Clockwise from top: St Stephen’s
Basilica, housing a relic of the
eponymous saint who ruled as
Hungary’s first king in the 11 th century;
Kalóz Records on Bródy Sándor Street;
Budapest tour guide Andrea Wurmb at
Rákóczi Square Market Hall
Previous spread: Diners at Panoramia
Cafe & Bar on Castle Hill, overlooking
the Pest side of the city
Once my eyes have stopped streaming and
Andrea has stopped laughing, we leave the
store and cross the road to Rákóczi Square.
“Under communism, Rákóczi Square had a bad
reputation,” Andrea confides. “It was the place
where, how shall I say?” — she pauses, coyly
— “‘cheap ladies’ would gather.” It’s a smart
enough spot now, though, with plane trees,
benches and a children’s playground. Filling
the eastern side is an elegant building of peach-
coloured brick with a central archway two
storeys high, a work of architectural ambition
that you might expect of a grand railway station
or national museum. But this is a market.
Rákóczi Square Market Hall was the second
of five covered markets constructed across
Budapest at the end of the 19th century.
They’re all still operating and each one is a key
thread in the tapestry of life for residents, who
visit to pick up fresh ingredients for home-
cooked meals. Best known is the Great Market
Hall, near the river at the southern end of
pedestrianised Váci Street. It’s big and lively,
with stalls selling everyday essentials alongside
traditional Hungarian products that make
perfect souvenirs. It’s rightly a tourist favourite.
But it’s clear that Rákóczi Square Market Hall
offers a more authentic experience for someone
wanting to get under the skin of the city.
“You won’t find tourists here, that’s for
sure,” says Andrea, as we pass through the
monumental entrance, designed to allow
horse-drawn carriages to drive in and unload.
Inside, the tiles on the floor are red and cream,
and the roof is supported with a network of
blue, barrel-vaulted iron girders. It looks like
an industrial-style cathedral. The aisles are
lined with stalls specialising in foods of all
kinds. Shoppers cluster at a stand hung with
salamis, beef ribs and slabs of pork belly.
Glass jars of multicoloured pickles, baby
corn and cabbage-stuffed peppers crowd the
shelves of another stand like specimens in an
old apothecary. This is a building of energy,
smells, noise — and beauty. It provides a truer
snapshot of Budapest life than any museum
exhibit or riverside tourist trap.
A stallholder sweeps her hand across the
products before her, inviting me to browse.
She’s of East Asian origin, as are several othertraders here. “In the past, the market was
staffed only by Hungarians, but there are lots
of immigrants from China now,” says Andrea.
I wonder whether this has caused tensions;
the country’s prime minister, Viktor Orbán,
has made headlines internationally for his
populist statements decrying the impact of
immigration. “Ah, Orbán makes a big thing of
it, but for us locals, it’s not an issue at all,” says
Andrea, dismissively.
A cuddly toy cow with prominent udders
has pride of place at the dairy stand, where
a lady in a white hat ladles sour cream into a
container for a customer. “See how rich and
thick it is,” says Andrea. “Not watery like in
the supermarkets. The quality is so much
better here, and the prices are lower.” Nearby,
a hefty carp with pink fins mouths the side of
its tank. The fishmonger sees me watching,
and lowers a net to stir a whiskery catfish
from the bottom. Freshwater specimens from
Hungary’s rivers and lakes are cooked in an
earthy-tasting fish soup called halászlé that’s
popular all over the country, and you’ll find
tanks like this in each of the market halls.
“Now, my lentils,” says Andrea, before
firing a question in rapid Hungarian at the
fishmonger, who points to a shop in the corner.
“The good thing about this market hall is
you can speak to people,” says Andrea, as she
bustles away. “That’s not so easy in the Great
Market Hall.” The shop in the corner has a tall
wall of drawers containing dry foods: cashews,
pecans, banana chips, chocolate-covered
cherries, butterbeans and much more. “There
they are,” she nods, opening a drawer and
scooping the pulses into a bag. “Lentils look
a bit like coins, so it’s traditional to eat them
on 1 January to guarantee a prosperous year
ahead.” She assesses the bag, and then adds
another scoop. “I’m going to be so rich!”A district on the up
People have needed all the good-luck lentils
they can guzzle in recent times. Andrea
has been a tour guide since 2000 , but the
pandemic forced her to seek alternative work
as a German teacher. “Some of my favourite
restaurants have closed,” she says. “Many
workers in the hospitality industry had to