In WWII, Czechoslovakia split into the Slovak State and the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. Former pilot Viktor Lesa works for the Slovak Railway Mail and often comes to the border town of Ludendorf, the former Czech town of Bfeclav. In order to impress a young female colleague, he redirects an important package. The Gestapo shows up in the town and Lesa together with a Jewish clerk, Tichacek, have to run for their lives . They ride a cargo train to Slovakia and they decide to escape to Hungary by crossing the Danube.
As a last chance in his career, the young acrobat with a broken leg, Sajek Oszkár, attempts to obtain the wonderful secret from the retired old artist, Uncle Binder Lipi, a secret which was a world hit.
Zsadányi flees from the authorities with his goddaughter, Bankós Mari, and they escape into the forest. The film then skips ahead thirty-fold years: Zsadány and Mari are now lovers, with the sound of war in the background halting their romance. The old friends of Zsadányi have joined with the Nazis, and the landowner living with his peasants in a socialist community grows distant from them. Zsadányi is held responsible for political problems in the country, and will pay with his life.
One morning, the caretaker of the student hostel of the University of Horticulture finds Citrom Flóra and Bohus Tamás, by the purest accident, in one bed together. Both are dismissed from university. During the appealing procedures they fall in love with each other.
A brothel in a small Hungarian town becomes the home of a medical student after his favorite working girls find out he's out of rent money. Trouble brews as they learn his mother is coming for a visit and they must transform the house.
Istvan Varju a.k.a. Kanya is a track driver. He drives alone on the roads and listens to the radio. We're In the middle of seventies, the radio broadcasts hungarian beat music. He is convinced that interesting and significant events in the life happen on the roads, so we should go, go and go in order not to miss something.
