Queen in Budapest Revisited

 

It is a hot summer day, 9th of August 2026 and Budapest is breathing summer – heavy, sweet and almost intoxicating, as if soaked in the heat of sun-baked stone, the scent of the river, and something new, barely perceptible, hanging in the air like a quiet promise of change.

I am standing on the Budapest embankment by the Danube, looking at the river shimmering in the summer sun. In my mind, I return to the summer of 1986, exactly fourty years earlier. 

In reality, I was barely seven years old then. What I remember today is therefore not really a memory in the true sense of the word. I piece it together from fragments of stories, archival footage and my own imagination. And yet the image feels surprisingly vivid. As if I were actually standing there – feeling the warmth on my skin, the slight tingling at the back of my neck, and hearing the strange murmur of the crowd gathered right here, along the banks of the Danube.

I imagine people packed tightly together, their shoulders touching, their breath mingling with that of those around them. The air is filled with anticipation. Someone is holding an improvised banner, its edges softened by sweat and wear, while someone else is quietly repeating the lyrics of the songs. Everyone is waiting.

And then a boat appears on the river.

At first, it is only a vague silhouette against the glittering surface. Slowly, it comes closer, its outline becoming sharper.

The crowd knows.

It is Queen.

In my imagination, I hear the sudden eruption of screams, laughter and applause. People are waving, shouting “Freddie!” and “Brian!”, reaching their hands towards the boat. For many of them, this is more than the arrival of a famous band. It is a touch of a world that, until that moment, has been distant and almost inaccessible.

On board are the members of the band, and among them Freddie Mercury, leaning against the railing. When someone calls out asking if he will give an interview, he simply raises an eyebrow and replies with perfectly timed irony:

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

In my imagination, laughter immediately follows.

The year 1986 is long gone, but some of its images are so powerful that you can return to them as if they still existed somewhere just beneath the surface of the city.

Today, Budapest is free, vibrant and full of layers. It is filled with cafés, languages and voices from all over the world, full of movement and contrasts. And yet I feel that some layers of the past remain hidden here. You just have to know where to look.

One of those places is the Marriott hotel, where Queen stayed at the time.

I make my way into the suite, and as soon as I enter, I am surrounded by a strange sense of calm. The presidential suite is shown to us by the lovely Szonja, who works here as Rooms Operations Manager. With effortless ease, she shows us to each of the rooms and tells us about the hotel.

The spacious rooms full of light, feel airy and elegant. But before long, I stop paying attention to the individual details of the furnishings and begin imagining what this place looked like in 1986.

I look at the bed and wonder whether Freddie actually slept in it. Whether he woke up in this very room and looked out in the same direction I am looking now.

I look into the bathroom and pause in front of the mirror. I imagine him standing here before the concert, getting ready and looking at his reflection for a moment. The mirror is, of course, no longer the same, but the thought itself transports me back forty years.

Szonja explains that the furniture and furnishings have, understandably, changed over the years. But the layout of the suite has remained the same – the rooms, their arrangement and the position of everything are unchanged.

When I step out onto the smaller terrace, everything suddenly falls into place.

This is where the well-known footage was filmed, showing Freddie and Brian rehearsing a Hungarian folk song before the evening concert.

Today there is a pool table here. Forty years ago, there were rattan chairs and flowers, creating a peaceful atmosphere. 

In my mind I see Freddie in pink shorts and a striped tank top, a cigarette in his hand. The sun is beating down on the hot summer day, and he is quietly repeating the words of a foreign language under his breath. He concentrates, works on the pronunciation, letting each word slowly settle into the melody.

Then he takes a breath.

“Tavaszi szél vizet áraszt…”

His voice carries through the space. The first words are tentative, the next ones more confident. And as soon as he finishes, his face lights up and he starts making faces for the camera.

At that moment, he is no longer some great rock star. He is simply Freddie – playful, mischievous and completely natural.

From the smaller terrace, I move onto the second one, large and completely open to the sky. A wide view of the Danube and the city stretches out below me. I stop and simply take in the rooftops of Budapest and the river shimmering in the distance under the summer sun.

The view looks almost the same as it did then. Only the furnishings have changed – there is now a luxurious outdoor seating area that was not here in 1986. Otherwise, the space feels remarkably familiar.

I look down at the city and realise how strange it is to stand in a place once inhabited by a man whose voice I have known all my life.

Then we say goodbye to Szonja and leave the hotel.

We get into the car and set off.

Budapest is sweltering and crowded. Cars inch forward in traffic, yellow taxis weave between them, and people stream along the pavements. It is genuinely hot, and I open the car window to cool myself down a little as we crawl through the traffic. I watch the city through the window as we slowly move away from the hotel.

We are heading towards today’s Puskás Aréna, the former Népstadion.

