Maisie's blog: The bike seat

There was a really fun bike seat. I loved it. I really like sitting in it, while daddy bikes. I screamed the first time, but now I feel silly for screaming.

Szigetvár

Yesterday we planned to go to Szigetvár, a town 30 kilometers to the east named after its castle (sziget -- island; vár -- castle). 

Because of the rain, I was able to go alone, which means meandering without angering any kids.

It turns out I didn't meander far because Szigetvár is smaller than I thought, but it still has some charming buildings and intriguing statues and facades.

Most impressive is the history, which surely must relate to the statues below, the dignified gentleman on the left, the martial almost dragon-like horse on the right.

The castle is apparently from the end of the fourteenth century, and is most remembered for heroic events occurring in 1566.

Sultan Suleiman marched with 80,000 Turks on their way to capture Vienna, but they were stopped here by the hero of the story, Zrínyi Miklós and his 2500 men. Like all Hungarian heroes (as far as I can tell), Zrínyi was largely defeated, most of his men chopped up and burned, and he himself killed of a heart attack and propped up on a chair to hearten his soldiers. However, a quarter of the Turks died and they never reached Vienna.

Ruins of the castle are below.

Jealous Armpit

Last night, Stephanie and I took in a little television. Thanks to the wonders of Youtube, we can share this with our friends.

The show is called, "Irigy Hónaljmirigy," which Google Translate calls, "Jealous underarm glands."

We think it's a sketch comedy show spoofing one thing per episode. Last night: karate.

Here is a clip from last night's show.

On youtube, we encountered another segment that I will call, "My tractor is faster than your tractor."

Okay, readers from Magyarország, you have some explaining to do. What can you tell us about this?

Bad night at the pizzeria

We had our first miserable night grown out of the kind of habits that shift from one house to another. This one involves keys.

The last two days have been relentless, though not taxing.

Yesterday Kata Horvath accompanied me to Budapest for a meeting with the Fulbright exchange teachers and their mentors; and because of certain geographical necessities, this meant riding a bus for five hours for a five hour meeting and riding home for five hours (first bus at 5:01 am, returning at 10:30 pm). But highlights of this day actually occurred on the bus (statistically speaking, not an impressive statement). I really enjoyed getting to know Kata better, and the trip also gave us time to hammer out some details of my assignment. During a one hour layover in Kaposvar, I also met her husband, who lives and works there during the week. Aside from a moment when a group of boys demonstrated their knowledge of English in the most vulgar ways possible, walking with the two of them was very pleasant.

Additionally, Franky sat with me up through Kaposvar, and we were two loud Americans for three hours. And, man, I like this guy. His dedication to his teaching of art is inspiring, but more than this, his full-bore engagement with life is something to behold. We talked about teaching and art, philosophy and love, and about music. He made me name my top five favorite musicians. None of you try it. I won't give it up for just anyone.

We also shared further observations about Hungary, something started when we ate lunch with all the Americans. Kent, teaching in Debrecen, asked us if anyone else had the medieval keys. I feel like the Sheriff of Nottingham, he said. Everyone pulled out skeleton keys. But he pulled out a monster. Why, someone wondered, if it's supposed to be so safe here, does every door have three locks? Someone else suggested maybe that's why it's so safe. On the bus, Franky and I further mused about aggression in queues (that Y-shaped experience described in an earlier blog turns out to be nothing unique -- we've been outmaneuvered by little old ladies and tiny men); about the very strangely high density of beautiful women in Kaposvar per capita; about the intense public displays of affection and displays of other things too, corporeally speaking; and about the level of cleanliness that has left me with blisters on both hands.

Every piece of today was full, too. I gave myself 15 minutes first thing this morning to reach the trees in the back of the fields I'd spotted from the water tower, but it took me a half an hour to get there. That's a lot of field. Another notable piece of the day was going with Gabor and Amelia to Zoe's horseback riding lesson, which turned out not to be a horseback riding lesson at all, but an incredibly personalized instruction that had everything to do with personal growth and joy: while two women led Zoe on a horse around a circle, they had her stretch, catch balls, answer questions and solve math problems... I'd never seen anything like it; Gabor said this was not an unusual thing. Amelia was invited to sit on the horse in front of Zoe, and, for a half hour, Amelia was absolutely entranced.

But perhaps the highlight of the day was crowding into Kinga's study, our bellies full of plum cake of which Amelia had four scoops, Kinga playing Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the piano while Stephanie and I and especially Stephanie tried to sing the lyrics.

