Budapest: Paprika, Street Snacks, Holy Relics, and a Cruise with Low Ceilings
Still smitten with Budapest and ready to see how the locals really eat, we met up with Nelli from Nellicios Travels at the Grand Market Hall—a soaring, three-story temple to Hungarian food built in 1896 for the millennial celebration of the nation. The place is full of butchers proudly displaying every part of every animal (I now know what a duck head looks like before it becomes… whatever it later becomes). As we wandered through, Nelli taught us about Hungarian staples—most importantly paprika, which apparently comes in more personalities than a reality-TV cast. Sweet Anna is mild and friendly; Hot Steven brings some heat; Angry Steven is the one who ruins your afternoon.
We sampled truffles (delicious), lavender products (lovely), and a variety of sausages, our favorite being a plum-infused one with a purple label. Then we settled into a stall for traditional Hungarian stew, which I seasoned boldly with Hot Steven. I decided to leave Angry Steven to the professionals.
From there, we visited a restaurant devoted entirely to sausages. These came with cabbage, pickled cabbage, pickled peppers—basically a full spectrum of fermented vegetables. Chad and I split ours neatly; Brian tackled his solo and, judging from the way his eyes began watering, hit a pocket of heat from a different dimension. For a full five minutes, all he could say was, “Hot, hot, HOT… it’s hot.” Tears streamed down his face. Kim, Chad, and I offered absolutely no help, but poor Nelli kept asking if he was okay. He finally managed, “I can breathe… but it’s hot.” A ringing endorsement.
Next up: lángos, the Hungarian street-food darling—fried dough the size of a personal pizza, slathered with sour-cream sauce and topped with cheese, sausage, or anything else your heart desires. It was heavenly and instantly jumped into the “things I should not love this much” category.
The final food stop was the famous chimney cake, baked on a rotating spit until golden and then brushed with cinnamon. Some places fill them with ice cream or whipped cream, but tradition calls for keeping it simple—so that’s how we had it, warm and wonderful. To wash it down, Nelli introduced us to Unicum, Hungary’s traditional digestive. It tasted like Jägermeister’s more bitter cousin who hasn’t resolved his childhood issues. But Nelli swears by it, and in the spirit of cultural exchange, Brian and I swallowed it. Brian regretted it almost immediately.
Through it all, Nelli was an absolute joy—easygoing, funny, patient, and game for anything. At one point she asked whether Brian and I were siblings, which I’m choosing to interpret as “you two are delightfully loud and entertaining,” not “you bicker with professional precision.” She even said she’d love to travel with us someday, which I’m taking as the highest compliment. And I can’t wait to sign up for her online cooking classes when I get home—I now own enough paprika to season a mid-size village.
We subwayed back to the hotel, grabbed our bags, and made our way to the river cruise ship. This is Chad’s first river cruise, and I’m curious how he’ll adjust. We immediately noticed we are… let’s say on the more youthful end of the passenger spectrum. The ceilings are low, which is fine for me, but Chad is already becoming intimately familiar with several sprinkler heads.
With the afternoon still free, and Kim being the good Catholic she is, we booked last-minute tickets to tour St. Stephen’s Basilica. It was a brisk mile-and-a-half walk, and the weather finally decided to behave like winter, so we bundled up and hustled over.
Inside, the cathedral was indeed stunning—but two things had me giggling. First: the Holy Right Hand, supposedly the actual hand of King Stephen, displayed in a case. I’m convinced it’s tucked inside a glove, but the signage insists otherwise. You may consult the photo and decide for yourself. Second: the statue at the altar of the Archangel Gabriel descending to crown Stephen with the Hungarian crown—tilted cross and all. I love the implication that Gabriel received the crown crooked and simply shrugged, “Well, that’s how it is.”
We made it back in time for the mandatory safety drill and then dinner. I must say, for feeding 147 passengers, the staff runs the dining room with astonishing efficiency. Everyone is cheerful and eager to help, and the food is surprisingly good.
We had an easy night onboard and woke to our Day 4 excursion. At 8:30 sharp, they ushered us off the ship and into three pre-labeled groups. Naturally, we chose the “active” one, which meant climbing up to Castle Hill on the Buda side. Our guide, Joe, was… how should I say this… a bit of a curmudgeon. He offered political commentary, which I didn’t necessarily disagree with, but his delivery had all the charm of a man who’s been giving the same tour since 1986. And while the cruise brochure billed this outing as a hike, it was essentially a mildly inclined walk. When I mentioned this to the cruise director, he smiled politely and said, “Well, the average age on the ship is 64—so for many passengers it really is a hike.” Translation: simmer down, whippersnapper.
And with that, our first full day on the river cruise begins—low ceilings, broken crowns, spicy sausages, saintly relics, and all.
