A small town, a big anniversary, and wonderful porcelain

We left Budapest and headed down stream to a quiet little place on the banks of the Danube called Mohács in southern Hungary. Normally it’s just a peaceful riverside town, the sort of place where life moves at a relaxed pace and you expect to see fishermen, cyclists, and people strolling along the riverbank. But this year Mohács is remembering something very different. It’s the 500th anniversary of the Battle of Mohács.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Moh%C3%A1cs

Back in 1526, this was the site of one of the most important and disastrous battles in Hungarian history. The Hungarian army, led by the young King Louis II, faced the forces of the Ottoman Empire under Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. It didn’t end well for Hungary. The battle was short, brutal, and decisive. The Hungarian army was crushed, the king died while fleeing the battlefield, and the defeat opened the door for centuries of Ottoman influence across much of the country.

Five hundred years later, Mohács is still tied to that moment in history. There are memorials, monuments, and a battlefield park that marks where it all happened. Standing there, it’s hard not to think about how quiet the landscape is now. Fields, trees, open sky. You’d never guess thousands of soldiers once fought and died there.

History does that. It hides its scars under grass.

While we were in Mohács we also learned about one of the town’s most famous traditions, the Busójárás festival. Each year, just before Lent, the streets fill with men dressed as “busók,” wearing shaggy sheepskin cloaks and fierce wooden masks with horns and snarling faces. They march through town banging rattles and bells, making an extraordinary amount of noise in what’s meant to be a symbolic chase of winter away. Local legend claims the tradition began when villagers frightened off Ottoman soldiers by appearing in terrifying disguises during the occupation centuries ago, although historians think it’s probably an older pagan-style winter ritual. Either way, the festival has become a huge cultural event, complete with parades, music, dancing, and a great bonfire where a coffin representing winter is burned. It’s noisy, theatrical, and unmistakably Hungarian.

From Mohács we boarded coaches for a 45 minute journey through the Hungarian countryside to Pécs, which turned out to be a lovely surprise. It’s one of those towns that feels comfortable the moment you walk into the centre. Narrow streets, elegant squares, cafés everywhere, and buildings that show layer upon layer of history. Roman ruins, medieval churches, Ottoman influences, and elegant Austro-Hungarian architecture all sitting side by side as if they’ve agreed to get along.

One of the highlights was the famous porcelain museum. https://www.zsolnaynegyed.hu/en

Pécs is home to the Zsolnay porcelain works, which became internationally famous in the nineteenth century. The factory produced decorative ceramics and architectural pieces that ended up all over Europe. If you’ve ever admired colourful tiles, ornate rooftop ceramics, or shimmering glazed sculptures on grand buildings in this part of the world, there’s a good chance Zsolnay had something to do with them.

The museum shows off pieces from across the company’s history. Some are delicate tableware. Others are bold art pieces with flowing shapes, deep colours, and glazes that seem to change in the light. The craftsmanship is extraordinary. You look at some of the pieces and wonder how on earth anyone managed to fire them without the whole thing collapsing into a sad puddle of melted clay.

It’s a reminder that this region has produced not just battles and empires, but artists, designers, and craftsmen whose work travelled far beyond Hungary.

Europe is like that. History everywhere you look, sometimes tragic, sometimes elegant, often both at the same time.

Tomorrow we’ll sail on to the next place. Who knows what we’ll stumble across there. If the last couple of days are anything to go by, it’ll probably involve another unexpected story hiding behind a quiet street or a museum door.

That’s the joy of travelling slowly.

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If you’ve missed any of the posts for this trip, go here. Europe 2026