Summer Trips: Balaton

The days are getting shorter, the dark is coming earlier – this is the time of year when Hungary starts looking like Mordor, and so my mind goes to brighter times during the summer.

Lake Balaton is like Hungary’s backyard pool. Oh, and it’s a big one – the largest lake in central Europe, and some even affectionately called Hungary’s sea.

It’s where you go in the summer to lay in the sun, splash around and eat fish soup and langos by the shore. It’s like Toronto’s modest cottage country, but much different at the same time because you hear far more foreign languages around its shores. While it might be Hungary’s backyard pool, throughout the Cold War it was one of the few places where families from East and West Germany could reunite. This is why among all those foreign languages you hear a lot of German.

Lake Balaton is a special place and, unlike Toronto's cottage country it's a little easier to get to, even for a day, thanks to great train schedules.

I went there twice this past summer. The first time was to the north shore with Kata. Our train dropped us at Balatonfured, which is nice, but little touristy. We took a dip in the water and splashed around, ate some langos and walked along the shore in the evening.

Oh, by the way, langos is a Hungarian specialty: deep-fried bread with cheese and sour cream. Freakin' delicious.

We took a bus to Tihany, a town which sits on a peninsula that stretches into the lake. It's off the beaten path, so the pace is a little more relaxed here but it's not too far away from everything. We walked up into the hills, where there’s an old church and a beautiful panorama. 

We came back down the hill and took a swim in the lake, accidently going onto a private beach. This forbidden beach had only a handful of people on it, compared to the hundreds at Balatonfured, and it was plain, simple pretty.

Before making our way back to Balatonfured for the train to Budapest, we stopped for some birthday fish soup, a tradition created at that moment.

The next trip to Lake Balaton took a few friends and I to Siofok, which sits on the south shore. Siofok feels less like the more chill north shore and more like a beach town. There are the muscle-y dudes, ladies in bikinis, and a strip near the beach with night clubs.

What draws them to Siofok is the beach, which has a sand bar that stretches far out from the shore. On the beach, or in the water, you're away from all the Fort Lauderdale types, so all that junk onshore doesn't matter much. We lay in the sun, we swam, and, yes, drank beer and ate langos.

I forgot to mention how close Balaton is to Budapest, like an hour or so. So that day we spent at Siofok, we all met at the train station in the morning and, after a hearty meal, we piled back onto a train and rode back to Budapest in the evening. I sleep pretty well on trains, so I usually look like the below shot when I am traveling by train after a day at Balaton.

Kata took better photos then me at Tihany, so all the photos below are hers.

Oh look, I must be on a trai--*snores*

Kata + wine = happy

The view from atop the hill near Tihany.

The Benedictine church and monastery.

Forbidden Beach.

Summer Trips: Sofia

The days are getting shorter, the dark is coming earlier – this is the time of year when Hungary starts looking like Mordor, and so my mind goes to sunnier times in the summer.

The glorious Palace of Culture in all its Brutalist glory.

Sofia's mosque

An artsy shot from Sofia's synagogue.

The Russians built St. Alexander Nevski Cathedral to commemorate their liberation of Bulgaria from the Turks.

It was not until I moved to the region that I could tell you what the capital of Bulgaria was. Like so many North Americans, I was blissfully ignorant of the jumble of countries in Central and Eastern Europe – the easily confused names (Slovakia and Slovenia) and names impossible to pronounce (Herzegovina) with the untrained tongue.

Thanks to fifty years of Soviet occupation, it was easy for everyone to lump everything east of the former Iron Curtain into the same culture.

Sadly, that’s the way things are.

And so, we come to Sofia, deep in the old East bloc. Carlos, a Brazilian who’s passed through Toronto before landing in Bulgaria, pointed it out – the language, the cuisine, the architecture is more Greek because they were here in the beginning and their influence has never left this place.

To get to Sofia wasn’t easy on a budget. We had to book a twelve hour bus ride from Budapest through Serbia to Sofia. Due to booking issues, I had to leave a day early on the overnight bus alone.

I grabbed snippets of sleep all night through Serbia, awaking at the border. As dawn came, the fog cleared and I realized I was entering Serbia, but I also way up in the foggy mountains. I crashed for a few hours after checking into my hostel and met Carlos for a Discovery Walk. It was a beautiful day – the only I’d have since it would rain non-stop for the rest of the weekend – and the mountain air felt fresh and crisp.

Carlos took me, and later this rest of the crew, to some of the key points of interests: Roman ruins, the Turkish mosque, a few Orthodox churches, and one of the public fountains that are fed by springs beneath the city. Fifty years of heavy-handed socialist urban planning is also still prevalent, with drab grey apartment blocks, the odd brutalist monument, and the Palace of Culture, in all its concrete glory with its wide, concrete beach surrounding it.

At first it was easy to get lost in all of these outside influences left behind in Sofia from past tenants, but Bulgarian culture is surprisingly resilient and well established. Bulgarian was the first written Slavic language, and their Cyrillic alphabet might look a bit Greek and it might look a bit Russian, but it is very distinct.

Like so many cities in this part of Europe, Sofia is a city on the make. The economy is growing (as there’s political stability), there’s a cool nightlife and a big, beautiful mountain with hiking trails and ancient monasteries just a short bus ride away. But for a city high in the mountains with a dry climate, we got rained on the whole time and never got to see exactly what the city could offer. Maybe another time...

A little bit of old Rome left in the city centre.

In Hungary, it's ok to be mental about your dental

Joe, in chair, with Arnold and I being just a little to mental about our dental.

After Lake Balaton, the beauty of Budapest, the wine cellars of Villany, the affordable dental care available here has turned dentistry into a tourist attraction. In Sopron, a Hungarian city that sits on the border of Austria, the streets are lined with dental offices. This would look strange if it weren’t for all the Austrians driving into the city to have dental work done.

My impression of the inexpensive dental care was not a faltering one. When I heard all of this, my mind lept to that scene in Marathon Man: “Is it safe?”  That admittedly ignorant belief did not waver, even in the face of assurances from Hungarian friends that Hungarian dental care is modern, not medieval.

With a year passing since my last dental appointment, and despite my misplaced misgivings, I began considering a visit to one of Hungary’s dentists. A friend knew just the dentist, so we all went to the office of Dr. Ada. We brought along Joe, a man whose near mortal fear of dentists was being overcome by four cavities.

The dental office was no less advanced and sterile than our own in Canada (I apologize for constantly comparing things to Canada, but I have no other country to compare dentistry to). A visit to the dentist is cheap, and they were effective. I was complimented on my clean teeth, but I grind my teeth in my sleep. Their solution was a mouthguard, which would cost about $50 CAD, meanwhile a quote from a Canadian dentist over a year ago was $260.

More important than money and fancy chairs and what not, Dr. Ada had great chair-side manner. So much of us have strange, primal fears of dentists – Joe, far example, had a beer on the walk to the office to calm his nerves – and either way, it's nice that when a stranger pokes around in your mouth, it does not feel like a torture scene.

Photo by Arnold