Auld.

Our New Year’s Spread

I have been wondering about New Year’s. Auld lang syne. “Times long past,” as the saying goes. It is a fantastic time of year. Out with what has passed and in with the new. It has struck me how many people are looking forward to 2020.

So many are ready to be done with 2019. Why? I didn’t seem to get it until the clock stuck twelve.

There may have been successes and trials last year. But the more people I’ve spoken to seem to refer to the New Year as a something to be traversed. Something leapt over or passed through. How to explain it? Like leaving one shore to land on another. Not bad. Sunny days, wavy days. Days where you didn’t think you’d make it between shores. Well, at last you have.

That is what I suppose I mean. The more people I’ve heard from, friends and family, they all seem ready to be done with the waves and waters of 2019. They all seem ready for what is to come.

This point got me thinking: What is it about a new year that is so appealing? The only real new beginning is on the calendar, right? Fresh pages and numbers for us to tack to-do’s and appointments to. Time continues its daily flow. We move ahead. We affix a new number to our daily events: 2020. The New Year is just a way for us to make sense of things, isn’t it?

Could it be more than that?

Now let me be clear. I am in no way opposed to the concept of beginning again or starting fresh. Even we have exciting plans for 2020. But it’s more than numbers on a page. It is freeing leaving the old behind and taking up the new. Images of casting off old garments comes to mind. You throw out your entire wardrobe and start fresh. That’s not a bad idea either . . .

I return to my point. It wasn’t until the midnight hour that I felt it. Felt the New Year creeping up as it had been all year. Only now in the minutes before the gong was it more tangible.

“Happy New Year!”

I have to admit I finally got it.

Someone recently said that as we get older the thought of starting again is more appealing. That having a fresh New Year is liberating. I get that. I think it took the magic of the midnight hour to make me see their point. Fireworks banging and sounding in the distance. Cool air all around. Neighbourhood folk calling “Happy New Year!” out into the fresh dark of 2020. It all simply came together for me.

Sure everyone’s journey this last year has been different. Mine didn’t leave me aching to be done with 2019. It was a blessed year. A good year. I suppose other people’s reflections got me reflecting on new beginnings. And I am grateful for it. I intend to make the most of this new year.

I guess as I get older I wonder about these kind of things. And landmark events tend to do that. Birthdays, New Year and the like. Whatever it is there is plenty of time to figure it out in 2020.

Wishing you and yours a very Happy New Year.

You made it, you’ve landed.

Don’t be afraid to look back at the waves that bore you here. But also don’t forget to enjoy the shore before you. Welcome to 2020.

Piac.

This word means market. In Szeged particular the Mars Téri Piac. This wonderful indoor / outdoor marketplace or “pih-ahtz” is a must see.

Now there is something different about Hungarian markets. Markets in North America are a novelty. And at these markets you can buy increasingly more veggies, eggs and organic fare. Such options were not readily available just years ago. Nor did many open air markets abound. At least not in my neighbourhood.

In Hungary there is a piac in every town. Even Budapest has great one: Budapest Central Market. You get your eggs, meat, cheese, veggies–all daily goods–at these piac. Maybe even clothing, mushrooms, honey or lángos. Ah, “Lahn-gosh.” Have you heard of the thing? It is definitely a market food. Magyaros lángos. Plain lángos. Too many kinds. It is a simple food. A staple.

Yeast dough worked, rested and fried in splattering, golden oil. One Hungarian comment on the snack suggests that lángos is a ‘way of life that touches everyone; there is no way around it.’ So true. On market day in Szeged, we too couldn’t avoid it.

Wandering through the gates of the Márs Téri Piac, we walked into the bustling outdoor market. People were buying deep maroon plums. Walnuts for sale over here. Braided stalks of garlic over there. Root vegetables, tomatoes, squash, cabbage. Sunlight filtering through coloured overhead canopies added a carnival feel. Sounds, smells, sights surprised and delighted. People were buying and selling tasty fare left and right.


We pressed ahead. Now people will contest where to find the best lángos. ‘The best is in old Dugonics street,’ one might say. ‘You’re crazy! Best at the market for sure,’ another insists.

To each their own.

This day we followed the line up. At the back of the indoor market hall past a vendor selling neatly organised eggs we found lángos.

We waited, and waited. People say line ups are a good sign. I think line ups are a good thing if you can stand them. I enjoy seeing how people wait–and what they do when they get to the register. I like to study how the locals order.

One thing for sure, if on market day if you’re ordering lángos and you’re next at the register with a lineup behind, you’d better know what you want.