As we drive, I think about how strange it is to travel through present-day Budapest towards the place where tens of thousands of people were heading forty years ago for a Queen concert. Many of the buildings we pass may have already been standing back then; today, they simply look better cared for and maintained. What has changed most is the atmosphere of the streets – there are more restaurants, cafés and shops, and the constant bustle of a modern city. Budapest lives a different life now, even though its old outlines remain.

The Puskás Aréna gradually appears among the buildings.

As we enter, I am immediately struck by how fresh it feels. Everything is new, clean and meticulously maintained. Rows of red seats stretch around the entire pitch, their colour standing out against the pale structures of the stadium. It is clear that the locals really take care of this place. 

When I sit down and let my eyes travel upwards, I realise that the stadium itself, of course, has little in common with the original Népstadion. The Puskás Aréna is completely new. And yet there is something that still connects it to the stadium of that time – its distinctive oval shape.

Then I notice another major difference. A massive roof structure arches over the stands, rather like the one at Wembley, while the space above the pitch remains open. The original Népstadion was completely exposed to the sky; today’s arena is much more modern and offers shelter from the elements.

I stand in the middle of this new space and yet I have the feeling that somewhere beneath the modern structure, a memory of that evening forty years ago still exists.

I look around at the red stands and try to imagine them filled with people. Tens of thousands of voices, lights, music, energy. Today, it is silent. Only our footsteps and our own thoughts.

And it is in that silence that another image begins to unfold before my eyes.

The stage is still empty. Freddie is standing there in a yellow tracksuit, holding a small glass of pálinka. He takes a sip, and for a moment his expression reveals his surprise at its strength. Then he laughs.

He looks around the empty stadium, as if he wants to commit the moment to memory.

And then he raises his arms.

“Eooooo…”

His voice flies across the space, bounces off the stands and comes back to him.

Once more.

“Eooooo…”

As if he can already hear the response that does not yet exist, but in a few hours will fill the entire stadium.

The image stays with me for a little while longer as I look around the empty stands. Then we look at one another and happily set off again.

There is another stop waiting for us.

Our final stop is The World of Freddie exhibition – and by now the three of us are exhausted from the heat and a full day of travelling, yet absolutely buzzing with excitement about what is still to come.

The exhibition has an additional personal meaning for me. It was organised by a group of people that includes the Czech Queen Fan Club, for which I once wrote articles about Freddie. These are the people who have made it their mission to preserve as much as possible of what Freddie left behind.

Over time, they have managed to acquire many of his personal belongings, costumes and other artefacts that became available at the auction held at Sotheby’s in London. It is not simply about collecting rare objects. It is an attempt to save at least fragments of Freddie’s personal world, so that these pieces do not disappear into private collections and become inaccessible to the public.

And thank God for them.

Thanks to the people who feel the need to preserve these fragments, we can now step into an exhibition that is not simply a display of objects from the past. The World of Freddie combines the nostalgia of the 1980s with modern technology, creating a space where the past does not feel dead or dusty. Quite the opposite – it comes alive again.

And perhaps it is fitting that the gallery is located here. In the middle of busy Budapest, yet hidden inside a beautiful, peaceful green park. After a day filled with hot streets, traffic, crowds and noise, we enter a completely different atmosphere. An oasis in the middle of the city, where time seems to pause for a while.

We are exhausted, overheated and almost completely out of energy after such a long day.

And yet we are incredibly excited.

Because this is our final stop.

And Freddie is waiting for us here.

After this demanding but wonderful journey into the past, we return to the Marriott hotel one last time. This time, however, we are not heading back to the suite. We go up to the rooftop, to Liz and Chains bar.

The view opening up before us is almost the same as the one we saw from Freddie’s suite. Only now Budapest stretches out before us even more openly and widely, spread beneath the evening sky.

We sit down at our reserved table, and the lovely staff bring us chilled drinks. I order a Budapest cider. For a while, we do not have to hurry anywhere.

The sun is slowly sinking towards the horizon. On the left, the bridge comes into view – the same bridge Freddie’s eyes once looked towards forty years ago. I look in the same direction, and suddenly I think about how strange time is.

Forty years.

Half a human lifetime.

At first glance, it seems like an impossibly long time. So many things change over the course of forty years, so many people come and go, so many places take on a new appearance. It feels as though there must be an unbridgeable distance between then and now.

And yet, when I close my eyes, everything becomes simple for a moment.

Time does not exist.

Freddie is still down there, on his balcony. Perhaps he is looking up and gazing in the same direction as I am. Summer is still in the air around us. The same sun is shining. The Danube is flowing through the same city, and the same bridge is outlined on the horizon.

I open my eyes.

Before me is today’s Budapest, noisy, alive and full of lights. But somewhere deep beneath it all, the other Budapest remains too – the Budapest of 1986, caught in time for a moment.

And perhaps that is why some places mean so much.

Not because they can bring back the past.

But because they allow us, for a moment, to believe that it never really left.