Ukraine

This past weekend we visited Hungary's neighbor to the east. We rode an early train to Szerencs and then journeyed to Sáropatak, which is still within Hungary's borders. On the train, Ali and I sat next to some elderly Unicum-shooting Hungarian ladies, who kept motioning for us to move away from them, and then all nearly blew it when the train split and we could not translate the flailing warnings from the ticket-taker man.  Despite the hostility and confusion, we arrived safely. We loaded into the vans (notice flames and peace sign dirt designs) and headed to a small Reformed church, home to the bones 'n skull of Sigismund Rákóczi, a prince of Transylvania. 

After climbing out of the dripping crypt, we walked along the grassy embankment and enjoyed the sunshiny weather, which held out the entire weekend (don't worry about the coat, james). It was perfect fall weather, warm and dying. We had fruit soup for lunch.

One seminary, an old library, and some stroganoff later, we climbed down into a dank, mold-infested wine cellar. Wine barrels lined the passageways and fuzzy, black mold caked the short, arched ceilings. Since we were in wine country, we had to sample some of the traditional white wines, however by the end, some people were trying to muster the lung capacity to sprint for the fresh air.  I liked it. We finished the day with some documentaries about the Ukraine and were in bed, passed-out hard, by precisely 9pm. 

Friday morning we walked through a gypsy ghetto. It was like being in another universe. The sour smell of burning garbage permeated the village and bare bummed children walked barefoot in the dirt. Almost the entirety of the village is unemployed. The children trailed behind us as we walked past sinking roofs and piles of trash, loving the new strange people in their place. Eventually each of us had at least one small child hanging from a limb or article of clothing.  The poverty was jolting, but the children were happy, wondering, energetic, normal crazy kids. 

Saturday morning, November 1, we walked around a cemetery in the morning to see the graves elaborately decorated with flowers and candles for All Saints Day. This honoring of dead family members came from the Roman Catholic faith, but has become a cultural tradition, one that expects people to decorate the graves out of respect or else be gossiped about by the neighbors. We went back to the cemetery after dinner when it was dark and the candles were lit, which was magnificent. It was a perfect day to be in that place, to see such important tradition.

Midday, we walked through the main square, the downtown, visited a market, saw buildings like this one that has just been returned to the church after it was seized during communism. The socialist symbol was only removed a few years ago from inside the pediment. You can see the round, yellowish absence under the point.

After dinner we went to a children's hospital and spent some time in the wing for the abandoned Roma children, who seldom have visitors. The little girl I'm holding in the photo is actually three and has large wounds on her head because her father beat her. She improved significantly over the few days before we came and was very excited to see us and to be touched and held. I'm waving even though my hand looks like a claw. 

The next day we had lunch in the backyard of a Reformed pastor's house. Before we sat down to a giant cauldron of goulash and water bottle full of homemade palinka (=triple distilled brandy that burned my lips), we climbed up a rather large hill in order to enjoy the view/exercise. Whatever the reason, we got kicshi sweaty by the top and some didn't make it. It was a lovely view. Pretty nice. I love hikez.

Our guides, Robbie + Janos:

View from the top:

My hiking shoes:

On the way down from the large hill hike, Sam and I veered off the path to visit a clan of goats, somehow lost our sense of direction, and wandered around the Ukraine for an hour before stumbling across our group eating without us. Corwin confessed that he had begun brainstorming explanations for our parents.

On Sunday, we attended a traditional Hungarian Reformed service in the morning then went to a Gypsy church and hung out with some more children.  Honestly, it was striking how beautiful these dirty-faced children were. I'm not trying to be sappy and fluffy. They are smiley and curious and socially oppressed and poverty stricken. 

This is Lydia's pic. I have no idea what we are looking at, but we like holding hands.

After peeling away from the mob of chasing children, we meandered over crater potholes to visit an 82-year-old weaver woman. We bought rugs and embroidery. Real good. Real hot. I also enjoyed sitting on a bench in her backyard with the pigs, cats, apple trees, geese, grape vines, and corn husks, while waiting for people to choose a plaid or floral.

This is far too long. I guess, congratulations! if you made it to the end.