Swarthy Pecs

Warning: The following post contains salty language.

Never fear; that warning, like much of what follows, was just an excuse to layer on the Turkish references like so many toppings in a doner kebab. And, like a kebab, these references are cheap, leave a bad taste in your mouth, and may cause severe gastrointestinal distress in the near future.

When we last left the intrepid Magyars of Pecs in the 1200s, things were looking up. The Mongols had left, baffled by the cunning use of a wall to keep them out. The situation was improving throughout Hungary in general, and by the end of the century the ruler was known as "By the Grace of God, King of Hungary, Dalmatia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Galicia, Lodomeria, Cumania, Bulgaria, etc." I love that etc...

Hungary reached its peak in the middle of the 15th century, when the Transylvanian warlord John Hunyadi and his son Matthias Corvinus (Mattie Crow to his friends) ruled as de facto and actual king, respectively and successively (and successfully). For an amusing, irreverent bio of Hunyadi, click here (and this actually does contain salty language). While Hunyadi is still a big deal (his statue is in Pecs' town square), Hungarians are even more in awe of Matthias, who brought the Renaissance to northern Europe, conquered Vienna, and always sent his mother flowers on her birthday. The story goes that when a foreign envoy visited Matthias at his newly constructed castle complex on Buda Hill, the envoy was so in awe of the opulence he forgot the purpose of his visit and just stood there gaping like a slack-jawed yokel.

Matthias left behind no, er, legitimate heirs, so the political situation was a bit more precarious at the dawn of the 1500s. Still, the Bishop of Pecs felt sanguine enough about affairs to treat himself to this charming Renaissance summer residence built on Tettye, a hill just outside the city, in 1520:

Digital reconstruction: sunbathing bishop not shown.

Twenty years later, that same villa looked like this:

Turns out that envoy in the 1480s was from the Ottoman Sultan, and when word got round that the King of Hungary had a nicer palace than his, the Sultan did what any mature adult would do in the same situation; amass an army of 100,000 and march out to take it for himself. I've already referenced the Battle of Mohacs of 1526, in which the Hungarian army brought knights in shining armor to a cannon fight, and politely waited while the Turks sighted, loaded, and fired. In the fall my dad and I visited the battleground about an hour east of Pecs, near the Danube, and the monument there is a powerful sight for anyone, and doubtless much more so for a Hungarian. I've had wonderful conversations with an art historian here whose class I'm taking, and he makes a strong case that, were it not for the Ottoman invasion, Hungary would have continued to thrive as a major European power.

After the rout of Mohacs, the rest of Hungary soon fell to the Turks: Buda in 1541, Pecs in 1543. Soon the city was so rife with Ottomans this must have been a common sight:

Look, I warned you stuff like this was coming.

The occupation can't have been fun for a lot of Hungarians (and, in fact, many of them fled to the peripheral areas of Hungary that remained outside of Ottoman control), but evidently the Turks were...delighted. As shown above, the Bishop's palace was converted into a monastery for whirling dervishes (trying to think of puns...spinning my wheels here...), the market square became a bazaar--no doubt redolent with exotic spices--and churches were converted into mosques. St. Bartholomew's in Szechenyi Square is a church once more, but in the 20th century the Turkish elements were wisely restored, making it the best example of Ottoman architecture in Hungary:

A few minutes east there's a smaller, but better preserved, mosque, that of Yakovali Hassan (whoever that was), complete with minaret.

Two other sights bear mentioning: first, the mausoleum of Idris Baba. No idea who this was either, although the scant evidence suggests he was some sort of mystic or healer. Here's what the internet turned up when I looked for an image:

A face that says: two of the six people who still read this blog will get this reference, and neither will laugh

His mausoleum was unearthed in the late 20th century, and sadly is only visible from beyond a chain-link fence:

As for the baths, they apparently were still functional as late as the 1880s, but now only the foundations and a few fountains remain. According to famed (translation: I'd never heard of him) Turkish traveler Evliya Celebi, the hands of the spa's servants were apparently "like the sun." 10000 degrees fahrenheit? 93 million miles from earth? Covered in spots? I guess he meant "warm" (side note: a Google search for "temperature of the sun" yields the most asked question: "is the sun hot?" I can die a happy man now).

Speaking of disturbing descriptions of Turkish baths, allow me to recount my own experiences visiting the remaining examples of 16th century Ottoman baths in Budapest.

Captain Clarence Oveur also has warm hands.

Budapest is built on a series of thermal springs, and the Turks built numerous baths there, several of which remain to this day. Three are open to the public (Rudas, Kiraly, Veli Bej), while a fourth (Racz) remains closed in the midst of legal wrangling between the city and owners. Years ago I visited the Rudas baths, where I had a less than pleasant experience:

 Scarred by that ordeal, I had higher hopes for the Kiraly Baths. Sadly, this visit was not much better:

In all seriousness, the Kiraly Baths are a bit run down, but retain the most original architectural elements and are mercifully free of a sadistic, tubercular Bey. For minimal seediness, though, I recommend the Veli Bey baths, renovated in 2010:

I've probably prattled on about the Ottoman occupation long enough, but suffice to say it was good for the Turks, bad for the Hungarians. Still, the Turks left behind some pretty buildings, and good food, amirite? My landlord's other tenant is a Turkish business student who kindly invited my landlord and me over for Turkish coffee and this tasty semolina dessert:

1 liter milk

1.5 cups of sugar

1 cup semolina

1 teaspoon of vanilla

1 tablespoon butter

3 bananas

cinnamon, crushed walnuts, and/or shredded coconut

Mix all ingredients except bananas in a saucepan, cook over medium heat until dense, stirring constantly. Crush bananas, mix into pudding, and pour mixture into serving dish. Chill, then top as desired.

Speaking of my landlord, I recently had the privilege of being invited to his bimonthly poker game, involving various movers and shakers of Pecs high society. Those who have played me in cards know me to be a master tactician, adept in spotting tells and coldly unemotional in my betting strategy.

This guy's just another mark to me.

We agreed on the rules beforehand: each player would stake his own currency at a 1:1 ratio; with the Hungarian Forint currently trading at 300:1 to the US dollar, this did place me at a distinct disadvantage. My landlord also stipulated that any winnings on my part would go towards an increase in rent. All of this struck me as only fair.

After a big win, my chip pile looked like this:

But I was just getting warmed up:

But then this happened:

And I was left with this:

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best idea to play cards with a bunch of friends who were all conferring in a language I didn't understand (except for the expletives, of which there were many). Come to think of it, I'm not entirely convinced these "friends" were anything more than struggling actors hired by my landlord to conspire against me; while the wine was flowing freely, I'm pretty sure the identities of "Istvan" and "Gabor" switched at some point during the evening. 

I have many more such misadventures I could relate, but I'll save them for my next post, wherein I look at the Baroque architecture that sprang up after the Turks were defeated at the end of the 17th century. Until then, though, the Hungarians would simply have to put on a happy face: