The Magyar Memoir- Part 7 (Szegvar)

After a brief stop at The Beaver to drop off Ashlee, Lana and I ventured on another 15km, into endless wide open farm country. The meandering road between Ho-meds-var-shar-hey and Svegvar is flat, covered with yellowish-brown dense grass as far as the eyes can see. Eventually, after a few more turns, the sceneray changes to tall sunflowers patches, their big yellow faces peering down on approaching cars. Every few hundard yards the occasional paprika crop would interupt the endless sunflower fields. Several times on the way we slowed from warp speed, while passing through small villages, all of which invoked gossip about its residence transmitted from the front seat each time we passed through. The finale always came when we rounded the final sharp turn into the outskirts of the Szegvar, just beyond the lonely chained cow, and set of trees where we often saw farmers pissing. There stood the makeshift shine which sparked mention EVERTIME we passed by, no matter who the driver. Apparently, this was the seen of a fatal accident, the daughter of a prominent member of the community, was among a car full of drunk teens, on their way home from a party one town over, that hit a tree. This somber story was retold to us about 4,000 times by everyone we met. I couldn't help but be reminded of the part in Footloose when Ariel is telling Ren about why they couldn't dance this side of the county line. (In my head I wanted to ask if this was the real reason why the town was so boring, was it their punishment for such behavior). This story has become rural folklore, it came up in conversation prompted by obvious topics like "car accident" "driving fast" and not so obvious keywords "allergies" "tuna fish" "copy machine toner" any of these less than obvious links lead to the story being told all over again. Finally, the sunflowers parted, giving way a sprinkling of modest stone houses garded by simple waist high wooden or stone retaining walls. Then one bicyclist, then two, then three, then a swarm of people on bicycles everywhere! In other words, you've clearly reached Szegvar. A 7,000 year old village, settled by nomads of some sort, they local don't seem to know, but are quite sure that it was epic. When the car rounded the final turn towards our school we would actually find ourselves in traffic- bike traffic! Our students streamed past single file, and waved kindly, I sort of felt like the Pope, since were were in vechiles surrounded by metal and glass, and everyone stared and waved. One couldn't really say there is a center of town, but 'the area where the buildings are slightly closer in proximity' have such a unique character, with their thached roofs, with actual storks nesting atop them. (I wonder if it actually does bring them luck?)The school I simple, older, but well kept, it has every student's picture that ever graduated from there lining the walls of the hallway, going back to the advent of photography as far as I can tell. My students could point out their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. The school had a few ping-pong tables in the school yard, although the students had to bring their own ball and paddles, it was by far the most popular break time activity. When the break was over we pulled the cord of an old fashion school bell. The school had a actually bell! I've never experienced an actual metal bell- at a school, I felt like Miss Beetle minus the bonnet, in Little House on the Prairie every time I rang it, and I have to admit, I rather looked forward with anticipated to breaks end because of this feature. The school had a cafeteria, which I found peculiar. Very few of the students actually ate there (after eating there myself, the reason was clear) but the staff was sizeable, and kept unusually busy based on the limited foot traffic. It was as if they existed on another plane of reality, a dimension where there were hungry Hungarians clamored for more slop, and I was stuck in another dimension where no one was hungry enough to eat there. Not that cold fruit soup and a sweet bun aren't a completely satisfying meal…if you're into that. After investigating this anomaly further, I learned that many people in the village are quite poor, and received subsidized meals from the school, and arrived in the late-early-evening for their only meal of the day. OK, now it all made sense I thought. I found the notion rather quaint, and it made me feel a greater respect for this sleepy little community. After spending two weeks with these people in this little village, I began to think ...I still would never live here, but I envy their idealism, traditions, and innocent naivety. On our last day, we received a coffee table style book about Szegvar from the staff, on the order of tourist memorabilia, something I had trouble believing someone took the time to publish. Nevertheless, what is most amusing about this book is the first paragraph which details all thing that Szegvar DOESN'T have (mountains, hotels, seashore, exotic plants, unique animals, a shopping quarter, resturants, diversity, etc), yet assures the reader that Szegvarians are extremely proud of their village and would be most happy to show you around. I think my favorite line in my little souvenir book is " it is also a nice place for visitors and adventurers to spend intimate and pleasant hours or days here". Naturally! I mean it has a windmill, a pond, and a catholic church, what else does one need?! (Hey, I read the highlights section). I will certainly miss this place and it quarky inhabitants.

