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  • Writer's pictureWarren J Bugeja

Cake, Gilt and Swing: Spring in Zagreb and Budapest


Forget Paris, spring is cheaper and just as romantic in the East. Four days of nostalgic cafes (cake, cake, glorious cake), hot thermal baths, art nouveau boulevards, a museum fest and some Swing thrown into the bargain, is just enough time for both Zagreb and Budapest to yield the best of what both capital cities have to offer.

Although Zagreb is the capital of Croatia, it has more of a townish feel about it. Except for busy Saturday market days, there’s plenty of room for ambling along on Zagreb’s pavements and fellow tourists are infrequent sightings. Indeed there is an air of quiet solemnity to the city. It seems to go about its business inconspicuously with eyes, ponderous. Yet ask a question and the eager approachability, friendliness and helpfulness of the response comes as a welcome surprise. Most people, especially the younger MTV generation, speak English with remarkable fluency. The relaxed, un-hurried feel of the city reaches its laid back epitome on Tkalciceva, a long undulating , outdoor lounge, where the Zagrebcani watch the word go by. Stop here for a Kremsnita; a layered cream and custard confection.


Backed by the mountain of Medvednica in the north, and bordered by the river Sava in the south, the compact historical centre of Zagreb is divided into upper and lower town. Both towns convene in Ban Jelacic square, dominated by the national-hero, equestrian statue of the same name. The tourist office is located close by, just opposite the Mandusevac fountain, a central meeting point, and source of the city’s moniker. “Zagrabiti” is Croatian for the act of “scooping up water”.



Up a few steps from Ban Jelaic square, is the three tiered ‘Dolac’; the ‘belly of Zagreb’ , an open, red umbrellad market offering an inexpensive and fertile cornucopia of flowers , seasonal produce including hazelnuts, goats cheese and figs, fresh meat and fish. The Dolac straddles the middle ground between the twin hillside settlements constituting Upper Town. Ecclesiastical Kapitol, signposted by the neo-gothic Cathedral, reconstructed after a devastating earthquake in 1880, is on the right and Gradec, entered through Kamenita Vrata (the stone gate), home to a miraculous painting of the Virgin Mary, is on the left. The quiet heart of Upper Town, is St Mark’s Square, which takes its name from the 13th century, three aisled Romanesque church, is unmissable and adds a splash of colour with its vibrant red, blue and white, heraldic, tiled roof. Stop for a photo, a breather, a sandwich or a kiss and take in the nearby, panoramic view of lower town from the tree-lined Strossmeyer promenade, that snakes round the southern rim of Gradec hill, below the medieval, Lotrscak tower which fires its cannon daily at noon.

Deceptively modest in size and spirit, Zagreb is a treasure trove for the culture vulture. There are over 75 museums, collections and galleries to view choose from. If pressed for time, narrow it down to two quirky milestones. The fun and joyful, Croatian Museum of Naïve Art and the deeply moving Museum of Broken Relationships, both within metres of each other in the upper town and the first exhibits of their kind in the world. The former presenting ”Naïve art as a segment of modern art”, showcases some eighty eclectic and colourfully assorted paintings, sculptures and drawings, created between 1930 and 1980, comprising art brut and outsider art. The novel Museum of Broken Relationships is in a league of its own. A depository of everyday mementoes of loss, the exhibition acknowledges the pain, grief, associated anger and sometimes relief of separation. Tokens offered are cathartic in that they enable contributors to acknowledge the relationship, let go and move on. Written on one of the walls is a quotation from Roland Barthes’ , ‘A Lover’s Discourse’. ‘Ultimately’, the inscription reads, ‘every passion has its spectator..(there is) no amorous oblation without a final theatre.’


On display amongst the constellation of teddy bears, overnight toiletry bags, wedding dresses and unused rings are: a bicycle with accompanying note; ‘It’s great to have a means of transport out of a relationship’, airsickness bags collected throughout the comings and goings of a long distance relationship; ‘ I have never found any instructions what to do when a relationship falls apart’ , a French ID; ‘ The only thing left of great love was citizenship’, a wardrobe featuring religious iconography; ‘ I was baptized a Christian by my parents, it took 15 years to be able to break that forced relationship’, an axe used to destroy a cheating girlfriend’s left behind furniture, and uneaten candy underwear. Tugging at the heartstrings: two poems written by a dying father and his bereaved daughter; the novel written by the eyewitness wife of a much loved, murdered husband and a tiny, solitary, flickering dog collar ring. This tear inducing souvenir, donated by a man recounting a tragedy, full of pathos and regret, of an ex-wife who committed suicide and a pet which kept getting lost, ends with a request – ‘…please hang it blinking if you use it – it reminds me of a heartbeat. The battery can be replaced.’