Tejfolos sajtos lángos, fokhagymával. “One lángos with heavy sour cream and smothered with shredded cheese. Oh, and bathed in garlic oil, please”. Three hundred and fifty Hungarian forint. Add on a mensza hot fruit tea and you’ve got breakfast.

The dough has already rested and is portioned. Cooked to order, these pale, innocent hand stretched bits of dough are dropped into a purgatory of sputtering oil where they are cleansed and fried golden. Dressed to perfection.

About the dimension of a crispy, fluffy crêpe still glistening when handed to you all you have to do is bite, bite, bite. The proper lángos will have just the right colour, texture and chew and you won’t be able to stop eating it. Bless it with a few grains of salt.

Heaven.

One of the finest sights this market day while waiting to order mine? A grandmother seated on her walker holding a fresh lángos eating bite by bite. When it comes to good food age doesn’t matter. And neither does etiquette. Just eat.

Sigh. Oh, the rest of the piac, you ask? Well, whether wild mushrooms sold by an exclusive vendor whose heavy glasses keep sliding down his nose while he studies each piece like a precious book, or the butchers selling fresh calf’s liver and smoked Hungarian sausage standing with crossed arms and rosy cheeks or the sauerkraut vendors, flower vendors, vendors young and old smiling, talking, yelling, laughing bartering–how can one do the scene justice?

Sometimes you just have to stand back. Put away your camera and watch. Other times you might fuss about trying to buy the right shade of Hungarian paprika. Or maybe you hold a piping hot lángos and munch away while watching the market unfold before you in all its glory.

Either way you’ll be fed, stocked up, or sold on something you never expected.

See you Saturday at the Szegedi Márs Téri Piac.

Doors open at 4 a.m.

Japan.

A quick note: I’ve added some previous content. For your enjoyment.

You will now find older posts at the bottom of the main page. Simply scroll down or find the archive in the sidebar or page bottom.

Said posts account for some previous time in Japan in 2011 and 2012.

Happy reading.

Eve.

Piping hot cabbage rolls – bacon, hot Hungarian smoked sausage included

It is the day before Christmas Eve. Twenty-third. And what are we all up to?

Well, as of this moment we have some version of A Christmas Carol movie a-playing in the background. Some version of muted holiday tunes a-tuning in the background from the music box.

Nearby in the oven are two roasting pans stocked with cabbaged rolls. Hungarian, yes. Spiced with paprika and Magyaros fűszersó (fū-sehr-show): a medley of garlic, onion, parsnip, basil, marjoram . . . you get the idea.

The joy of working with mum and rolling these tasty bundles by hand makes the day. Ground meat, a bit of rice and spice. Cabbage. A few pieces of hot Hungarian smoked sausage tucked into the pan for flavour. Some ham. Bacon. Even now the house is full of the aroma of cabbage rolls simmering.

The last few evenings we’ve played games by the fire. Card games–anything! The laughs and chuckles have been worth it. Time spent together with family. Outside rain patters away. In the distance waves break on the shore. This is our Coastal Christmas. And yes, every evening our string of Christmas lights go on and off again before bed.

By my left hand resting on the table is a bell that looks startlingly like the one held by the young boy in The Polar Express film. If you haven’t seen the it, well, it is a seasonal favourite. And again, we tend to celebrate Christmas in our own way. A few songs, a few games and a lot of food.

This year we are keeping the festivities close. Just family. We often love to invite others. In fact during the weeks leading up to the celebration we do. No doubt we’ll be in good company for New Year’s Eve.

There is a certain magic to the season. We don’t buy gifts. At least not anymore. That practice sort of faded for us. We spend the little that we do on food. And on hosting others. We take time to cook and bake together. We share it with neighbours, friends, whomever.

And so I turn to Dickens. Rereading one volume entitled “Christmas Festivities,” he notes how this seasonal magic is more than a feeling. It seems to charge us with Christmas spirit. He writes:

“Who can be insensible to the outpourings of good feeling, and the honest interchange of affectionate attachment, which abound at this season of the year? A Christmas family Christmas party! We know nothing in nature more delightful! There seems a magic in the very name of Christmas.”

No doubt I am awash in the joy of the season. We don’t do too much. We don’t expect too much, but we celebrate for the sake of celebration. For the sake of Christmas! To be together with family and loved ones. Who could ask for more. We must be grateful for what we have. At least this is my view.