The Magyar Memoir- Part 6 (the Beaver)

"Homedsvarsharhey"

That is actually name of this town Ho-meds-var-shar-hey and, yes that directly translates to ’the beaver trading post’. (We abbreviated it to "the Beaver"). Homedsvarsharhey was stop one, on the way to the second stop, Szegvar, where I was assigned to teach. During double-shift hell week, I taught there in the morning and my school in the afternoon. This school could have been used as the set for Hogwartz Academy. Picturesque, old, dank, and echoie; a former goth girl's wet dream- I loved it!The class I taught- complete bunch as a-holes, especially the girls- hormones, 13 years olds, and heat, a killer combo in term of attention span, and a deadly combination for an exhausted over-worked teacher. Anyway, here’s what I had to say about it.

Each day we were packed three deep into the wool covered seats of the Opal, for a thrilling drive, as mentioned in previous blogs, to Szegvar by way of "the Beaver". This town is eerily reminiscent of 1950s middle America. I felt like I would see Marty McFly speed past me in a Dolorian whenever I passed the town square including its stately clock tower. Between the gloriously maintained flowerbeds and the variety of old people strolling side-by side, pre-teens riding bicycles with carefree smiles, and shopkeepers a’ sweeping their humble single function shops- it was creepy. The whole place was like a time warp, as if it was suspended in slow motion, and each image immediately filed itself in my mind with a sepia glaze with frayed edges. One day I was fed-up with the crazy car rides with the aunt of one of my students, and asked to be let off at the bus stop at the Beaver after the lift from Szegvar. I sat at this bus stop in the center of town and just observed. After a bit, the reality of this town set in. Rebelliously trendy- sluttily dressed teen girls joined me on the bench (think they were in one of the classes I subbed for), although speaking Hungarian, I could almost tell you what they were saying based on the tone and pitch- talking smack on a classmate, until one of their mothers interrupted with an Avril Lavine ring tone interjection, which was followed by a series of abrupt single syllable response, a moan of irritation, followed by the phone snapping shut. Every few minutes a boy with a rusted- yet tricked out 1980s Toyota Supra would rally past- obviously impressing my scantily clad bench sharers;) After a 15 or so minute stint on this bench I realized this queer town wasn’t so odd, and kind of endearing. ( I was still happy when I saw I bus arrive), I needed a trip over to a'Capella for my tripple-threat on a waffle cone.

The Magyar Memoir- Part 5 (the Carpathian Alergy extravganza)

I was surviving the double shifts, which were bestowed upon me thanks to a bout with the chickenpox suffered by another teacher. I had for the most part remained sane or at least found humor in the frustration of working at Homedsvarsharhey in the mornings and Szegvar in the afternoons. The daily car rides with either Freno (the boss's husband) and his Frankenstein laugh, or the mother of one of my student, that drove like speed racer in a rusted, seatbeltless, circa 79’ Subaru Justy (the year, make an model is critical to imagery-not being snobby) had really gotten to me though. It should be noted that a drive in the country is no lackadaisical experience when there is a Hungarian behind the wheel. Although the degree of roadkill was surprisingly low, despite mention noteworthy fatal accidents between Szeged and Szegvar was enough to instill panic. The sheer manner of the drivers in Hungary would suggest to a on-looker, that one of the passengers was clearly in labor. So we pickup on the story after Ashlee, Mylo and I had made planes to travel to Serbia on one of our few weekends without teacher’s meetings or other pointless weekend responsibilities.

A day trip to Serbia, what fun! When I applied for this job I didn’t have any concept of what part of Hungary we would be living , but once we realized how close we were to Romania and Serbia it became our goal to venture across the border. After asking around we learned that even if we crossed into Romania; the towns that closely bordered Hungary we insignificant. It was suggested that we cross into Serbia instead as it was closer and the border town was more interesting. The plan was in motion; we would catch an early morning train and would arriving by noon in Subotica, Serbia !

