The light dusting of zúzmara (hoarfrost) covers the surface of streets, buildings, statues and parked cars like a magic white net in a fairy tale, as it did 60 years ago when nearly all of Castle Hill lay burnt to the ground. "Who can forget the months of famine in the bomb shelters, and afterwards, Father working as a kubikus, clearing away the rubble. How lucky we are to have survived those times!" On Sunday afternoons they might visit the Budapest History Museum in the restored Royal Palace, with its Medieval and Baroque relics, and the Mátyás templom, next to which stood the fabulous Esterházy Palace where a concrete block school now stands. They like to stop at the Hilton with its historic relics and then the Erdôdy Palota, now the Music Institute on Táncsics Mihály utca, the only Baroque patrician palace to be restored. Turning west, they go for a Krémes pastry and strong black Mocca kávé at the cozy little Biedermeyer café Ruszwurm. They plan to attend the free Monday evening concerts in Hungarian Radio's Márvány terem (Marble hall) in the former Count Károlyi Palace, nationalized in 1948. Then there are the free concerts and events in the Italian Institute, on Bródy Sándor utca, the former Parliament built by Miklós Ybl, so easily accessible with the 47, 49 tram even at night. Erzsi is looking forward to visiting the new exhibition of Spanish Old Masters at the Museum of Fine Arts with her senior club. Wearing their nearly identical perzsabunda (timeless black Persian lamb fur coats, passed down from mother to daughter for generations) on this late Tuesday afternoon they are on the No 2 tram, headed for the Opera house. They gaze out at the near-frozen Danube, happy that they had their bundák updated last fall with new fox collars by their favorite szûcs (furrier) on Böszörményi út in Buda.

Both live on meager pensions, with help from relatives. Erzsike's son gave her two Opera bérlet (season tickets) for Christmas, so she is taking her friend Katica to the new production of Mozart's Don Giovanni, which kicked off the Opera's homage to the composer on his 250th birthday.

They would like to go to the Palace of Arts if they can get senior tickets. Erzsi has more time now that her grandchildren, their exams over, are away skiing in Austria, but they planned to return for Balázs nap (the Feast of St Blaise, Feb 3) to celebrate the oldest boy's name day, and attend all the balls they can, during the Farsang (Carnival) Season. Kati's offspring are less well off, skiing or ródling (sleighing) at Normafa or Jánoshegy on weekends, but they are off for a week on the Tátra slopes in Slovakia. "We still call it the Felvidék (the Hungarian Highlands), where they'll meet relatives from Kassa and Poprád," says Kati with a slight tót (Slovakian) accent. "My niece called from California, asking how cold it is," recounts Erzsike. "After 50 years, she is afraid of the cold, and only comes in summer. I love winter, especially weekends, when the city slows down. There is hardly any traffic on the streets after shops close early Saturday afternoon. There are so many activities in winter - canasta, concerts, theater, meetings with old classmates, gallery openings, I can hardly catch up on housework and repairs."

She tells Kati that in spite of the levendula (lavender), moths got in her warm old English tweed skirt and sweater so she took the clothes to the Mûszövô (weaver) in Lónyay utca, which nearly cost as much as to buy them new.

Kati dresses mostly from a turkáló (second hand shop). "Luckily my boots, coat, shawl, hat and gloves are still in good condition, but I have to take my down comforter and pillows to be cleaned and the angin (muslin covers) changed at the Tolltisztító (down feather cleaner) on Városmajor, which will be expensive as well.

"Thank heaven it's warm at home - while our Russia-based supply of heating oil lasts!" Kati says with a worried look, trying not to think of the gas bill to come at month's end. "I would rather not eat than be cold like we were in 1944 and '56! I sewed pillows to put between the windows and doors and tried to seal the fissures with newspaper and tape. It really makes a difference keeping the inside temperate, and not heating the passageway outside", replies Erzsi. "I miss having a fireplace! When we returned after three years' deportation to the Hortobágy, [the "Siberia of Hungary," where the communists re-located the majority of the intelligentsia, upper-and middle-class in 1950], we had to take rooms with another family on the outskirts of the city. "Once I went to what had been our rambling old flat on the körút - it had been chopped up into small rooms for the masses they brought to Budapest from the countryside to work in the factories. Imagine, they had simply walled up all the fireplaces! Oh well, so much for nostalgia," they agree, as the tram stops in the Vásárcsarnok underpass.

"Look at the graffiti," comments Erzsi, "I must say I don't mind it, it actually adds life and color to this ugly tunnel and blank walls. My grandson tells me these 'artists' have rules not to deface historic monuments, churches and the like!"

"I'm happy the Holidays are over," declares Katica, adding that she had made 24 beigli for the family for Christmas, and knitted them all scarves and gloves as presents. Erzsi recounts how her menyem (daughterin-law) went through the closets after Christmas, wanting to throw out the out-of-date clothes, but she insisted they give them to the Máltaiak (Knights of Malta charity). "I took their socks to darn, and do my sewing repairs while listening the radio. I can't sit doing nothing, and sewing allows me to enjoy the radio programs, especially the literature readings and now, Mozart marathons on the Bartók station."

This reminds Erzsi that her favorite, which really has seen better days, has been fixed again.

"Speaking of repairs, I took my broken umbrella to the Esernyôjavító in Vitkovits Mihály utca, but I'm afraid the little old lady is not going to last long."

Katica: "The last of the nylon stocking repair ladies has just closed her shop at Bakáts tér, so we now use the run nylons as pillow stuffing." Erzsike: "When my sister-in-law visits from Toronto, she takes her silverware to be cleaned, polished and repaired by the Silversmith in Veres Pálné utca, one of the few old craftsmen still remaining who does custom work such as replacing the knife blades of old family silver. He is just down the street from the porcelain restorer where we take our broken ceramics and porcelains. By the way, is Libál néni still in business?"

Kati tells her friend Libál néni is 93 and still the best optometrist in town. "It is a treat to go to her quaint old shop to be measured for glasses! She is a bit hard of hearing, but still exact, precise, with keen wit and vision, sizing up the customer's face, then picking out just the right model frame to flatter the face, and guarantee comfort, quality, and clear sight." Having alighted the tram at the Vigadó, the two old friends walk arm-in-arm toward the Metro station on Vörösmarty tér. They are horrified to see the familiar figure of the old musician sitting, bent over, plucking the strings of his instrument on the solitary square in the freezing twilight. "What are you doing out here in winter?" they ask him. "Don't worry, I'm dressed for the weather, and am quite all right out here, I assure you! This is nothing compared to the POW camp in Siberia, where I was taken after fighting at the Don River in 1942! I survived a year and a half, because I was young and healthy, but came back weighing 40 kilos," he declares. "I'm all alone you see, and have no-one at home, so I'd rather be out here where there are people to talk to…."