learn how the meat was initially prized for its ability to be transported without refrigeration, and how the factory’s export markets were in flux after World War I led to the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

The upstairs section of the museum is devoted to paprika, the quintessential Hungarian ingredient. It may lack the humorous potential of salami, but paprika is the essential element that marks out Hungary’s unique cuisine from that of the nations which surround it.

Frankly, it’s a mystery as to why there aren’t more Hungarian restaurants snuggled between all the Italian and Chinese eateries around the world. One of the most distinctive European cuisines, Hungarian food is memorably denoted by spicy paprika and flavoursome sauces, and accompanied by fine local wine.

Better still, eating well while travelling through the nation of the Magyars (as Hungarians call themselves) is laughably inexpensive. A fine tureen of goulash soup served suspended above a flame will only set you back a few dollars, as will most main dishes and bottles of locally produced wine.

Szeged’s Salami Museum is clearly irresistible; you even get presented with some salami on bread at the end of the tour. And a free prepaid postcard so you can tell your friends all about Szeged’s salami fixation. Tasty.

This post was sponsored by Flight Centre NZ. Check out its site for cheap flights.

Journey into Vampire Fiction: Eger, Hungary

This week's guest blogger is fantasy novelist Narrelle M Harris, author of the acclaimed vampire novel The Opposite of Life and the Melbourne Literary app for the iPhone and iPad.

For a lot of people, books lead to travel. But sometimes the reverse is true - travel leads to books.

My 2010 trip to Hungary led to me writing a short story inspired by Hungarian history, the country’s legendary association with vampires, and a little town called Eger.

Hungary has a history of association with vampires. Until after World War I, Transylvania (home of Vlad Dracul) was part of Hungary; the infamous Countess Bathory who bathed in the blood of virgins to maintain her youth was Hungarian; and 20th century horror film actor Bela Lugosi was a famous son of Hungary.

Hungary has also suffered under more immediate and real monsters than those contained within the legions of the undead. Its 20th century history is a litany of tyranny and oppression, as Hungary was allied to Nazi Germany in the Second World War and Hungarian Jews were murdered in their hundreds of thousands as a result.

The Soviet Union then liberated Hungary, exchanging one tyrant for another. The Terror House in Budapest contains a wall depicting victims of the secret police of the postwar communist regime. Another, perhaps darker, room depicts those who worked for the secret police.

The museum is a dark and disturbing memorial, the brightest part of which is its very existence: Hungary is now a place where those evil secrets are no longer buried. Hungary has emerged from that past and is shining a light on it, perhaps in the hope that it will never happen again.

As a writer, I wanted to create something that played with all of these elements of Hungary's story – both its recent history and its fantastical relationship with vampire lore.

Then I visited Eger. Eger is a beautiful town in eastern Hungary, famous for its Bull's Blood wine and its impressive castle. Eger fell to the Turkish invaders of the Ottoman Empire in 1596, nearly 50 years after the majority of Hungarian territory was conquered. Eger eventually defeated its Turkish overlords in 1687, around a decade ahead of the rest of the nation.

This defiant town's castle has been restored and tidied up above ground; but to me, one of its most interesting attractions was a dark, damp hole beneath it.

A tour led below the castle to tunnels hewn into rock, dripping water and inhabited by permeating cold. It was claustrophobic to squeeze through its narrow tunnels with two dozen strangers to stare at a cave behind bars: one of the castle's actual dungeons. A pile of mouldy hay and a few rats, as depicted in countless films, were the only touches missing.

Then, in the strange alchemy that happens in the minds of writers, a story was born.

A story about a vampire created in the Ottoman era, who doesn’t fit in the modern world; a family enslaved to his will for generations; a castle with a dank and terrible dungeon beneath rooms and stairs now made safe for tourists; and how the most surprising things can happen when you underestimate the courage of people who are fed up to the gills with evil bastards.

I don't know if the resulting story, Thrall, is one of those tales that will inspire someone to visit Hungary; I hope so. Either way, Hungary definitely inspired me, with its colour, tragedy, defiance and hope.

Narrelle M Harris's short story Thrall appears in her latest book Showtime, a short story collection published by Twelfth Planet Press - you can buy it online here.  Find out more about Narrelle's writing at www.narrellemharris.com.

Hungary 3: When Buda Met Pest

This week's guest blogger is fantasy novelist Narrelle M Harris, author of the acclaimed vampire novel The Opposite of Life. Aptly, she's currently just a stone's throw from Transylvania...

Visiting Budapest? Yep. Taking a cruise down the wide, fast-flowing (though definitely not blue) Danube? You bet. A commentary echoing the elegance of the Blue Danube waltz? Not quite. Let me explain.

