“My father was orphaned at 13 years old,” Gizi says. Half-Jewish, half-Romani, Giero followed in his own father’s footsteps and made a name for himself playing the double bass.īut tragedy would strike the family when Giero was just a young man during the Holocaust when his Romani father was taken to a work camp, where he died. The pub is named for Gizi’s father, Giero, and an old black-and-white portrait of him in his younger days hangs prominently over the bar. She got to know a handsome double-bass player and married him, and that’s how we got the Gypsy double-bass tradition in our family.” On a quiet night, Gizi, a compact woman in her late 60s, might be enticed into sharing some of her life story, as she recently did for The Times of Israel with the aid of a skillful interpreter. During slow moments (of which there are more than a few), she settles back into a corner table outfitted with many of the comforts of home. Inside, Gyulane Farkas - known by all as “Aunt Gizi” - shuffles between tightly-packed tables dropping off shots of palinka, a strong Hungarian schnapps, and draft beers. But the unassuming venue known as Giero Pub holds one of Budapest’s best-kept open secrets: some of the finest Romani musicians the capital has to offer. BUDAPEST - Without the strains of lively Gypsy music floating up to Paulay Ede Street, the dark, brick-walled basement tavern would be easy to miss.
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