After that head down for a whisky (or a glass of home grown Dalmatian Dringac, a velvety red wine) in lower town because you are going to need it. Once there if you are an art nouveau fan, then check out the decorative stylized bat motifs and ceramic façade of Kallina House by architect Vjekoloslav Bastl and the nearby attic apartment of architect Victor Kovacic – a stunning example of practical, yet simultaneously aesthetically, pleasing functionality in early 20th century interior decoration. Both located on Masarykova Street.


There isn’t the variety of accommodation in Zagreb, that can be found across the border in Budapest and consequently it isn’t as cheap. However everything else is. A glass of wine in a hip joint, will just set you back 20 kunas (Euros), whilst a 12 kuna ticket will provide one and half hours of hop on, hop off unlimited bus and tram travel.

A fledgling Swing scene has been gaining momentum in Zagreb and I attended a dance off at Kino Europa on Varzavska Street in Lower town. Art-house cinema upstairs and in-bar below, the air was thick with smoke and animated discussion amongst the crowded mix of trendy, boho and student habitués. (No non-smoking bans in Croatian cafes and restaurants yet, making the most of their pre-EU accession)

The art-deco foyer, which doubles up as a dance hall, provided the apt setting for the free-entrance event, entitled ‘Swingerica’, a Croatian interplay of words, referencing Swinger sewing machines and implying movement. Nejc Zupan -on the rise Swing dancer, cum cult, charismatic teacher for those in the know- had driven across the border from close neighbor, Llubjana to host his weekly swing class and DJ the after party. A coterie of his enthusiastic, Slovenian set had likewise car-pooled, curious to investigate the foreign scene and lend their support. Dressed in 1940’s vintage, bandanas, plimsols and waistcoats their infectious and sometimes acrobatic improvisations had wallflowers and passersby soon stomping the floorboards, shuffling and grinning happily to Ella Fitzgerald and Django Reinhardt. I asked several beginner and intermediate ‘Swingers’ what had attracted them to this particular retro-revival dance form. “The music..the clothes, people are smiling, it’s such fun, you are allowed to improvise …it’s all about movement and letting go,” says irrepressible, jack in the box, Ivana Mihaljevic, a language student. Ivana does me a big favour by deftly and diplomatically extracting me from a hazardous encounter with a very drunk group of nationalistic, southern Croatians who after causing havoc on the dance floor, have cornered me with rendition after rendition of an incomprehensible and increasingly raucous, regional anthem.


Mihajevic’s comments are echoed by landscape designer Kaja Spirljan Busic, mother of two and one of tonight’s co-organisers who is here with hubby “I come from a Tango and Salsa background and obviously I like to dance, she states emphatically, “But this is so much more carefree..all you need are a few basic steps, then you’re off.”



Zagreb doesn’t necessarily warrant such a long stay unless you’re big on museums, so I hopped on the 4.10pm, 27 euro, six hour train ride to Budapest. No need to pre-book either. The six hour journey (which passed by in a flash) gave me plenty of time to sleep off last night’s excess and read up on my next destination. In an increasingly homogenised Europe and as a frequenter of conveyor belt, budget air-travel, there is something leisurely, old-world and quixotic about passport checks on trains. I love travelling by train, not least because of the extra leg room, because, I would much rather be looking out of the window at unfolding scenery than be queuing up at some airport Starbucks after the hassle of checking in, losing my belt and being frisked . The two passport border checks and same number of currency changes (no panic ATM’s everywhere) felt like travelling back in time, when nations were announced properly.

Budapest is heavily underrated. Spring in this city of bridges, arching over the Danube and connecting the hills of Buda with the plains of Pest, is achingly romantic. Top tip: do NOT come here on your own. Framed by apple and cherry blossom tree in full bloom, there is an exquisite kind of nostalgic melancholy to a city seemingly frozen in its fin de siècle heyday.


The city is a paean to everything neo; neo Classical, neo Gothic, neo Renaissance, and such. However if there is one predominant style that dominates the architectural landscape and statuesque boulevards of Budapest, then it has to be Art Nouveau. Much of the city was built under the Habsburg dual monarchy of the latter second half of the 19th century, importing the Viennese Secessionist variant as its signature key style.



