Makó and Jerusalem
Makó today is known for onions, flat horizons, and the Great Hungarian Plain. In the Hungarian language, however, it has become a timeless measure of distance. A crusade, a legend, and a sentence we still understand perfectly today — “Makó and Jerusalem are far apart.”
Makó, the town that became nationally famous through a medieval crusading anecdote, deserves a separate short feature of its own.
Series
This post is part of a larger series. Here you can see where you are – and what’s already done.
Now: Quick post
Makó and Jerusalem
Next: Legend
The Hungarian Crusade
Show contents
Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
Makó Today
If we say “Makó” today, almost everyone in Hungary thinks of the same things: a town on the Great Hungarian Plain, flat horizons, long straight roads, and its famously high-quality red onions. Makó today is a geographical point, an agricultural brand, a gastronomic reference. No one thinks of crusades, Mediterranean ports, or the Holy Land.
And yet, in the Hungarian language, the name of Makó is inseparable from Jerusalem. Not on a map — but in a sentence. “It’s as far as Makó from Jerusalem,” we still say when something feels unreachable, when a plan is too ambitious, too distant, or simply unrealistic. (For English readers, this functions somewhat like saying “that’s worlds apart” or “that’s a far cry from.”)
This contradiction makes the story fascinating: how did the name of a small town on the Hungarian Plain end up paired with one of the holiest cities in the world? What does Makó have to do with Jerusalem?
The answer is not geographical — it is narrative.
The Most Famous Crusader
Makó the Valiant is one of the most famous crusading figures in Hungarian historical legend. According to tradition, his name surfaced during the time of the Fifth Crusade (1217–1221), when Hungarian troops were also on their way to the Holy Land under King Andrew II of Hungary. Yet his fame was not made in Europe or in Jerusalem — it was made at home.
His name survived the campaign, the battles, and even the historical details. Everyone in Hungary knows “Makó,” even those who cannot say exactly who he was. The names of most crusaders faded into obscurity; Makó’s became a proverb.
Not because he performed a great heroic deed, but because he did exactly what many others did — only in his case, the sentence endured. The legend tells of a crusader who set out for Jerusalem but, through misunderstanding or misdirection, ended up somewhere entirely different. (Different versions of the story place the confusion elsewhere, but the core idea remains the same: the destination and the reality were far apart.)
Makó was not an exception — he became a type. In his story, a distinctly Central European situation condenses into a single image: ambition, distance, and the quiet irony of ending up far from where one intended to be.
The Story Everyone Knows
Makó’s lasting fame rests on a story that everyone in Hungary knows — and no one seriously fact-checks. According to later chronicles and popular retellings, he awoke in the Dalmatian port of Spalato (today Split, in Croatia), heavily hungover, surrounded by towers, stone walls, and Mediterranean light — and in that moment, he became fully convinced that he had arrived in Jerusalem.
The sight of the city, its walls and towers, seemed convincing enough for him to feel that the mission had been accomplished. Destination reached. Crusade fulfilled.
Ridiculous? Yes. And that is precisely why it works.
The story is not really about Makó. It is about how we make failure bearable. Instead of saying we never made it to Jerusalem, we say that something happened along the way. Something worth telling. Something that turns embarrassment into anecdote.
For international readers: the historical accuracy of the episode is secondary. What matters is that the tale survived as cultural memory, and from it emerged the Hungarian expression comparing Makó and Jerusalem as symbols of extreme distance — both physical and metaphorical.
Why It Became a Proverb
This is why Makó became “world-famous” in Hungary. Not because he was a great hero, but because a good story survived him. The saying that grew out of the legend is not really about physical geography — it is about mental distance.
It describes that familiar situation when we set out toward something, yet deep down we already know we will never truly arrive. And still, it helps to have a sentence that explains everything for us.
“As far apart as Makó and Jerusalem” today means: theoretically possible, practically never. It is a cultural exemption — a gentle, ironic way of admitting that the journey itself replaced the destination. That trying was enough. That getting close was close enough.
This is how an unfinished road becomes a proverb — and a crusader becomes a linguistic monument.
(For non-Hungarian readers: the expression is used casually in everyday speech, often humorously, to describe an enormous gap between intention and reality.)
This is how a misfired crusade turned into a proverb, and a mistaken harbor into a lesson: not every road leads to Jerusalem — and from Makó, they are all far anyway.
What actually happened during the Fifth Crusade, however, is a different story. In the next post, we’ll look at the historical reality behind the legend — and explore why distance was not always the greatest obstacle.
Where next?
Continue the series – pick the next stop.
Now: Quick post
Makó and Jerusalem
Next: Legend
The Hungarian Crusade
Show contents
Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
Epilogue – Lebanon
Epilogue – Lebanon Luxury and crumbling walls. Mediterranean lightness and a quiet political tension. Lebanon does not allow itself to be described in a single word.…
Olvass tovább / Read moreBeirut – Day 2
Beirut – Day 2 The second day in Beirut is best explored on foot. This itinerary focuses on the city’s dense, layered inner spaces, where historic…
Olvass tovább / Read moreAuthor
Gábor Lengyel – Storyteller and Traveler
Part of the Tales from the Middle East series by Absurd Empire.