Boarding the Legenda cruise boat, my friend Celia and I settle in at the prow, don our headphones, select “English” on the chunky speaker box attached to the seats, and settle in for what we expect will be the customary droning commentary.

“On the left bank you can see the medieval church in which King So and So was crowned in 14-whatever, and on the right is the Town Hall, built in 18-blah-de-blah from a design by the famous local architect You’ve-Never-Heard-Of, yadda yadda yadda...” That sort of thing.

But Hungarian ferry cruises spurn such unimaginative fare. Instead, we are treated to a mini radio play, complete with eccentric phrasing, a dash of cheek, dashes of inappropriate content and just enough cheese to keep it flavoursome. And animated cities as our presenters.

Our audio hosts, you see, are Buda, the city’s hilly western half, played by a man who sounds disconcertingly like Simon’s Irish dad in the TV series Beautiful People; and Pest (pronounced pesht) on the east bank, voiced by a charming and vivacious English lady.

Buda and Pest banter in an affectionate way about their marriage and the bridges that were finally built to link the two sides of the great river. A little like Australia’s Albury-Wodonga, only with European class. They chaff each other like equals, reminiscent of Shakespeare’s Benedick and Beatrice. She teases him about how all the girls love his castle; he tweaks her nose about her lavish cafes.

Some of the information is a little surprising. For example, Liberty Bridge is a popular suicide spot, according to Pest.

Buda also informs us that the sunbathing terrace at the art nouveau Gellért Baths has been refurbished, and once more people can watch the ladies in their swimsuits from the Citadella lookout far above. And that’s not the slightest bit creepy or inappropriate, is it?

Buda and Pest are full of mutual admiration. They comment on how they enjoy looking at each other across the Danube, though there is some squabbling over who should claim the upriver Margaret Island. The dispute is resolved by Pest firmly claiming the garden island for her own, on the basis that Buda has plenty of greenery already.

A jarring note is struck, however, whenever Pest names hotels on her side of the river. As hotel chains have inevitably changed over the years, her bold British tones are suddenly replaced by a heavily accented Hungarian voice for a word or two, somewhat shattering the illusion.

Overall, the commentary is reminiscent of the output of an enthusiastic community theatre group, with sometimes awkward and clunky dialogue offset by the home-made charm and enthusiasm of the ensemble.

And it’s actually a clever way to present entertaining information about the city’s history and architecture. For whenever Pest is speaking, we know to look east for sights like the extravagant riverside Parliament. When Buda speaks, we look toward his castle on the hills to the west. It’s a much more engaging device than the usual drone of information about buildings and dates.

In short, I find a little cheese with my ham quite delightful, while navigating the Danube. And I’m glad these two crazy Hungarian kids finally got together as the celebrity couple that is Budapest.

Narrelle M Harris stayed in Budapest courtesy of short stay apartment booking service europenethotels.com. 

You can find details of Narrelle's vampire novel The Opposite of Life at her website, along with details of her other published work.

Hungary 2: Quite Continental

"That's not a continental breakfast..."

As I was growing up in rural Western Australia, occasionally travelling with my family and staying in motels, I became accustomed to the idea that a "continental breakfast" was inherently disappointing.

To the average Australian motelier, the continental breakfast consisted of a tiny cardboard box of corn flakes with some milk, along with two thin slices of toasted white bread with jam from a little sachet. If you were lucky, there might be a sachet of Vegemite as well.

Which is why it came as a pleasant surprise to finally travel in Europe and discover what a true continental breakfast was about.

To illustrate, let me take you on a tour of the breakfast board at the Hotel Korona in the city of Szeged in southern Hungary, where we recently stayed (and heartily breakfasted)...

1. An overview of the main table. As you can see, a visually pleasing spread of foodstuffs, with some nice colour variation.

2. What's this? Crisp vegetables for brekkie? Yes, it's a plate of the nicely crunchy zöldpaprika, a milder version of its spicy cousin.

3. Salami, of course, as Szeged is famous as the home of Pick Salami. If you look closely, you'll see there are two types, of slightly different colour.

4. Little warmed-up white rolls to go with the meal, with a couple of other bread varieties just off-camera.

5. Sausages and mustard. Well, it is Central Europe.

6. A tray of fried eggs with ham embedded in them.

7. Wait, what's this? Two varieties of scrambled eggs!

8. And a little parmesan cheese and a shaker of ground paprika to pep them up.

9. Crikey! There's a second table with cereals and juice!

10. Here's a bowl of some sort of berry compote to ladle on the cereal.

11. And percolated coffee. Oh well, there had to be a flaw somewhere.

12. Finally, a little shaker of powdered chocolate. Not sure what it's for, nor what you should add it to, but here it is in case you need it. Thoughtful.

"... this is a continental breakfast!" (with apologies to Crocodile Dundee)