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.