Pictures From Budapest

This is a photo by Nancy of the Danube River that she took from the funicular railway that lifts you up on top of the hill. It was raining, of course, and the camera focused on the raindrops on the window instead to the view, but it turns out to be a nice picture.

When we crossed the Hungarian border, we found we were basically illiterate. In Slovakia, and other countries, you can sometimes pick up clues. In French, German, Spanish, it doesn't take long to figure out what is a noun, a proper name, a place. In Hungary, we lost all sense of being able to read even simple communication devices like roadsigns and had to rely on other ways to take in information. But things have improved for us English speakers. We were told by a British couple riding the funicular with us that fifteen years ago, no one in Budapest spoke English, but today it is a very popular second language. In fact, in many of the cafes and restaurants, we encountered people speaking highly accented English with each other. This led us to assume they were from different countries using English as their common language. Great news for us English speakers.

This is a view of the one of the lions that are all over Budapest; this one of the four at the ends of the Chain Bridge. Budapest is a fascinating city and we both wished we had more time to explore it as one day on foot was not enough to scratch the surface. So we walked around and played tourist by following our instincts, which generally seems to work quite well.

Musicians set up shop wherever they like and play their instruments, and play well, I might add.

We walked by a synagogue and found what we think were headstones displayed in the courtyard. All of the dates of death were in 1945, and no doubt, Budapest suffered greatly in the Holocaust. Many of the brightest and most talented minds were hauled off to camps never to return.

And, speaking of minorities, we walked across the famous Chain Bridge and were confronted by this Gypsy woman. I gave her a few coins in thanks for getting her picture. We saw lots of Gypsies in eastern Slovakia, and I assume there are many in Hungary as well. We have encountered many people who have very poor opinions of Gypsies and maybe their reputation and stereotype is well deserved. I don't have enough experience with them to form my own opinion. In Hostovice, Micheal Sura showed us an orphanage that he said was mostly Gypsy children, and mostly Gypsy kids that had been abandoned, not orphaned. European countries are struggling with what to do with them; France is resorting to deporting them to Romania which seems to solve nothing, only moves the problem to another location.

No story here, just a nice photo, I think. Budapest has so many beautiful buildings, we never even learned the names of them or their purpose. This one is near the Danube, which divides Buda and Pest. I bought a hat to keep the rain off my glasses and it said BUDAPEST 1873. The date meant nothing to us, so we asked a few waiters and waitresses and we learned that 1873 was the date the Buda and Pest united into one city.

In a place called the Fisherman's Bastion, on top of the hill in Buda, were these statues decorating and archway. Three more statues were on the opposite side. I loved the faces, so expressive and alive.

For instance, this guy, who looks like a friend and former boss of mine.

Unfortunately, the statues most exposed to the weather have lost almost all of the features in the faces.

Another beautiful building, most likely a church, whose name we did not learn. Budapest is a place I highly recommend visiting. I know I'd like to go back and see more and fill in some of the blanks.

Slivovica With the Szterankas

(Note: This is a two part post and you shoud read the previous one first or this one won't make any sense.)



As we made our first contacts with my newly found distant relatives, Michael immediately recognized the woman in the garden from the a photo I had shown him. He showed the photo to the woman, identified me as a cousin to "Bruce" from America, and I was suddenly caught up in embraces and kisses. This woman was Luba and her husband was Andrej. At this point all that could be established was that my grandmother and Luba's father were Szterankas. Luba confirmed that they were the only Szteranka family in the area, so it finally dawned on me that I was meeting family, my relatives, that I couldn't even say "hello" to without an interpreter.

Luba and Andrej insisted we come in, and she hurried off to call her sisters, Viera and Nadeza. When they arrived it was obvious that they were twins, and later on we learned that they had married brothers. Even now at 60, they dress identically, right down to eyeglass cases and necklaces. Doug commented that the twins reminded him very much of my mother, and that alone confirmed that we were relatives.

I should have put 2 + 2 together when I first saw the Hostovice crest on the village sign. On a blue shield there is a yellow table, upon which are a liqueur bottle and a large chalice-like glass. In retrospect, it could only mean one thing---there would be drinking involved. And there was.