Here's the end of the story. Maybe I'll edit it tomorrow and capture the panic of it all better and maybe I won't, because now it's 10:30 and I'm exhausted. After the piano, we all split up, Kinga and Stephanie to meet a painter at Kinga's grandmother's house, the girls and I to grab a pizza here at Club 101, where Kinga and Stephanie would soon meet us. We bought a pizza, we ate it, the kids started getting cold because we were outside, we waited a little longer, we went inside, waited a while, and then we decided to try to go find Stephanie, because Kinga had once pointed down a street and said, That's where my granny lived, and the children were cold. By this time, the wind was rattling the trees, a couple heavy drops were starting to fall in isolated places, Sophie and Amelia were running back and forth in front of the pizza place to keep warm, and it was entirely dark. So dark, in fact, that we were stopped by the police who tried to communicate that we couldn't be biking around in the dark without lights. I wanted to say, I know that, but I need to find my wife, who has the key to our house, and the only other house I've been to here is Kinga's house and it's also locked, and our kids are starting to get very cold. We biked on, looked in all the yards down the street Kinga had once pointed to for two familiar bikes, found nothing, decided to go back to our house and hope that Stephanie might be waiting for us there. But in the dark, and the wind, Sophie's handlebars started wobbling and she started screaming, and I jumped off my bike trying not to kick Maisie in the face as she sat in the seat behind mine and saw that, indeed, Sophie's handlebars are working themselves out of the headset, and I couldn't push them back in. They didn't come out when I yanked, though, which is what I told her, and we turned east and tried to head home, though two direct routes turned into dark dead ends; and the entire time, Sophie was bravely talking herself through it, her bars looking like they were peddling themselves, saying, It's not scary; it's not scary; this isn't scary; and Amelia was doing 200 rpm's on her tiny little bike; and the wind was still coming; and we didn't know what was waiting for us at the house: which turned out to be absolute blackness. We piled into the bicycle garage and I pulled out some chairs and closed the door to keep in the warmth, while I went around the outside of the house, looking for a way in and failing, though I did find a front porch light to signal Stephanie. The kids talked each other through it and put such a good face on things, going back to their survival stories; imagining that they could last so long because of all the grapes and plums and pears in the orchard; and they said they would wait for me while I went back out into the night to find Stephanie.

She and Kinga were just pulling into our street when I had gone 100 meters; and I biked toward them, said a couple words and dashed back to the kids, grateful, angry, tired.

From now on, I'm going to do like I did in Seattle: take a house key with me everywhere.

But those are some awesome kids I have, let me say that, because they showed grace, fortitude, generosity, and courage, and they used it to close the beams of panic that every once in a while shattered the night.

Sophie's blog: First visit to our school in Szulok

Kata came with us to see the school in Szulok,where Amelia, Maisie and I will go. The teachers were very friendly, but the three (Including the principal, who was there)  that were there did not speak English. (In all there are four teachers —one of them couldn't come.) The school was very small—only 24 students are coming this year—and the classrooms were very tiny. In that school, 2nd and 4th graders are put in the same class, and 1st and 3rd graders are put together, which means that there are only two classes in the whole school. Kata translated for us as the teachers (mainly the principal) talked about what you should bring and wear and things like that.

The Fishing Lake

This afternoon, Gabor and Zoe took us to a beautiful fishing lake four kilometers east of Barcs.

Our girls were very happy to go on a hike. Too often, as I was telling Gabor, Stephanie and I have told kids we were going on a hike when we were really going on a long walk. Sophie might say, "Is this a city hike?" And if the answer is yes, watch out. But they have terrific stamina and joy amidst the roots, rocks, streams and trees.

The fishing lake, which we thing is called Lake Bok, is about three or four kilometers long and studded with private fishing docks like the ones below.

Gabor says there is a fishing office in Barcs through which someone can get a fishing permit; and such people use the fishing docks owned by the town.

The children clambored over every dock and into everyone's dinghy.

Once again, Zoe was the perfect Hungarian ambassador for the children. She was fearless and forward, and she spoke non-stop, introducing words to the kids (or the adults) while poking and prodding the world around her, and filling the woods with her happy energy.

Eventually this led to the first time out we'd seen issued in Hungarian. But it was unmistakably familiar.

We were just in time to see the Hungarian twilight over the fields before we left.

First foray into Croatia

Eastern bloc art at the crossing

This morning I grabbed my passport and headed to the end of highway 6: the border crossing with Croatia. I knew traffic would be light on a Sunday morning, so this would be a good time to try out our passports; more importantly, I seem to have a desire to explore that my children are not at all eager to encourage, and I can get to the village on the other side of the border without even waking them up.


The crossing was fine, although I had to speak a little more Hungarian than I knew how to provide; interestingly, in the non-town on the other side of the border, the lone Croat there spoke a very comfortable English.