Saturday morning I woke up feeling unseasonably warm and my allergies were worse than they had ever been. I had fewer mosquito bites than usual...they must have sensed the plague that had overtaken my face! To this day the mystery hasn’t been solved as to why the area around one of my eyes had swollen to three times it normal size. I was feeling ok, but had significantly less feeling in my face. I had a look in the mirror and it was like that Twiglight Zone episode where it is Marti Gras in New Orleans and the greedy-pain in the ass heirs are meeting in their rich grandfather’s mansion and he makes them wear masks until midnight or else they won’t get their inheritance. So at midnight they all take off their mask and magically their face has been deformed to accentuate their known vices: greed, dunsity, spite, pompous, etc. So it was as if I had been wearing a mask that had made me Neanderthal girl!

Turns out that getting sick in Hungary is not recommended on a weekend! (If I’d only known, I’d have waited until Monday so that I could miss work, bonus!) We knocked up a couple of clinics, no answer "zárva" (closed). We eventually tried the Medical College, which agreed to treat me. It was more like a movie set of a medical facility than an actually clinic, but they saw me prompty and were nice. After attempting to ask me some questions in English about my insurance, they just gave up and treated me for free as speaking English was too much hassle. I don’t know what they prescribed, some anti-inflammatory topical cream and some super-celebrity-strength Claritin, but I was feeling rad in an hour after taking it, and wishing I could rally down to Serbia and meet the homies, but instead I got to hang around the house, did some laundry, tried to play with the house turtle, but she wouldn't eat the apple slices I brought her- stupid ungrateful turtle. Then watched tennis with the stray Hungarians squanter whom no one seemed to claim. (We cheered for Jankavich "the Serbian").How poignant.

The river TISZA- Magyar Memoir- Part 4 (Szeged)

I'm not sure exactly where this river originates, perhaps in the Slovak Republic, Czech Republic, or Poland, who knows, but it very long and winds it's way diagonally through Hungary. It is not especially clean nor spectacular in any way… unless it's flood season. Basically, it's a glorified storm-drain (not as bad as the LA River (of debris). Which brings me to the quandary of why I felt the strong urge to take a swim in this mucky river, but I did, so I DID! As disgusting as it was, turns out it was also rather dangerous- and actually forbidden. Apparently, it is well known that people drown each year due to unusual undertows that strike unsuspecting sewer swimming enthusiasts like myself. The good news is I escaped from the river of death unscathed and without any sort of river-disease symptoms. The shore just across the main city bridge from Szeged, plays host to a tiny "beach" which seemed to me to have all the elements of a cruising spot: somewhat secluded, a Hungarian interpretation of a beer cabana, and men in Speedos. The catalysis, which prompted the discovery of this spot, was when Ashlee, Mylo and I decided to go to the waterpark, which ended up being really expensive, and looked crowded and not partcularly fun. Thus we ventured on and found a public pool, which was closed for swimming lessons, which by the way, we considered taking, just for an opportunity to use the pool. This occurred during the time of the onset of the killer summer heatwave ,which dictated a lot of our activities in the month to come. After two failed attempts I was desperate to not be sweating, which is why I rolled right past the sign that said no swimming (in Hungarian) and cannonballed right into the sewer stream. I peer-pressured Aislee to come in too, who seemed somewhat concerned about the safety of the water, but was equally sweaty, and therefore accepted the risk. Mylo on the other hand wanted no part of it, and said he would only save us from drowning when and if a cute Hungarian girl happened to be watching. After we emerged from the big Tiz, and returned to our temporary beach camp, he commented on how we smelled bad, and moved his towel away from us. After our dirty swim, we past a sign on the way to the portos, stating the unlawfulness of swimming in the Tisza.

Back at the Sik later that night, I proceeded to brag about my recklass bad-assidness to the random Hungarians who were conjuring up some elaborate meal, (which seemed to me like pretty advanced cooking for college students). They listened, giving me incredulous looks as I boosted giving them the details (against their will) of my Saturday swim adventure. If I could read their minds, I'm sure they were saying "stupid foreigner...I'm busy...go away."

The Magyar Memoir- Part 3 (Szeged)

Sík Sándor Hostel

My fellow teachers and I lived between the farmers' market and the historic downtown square in a big house donated to the city by a wealthy family upon their passing. It had since been turned into a extended stay boarding house of sorts. Six of the original seven teachers lived there. We thought it would only be us, yet we discovered that there were many more residence than expected. Perhaps as many as ten Hungarian medical students also bunked with us, but they kind of came and went like ghosts sometimes bringing girlfriends or friends to stay with them (us) for days on end, then they would disappear with or without their guests for just as many days. Honestly we didn't know who actually lived there as compared to those people just randomly squatting, but everyone was nice and offered us food and drink upon our first meeting. The strangers were actually more social than the permanent residents and included us in their conversations and backyard smoke laden drunken gatherings in the gazebo, which they called "the octagon". Therefore, all were welcome as far as we were concerned.

