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.