Tiny church

On the Croat side is the merest hint of a village. There were farms and crops, and only one place of business I could find anywhere; and most people seemed to be inside, hopefully enjoying their Sunday morning.

In this picture at left, notice two things: One, that houses are very pleasant in this village, and two, that there is a platform atop the street light, upon which rests a heavy-duty nest.

The highlight of my trip, quite literally, was the abandoned military watch tower that rose from a mound of trees and brush off a dirt road. On a sign off the highway, I read -- in English! -- that this tower had "served for the control of the strictly protected boundary with the former Eastern block."

While I am sure somewhere thousands of miles away, my father is cringing as he's looking at the picture, and though I had hesitations of my own, I saw no lock, no sign, no chain, no impediment save the tangle of nettles at the base and the sting of certainly warranted fear.

But I began to climb, however slowly, over rusted rungs and tired looking bolts. 

At the top, I felt the entire structure sway with my weight. I climbed enough to carefully take a picture of the observation deck and then descended, with great relief. 

But here is what I saw while I was up there, in all four directions:

My last stop was to take a look back at Barcs over the river. I saw the Szabadstrand, the walkway, and the beauty of the river that was ours from both ends.

And then I returned to the European Union once more.

Video reminder.

Leave comments every once in a while so we know you're out there. We miss you!

Holiday at Lake Balaton

On August 17, Lacko (Katalin's brother) and his parents met us at their summer home in Balatonfenyves, which they had spent the day preparing for our arrival, waiting even through the long delay caused by trials with the immigration office. They showed us around, bought us drinks and cotton candy, and then left us to a wonderful vacation in which each day was better than the last.

Lake Balaton is an absolute playground for kids and adults alike. The water is warm and, on the south side of the lake (our side), shallow for a very long time. The kids loved it. Even Maisie, who, some of you know, has demonstrated a great terror of shorelines for some reason, was soon flapping and playing quite far from the shore.

Amelia

Every day we ate pastries and ice cream. As Maisie would say, the ice cream was just a snack. Pastries are for dessert.

Back in the house, we read to each other, played cards, drank wine, and prepared for our next adventure. The one place we ate vegetables was at the house too; and in one of the pictures below, you see Stephanie making us a salad. The mischievous look is probably something I earned.

We often found ourselves in a town to the east, Fonyód. While its waterfront was not as spectacular as in Balatonfenyves, it had a welcoming shopping plaza, playground, and several rides, including bumper cars -- a portion of which you can see by way of Paris Hilton, her starry eyes and arched brow.

Behold: Paris Hilton.

From Fonyód, we caught a ferry to Badacsony on the north end, a place the guide books say is far more mature than the partying towns to the south; but there was plenty of noise and driving beats when we arrived. Still, the quieter walks into the hills amidst the grape vineyards definitely changed the pace, and we had a hint of what the books described.

The picture below, taken from the ferry on the way to Badacsony, really captures the color of the lake. Plus boat.

 

August 20th is a national holiday in Hungary, celebrating the canonization of St. Istvan occurring the same day in 1083. Even more importantly, this day celebrates the birth of Hungary, because it was through Istvan, Hungary's first king, that the Magyars were unified through his alliance with the Pope.

We memorialized this day with thousands of other people at Balatonboglár, who toasted their great land with fried breads, gyros, kolbasz, and stomachs twisted and churned either via jugs of wine or through Screamin' Swings and other rides. 

Below are several pictures and one video taken from the wine festival.

We left Balatonboglár by train. In Fonyód, our train stopped and took on extra passenger cars, preparing to reverse and head to Kaposvar. Stephanie had some sense of this and pulled us off the train; but by the time this occurred, our own train had departed, and though we were told another would come by at 7:30, none came in the next two hours.

Amelia and Maisie waiting by the train tracks.

Fortunately, we didn't try to wait. In Fonyód, August 20th festivities included singing and dancing, and the kids were quickly ensconsed and enthralled.

When no train came at 7:30, I emptied my pockets of change, took of my watch, and ran back to Balatonfenyves, where our car was waiting at the train station. It was six or seven miles of beautiful lakeside scenery, the sunset turning the entire world orange.

And here is my favorite punchline of all: Because I was running at this particular time at this particular place, I ran into Franky Scaglione, one of the other six teacher Fulbrighters in Hungary. He was on his way to Balatonboglár with two friends to catch the nighttime events of the festival. And while it was incredible to run into each other, on a side street between towns, it was somehow too surreal to be surprising. But I loved it. I didn't tell you this, Franky, but you're the first native English speaker I've met in Hungary so far; and it wasn't bad to see my soul brother, either. Catch his blog here.

This morning, we went to the shoreline for one last look at the phenomenal pastels of the lake.