I lived on the top floor, under the eaves, and under a tree which meant lots of mosquitoes and bugs crawling through the sky light. My room was also one of the warmest rooms in the house, which wasn't nice during the heatwave that was occurring throughout the entire summer of 2007 in Hungary. I'm fairly certain my bed had bedbugs, as I woke up sometimes looking as if I had passed out in a field based on the number of new bits and marks I had acquired overnight, other than that it was superb.

The house itself was strange in that the layout made no sense. We were constantly discovering new rooms, like when we found a mini chapel off the library, complete with an alter. The library was where the teacher gathered most often. It had books from floor to it's high ceiling. It was the type of library you would expect in an Edger Allen Poe story. Perhaps that would be too complimentary, maybe more like in the haunted mansion at Disneyland before the remodel, because it was kind of 70s as far as style and furniture. There was a record console, with a few nice records, we often would spin a little Bartók, or a Beatles dubbed into Hungarian was always fun. We would drink our fountain water, and court the other residents to help us get the ancient internet server up and running. We would plan our lessons and joke about who was going to quit first, and who would be voted off the island first. ( We had a clear idea of who that would be, and made mention of this person often). It seemed eminent that any of us would be going home at given times, since we were working so hard, for so little money, and there was so much we wanted to see and do in Hungary, which was hindered by our work schedule, and frequent unannounced impromptu meetings. There were reoccurring allusions to a joint fantasy, which involved running away to Romania in the night and drinking $1 beer all day at a lake and getting a killer sun tan.

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The Magyar Memoir- PART 2 (Szeged)

Located something like 20km from the Serbia and not much further from the Romanian border, the town of Szeged is situated. This locale is a pleasant conglomeration of Mediterranean culture, with its Roman-esk architecture, along side terracotta accented facades. In summer, every café has patio seating, so umbrellas line the main square two or three deep. The main square has mainly brick pavers geometrically laid out, wooden benches, fountains, and heroic battle poised statues honoring fallen countrymen, and whats appears to be 5 apothecaries per capita. The side streets are cobbled and angle downward in the center, for drainage I presume. The city needs be concerned with having proper drainage, as it was almost whipped of the map once during a great flood that occurred in the 1990s. There is a stately Jewish temple, despite a minimal number of Jews due to their not so friendly swastikas bearing neighbors and their red army comrades to the north, who made themselves at home in Hungary a couple of generations back. There are also notably Gothic influences and a narrow winding river that runs through the north side of town to sweeten the "European any-town" feel.

There is a large park in the middle of the city, which is quite lovely, there is a noisy street car, which quaintly clatters up and down the streets, and there is something else quite unique; a public water fountain. It is a serous of faucets, which spouts water of different temperatures ranging from luke-warm to hot to very hot to boiling. The water is pumped in from a natural spring some distance away. It took some time to adjust to the salinity and variety of minerals in the water. However, once I make the adjustment, it became the water of choice, much preferred to bottled water. Hungarian bottled water is crap, and not even an option as far as I was concerned. The teachers and I would often take midnight strolls to the fountain, filling up our bottle for the following day. It became a fun ritual, we would have private talks about our students, the other Hungarians that lived in the house, the boss, and the one black sheep teacher that we all thought was nuts, all of these topics were frequently visited on the way to the water fountain, and became known as "water fountain gossip".

There are two other very remarkable things you must experience if you are ever in Szeged:. One is a'Capella. It is a cosy bakery and creamery in the center of town, known for high quality baked treats and cakes , but the reason you really go there is for the "fudlare"(ice cream) it is spectacularly and cheap! Imagine the best gellato you've ever had, reduce the amount of sweetness and portion size and increase the icy- creaminess, and you have Hungarian ice cream. Hungarians seem to prefer fruit flavors to rich chocolate varieties, much like me, so I was totally on board with the flavor selections. My favorite combination was a grapefruit- lime-kiwi in a waffle cone. I think I had one everyday, despite making statements like "I'm going to try a new flavor every time".-No, that didn't happen, I always got the same thing. The best .80 cents I ever spent!

