It was extremely difficult to get a flight to Budapest last weekend. I had promised my friends the Karolyis, who have been a feature of this column, that I would attend an opera they were giving in the grounds of their house at a place called Föt. Yet Hungary seems to have become the most extraordinarily popular tourist destination.
The plane was packed like a bag in the Harvey Nichols sale. It was full mostly with English. I asked a group of young men why they had decided to spend their summer holiday in Hungary. They responded that they had heard that it was now a hot destination. This was certainly true. It hadn’t rained for two months, according to my Aunt Lili, and the temperature had been hovering in the high 80s.
But this was not quite what they meant. Among an increasingly large cognoscenti, Budapest has become the modish place to go. The buildings are spectacular, and each year undergo more restoration work. The city’s architecture ranges from turn-of-the-century Parisien-style mansions along wide boulevards to smaller baroque houses up on castle hill. The churches are astonishing and the Danube is at last beginning to look blueish.
Not that these youths looked the architectural types. But Hungary is becoming what it once was, one of the most exciting capitals in Europe. Before the communists took over, it was a favoured haunt of Charlie Chaplin, Garbo, the Duke of Windsor when Prince of Wales and other celebrities of the era. Budapest had the first night club with a revolving dance floor, called the Arizona, and was renowned for its floor shows, excellent food and beautiful and obliging women.
Now all of this is returning.
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