The event began. In their very comfortable kitchen, we sat around the table. Michael took turns asking and answering questions. Somebody brought out shot glasses and the bottle of homemade plum brandy, locally called slivovica. For someone who only drinks wine (which is generally sipped), drinking shots has a learning curve. I think by number 5, I was doing it OK. Na zdravie!

In between shots and an incredible spread of food Luba materialized on the spot, Michael wanted to determine how Luba, Viera, Nadeza and I were related. He pieced together birth records he obtained for my grandparents and great-grandparents with part of a family tree Luba supplied.

Birth registration of Maria Szteranka, my grandmother, b. 20 April 1881 to Basilius Szteranka and Eva Czapar.

The ladies knew their parents names and dates of birth, but they knew only their grandparents' names and nothing about any siblings. So, they could not have known that their grandfather Ivan (Jan) Szteranka (b. 1868) and my grandmother Maria Szteranka (b. 1881) were brother and sister. We share the same great-grandparents Basilius Szteranka (b. 1834) and Eva Czapar (b. 1843).

Birth registration of Ivan (Jan) Szteranka, Luba, Viera, Nadeza and Igor's grandfather, b. 29 January 1868 to Basilius Szteranka and Eva Czapar. It is outlined in red and may be written in Hungarian.

Birth registration of Basilius Szteranka, our great-grandfather, b. 23 January 1834 to Michael Szteranka and Maria ? in Palota.

Basilius Szteranka was the one member of the family who came from elsewhere---Palota, about 20 km away. As Michael said, that was a very long way back in the mid-1800's. His occupation was a coachman, which could have meant that he was on the road or that he worked out of another location where he was stationed---perhaps Hostovice. At some point he made his way to Hostovice and married our great-grandmother Eva Czapar.

Birth registration of Eva Czapar, our great-grandmother, b. 31 December 1843 to Michael Czapar and Eva Zvats.

Marriage registration of Basilius Szteranka and Eva Czapar on 21 January 1860. He was 26, a coachman from Palota; she was 16 from Hostovice; both Rusyn villages.

While we were connecting inside, Fergus was whooping up a storm outside with his new Rusyn soul-mate, Luba and Andrej's 2-year old beagle. Apparently they had no need of an interpreter, as dog-speak transcends all countries and ethnicities. Doug alternated his time between monitoring canine activities and photographing family history. Since he was driving, he declined multiple shots of slivovica. Luckily, a departing gift was a freshly-filled bottle for the road. Lots of good shots ahead---na zdravie.

I have always had a hard time remembering names, and matching names to faces only exacerbates it. I knew early on that day there was no hope for me to correctly identify Nadeza from Viera, especially when they were wearing matching everything. The gentlemen in the photos (besides Luba's husband Andrej in camo) are Stefan, Viera's husband (in tan jacket) and Igor, the sisters' younger brother (in plaid shirt). If the gentleman in the tan jacket isn't Viera's husband, it must be Nadeza's husband Ivan. But since they are brothers, they probably look alike too.

Luba brought out a couple old B&W family photos. Above is the three girls with their father Michal, probably taken in the mid-1950's. Below is Luba on her wedding day with her mother Maria and father Michal.

Every time I would take my eyes off of my glass, miraculously there would be another shot in front of me. The only way I could get the stuff down in one swig was to stand up. So, there were more than a few pictures taken with glasses raised and arms around waists. The Szterankas were happy to pose for photos and requested copies.

Before we left, the sisters asked if I wanted to see the place where my grandmother (and their grandfather) were born. The house had long ago been torn down, but they knew exactly where it had been. Now a green lawn bordered by flowers, I stood on the spot where my grandmother not only was born, but also where she slept, ate, played, and grew up.

I felt exhausted, and not just from the slivovica. I said my good-byes to my new family. I don't think any of us are pretending that this could be an easy relationship to nurture. We come from different worlds, we speak different languages. But we have some of the same Szteranka blood running through our veins. And that can't be taken away.