Outside it is getting dark. Christmas lights are aglow. Any minute now the cabbage rolls will be ready. By golly they’ll taste even better tomorrow. Although tomorrow’s meal will be different again. Mákos guba (chopped bite-sized rolls tossed in ground poppy seeds and sugar), fried fish (a coastal salmon) and spicy fish soup and maybe a few fried oysters in celebration of the region. No meat on Christmas Eve. That’s tradition. Christmas Day though? Different story.

Enjoyed with rye bread, raw onion, raw garlic. Sour cream too.

It’s raining outside now and Christmas is coming. It’s practically here.

Hoping that wherever you are and whomever you’re with you are happy and well.

Merry Christmas.

Label.

Travel by label. Heard of such a thing? If you haven’t, you’ll soon know what I mean.

I have this thing I do. These days we are in the habit of checking the label and seeing where something is made. We check and see if, yup, these crackers are indeed made in, say, Scotland. We are satisfied. They are indeed quality shortbread cookies.

I check the labels from time to time for different reasons. I check them so that I can travel. The other day we were at the local grocer and I spied the TESCO section. Stroopwafels were what exactly I spied.

I had an idle moment. So I approached the packages resting neatly on the shelf. Turning them about I finally saw what I was looking for: Product of EU. Netherlands.

Satisfied, I placed the package back on the shelf. Just like that I traveled to the Netherlands. In my mind? My heart? Spirit? I just don’t know. But it felt good knowing these things came from abroad. I otherwise have three packs of these things at home. I enjoy a sliver with every morning coffee. I’ve even tried the spiced ones, but they’re simply not the same.

To the point. There is something satisfying about travel by label. We can’t always go where we want to, but these products take us there. They have the ability to transport us by proxy to ‘that place’. In my case, Amsterdam. I’ve only ever been to Schiphol Airport, but I imagine wafels purchased there are nearly, nearly like the ones I could purchase right by those glorious canals. Oh, and what of the cheese? The beer? The views ofd Amsterdam! Sigh.

One day . . .

So if you’re like me, reading the label is more than just finding out how much fat or calories are in that plum jam you’re turning about in your hand. Labels also point to the place they come from (authentic or not). And they have the power to take us there. Whether with every bite, sip or glance we can travel all around the world.

The next time you’re feeling a little antsy for some trekking, go to your favourite shop and have a look at a quality treat from abroad. Whether or not you buy it, just look. Who knows, with enough views you might even eventually break down and buy a plane ticket to that place . . .

Then it’ll be you sitting on the steps of a cathedral crunching on a scone while the birds twitter about on a misty morning.

Be there–or be square.

Happy shopping!

Hello, Stroopwafels from Amsterdam . . .

Kale.

Something to note about writing: it might not seem like much when you write. Give it some time. It will read better later on. Especially if it’s a travelogue.

At least that is what I feel reflecting on these travel writings. Some mornings or evenings I recall struggling to put pen to paper after a full day. All I’d want to do is sleep. But I knew I had to write it down, however briefly, so I could recall it all later.

So let’s recall some of it.

One of our favourite food stops was Turkish eatery Kale (or “Castle”) right by Klauzál tér by Szeged University. We frequented this Turkish gyorsétterem (or fast food spot)–yum. I insisted again and again: hey, late evening out sightseeing? Let’s have a quick meal here. It’s on the way home! And the truth is it was!

One of our favourites was chicken gyro. I just can’t get enough of this stuff. Chicken piled high on a heavy skewer crisping up on a vertical rotisserie? Yes, please!
Add a little Turkish rice oh so gently spiced, fresh tomato, iceberg lettuce on the plate, and then a side of mildly spiced lentil soup garnished with fresh lemon. Wowza! This gyro dish is wildly popular in many Hungarian city centres. It was a definite favourite of ours.

It was also near Kale restaurant that I first tried Mort Subite – a Belgian Sour Cherry Kriek Lambic (or sour-sweet beer). Meaning ‘Sudden Death’, this burgundy looking beer tasted (and felt) like just that. Sweet, wheaty and smooth with a juicy hint of fruit–that just happened to be a mild sour cherry flavour. Yup, this beer was served at Kale too.

Here we have the gyro plate, lentil soup, goat shank on Turkish rice and one Mort Subite.

Now as embarrassing as it is to rave about non-Hungarian food in Hungary, the truth is that it is hard to find good, tasty Hungarian food in some cities. Not being a local I don’t know good eats or where to necessarily find them (I often stop locals and ask them).
I am subject to finding, and eating, at food spots within view and on my daily route to and from the accommodation.

This practice is my nemesis. I otherwise love finding food spots, parks, buildings or anything off the beaten path. One day when I live abroad I’ll do just that. For now we had Kale (and a few other spots).

