Revelry on the Ramparts

I do not mean to pick a fight, but throughout history, Hungary has struggled to find themselves on the winning side of a battle.  My experience with stubborn vendors in the market may suggest otherwise, but consider if you will with whom this nation found themselves in the last two world wars.  Slim pickings.  There is, however, one notable exception: in the mid 16^th century, a small band of haughty Hungarians held off the mighty Ottoman Empire forces while the city of Eger was under siege.  Despite superior numbers and firepower, The Turks were repelled, and though they waited, even putting the castle under siege, never breached the walls.  Obviously, they did not think to take the train – when my fellows and I travelled to Eger last week, it was a relatively simple jaunt by rail.

While the city may be small, its rich history is reflected in the small details – the narrow alleys, the cobbled streets, and the higgledy-piggledy layout.  Eger represents a collision of times and cultures.  Modern Hungary here rests on the foundation of the many peoples that occupied the space before.  Several churches of various denominations and constructions dot the landscape – far more than the humble population requires.  There are some architectural relics of the Ottoman occupation still.  Just off the main square, you can find an ancient looking minaret.  The hewn stone edifice rises proudly above the surrounding tiled roofs, as would have been beneficial to usher fellow townspeople to mosque.  Given that the subtitle of my journey has been to surmount every apex I encounter, it was only natural that I made the perilous climb up the steep stone steps scarcely wide enough to permit my humble frame.  Combining a pristine view of the historic castle with the emanating vineyards beyond, the vista was reward enough.  A delight indeed, but I stand by my conviction that the Egerians should install a slide for the downward journey. 

Lunch was delicious, as always, this iteration coming from a small restaurant on the square.  I think the proprietors would have preferred to serve us dishes that were more expensive, but cold afternoons call for hearty soups, not epicurean caviar.  Afterwards, we climbed uphill to our accommodations, a house and a room with a view.  I do not invoke E.M. Forster in vain – I could actually see much of Eger proper from my bedroom window.  Maybe I did not have to go climbing minarets after all.  Following a brief m’nucha, we made like the mighty Turks and headed for the castle.  Maybe it was our lack of heavy artillery, or maybe it was my intimidating disposition, but we just walked through the gates.  Security must not be what it used to be.  Highly fortified walls these days protect some historically accurate activities (archery) and some that most likely were not available during the siege (3-D movie theatre) but all of which contributed to our rip-roaring medieval themed good time. 

Later that evening, we had a taste of a wine tasting, including many of Eger’s most famous libations.  Bull’s Blood wine, or Bikavér, is among the eminent exports of Eger, so named for its profound burgundy ruddiness and purported brawn accentuating characteristics.  As the legend goes, during the siege, the rebels broke open the fruit of their root cellars for strength and fortitude.  The superstitious Turks assumed the beverage was actually the blood of bulls imparting animal strength unto the drinker.  I say it looked pretty wine like and left me feeling no stronger than before but maybe I am doing it wrong.  The wineries are housed in catacombs beneath the vineyard, yielding an authentic wine drinking experience with earthen walls, musky odors, and controlled temperatures for storage. 

Luca woke us the next morning with pastries and tea.  We were headed for another relic of the past, the Turkish baths.  Fed by a natural spring, the baths has served practical, recuperative, and social purposes for residents of Eger for ages.  The baths are comprised of six or so geologically warmed pools of water of varying temperatures capable of washing away qualms with the contaminants.  Although the baths were not historically coed, the facilities were open to members of both genders to consort and socialize among themselves.  Luckily for our multitudinously attributed group, this is no longer the policy.  I found vast placation in the mirror pool, a calm 30° Celsius, but the outdoor children’s pool was an attraction not to miss.  Bouts in the sauna, steam room, radioactive distillation, and Jacuzzi combined to melt the last trace of apprehension from my mind and body.  While they struggled with the whole concept of militant belligerence, they sure knew how to handle leisureliness.

As easily as we entered the city, we departed again with a certain added calming glow, though who is to say if the baths or the wine is to blame?