The second fantastic find in Szeged was the Farmers' Market. First step: order a garlic "pancetta", a pancake that looks a bit like Bobboli (the pre-made pizza crust that was super trendy in the late 80s in the US) outside the front gate of the market. Pancetta is made like a funnel cake I think, the dough is deep fried, then covered with garlic salt and toped with melted sour cream and mozzarella cheese. Heart attack on a plate- for sure, but so rich and good! After you recover from the coronary, hold on tight to your wallet and foreign accent, because it's time to enter gypsyland. You'll see all kinds of child labor and fake cripples. You'll be buying watermelons from a 6 years old that will still manage to trick you out of a few extra Forints. There are rows and rows of produce, you can taste everything, so hopefully you're not too full of pancetta. There is a lot of competition and bargaining is acceptable if you can speak Hungarian, and expected when you are Hungarian, but laughable if you are foreign. I'm fairly certain the foreigners' price makes up for the Hungarian discount. The sausage house was a particular delight for me, so many to choose from….. and so many phallic pictures to take, we spent a while in there. I love a good farmers' market, and I found this one to be exceptional. The following week I never ate so well. I realized that paprika is delicious on everything, by week's end I was eating slices of paprika like carrot sticks, and had figured out how to introduce sausage into every meal. Yes, paprika and sausage on dark rye bread, with fudlare for dessert, it was a happy...fattening existence.

The Magyar Memoirs - Part 1 (Introduction)

üdvözlés (Welcome) This blog is a transcription of excerpts from the journal I kept documenting my travel in Hungary during the summer of 2007. The names have been changed to secure the character's privacy. This blog shall be posted as a series, organized by both topic and location. I will insert additional thoughts as I go on in green in order to differentiate it from my original words. Please feel free to comment, criticize, or just sit back and enjoy!

The first couple of nights after I arrived in Hungary there were some moments where I said to myself: “when I think back on this, I’m sure I will have forgotten all about these setbacks and annoyances…” Well some time has past and mention of this aggravation has made an appearance in the first paragraph which should be dually noted. It was a combination of really good and rather bad luck that characterized the trip, which could be illustrated based on the events of the first day I landed in Budapest. Upon landing at Ferihegy International Airport, I expressed concern about navigating the subway into Budapest to the Scottish business man that had been chatting with me on the flight. He kindly offered to drop me off at my hostel, as he was going to take a taxi and expense it. Great! It would save me some time trying to figure out public transportation while hauling roughly 80 kilos of luggage, plus a laptop, sure I might get hacked into a million pieces, but at least I didn't have to deal with Hungarian public transportation! The bad part was when I was dropped off, I searched and searched as asked and asked, but my hostel was no where to be found. It was 36 degrees C and I was dead tired, I walked a about 20 yards aimlessly searching, but the sun was beating down on me in a way that disabled any copping ability I might of had. So I grabbed a cab, hoping the cabbie might have some idea where my hostel was hiding, but he did not. We proceeded on a mini circular tour of Budapest in search of affordable, not to distant accommodations. This journey was delayed due to several cigarette breaks, during which my driver would stop the car, get out, smoke a cigarette in it's entirety, while conversing garrulously with other cabbies doing the same thing, or random unappreciative passers-by. Eventually a suitable hotel was found, it had air-conditioning and was affordable enough, so it was actually a bit of a lucky find. As I would later learn, the hostel I was booked in had moved to a new location around the corner and was a total dump. There were many similar occurrences on this note thorought my time in “Middle Europe”.

A Quick Aside about Traveling by train in Europe; the mere mention induces travel-romantics like myself to conjure up images of Hemingway/ Fitgerald-esk era expats; women in classic Chanel travel garb, hat boxes in gloved hands standing on the platform at Austerlitz station, thumbing through Le Parisian, as the shinny well-appointed train approaches with a puff of steam wafting up from the tracks. The porter yells all-aboard (in French of course), and takes the ladies by the hand as to insure that their Italian patton-leather healed spectators are of no consequence when they step up onto the train. . Shrrrrrraaatchhhh….Ok. It’s not like that, especially in France! Austerlitz station is a hole that literally has holes in the plaster of its walls. My train is a bus on rails. I am unsure how familiar the reader is with the fine Grayhound bus company that operated in the United States; but the mention of Grayhound produce a entirely different image for me. It is one where women with big hair and too many children, recent parolees, backpackers that haven’t showered in a while, drunk grumpy old men, homely old women knitting, confused foreign families, hoochies smacking their gum and talking on mobile phones all commingle for a longer than_you_could_have_ever_imagined trip in a tin box on wheels driven by a obviously over-worked weathered old drunk (no offense G-Hound drivers, but who can deny that this is the image of bus travel in America). This would be a much more accurate portrayal of traveling by train in Central and Southern Europe these days.