Bedo house built in 1903 and designed by Emil Vidor and The Royal Postal Savings bank built by Odon Lechner, both on the way to the houses of parliament, are curvaceous, and mosaic embellished, elegies to Hungarian Art Nouveau. Worth a peep too, is the cavernous, carved mahogany and stained glass, 1909 arcade, Parizsi Udvar; another Lechner opus. Eerily devoid of custom but magnificently preserved, this breathtaking, golden age, shopping mall is begging for retailers to take up residence once again in its ghostly stalls. Strolling up from Parizsi Udvar in Belvaros, the commercial heart of Pest, down Vaci Utca (Utca means street), where tacky touristy and fashionista emporiums sit side by side, you find yourself in a large pleasant square Vorosmarty Ter, fronted at the northern end by Gerbeaud. Budapest is gloriously endowed with several sepia stilled authentic 19th century traditional coffee houses and Gerbeaud stands head, chandeliers and shoulders over the rest. The cakes are decadent and the coffee, ‘the black soup’, a souvenir from the Turkish occupation, excellent. I sampled ‘Somoloi galuska’; islands of sponge cake, whipped cream, rum and caramelized biscuit floating in liquid Valrhona chocolate.

Slightly guilty because I‘ve chosen cake over a more substantial breakfast for the second day running, I pick up my pace and walk to Parliament building, which is anyway, quite close. 268 metres long and guardian to the crown of St. Stephen, the fairytale multi-spired building bears more than a passing resemblance to its British counterpart and is equally as iconic.

There are thrice daily, heavily subscribed 45 minute tours of Parliament, conducted in English so make sure to book ahead to avoid disappointment.

Cross over atmospheric Szechenyi chain bridge, the city’s oldest, to Buda side and, if working, take the funicular ‘Siklo’ up the hill to Castle District. Start off with The Royal Palace, the city’s most visited sight and home to The Budapest History Museum and The Hungarian National Gallery. Have a spin around the former, gather your facts and commiserate at the catalogue of tragedies that sums up Hungary’s history and then see it depicted in triptych glory next door. Top tip: do not visit Castle hill on a Monday when many of its best draws are closed to the public.


Exiting the palace complex, keep an eye out for Mattias Fountain, with the 15th century king portrayed in hunting gear and walk along less touristy Toth Arpad Setan, where beautiful , silent 18th and 19th century villas, overlooking the hills of Obuda, peer through the blossom. At random, take one of the side streets on your right to Matthias Church. On the way, you might want to stop in at Ruszwurm Cukraszda if you can spot an empty table that is. Established in 1827, the coffee and cakes here might be just the ticket to pep up flagging energy levels. The church itself, currently under restoration, contains, brightly painted walls in mediaeval fashion and superb, stained glass windows. Nestling around the church, and offering the best views of the Danube and Pest is fisherman’s bastion.

Walk down from Castle hill along the Danube towards Gellert Hill and Taban. Take the tram if you’re feeling lazy. En route, opposite Elizabeth Bridge, hiding under a fly over, and beneath St Gellert Monument is the statue of Elizabeth, Hungarian queen and Habsburg Empress. Gellert and Elizabeth share a tragic demise. Whilst St Gellert , an Italian missionary was hurled to his grisly death in a spiked barrel in 1046, by pagan Magyars on this very spot, the much loved (not least because she bothered to learn and speak Hungarian), Sissi, consort to Franz Joseph was assassinated by an Italian anarchist in Geneva in 1898. Italians and Hungary, it seems, don’t mix well.

Rudas Baths are close by. Built in 1566, the baths are Turkish in design and origin with octagonal pools and domed cupolas. However, further down, opposite Liberty Bridge with its cantilevered span, is Gellert hotel, housing the breathtaking Art Nouveau baths of the same name. Budapest is famous for its ubiquitous thermal springs (there are over a 100 of them) and for the plethora of baths, spas and pools that have sprung up amongst and over them.

No visit to Budapest would be complete without a visit. In fact, I recommend scheduling a splash (and rub down, if you fancy) each afternoon as a welcome respite from traipsing round all those museums. Admission charges start at 2800FT (9.83 Euros). Do not forget to pack a towel, flip flops-essential- a bathing suit and a swimming cap, although you may purchase these at some baths.


Immersing yourself in Gellert baths, as the guidebooks describe it, is akin to bathing in a cathedral, the experience is sublime. I spend a long,lethargic afternoon here. The splendid mosaics, fountains, outdoor pools, heated pools, steam rooms, and cold plunges are as close to what it must have been like attending, say, the baths of Caracalla. Those Romans were onto a good thing. Whilst the thermal baths themselves at Gellert, are sex segregated, the outdoor and communal baths are not. If you haven’t brought a swimsuit along with you, then you will be required to wear a bizarre ‘item’ of apparel that really doesn’t do its job. The transparent loincloth, which leaves your bottom well and truly exposed seems to draw more attention to one’s nakedness than anything else.