When we parted from Michael later that day, he asked me if I was satisfied with his services. I found myself imagining how different the day would have been if Doug and I had just driven into Hostovice, clicked a few pictures and driven on. Yes, Michael, I am satisfied.

Going Home

Michael (pronounced Mee-khale), my Rusyn researcher, pulled over at the top of the hill just past the village signs. We were following behind him, and once I got out of the car, I understood the stop. Nestled in a valley so green, I soon forgot the past several days of pouring rain. I was entering the village my ancestors called home. Once called Hosztovicza, once called Vendegi, now called Hostovice.

I purposely placed no expectations on this day. I had no goals, other than to visit the 'home village' and leave with a sense of place. There was no agenda established with Michael, and I really didn't know how we would spend the day. But Michael has been taking American and Canadian "roots-seekers" around for some time, and apparently he had some ideas up his sleeve.

We met Michael earlier that morning in the Billa hypermarche parking lot in Snina, a larger town down the road. This is far north-eastern Slovakia, about as far as one can get without entering Poland or the Ukraine. Up to this point, I had only communicated with Michael via email. He had discovered my grandparents and great-grandparents birth records that were archived in Hungary. Doug and I decided that since we had traveled this far, we shouldn't just drive blindly though Hostovice, so I contracted Michael's guide services for the day.

Our first stop in Hostovice was the mayor's office. Vasil Hudik, pictured below, has been mayor for 20+ years, and knows his community. Michael introduced me and gave him the nutshell version of my story and told him my grandparents names, Nicolaus Kicsa and Maria Szteranka. The mayor immediately responded that there were currently some Szteranka relatives living in both Hostovice and neighboring Osadne. He also indicated that at the time my grandparents and great-grandparents were alive, they were the only Szteranka family around. This was a very important piece of information. It meant that the Szteranka folks in the village now were bound to be related. The Kicsa side, he said, was not as clear. Apparently there was no one in the village now with that name, but there had been several Kicsa families at one time.

At one point, Michael, while rapidly translating back and forth, informed me that he and the mayor were speaking Rusyn. Not Slovakian, but Rusyn. This is a Rusyn village, the people here speak Rusyn, and those that do speak Slovakian probably do not speak it well. The mayor himself does not speak Slovakian well. We are in Slovakia, several km from Poland, several more km from the Ukraine. But these people identify themselves not as Slovakian, but Rusyn. More on this aspect in another post.

The mayor makes several phone calls, but none of the Szterankas are home. He calls around to get someone to open up the Greek Catholic Church for us. We meet the parish priest, and I am surprised that he is not an old man with long beard, and dressed in church vestments. Instead he is young, a stylish 2-day beard, dressed very sporty. The church was built in 1764, 1843 or 1862, depending upon who you talk to. Either way, my grandparents and great-grandparents would have sat on these pews, celebrated important events, and mourned the passing of elders.

The inside of the church was opulent. I am amused by the photo of the priest with Doug and I (who are wearing garishly bright yellow and green jackets), and that our bright jackets barely stand out against all the gold and glitter. It speaks to the power of the church and its priests and bishops.

I made a donation to thank the priest for his time, he asked for my name and my grandparents' names. He indicated that he would mention me at the next church service. I said that I need all the help I can get, especially after viewing the ceiling paintings illustrating the place where Satan takes the bad people (skull and crossbones included).

The writing on these two painting is Cyrillic, which is commonly found throughout the Rusyn region. It draws elements from both West and East (East being illustrated by its striking resemblance to Russian). I have no idea what the painting captions say, but since Satan is in the picture, I can only assume it isn't something cheery.

The cemetery is situated behind the church, and the gravestones are adorned with flowers. I imagine it wouldn't be too bad to be buried here, when you could have such a grand spacious view.

Michael heads us back to the mayor's office to reconvene, and see if the mayor has made progress on contacting any Szterankas. I show the mayor some photos I have of my cousin Bruce in Hostovice a few years back. The mayor identifies some of the "Szteranka" ladies and their husbands and gives us a house number in Osadne. I have not seen my cousin Bruce in more than 20 years, but recently reconnected with him via email after hearing that he had been to Hostovice. Bruce took his father, my uncle Mick, on a journey home to Hostovice a few years before Mick died. Bruce returned and visited with some of the "relatives" since, but never knew exactly how they were related.

