A Lonely Minaret

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The year was 1552. A great Ottoman army, 10,000 men strong, descends upon the Hungarian town of Eger, besieging its castle. It should have been easy pickings, but the brave townspeople, despite being vastly outnumbered, hold back the marauding horde for a month, eventually defeating the Turks. But the Ottomans weren’t finished yet; they came back forty-four years later to avenge their earlier defeat…

That’s the basic story that is told about Eger. But the turn-of-the century writer Géza Gárdonyi embellished the story even more in his 1901 novel Eclipse of the Crescent Moon (subtle, that one!). In his fictionalized version of the first siege of Eger, he has the women of town pouring hot soup onto the Turks from the castle ramparts. Although this part of the story seems to have been Gárdonyi’s own invention, it is now portrayed in a relief carving at the entrance to Eger Castle and the novel is required readings in school. Fiction replaces reality!

It is perhaps not too surprising, considering this small city’s dramatic history, that the Ottoman dimension is much more visible here than in most other parts of Hungary. There are several statues commemorating the bravery of the Magyars as they fended off the invaders. There are exhibits at the restored castle detailing the battles. And there is one, lonely minaret left standing in a little square, a strangely delicate thing without the mosque to give it purpose.

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I made a day-trip of Eger, finally tearing myself from Budapest. In some ways the journey was as much a part of the experience as the destination. Although I had been told there were frequent, almost hourly, trains and that it would take two hours, the reality was that the Eger-bound trains left only about every two hours and took closer to three hours (it was a gyors, meaning “fast”, train - but it seemed to make every local stop!).

The almost empty train rattled across a landscape of grasslands, patchy forest, sunflower fields, and worn-around-the-edges villages. Most of the train stops were simple outposts that had seen better days, some in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes only a lone passenger or two would board or disembark. Where were they going? Storm clouds kept threatening on the horizon.

Eger, the end of the line, was a cheerful exception to the other train stations. Small, but cheery, well-kept. And the town, too, perhaps because it is a destination both for foreign and local tourists, seemed prosperous (there was even a Citibank branch!).

All in all, the trip gave me at a least a cursory glance at the Hungary that exists outside of Budapest, one that I think is rather different! And, yes, I got to make my pilgrimage to the lonely minaret.

PS I should also note that Eger is known for its wine production. Just outside of town, in a place evocatively called the Valley of the Beautiful Women, you can hop from one wine cellar to the next to try the local fare, while listening to Roma music. It's a nice way to unwind from a day of Ottoman touring!

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