An evening with Bluebeard and three tramps

Monday morning saw the fulfilment of a month-long ambition: a proper fry-up English breakfast. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and once we felt able to move again, we decided to go on a day trip to Szentendre: a little town to the north of Budapest. We took the rackety commuter train from the other side of the river and 45 minutes later were exploring the old streets. It has always been a favourite haunt of artists and craftsmen, and there are a number of galleries and workshops selling lace, wood carvings, paintings and beautiful children's clothes. I toyed with the idea of buying a miniature Hungarian national costume for my niece, but decided it might be slightly too random for a little half English, half Maltese girl.....

We explored the cutsie cobbled streets and squares and looked at a beautiful Serbian Orthodox cathedral (the town has been regarded as the heart of the Hungarian Serb community since the 1500s). The town is situated on a lovely peaceful part of the Danube bend and we ate apples siting by the river in the sun, resisting the temptation to take pot shots at neighbouring ducks with the cores. Our exploration ended with the inevitable cup of tea in a local cafe and then it was back on the train. We just had time for a quick rest and freshen up at the hostel before it was time to head out again to the Opera House for an evening of Bartok with the Philharmonic Orchestra.

We didn't have any idea what to expect, as neither of us know very much about Bartok, and the programme was entirely in Hungarian. So we just sat back in our incredibly high seats and immersed ourselves in the music. The first half was a very disturbing and sinister piece of music with lots of percussion which built up amazing tension towards the end. Sarah's internet research later proved that this was a one-act ballet called The Miraculous Mandarin, which apparently involves three tramps, a prostitute and a hapless Chinese chap who is beaten up by the tramps and hung on a tree, and finally dies of his wounds. All good clean fun. The second half took us rather by surprise as a large man in a very regrettable shiny shirt started chanting poetry in an amazingly deep voice. He was later joined by a wonderful soprano and a slightly reduced orchestra. It was all very exciting and emotional, although we didn't have a clue what was going on. There was one great moment when a group of brass players appeared in the top gallery and blew a great blast at the same time as all the lights suddenly went on in the theatre, including the magnificent chandelier. We later found out that it was a one-act opera about Bluebeard: perhaps the big scary moment was when she opened the door and found the murdered wives.... Any Bartok experts out there feel free to elucidate. Anyway, the orchestra and singers were just superb and we had a wonderful evening. Back at the hostel, we had late night pasta and pesto and tumbled into bed.