Obama vs Rita

I keep forgetting the days. For weeks I’ve been talking about the elections but when Charlotte mentioned this evening that Obama won I couldn’t care less. I’ve been completely sucked up in my –yeah; how do you call this- travel to the past. I know it's Wednesday today, but the date…I do know that life is treating me well, or am I treating life well? It’s the same in my eyes. Been to Hodmezovasarhely today (now yesterday) and after visiting the Mora Ference Museum yesterday -in Szeged-Getting completely hypnotized and send back to the past by the painters of the great plain I was determinate to leave the centre as soon as possible and try to find the house my grandmother her brother and parents lived. Janos Tornyain, Istvan Nagy and Josef Koszta putt a spell on me with their fragile brush strokes transforming oil and pigments into sheds, women washing clothes and horses and sheep grazing in the fields.

My great grandfather –Josef Dajka 1883-1964- came from a very poor family and so he started working when he was seven. He grew up in these fields surrounding Hodmezo, first watching geese for 100 pengo a year, and after his 15th birthday he got promoted and got send to the fields to look after the horses. He stayed with them day and night and sometimes as long as 5 months and afterwards taking back up to 100 little calves. I’d never looked at a painting of an 'ordinary' field that long. My great-grandfather and great-grandmother had an arranged marriage. She was 18ish and a smart little lady that could write and read and he and he about 8 years older. In 1912 she gave birth to her first, a son, and on March the 24th 1914 my gran stepped into this world. Unfortunately my great-grandfather missed it because he was in the bloody army- WO I started at the end of 1913. Just image: Hungary was 7 times larger that time. He did return but it took him a while. After the war things were not good and my grandmother was very weak and underfed. There was this scheme set up in Holland to help Hungarian children like her. Families took children into their houses to feed and strengthening then. This is how she first moved to this strange new country, only being 7 years old, not knowing there was a world outside Hungary. She stayed for 1,5 years which after she needed to go back to the little farm where she was born on the outskirts of Hodmezo where she grew up. It was difficult for her to get used to Holland but it didn't take long before she could speak the language and go to school. She was sad to leave. But she would return. So I got a map and looked up the street, Tork Balint Usta 7, where my gran was born. The woman at the tourist information pointed it out for me, it was quite far out but it was a beautiful day so I didn’t mind at all. Although November you easily could go out wearing short sleeves and feel the warmth of the sun. After taking an alternative route zigzagging my way through quiet lanes, past blocks with pretty colonial houses and stopping at the local bar for a very strong coffee I found it. In a daze and caffeine rush I wandered into to the street listening to Magyar folk music coming from one of the houses. Number 7. I couldn’t believe it. Crossed the street and stared at the house, it was a fairly big house with front and back garden filled with flowers. Just stood there. After a while I turned around checking if nobody saw me just standing there and listening to the music. When I turned around again I went a bit closer to the fence and tried –very cheeky- to peek inside. Saw the contours of an old lady sitting in a chair probably listing to the same music coming from the radio. A car stopped and a middle aged lady stepped out and walked to the house and opened the fence. Know or never I thought, so I went over and asked if she spoke English. No luck. Showed her the name of my grandmother and the name of the street . She said a lot. An old man came outside observing this very funny conversation of me speaking English not understanding her and the other way around. I don’t speak Hungarian but understood that I was not at the right place. Their was a little difference in the street name, and the house I was looking for was much further out. Maybe not even there anymore. I didn’t care. And when they went back inside I left the daisies I picked earlier behind on the fence.

Finished my wine –was sitting in a grand café just around the corner from my new home. Changed couch surfing host on Monday eve and am now staying with this French lady that teaches law in Szeged University, in French. She moved over for this job 2 months ago and lives in this old communist building right in the center of Szeged. Look Klauzal Ter up on Google maps and see for yourself. Charlotte is great. Didn’t like the French –like the Germans an Australians - but she made me change my mind. Another home I will be leaving soon but that will always stay in my memory, like so many things on this trip. I really try to do as much off route things -not mentioned in the lonely planet- as possible, following my own curiosity. So it happened that I walked in to this typical old fashioned bar in Hodmezo with little round tables, wobbly stools and a long counter like bar with a large variety of spirits and sweets –the best combination if you ask me. Lady with black curly hair started talking to me in Hungarian and, as I got used to doing, I did this sign like thing with my shoulders to make clear I didn't understand a word –but she kept on talking. “Alcohol?” and when I said the word Soda -although it sounded tempting- we understood each other. Set down with my bubbly water. An old man was sitting on the other side of the bar, he looked at me and I could see him think: “What is she doing her?” Big question marks in his eyes. The only fancy thing around were the flickering lights of the slot machines in the corner and the shiny leather chairs in front of them.

Also found myself a lovely place to drink coffee here in Szeged, the cafe in the Mora Museum is the best and always nice and quiet. The museum shop is also excellent, bought some nice cards and a pendant of Saint Rita. In Hodmezovasarhely I bought a beautiful neckles for her so she can live around my neck. Turning into a little consumer with all this buying going on.