Osadne is smaller than Hostovice's 350 population, and only 2 km away. We pulled up in front of a house where a couple was working their garden. I assumed Michael was going to ask for directions. After a minute, he waved me over and introduced me. I was soon to learn who they were.

This Morning in Budapest

We stumbled upon this duo of Hungarian gentlemen working for tips in some impressively large plaza. For a couple of hundred Hungarian Florints we were able to listen for awhile and take their pictures.

Below, you can click and hear them play for a few seconds, and you can also hear the military band at the top of the funicluar railway playing smartly. Enjoy.

From Budapest

We've made it to Budapest after a very interesting day in Hostovice, Slovakia yesterday. Nancy will have to fill you in when we get back to France when we have some time to download some photos and write some reflections of our time in Slovakia. We've added several countries to our list of visited places after driving several hundred yards into Poland, twice, and driving across half of Hungary.

The eastern portion of Slovakia is called The Carpathian Wooden Road because of all the wooden churches. There are literally thousands of churches in Slovakia, wood and stone; every village of any size has one, or two. We visited several of the wooden churches and we should have some photos and words of great wisdom regarding the structures when we get some time.

I could do a post about the Slovakian drivers and how many "Oh my fucking God" moments we had watching Slovakian idiots pass each other. But I won't. The hazards of the road are many; cars parked in the driving lane, old peasant bicyclists, farm machinery, walkers on the road, gypsies pulling carts, slow drivers, fast drivers, and just bad drivers.

We met with the genealogical researcher, Michael Sura, in Snina and had a full and interesting day of seeing places where her grandparents walked. She left Hostovice with a partial bottle of homemade plum brandy and five shots in her belly, a recipe probably handed down from her great grandparents. I don't want to steal any of Nancy's thunder, so I will leave it at that.

Budapest is an absolutely fascinating city, something like a cross between Havana and Paris. We'll try to see what we can tomorrow, on foot with Fergus in tow. We're limited by the presence of our furry friend, but we can't leave him in the room all day and we're not brave enough to drive much in Budapest. So we'll hoof it. More later.

1st Rainy Report from Slovakia

We're sitting in the bar of the Artin Hotel in Bardejov, Slovakia. It has been raining non-stop since we crossed the border. And I mean RAIN in capital letters. We decided to break camp from the chaty (cottage to you non-Slovakians) this morning, since we didn't know how long it would take us to drive to meet our ancestry researcher on Thursday morning. The ground around the chaty is soggy, squishy, mossy, puddly. The temperature has hovered around 5 degrees C, which as far as I can compute is about 41 plus or minus a few. Not your typical August weather by any calculation.

The landscape is velvet, as if covered with wall-to-wall golf courses. Rolling hills enveloped by misty clouds before the rain cuts the view off completely. The chaty is at the base of the Tatra Mountains, but we can't see anything. We have only see what is in the brochures. We decided to do "rainy day" things. We went to the ice caves. Sounds like the right thing to do when it is 41 degrees out, right. NOT. But at least it wasn't raining inside. Huge limestone cave with areas where ice formations build up. Tours are led though every 15 minutes in numerous languages through the able assistance of audio-visual equipment. Hundreds of people snaking through at one time.

When we exited, the rain was continuing. Next on the agenda was lunch. Slovakian food is hearty, if nothing else. Lots of meat, potatoes, bread. Very filling. Good and hot to warm us up. We headed for the skazen (open-air museum) in Pribylina to see village houses and other structures that had been moved onto the site. Pictures to follow in a post soon. The rain was moving us along at a quick pace. But Fergus was allowed to accompany and was quite enthusiastic about the quaint Slovakian architecture.

As we sit in this bar in Bardejov, we met a couple of gentlemen. Both live in the USA, but were from around here in Slovakia. They use this location as a base for their European travels. I asked about the RAIN. They said the entire month of August was glorious. Right, just until we arrived.