Gellert Baths

Pampered and pliant, upon exiting from that oasis of serenity – unless you feel compelled to trek up to Liberty monument for another unparalleled view of the city- (in a haze of well being, I did not feel so inclined) – cross Liberty bridge back over to Pest.

Then walk up Vamhaz krt and make your way to Central Kavehaz for some more delectable cake, because you deserve it. This was the place to strike an intellectual pose (and debate) in 1887.



On your second day, breakfast at New York Café or at Frohlich Cukraszda, both in Erzsebetvaros, the old Jewish quarter in Pest. Frolich, a kosher cake (again) shop , serves up yummyliscious Flodni , a three-layer cake with apple, walnut and poppy seed fillings. Suitably fortified (your tummy and wallet that is), saunter down the champs Elysees of Budapest ; Andarssy Ut , a long leafy boulevard that has been accorded an entry on Unesco’s World Heritage List. Goggle at the architecture, the up market shops, the New Theatre, and shiver in the House of Terror, once the headquarters of the feared AVH secret service. Unlike Paris with its spray on gilt and white washing, the buildings here look dilapidated, a bit the worse for wear. However the aged patina of grime and decay, cannot detract from some of the renaissance revival mansions around Kodaly rotunda, before Andrassay Ut terminates in Heroes Square. The square is the entrance to City Park and a giant monument to the city’s ancestors and dead. Its semicircular, colonnade of statues reads like a pantheon of who’s who in the nation’s past.


Heroes Square is flanked by the Museum of Fine Arts on the left and the Palace of Art a large exhibition space housed in a Greco-Roman temple like edifice, on the right. The Museum of Fine Arts is a must see, even if the exhibits (including seven El Grecos, works by Raphael, Brueghel, Rembrandt and Rodin, and a collection of Egyptian artifacts) are dwarfed by the monumental room that contain them. I was lucky enough to take in a temporary exposition on the Birth of Art Photography, from Pictorialism (where photographs eschew realism to look more like paintings, necessary at the time for the emerging medium to be taken seriously as an art form ) to Modern Photography (1889-1929). The exhibition is showing until the 1st of July 2012. My favourites are the highly stylized contrasting, compositions of Rudolf Koppitz, in particular that of an athletic nude woman cradled by three nun like women in black in an ambiguously, erotic, pieta like arrangement.


The sofas on the terraces of both museum spaces provide excellent pit stops to pause and take. Entering city park on the left, is a charming hotchpotch of architectural follies; a delicate and frothy baroque wing, Transylvanian gothic castle and Romanesque chapel constitute Vajdahunyad Castle (now the agricultural museum) complete with Romeo and Juliet balconies and a vendor selling mulled wine and cherry strudel on the portico. City park also hosts a Transportation museum (which kids will love), a good old-fashioned amusement park, an ice-skating rink (Nov-Feb only) and a sizeable zoo. But the icing on the cake, literally, are the Szechenyi baths. An enormous, wedding cake like (in appearance), complex of pools (up to a dozen thermal and 5 outdoor) some reaching 38 degrees Celsius, a warren of massage cubicles plus the incongruous novelty of watching men play chess outdoors up to their shoulders in steaming sulphurous waters whilst the air temperature is enough to numb one’s nose. Take the metro (a single ticket costs 320FT, you can also use this on a tram, bus or trolley tram, but not for multiple transfers) outside Szechenyi, back down Andrassy Ut and exit outside Lukacs Cukraszda, dripping with mirrors, gilt and Louis XIV ; a café straight out of Versailles. Alternatively alight outside Alexandra book café. Up the escalator, soft piano in attendance, this is a café to die for and totally unexpected following on from the modern bookshelves below. Sip on an aperitif and gaze at the marquetry and restored frescoes by Karoly Lotz. In perfect poise and totally refreshed, it is time to take the taxi to the airport. Travel Facts: Easy jet flies from London Gatwick to Zagreb Ryan Air flies from Budapest to London Stanstead For Swing Classes in Zagreb, email Jasna Sinkovic: sinkovic.andres@gmail.com There is a train that leaves from Venice and terminates in Budapest, via Zagreb. If time is on your side, why not continue by rail again, onto Vienna and dust off your Austro-Hungarian history. Not having the luxury, I flew into Zagreb, flying out from Budapest a few days later. Word of warning: if travelling alone in Budapest, don’t be flattered by the attention bestowed in bars and nightclubs. There is a thriving (not in your face) underground sex tourism scene and hookers of both sexes abound. The fantastic (you have to giggle) obvious moves: wink, wink, nudge, nudge, pout, sideways glance and more pouting could mean there’s a price to pay for suddenly finding yourself Mr or Mrs Fabulous.


By Warren J. Bugeja




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