More on those stops shortly . . .

Dining in the city. Whether for food or sightseeing we did make it a rule to take different routes here and there–and on foot. As you discover new streets and court yards a sort of shroud begins to lift before you. You at once see and feel more of your surroundings. I liken it to learning more about someone’s character. In the same, you begin to learn more about the ‘character’ of your destination. Who knows, you might just take a real liking to the place. And we sure liked Szeged.

Goodness knows there are still streets in my local neighbourhood I’ve never walked down.

I’d better get on that.

Now is there more to mention about Szeged? There sure is. Like what it’s like to visit a hundred-year-old mineral bath and hot spring right in the city centre. I love hot springs and apparently Hungary is full of them. Another to-do on my list. Or that restaurant by the ‘old bridge’ . . .

It’s been about a month since we’ve returned from our travels. Sigh. Writing about them sure takes me back . . . Time to make a coffee and reminisce.

Yawn. Since it’s getting late here, I’ll talk to you in the morning. Is it snowing there for you yet? Not yet here.

By the way, if I don’t see you, Merry Christmas.

Szeged.

From north we travelled south. Saw family close to the southern borders of Hungary. Chickens, a dog in the yard and grapes growing in the field. The sunsets here were unlike any I’ve seen. The sun has many faces. The one it shows here is beautiful, molten and full.

Evenings with family were spent sitting on the porch chatting. History and current events–and, of course, what to have for dinner. Meals were various. Simple ones consisted of smoked bacon, raw onions and Hungarian sausage with a sip of a homemade white wine made painstakingly–and deliciously–from scratch. No sulphites.

Now we find ourselves in Szeged. University town, market town hugging the banks of the Tisza river. A walk through Szécheyni Square for a nibble of cake and coffee at a local Cukrászda (a cafe specializing in coffee and a grand variety of Hungarian pastries, cakes and desserts) to follow this afternoon. Thermal baths in the area. Ornate churches and buildings made of, well, pure history (and we’re not even scratching the surface yet). I wanna see it all. If I find the time I’ll have to throw in a few pictures. Because what’s travel without a few snaps?

The buildings are well worth a second look.

Wishing you a glorious Thursday. Just remember, if you are on holiday or stopping wherever you are for a coffee, try to forget about the rest–and just live in that moment.

I’ll be living in mine.

Double espresso, please . . .

Arrival.

So where to begin?

I loved it. I love to travel. We took our trusty ferry across to Vancouver and made way to our airport hotel. The idea was to rest up the night before our flight.

The hotel and sleep were divine. Now, interestingly, what have we found regarding children and travel? I would say if you have developed parenting habits you are proud of, you likely have the skills to travel with your child. We packed goodies and snacks–just enough to get us through our journey abroad. But I won’t get much in to all that here.

Flight day was a great day. Check in and then check out all the shops past security screenings. Vancouver Airport is lovely, comfortable and West Coast. The International Departures lounge boasts all kinds of shopping and a sizeable aquarium filled with colourful British Columbia marine life. Had a moment to enjoy an espresso at the Illy cafe. Delightful.

Then things got interesting. Flying to Amsterdam was fine. Connecting and making our transfer was another story. We attempted to check our information and ask helpful terminal staff along the way. As it would turn out by some mistake we exited customs to Arrivals only to discover we had to go through security screenings again to make our connecting flight. I’m sure we missed a transfer connection within International Departures, Schiphol somewhere . . .

Well, we ended up making our connection with time to spare: we enjoyed an espresso and some refreshing beverages. We even scooped up some Mature Gouda samples and local cookies (something like Amaretti) before heading to our gate.

Budapest, here we come. A brief flight into Ferenc Liszt Airport (and an airline catering strike later) we had made it. (In place of on-board catering we were provided candy, an apple, and a cheese and mustard sandwich ensemble)

Arrival. Family was there to meet us. We enjoyed a stretch of driving north west of Budapest to see family in Tiszafoldvár, Hungary.

Rustic and country. A warm afternoon following a cool sleep. We pitched in to help around the house the next day: raking, cracking walnuts and other small tasks. Children playing outside and dogs barking in the neighbourhood.

A major highlight? Well, we drove to get lángos (l-ah-ng-oh-shh). Dough pastry something like a neutral doughnut fried in oil that makes up a crispy, fluffy circle larger than your outstretched palms. Fried in oil and topped with macerated garlic, heavy sour cream or cheese (some of many toppings).