After checking into the hotel, I realized it had been a very long time since I had eaten. Even though all I wanted to do was sit naked in front of the air-conditioner and doze off, I headed out to hunt for a meal before it got to be past the dinner hour. I was concerned that my fellow teacher Ashlee would think I was lost or dead in a gutter, as we were to meet at the inconspicuous hostel. I came across an internet cafe on my walk and decided I had better mitigate any SOS calls that she may have put out on my behalf. Once that business was taken care of, I set out on my sunset stroll through the eerily silent street adjacent to the main drag of downtown Budapest. I could hear the buzz of televisions emanating from open windows of the communist style brown block apartments, but I literally didn't see one person or car for many minutes at a time. Once I reached the main drag I began to wonder if this was a dangerous neighborhood as the only people I passed were rather sketchy, and held my gaze longer than I was accustomed to, at least by European standards. I calmed myself with a quick mental analysis of the height and weight differential between me and "the scaries", and concluded that my all-American diet coupled with my stalwart Scandinavian genetics made me a stealthy competitor if things took a turn for the worse. No such confrontation occurred, in fact after just a couple more blocks I found myself in a lively area, music blarred from cars cruising, and multitudes of multi-ethnic people filtered through the busy streets, speaking every language but Hungarian. Couples dined alfresco at the cafes, ladies carried shopping bags of recently purchased luxuries, teenagers sat on he steps of the shops laughing, and families strolled hand-in -hand. I felt instantaneously more comfortable with my surroundings. The sun had set, and restaurants were transitioning to bars only, which created a new urgency for finding food immediately. I didn't think I could manage waiting for a meal at a sit-down restaurant,(knowing pace of European waiters), I opted for the Turkish Kabob stand. I chose to eat off my paper plate on the street- fast- easy- perfect!

I slept really well at the hotel, the hot shower and air-conditioning had everything to do with that I’m convinced. I filled up on a breakfast downstairs, the hotel had a nice spread for being a budget hotel. I requested a taxi to run me up to Nygati Station where was to meet Ashlee. I was curious if and how she located the hostel, when I had spoken to her the night before, she was still at he airport. She would be the source that informed me about the mysterious relocating hostel and it’s shanty amenities. She as just where she was supost to be outside the station, once we said our hellos, we had a difficult time locating the ticket office, something we thought should be quite apparent based on the function of a train station. It was located down a narrow hallway, which I was almost certain would lead to an alley with a dumpster. No, in fact this unpainted concrete walkway opened onto an ornate golden wood paneled expanse with many ticket window that only served passengers with very specific needs: such as “Re-booking Tickets” “ Ticket Sales to be paid by Cash” “Ticket Sales to be paid by Credit Card”” International Ticket Sales” etc. This segregation meant that Ashlee and I had to stand in separate cues. Once our dusty, decayed old box car rolled up we realized we hadn’t a clue which carriage we were in or what our seat number was, it seemed to be opened seating, thus we settled into a comfortable plush seat towards the back.

We were pleasantly surprised that it appeared we would have the entire carriage to ourselves as no one chose to join us, instead passing us by heading for the front of the train. About 20 minutes into the trip Ashlee and I had taken out our books, removed our shoes and were enjoying rambling along through the residential outskirts of Budapest, when our luck was up. The porter came to stamp our tickets, and informed us that we were NOT first class passengers, nor second class, but need to make our way to steerage basically! With my all-American super-sized suitcases in tow, I did my best to navigate a path past irritated seasoned Hungarian travelers to our crowded hot cabin, which, by the way, had no space to put a large suitcase, let along anything larger than a briefcase! We took our seat next to a smelly sleeping man, as our bare legs stuck to the hot vinyl bench seat….just two more hours to Szeged!