What is Hungarian?

Mi a magyar? That's the question asked by a new exhibition at the impressively neo-classical Kunsthalle building on Budapest's Heroes' Square.

The exhibition title suggests uncertainty, doubt, even angst about the national identity.

It's not unusual for most countries to question their identity at some time in their history. And today's pace of change threatens traditional ideas and values everywhere.

But here in Hungary, it is the sort of question one feels the country has been asking itself for centuries. And, yet, it has still to come up with an answer.

The Kunsthalle (Műcsarnok in Hungarian) is Budapest's centre for the contemporary arts. The exhibition therefore is imaginative, amusing and confusing. Which is what you expect a contemporary art exhibition to be.

But does it answer the big question it poses?

Well... no. But, as the curators point out on the many editorial boards through the exhibition, the aim is not to clearly identify Hungary's identity but to suggest its various possibilities.

In a country where history – of conquest and struggle – remains so important for about half the population, even a contemporary exhibition cannot avoid it. Thus, a life-size war-horse with dismounted, well-armed, Mongol (or is he Magyar?) rider is a pointed reminder. As too is a space containing monitors showing nothing but unexploded mortar bombs.

In another walk-through space, semi-darkness is compounded by a thick, smoky mist, illuminated by sharp laser beams. Modernity co-existing with Hungary's foggy past? Is it futuristic, or just mystically Transylvanian?

One room in the exhibition simply contains published quotations on the nature of Hungary. This surely could provide some answers to the exhibition's big question. But as the quotes are all in Hungarian, I had difficulty drawing conclusions. However, reading between the lines with my scant Magyarül, statements of what makes Hungary special – language, culture, politics – still failed to provide anything singular and concrete to hang a pelisse* upon.

One witty exhibit, juxtaposing traditional with contemporary pleasures, has a shot of palinka in a small glass beside two 'lines' of finely ground red powder – which is, of course, paprika.

Further comment reflecting divisions in Hungarian society places a delicate plaster of Paris model of Hungary's parliament on a table, with a noisy vibrating generator beneath. The building constantly shakes and appears to be slowly splitting apart.

Duality, indeed, is a theme that apparently runs through the exhibition. Not simply to offer the viewer alternatives; but because honouring the past, while facing the challenges of the present, seems very much the nature of Hungary today.

Political ideas must lie close to the heart of any current debate on national identity. And the conflict over political directions that divides Hungarians is illustrated by an exhibit showing two completely identical portraits of a busy middle-aged gentleman, one is named 'the traditionalist' and the other 'the liberal' (or similar words).

For me, summing up an identity for Hungary is probably an impossible task. Hungary is something you feel but can hardly express. As the exhibition suggests, there are many characteristics, but it is hard to shape them into a singular direction or purpose.

Politicians and philosophers try to define the country – in terms of its past, its future potential, or both. But Hungary just continues to be what it is: a blend of past, present and indeterminate future that stubbornly, yet proudly, stays an enigma to most.

* Pelisse – originally a short, fur-lined jacket hung over the left shoulder and first adopted by Hungarian cavalry huszars in the 17th century to protect from sword cuts.

A walk on the wild side

An unpretentious lunch outside Anna's Cafe on Fovam tér is one good way to watch incoming tourists as they prepare to wend their way up the tourist-trapping Váci ut shopping street.

With luck, you may also be able to listen to, or join in, the conversations of others exchanging information about their travels – in the international language of communication, English.

This is what I did on Saturday, anyway. And, having enjoyed a good Magyar brunch and long beer in the umbrella-shaded heat, a long walk seemed to beckon so I headed for the Green Bridge.

Crossing the Danube on foot, or by vehicle for that matter, always expands the mind into the scale and place of Budapest, set across one of Europe's most important waterways, yet a city sufficient unto itself for a lifetime's adventure.

On the Buda side, the immediate attraction is the Gellert Hotel. But I felt like experiencing an elevated perspective, which meant trekking along the waterfront, beside the beach-front-like greenclad exposed rock-face of the Gellert Hills, and up to the next bridge, Erzsébet híd.

