BUDAPEST
“Bloody cheap and terrible quality,” declares my straight-talking guide, Andrea Wurmb, as she arrives at our meeting point, a wine kiosk in the Blaha Lujza Square metro station. I’m no oenophile, but given that the wine at this kiosk is dispensed from a pair of plastic vats into recycled soft-drinks bottles, I suspect Andrea’s not just being a wine snob. She leads me away towards the exit, past a range of stalls selling everything from toasters to bunches of flowers. “Lots of locals come here to buy things because the prices are far lower than on the high street — but only alcoholics would buy that wine,” she says, bluntly. “I’ll find you a proper wine shop.”
We climb the steps back to street level, emerging like moles into the cold sunlight of late December, before strolling south along the Grand Boulevard that arcs around the centre of Budapest. I’ve asked Andrea to show me the ‘real’ city, the markets and stores where locals come to do their daily shop, rather than the high-end boutiques and souvenir outlets that most tourists encounter in Hungary’s capital. And Andrea’s taking her mission seriously. She strides purposefully along the pavement while I hurry to keep up. “Walking is the only way to see a city,” she calls over her shoulder, as I’m whisked past doors with lion-head knockers, and arched entrances that offer tantalising, split-second glimpses of ivy-clad courtyards.
“Ah, here we are,” Andrea says with satisfaction a few minutes later as we reach a shop called Borháló, where the shelves are full of bottles. Hungarians are proud of their wine — it’s said that you can divide the
