Ishtvan and me;the Marosi family;
in the wine cellar
Courtney and I walked around Margitsziget Island this morning. The Island splits the Danube in two and is considered the Central Park of Budapest. A popular place on weekends, it has swimming pools, exquisite, flower gardens, bicycle and jogging paths and no cars.
When I was here in 1984 with my dad, he picked some flowers for me, not knowing (or caring) that they were either a rare or sacred flower in the park and was promptly chided by the locals.
We are staying at one of the two hotels here at the northern end of the park and enjoying the thermal pool and some spa services as well.
The weather in Budapest has been very tourist-friendly since I have been here: in the 70s, just a few rain sprinkles, and balmy breezes, but the temperature has started to inch up.
I took Courtney on the same tour of Buda Var (Buda Castle) as the Fenders, but the sun started to get to us in mid-afternoon, so we headed to the Hungarian House of Wine to get our chill on.
We purchased two wines: a sweet Tokaji from the region of the country where my grandmother was from and a wine called Somlai. The second wine will be a gift to Karesz and his wife who are hoping to have a baby. Ishtvan, our sommelier, told us the legend: if a couple drink an entire bottle of Somlai, they will have a boy; if they drink two bottles, they will have twins; if they drink three bottles, nothing will happen (I assume because the couple will pass out dead drunk.)
We headed back to the hotel so that I could introduce Courtney to the Marosi family who were impressed and charmed by Courtney’s fluency in Hungarian (he’s been listening to podcasts in Hungarian for four months.) However, they had trouble pronouncing his name (Corney?) so he has decided that he will be known as “Zsoltan” in Budapest. I guess it sounds like a grand name to him, and in fact, it does originate from the Turkish word “Sultan.”
Barbara, Ishtvan and Marianne’s granddaughter, did a masterful job of translating for us during the entire evening. She is only 14, but she has the poise of a 20-year-old and managed to repeat my stories accurately to her family. I know this because they laughed at the right moments. It makes me feel good to know that some of my dad will remain in Budapest, thanks to these stories. ( I also gave each side of the family a copy of my book about my parents so that there would be more stories to read.)
We went to the Marosi estate where Marianne surprised me with some homemade cherry soup, my favorite Meggyleves, as well as the recipe in English to be used with a Knorr prepared mix.
We all headed to another Marosi favorite restaurant, one near the Villymos (tram) station) and owned by a family friend. We were met by Agata, George (who looks like my dad) and Petra and little shy Esther (who resembles my niece Jori). Dinner was in the open and again, the meal (BBQ! Honey-fried chicken!) was fantastic.
They took us back to the hotel where we said another sad goodbye. I looked closely at Ishtvan Munk Marosi and tried to memorize his face. Who knows when I will see these lovely people again?
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