There one finds the inviting prospect of a series of medieval-looking grey stone-walled paths leading up the hills. These paths seem to wend their way in every direction, but always upward (if you're headed that way) and overshadowed by the thick, cooling bowers of trees and bushes that cover the hillside.

At the top, I was on Orom utca, a street that exemplifies the variety and indulgence that wealth can create in terms of Buda residential architecture. Its large, tall buildings – ranging from Art Nouveau to Art Deco, blends of the two, and occasional mini-Palladian style – must provide stunning views from the upper floors onto the vista of the city below.

To the right is a green park in which I discovered the Philosopher's Garden – a recent addition, which places statues of spiritual figures through the ages in a meditative circle that successfully (I think) offers the opportunity to calm the mind.

At the front of the park, a viewing balustrade and benches offer yet another incredible aerial view of Budapest, the river, Pest city and the skyline. Being a vertigo-sufferer, I had to hold onto the bench to avoid intimations that I was capable of flight (that's how it affects me, anyway).

Walking back down from here the parkland becomes a wide open, sculptured hilly space, with steps. Surrounded by verdant green, with views of the Castle to the left, the river and bridges ahead, and the proud structures of Pest beyond, makes one appreciate the good fortune of being in such a place as Budapest.

But thirst can overcome even the most profound musings. So, more walking – past the sadly neglected (but soon to be revived) Castle Bazaar promenade, onto a tram at Clark tér, off the tram at Bethany tér, and across the road to another favourite outdoor spot, Angelika Cafe. Here to watch the world go by with, in hand, a decent, long and fruity iced cocktail.

Getting back to my new home (see earlier posts) is not so difficult. Budapest has public transport sewn-up – they just need to find a way to make it pay! Five stops, and one change of train, and the metro takes me to Lehel tér, not far from my new (but probably temporary) abode.

DeFLATion

Followers may have begun to wonder about the results of my personally-announced flat move.

The reason I've delayed writing about the outcome is that I'm still wondering about it myself.

I have moved to a one-bedroom flat in XIII district. In doing so, I have saved 27% on my main rental costs (the rent plus Hungary's ubiquitous 'common charge').

The flat is only 16% smaller than my previous flat. And whereas my last was described as two-room (living room and bedroom), this flat effectively has three. The wide access hall, fitted with table and chairs, becomes a dining room of reasonable size.

There are windows at either end of the flat, making it bright and airy. And most of the doors are panelled with light-transmitting glass.

There is also a private balcony – or as the estate agent preferred 'terrace with roof' – measuring 13 x 4 feet, and displaying several pot plants for which I have responsibility.

So why do I feel I don't really like the place?

I guess this is where I have to admit to my secret elitist credentials.

This spot is airy and bright, but it does feel distanced from the architectural beauty, history, heritage and buzz that represents the downtown inner city.

From this flat's rear windows I can view a giant, featureless building of concrete and glass. From the front terrace, three magnificently tall trees only partly obscure the semi-derelict facia of the residential block opposite.

My location is officially in Újlipótváros, an area described as "a popular middle-class/intellectual residential district".

But after one week, I began to think I'd inadvertently located myself to the heart of Angyalföld, an area just to the north, once pointedly noted for not participating in the 1956 anti-Soviet revolution.

(Angyalföld was once an intensely working-class area, where hundreds of engineering and manufacturing industries developed up to the 1980s, with historically cramped and unhygienic living conditions for its thousands of workers. Today's concrete housing estates were built between 1970 and 1985, and much of the industrial activity is replaced by service centres and offices.)

However, I have now examined my local area more thoroughly. And my conclusion is that I've simply picked the wrong place on the wrong street.

Nearby residential Hegedűs Gyula street certainly does justify the middle-class label. And surrounding streets are equally architecturally and environmentally satisfying to my elitist mind.

