By The Banks Of The Blue Danube

A day in Budapest, a city of two halves, is a stroll both through past and present

- Vaishali Dinakaran

Magda Szabó was my teacher,” the elderly lady with snowy white hair told me, as she pulled a copy of The Door from a shelf and held it out for me to examine. The manner in which she handed me the book suggested that she thought I better buy it, so I added it to the two books that I was already carrying—Antal Szerb’s Journey By Moonlight, and an illustrated children’s book called Something’s Always Happening To Me by Éva Janikovsky.

The Door was to be my introduction to Szabó, who, as I was to learn, is to Hungary what Margaret Atwood is to Canada. Sitting there, though, clutching that particular copy of The Door, in the aptly named Litea: Literature & Tea Bookshop in Buda’s Castle District, I was a few months away from realising how significant Szabó’s work is. Hungary celebrated Szabó’s 100th birth anniversary on October 5, 2017. A momentous day, the lady in the store assured me.

That precise moment, though, the hot September sun had thoroughly exhausted me. Fortunately I was in a lovely cross between a bookstore and a tea house, which meant that as the proprietress set about getting my order of tea and cake ready, I had a chance to reflect on a long, but eventful day exploring Budapest on a trip that was entirely unplanned.

That morning, I had left my hotel and boarded a quaint underground train hurtling towards Kálvin Square, which is a short walk away from Budapest’s Great Central Market Hall. Had I known just how great the Great Central Market Hall—Budapest’s oldest and largest indoor market—is, I might have prepared myself better. Perhaps with more comfortable shoes and a full stomach to deal with the walking that awaited me. But since it was a little late for regret, I had no choice but to walk through those double doors into the seemingly endless aisles.