Destination Budapest! CAR republishes one of our greatest drive stories – an adventure behind the Iron Curtain, back in 1977 when a trip to eastern Europe was an epic trip. Especially in an old Jag with a tendency to return to Blighty in a cardboard box

CAR's great drives: Destination Budapest! Part 2

By Ian Fraser

28 August 2008 17:00

Destination Budapest! continued... Click here to read Destination Budapest! Part 1. We rejoin Ian Fraser as Team CAR is heading deep into eastern Europe – driving the Jaguar XJC behind the Iron Curtain

After our easygoing relationship with the guards on the German/Austrian border, arriving in Hungary was more like the entrance to a high-security prison than to a country. Indeed, had the massive steel girder not lowered so relentlessly behind us as we entered the border area, we probably would have returned immediately to Austria.

Besides being heavily overmanned and incredibly slow in dealing with visas, passports and car documents, every second man had a rifle or sub-machine gun; all the others had pistols. The place was barbed-wire wall-to-wall and as far as the eye could see there was an ominous wire fence separating Austria from Hungary. That a wide stretch behind it is also mined was not in question.
 
The eastern part of Austria is comparatively dowdy; the western part of Hungary is totally cheerless. The people themselves seemed unsmiling but there was plenty of evidence of hard work in the neat, well-cultivated fields of grain.

Compared with western Europe, traffic was very light, even though our entry point was the main one from the west. A lot of heavy trucks go through here en route to the Middle East and to the other Communist bloc countries, but there were not many private cars. There were a few Polski-Fiats and Ladas, some beat-up old Russian cars plus some East German Trabants, those unstylish two-strokers which, very sensibly, have bodies moulded in something that resembles the material used to make cheap suitcases.
 
Despite the pounding that the main road unquestionably takes from the wheels of heavy lorries, the surface was in excellent condition, with no ambiguities to confuse visitors.

There could be no confusing that occasional roadside sign that shows a camera with a red stripe through it, either. Only an idiot would take pictures when the sign says you shouldn’t, but these crossed-out cameras certainly draw attention to the fact that there’s something to look at.

Actually, all very dull stuff, like a radio antenna so distant as to be meaningless even if you were an electronics expert, or the entrance to some kind of Russian army camp with its drab grey buildings and people.

After the heavy-handed border activities, we expected a strong military presence right through Hungary, but apart from the occasional truck load of soldiers (usually broken-down) there was little to indicate who really runs the show.

Downtown Budapest is as dreary a looking city as you are likely to find. Make no mistake, though, it was once very beautiful. Even the finest buildings are in a state of decay or total decrepitude. The grime and pollution are chewing their way through the ornate facades and when things drop off no one really seems to care. Of if they care, they are powerless to do anything about it.

The tragedy is that since unemployment is against the law one would think that there would be a workforce available to perform what are basically public works. But apparently not. Everyone in Hungary may have a job, but our observations suggest that only one in three actually has any work.

Budapestians may once have had pride in their city but it doesn’t show now. The streets are wide, tree-lined and could be very attractive. Public transport, naturally, is well patronised and multiple-car trams do good business; so do the little sidewald cafes where people sit and chat for hours in the evenings and at weekends.

As we strolled around that first evening and watched opera goers, unexpectedly formally dressed for the occasion, strolling to the theatre, we also saw a taxi slip through the red light at a steady 40mph or so and miss a trolley car by perhaps a foot.

Driving the Jaguar to some social commitments that evening suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Better, we thought, to join the taxis than oppose them. When you are in there with the driver you can offer him double the fare to drive slowly and sensibly, which is something you cannot achieve if you are beyond communicating with him.

We pretended not to notice a line-up of temporarily off-duty driverless Lada taxis liked up outside the drunkest-looking bar full of people we had seen for many a long moon, empty barrels stacked outside in their scores. In practice, our plan worked perfectly and the taxis we hailed were driven with care and consideration for our nerves.

Click 'Next' to continue reading CAR's original Destination Budapest! story from 1977