Yet my present location would still be acceptable if it wasn't for one other, overriding, factor: THE SIZE TWELVE FEET OF THE OVERWEIGHT MAN WHO LIVES WITH HIS FAMILY IN THE FLAT ABOVE.

I have a psychological issue with "neighbour noise". I always have. And there's no escaping it. Despite clear assurances from my new landlady that 'above' was noise-free, I immediately found I was living under a very frequently and heavily trodden ceiling.

So I'm faced with a dilemma – whether or not to move on. I certainly don't look forward to renewing my acquaintance with the local estate agent fraternity. But I have begun to examine the alternative possibilities online.

Moving home is a stressful time. Hopefully, I can resolve this issue. Then PaprikaTown can focus on the real purpose of Budapest: having fun!

Changing places

The summer heat – the kind that lingers long... pervades walls, buildings, streets, vegetation and the air... makes evenings out seem endless... turns a summer shower humid... and brings the breadth of a city close together in shared sensual warmth – feels like it may have finally arrived.

The weather at the beginning of this June has seen plenty of rain. And if memory serves, it was much the same last year. But, out of the long bookend seasons of summer and winter, weather passes quickly here and sun generally replaces rain in a matter of hours.

My stay in Budapest has now lasted one year. I've enjoyed the comfort of renting a family-style home, with a friendly and reliable owner, giving me a sense of calm and security in a country where, still, I can hardly speak any sensible native words.

But all things must pass. I concluded a few months ago that I really should start to consider my long-term finances. The option in this case being to look for a cheaper rent. And now the reality of that decision has materialised. My landlady has found a new tenant – and I must find a new flat.

I've received so many warnings of where not to go – Buda is boring, VIII district is risky, downtown is noisy – that my options seem small. Although I don't take these comments too seriously, somewhere not too far away, such as XIII district, seems the best option, provided I can find a place that suits.

What I feel I shall be giving up is a) culture – V is a middle-class district and my adopted street is home to the wealthiest antiques shops and art galleries in the city – and b) space, which includes the stupendous wide-open vista view. But, accepting I must find a smaller flat, the other factors can be replaced, they will simply be different.

Budapest offers great variety and each location has a special ethnic character of its own. So my search is on for somewhere inspiring and different – or just kind to the wallet!

May's Longest Day

If you think May Day in central Europe is a celebration of work – think again.

With May 1st falling on a Tuesday, this unusual weekend began Friday evening and didn't end until Wednesday am.

I expect the extra Monday will be accounted as a "bridge" holiday, which usually requires a Saturday to be worked the following weekend.

Anyway, now the tourists are here, the atmosphere over four days of non-work became one of a long summer holiday – aided by weather reaching 32C.

I decided to try to fulfil an ambition – to get to the top of János Hill and view Buda and Pest from the city's highest landmark.

It takes a bus ride to get up to the general area. But, as you see from the photo, I seemed to alight at a point rather distant from my objective. I expected to find a cogwheel railway – as advertised – to the top of János Hill, but others getting off the bus denied any such thing existed.

'You'll have to walk a long way in that direction,' they said. So I contented myself with a walk through the area – Normafa – where I was.

If you know, and like, London's Hampstead Heath then you will appreciate the Buda Hills. The environment is similar – only bigger. In fact, it is remarkable how apparently impenetrable green-clad mountains turn into perfectly walkable woods and grass-scapes when you're there.

And, like Hampstead Heath, the area was well-populated by walkers, sun-worshippers and families enjoying the weather, plus the occasional organic play areas for small kids and the opportunity for adult kids to set-up barbecues without breaking bye-laws.

On May Day itself, central Pest turned into a sponsored racetrack. There were sports racing cars, formula one cars – and Jenson Button. I fancy Button had the better view of proceedings. With roads cleared, he stormed in his F1 between Parliament and Pest's ring road with a terminating straight up Alkotmany utca, which opens onto the vista of Parliament Square.

Although little could actually be seen, a memento remains in my ears and across the zebra crossing where Button performed his wheelies!