Munch, munch, munch. Gone. A quick coffee to pair with. It drank like a bold Italian cafe but more than that: chocolate. Brava whole beans brewed in a simple, dated household espresso machine. Yes, life is good.

In the coming days we head south to meet more family. With time for visits and lone touristing to come, things are just getting started on this trip.

One observation today: while raking leaves in the yard I saw a small, brown spotted frog. I smelled the nutty aroma of walnut leaves and woodsmoke from a nearby cottage. Dogs yelping in the distance and the sun setting in a cool fire of pink in the sky. Not a bad start to the trip.

Did I mention there was wine, brandy and coffee? Or course I mentioned the coffee. If you’re looking for me tomorrow, I’ll be lounging under a tree drinking in the views and smells of the season.

Adventure awaits.

Countdown.

We have finally arrived–or are rather close to it: departure.

It is an amazing feeling to say that. How to express it? Maybe like when you play Monopoly and you know that on your next turn if you roll exactly the right number you get to buy that elusive property that will win you the game. You feel the excitement, the rush, the anticipation.

Who am I kidding? I’ll compare it to finding your favourite roast of coffee on sale, or mis-priced for that matter–and it’s all yours. Or like finding an amazing cafe nestled just moments from where you are and it’s a trove of wood bench and window seating . . . tiny, warm, the hiss of steam, the aroma of ground coffee wafting to and fro . . .

Now I’m getting off topic.

At any rate, it is time. We are days away from our departure to Hungary. With practically minutes remaining we work daily to ensure suitcases are packed and sealed before we head to the aerogare.

One recent mishap was our requesting a baby bassinet during our intercontinental flight. Looking online we were reviewing details when suddenly my wife’s seat was no longer next to mine! We had the bassinet but not each other, so to speak. A quick phone call from a helpful agent and we were back in business.

But it’s here: the smell and feel of travel. It begins to shake and charge you. It suddenly feels as if you are seeing the world through different lenses. Things just look different. It is almost as if you begin to lose touch with where you are. You begin to feel more a part of where you’re going. I’m loving every minute of it.

One last day to work tomorrow and then at last we’ll be off. Not sure if there’s anything overlooked at this point as we’ve been tidying and organizing the house for weeks. We have slowly and surely come to this point of preparation–whatever that word means for us.

All I have left to do it to buy a little music for those odd moments on the road. It’s a toss-up between Armin van Buuren’s forthcoming album Balance (2019) or his more classic one Mirage (2010). Either way “Who Will Find Me in the End” in Armin’s mash up of Peter Martijn Wijnia, Majesta and DJ Shah featuring Adrina Thorpe will be on my playlist.

Travel. There’s simply nothing like it. I’ve even tried to pack less this time. Just can’t wait to get out there, sample foods unknown and sip and savour it all. I’ll be thinking of you when I have espresso in a cool curbside cafe with fog rolling in off the Danube and the bells of Szent István Baszilika tolling in the distance.

Now get out there and see your world. 

Itinerary.

We live, we work, we play. At least that is what it feels like some days. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The trick, we often hear, is to do something that you love. Well, I’m still figuring that part out.

One thing I know I love is travel. These days working and reworking the itinerary. It keeps me busy. There is something satisfying in typing details into a document. Dates, flight details, locations, connections. All these things have their place on the page. It feels like it is my job to figure where on the document it is.

This typing and organizing might be unnecessary, but I think not. The more that I look at dates, times and train timetables the more I absorb them. It feels in a way that I am coming to terms with what’s coming up. Hmm, I wonder if I could draft itineraries or research and make travel plans for a living. Well, if not for a living then I’ll just get better and better at making travel itineraries for myself and the family.

On this trip we’ll be the better part of a month in Hungary. We’ll see family and we’ll also camp out at one or two locations and get to know the city. Right now we’re considering Szeged and Budapest–and perhaps a few places in between. This month, and next, is wine season. Harvest time. Leaves, grapes, bottles. I can only imagine . . .

Back at home an empty suitcase stares at me every time I walk past. Its mouth agape as if it is waiting to say something. Maybe it is. Have got to start packing. One thing for certain is we still have ample time to prepare.

More details to follow. Goodness knows, however, that I just had to write something down here after arriving home from work. It’s late. Time to sleep . . . or is it time to write? You decide.

Here’s to late nights, good music on the radio and a day trip to Vancouver tomorrow to visit family. Goodness knows that I’ll have eyes for coffee in the morning. Espresso, please–

Now, press play: currently listening to Leathan Milne’s Now I Say Goodnight.

Good night.