"Andrew, the Magyars are a proud people; they DON'T like being teased." Such was the stern warning issued to me by a relative when I revealed to her my intention to study in Hungary for a year. She herself had spent several years in the country, so her knowledge of the Hungarians--or Magyars, as they call themselves--was firsthand.
"What ever do you mean?" I responded with feigned innocence, in hopes she would envision all sorts of scenarios in which my big mouth would cause me to suffer verbal and physical abuse, public censure, and eventual deportation. My disingenuousness having achieved the desired result, she retreated in annoyance, muttering something to the effect: "Just don't say I didn't warn you."
In my travels I'd already observed a certain Hungarian pugnacious streak. There was the surly old laundress in Budapest who shot me a glare when I attempted to communicate with her in English. Deep frown, rapid shaking of the head. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" I next tried, drastically worsening my position. Incredibly vehement head shaking, a frown now threatening to exceed the bounds of her considerable jowls. Defiantly rearing up to her full height of 4'11 3/4", she thrust a proud thumb to her bosom, broad as the Pannonian plain, and majestically intoned, "HUNGARIAN."
Most memorable was my first meal in Budapest, where our waiter was not so much angry as gloomy, bearing on his hunched shoulders the weight of several hundred years of oppression, thwarted political and military ambitions, and a general sense of under-appreciation on the global stage. Tossing our bowls of goulash on the table so carelessly that several forlorn potato cubes nearly went overboard, he offered the world's most unconvincing, "Enjoy your dinner," before shuffling away. In recounting this incident to a Czech friend, the story evolved into the waiter merely saying, "Mohacs...blech!" a reference to the 1526 battle in which Hungary lost most of its territory to the Ottoman Empire. It's all been downhill since Mohacs.
Perhaps no study in contrasts is as revealing as that between the Czechs and the Magyars. Both nations have spent their history surrounded by some--how shall I put it?--"handsy" neighbors. The Czech response seems to have been to hunker down, work hard, and make the best of the situation. In contrast, the Magyar response seems to have been to retreat into naval-gazing, defeatism, and grumpiness. Lest I be accused of gross generalizing, this is the assessment put forth by several Hungarian colleagues. One said to me, "We're not smart like the Czechs. Look at Budapest; it should be attracting Prague numbers of tourists, but it doesn't. How dumb are we?"
Dumb? That's not quite accurate, because no one could accuse a people who have fielded so many giants in the arts (Liszt, Bartok, etc.) and sciences (Go Big Green!) as lacking in brain power. What my friend meant is that the Hungarians can be stubborn beyond the point of reason. Such is their thinking: you won't flock to what is unquestionably the finest city on the Danube? Fine, be that way; we don't need your filthy lucre. I've observed waiters in Prague gamely endure oafish English stag parties, something it's hard to imagine would be suffered by our Budapest waiter friend.
At heart, Czechs are little forest people who don't like to call too much attention to themselves, while the Hungarians are proud horsemen who galloped drunkenly into Europe a thousand years ago, no doubt by accident. The mentality is completely different. A visual demonstration: consider the central statues one is most likely to encounter when visiting Prague and Budapest, respectively:
First we have the statue of Jan Hus in Prague's Old Town Square. Hus was the heroic church reformer who stoically suffered martyrdom fighting for a more inclusive liturgy in the 15th century. Beleaguered but not broken, physically humbled but mentally strong, he stands defiant against a corrupt world. The monument is grand but hardly ostentatious, a tacit acknowledgment of the Czech people's historic subjugation.
Next is Budapest's Hero's Square, specifically the seven figures at the base of the central column. These are the legendary chieftains who supposedly founded the nation. Sculpted with apparently no regard to historical accuracy, these Magyars are rocking some serious 'staches and head gear, and if their chests were thrust out any farther it would be obscene. Granted, historical context matters; the latter monument was commemorating the millennial anniversary of the establishment of the Kingdom of Hungary (896-1896), by this point Hungary was ostensibly an equal partner in the Dual Monarchy, and national feelings were at an all-time high. Still, it's hard to imagine the Czechs erecting anything so unabashedly self-aggrandizing. When a 2005 TV poll asked Czechs to name their greatest countryman, they chose the fictitious figure Jara Cimrman, an absurd Baron Munchausen-like Renaissance man. This is the equivalent of the English voting to name a ship Boaty McBoatface, but on an even grander scale.
The point of this comparison is that the Hungarians take their identity very seriously, the more so since it's been routinely threatened over the years. The Turks occupied much of the country for 150 years, the Austrians for another 150, and the Nazis and Soviets behaved...well, like Nazis and Soviets. Recent political and economic setbacks haven't helped matters; Hungary's in the EU, but not on the Euro, and the immediate post-Communist promises of prosperity haven't materialized as expected. My landlord put it very well: "we don't belong to the west, we don't belong to the east, we speak our own language; where do we fit in?"
In coming posts I'll consider this question, focusing on Pécs, the small, beautiful city where I currently live. By looking at the history, the (impossible) language, and various everyday occurrences, I hope to better understand these proud, stubborn, and generally lovable people.
The point of this comparison is that the Hungarians take their identity very seriously, the more so since it's been routinely threatened over the years. The Turks occupied much of the country for 150 years, the Austrians for another 150, and the Nazis and Soviets behaved...well, like Nazis and Soviets. Recent political and economic setbacks haven't helped matters; Hungary's in the EU, but not on the Euro, and the immediate post-Communist promises of prosperity haven't materialized as expected. My landlord put it very well: "we don't belong to the west, we don't belong to the east, we speak our own language; where do we fit in?"
In coming posts I'll consider this question, focusing on Pécs, the small, beautiful city where I currently live. By looking at the history, the (impossible) language, and various everyday occurrences, I hope to better understand these proud, stubborn, and generally lovable people.
*Proof that the Magyars can give as good as they get, they say "I am Czech" when they want to say they feel ill. Take that, Vaclav! They also say, "Go back to France!" when they want to say "Go to Hell." Take that, Pierre!
