My time in Hungary was not always easy. I immensely enjoyed it but I wouldn't say I instantly fit in. Most of the teachers kept their distance, partly because they were embarrassed to try out their English skills on me. So they just observed me from afar, the crazy American with the colorful clothes. One teacher, however, who had worked as a nanny in America became a dear friend. Her name was Marta and she was my personal welcome wagon.
Marta was extremely helpful in those early months. She was my friend, my translator, my tour guide and my ambassador. In return, she got to practice her English on me, American English, and relive her time in America. I gather she wanted to return to the US pretty badly.
Marta arranged for several excursions for me. One was to Transylvania. At the time, I had no idea where Transylvania was or what it was. A country? A city? Well, turns out it is a region of Romania with an extensive Hungarian heritage. As a matter of fact, it was actually a part of Hungary before the borders were changed about 100 years ago. Marta’s boyfriend had Hungarian family in Transylvania and that is how our trip was arranged.
First, a visit to the Romanian Embassy in Budapest to obtain a visa was required. When I arrived, I looked out at the enormous mass of people waiting to file paperwork to either get in or get loved ones out of Romania. My heart sank. I think it is fair to say, I was the only American trying to get into Romania that day (or any day in the recent past). As an American, I was able to get to the front of the line and got my documents quickly. With visa in hand, I left the embassy staring into the unpleasant looks from the ever waiting crowd.
It was very exciting to travel east of Hungary, into the depths of the former Soviet Bloc-ness. (If you are not familiar with the former Romanian and communist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu you should read up on him. Fascinating stuff.) My friend tried to explain to me that this trip was going to be a bit rugged and not as glamorous as my travels to Vienna and Venice. I don’t think I was listening.
When we got to the Romanian border, we all presented our passports, three Hungarian, one British and one American. Which passport do you think the border patrol was most interested in? That’s right, the American one. Everyone got theirs back but mine got brought back to the guard house to be examined. I’m not sure what they were doing in there: using an x-ray machine, looking at my different country stamps, making fun of my passport photo. After what seemed like an hour, I got my passport back, without even a word from the guards.
We crossed the border and soon entered the Transylvanian region of Romania. We drove through some of the most beautiful and pristine countryside I have ever seen. I remember thinking as I looked out at the rolling fields with intermittent snow capped hills, “So this is Transylvania”. The roads were pretty rough and we shared them with horse drawn carriages. We finally arrived at our destination, a charming little village. But when we got out and I started exploring I realized this community was, shall we say “traditional”? No modern conveniences. No paved roads. No cars. I would soon learn only a few buildings had electricity or indoor plumbing. The people wore traditional clothing, all exactly the same. I imagine it is similar to an Amish community here in the States.
That evening the locals planned a traditional dance concert for us in the community center. I think this was the one building with electricity. The dancers wore more formal traditional clothing and danced to folk music that I can still hear in my mind. It was part polka, part line dancing while they slapped their thighs and high stepped to accordions and violins. Even the audience was dancing around between their chairs and clapping their hands. It was such a fun time. Not one of them could speak English with us but it didn’t matter. That night we were a part of their community, one of them.
When it was time to go to bed we were split up into different people’s homes to sleep. I made the mistake of mentioning to Marta I wanted to take a shower. What a grand affair that was! If you wanted a hot shower you had to go out in to the field, collect sticks to put into the fire which heated the water that ran through a skinny pipe over your head as you stand in something that resembled a barrel. I’m not sure how the water got into the house but I imagine by as complicated of means. By the time I got my shower I was so mortified at what lengths they all went to to I promised myself I would never get dirty again!
The lady of the house made up a bed for me. It was pretty cold outside and there was no heater so she piled about a dozen heavy blankets on top of me. I was snug as a bug in a rug. With only the sound of nothingness outside I slept like the dead.
I was sad to leave the next day. We said our goodbyes to our new friends and we continued traveling deeper into Romania. The rest of the trip provided the obligatory historic buildings and cathedrals that you expect in Europe. Not to minimize the importance of history, however, I enjoyed our tiny village so much more.
And to all of you who are wondering....I never saw a single vampire.
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