Ride of Rides

If you count the detours, I probably biked 300 kilometers in all–from Szolnok to Sátoraljaújhely–between Monday and this morning. But that’s not what makes this trip stand out. Or rather, that’s only part of it.

It was a pastel-foggy morning when I set out from Szolnok on Monday. I turned back once, because I realized that, when removing the bike from the storage alcove in my building, I had somehow gotten grease on my sweatpants. I tried to clean them as much as possible and then set out again. On the outskirts of Szolnok, I veered onto a bike lane, and the tires hit a slippery spot. I went flying off of the bicycle and face down onto the ground. Some people walked up to ask if I was all right. A woman drove up and handed me a handful of tissues. But nothing was broken, and after taking a few minutes to collect myself, I headed onward.

The day was uneventful and lovely. I rode the long, familiar stretch through Nagykörű, Tiszasüly, and other towns, and saw many birds of prey circling above, as well as migrating (or semi-migrating) geese. The geese didn’t seem too sure of their direction yet, but they were flocking numerously and loudly.

So I came to Kisköre, found a bridge, and then saw the bike route sign pointing to a meadow. I rode on the dirt road, came to Tisza-tó (Lake Tisza) before long, and went clockwise around the lake to Tiszafüred. (There was a bridge at one point.) I have already mentioned the chess pieces and the swans. That, and biking by a lake on a grey fall day, made for a relaxing, if also long, first stretch of the trip. The guesthouse was a little outside of Tiszafüred, but I found it. The host greeted me with cheer and took me to my room, which was actually a little house behind the main house. I went to sleep promptly.

The second day looked a lot like the first at the outset. A long, quiet bike path; lots of birds, yellow leaves falling. Then, just before Tiszacsege, the bike path came to an end, and there was no sign indicating where bikers should go from there. It met with an L-shaped road: I thought I should go right, toward Tiszacsege, but it seems that was a mistake. I liked something about Tiszacsege, though, and regretted passing through it so quickly. I stopped to take a picture of the Roman Catholic church.

I continued on to the town of Polgár, which definitely had no bike route in sight. Someone saw me looking around and asked where I was trying to go. When I said Tokaj, he explained that I needed to get on route 35 and then turn right–and go on the bike path to Tiszadob, where I would need to take a ferry. Then, at the other end of the ferry ride, I would resume the bike journey. Tokaj was about 40 kilometers away.

But first of all, I took the wrong direction on 35; it took me a while to realize the mistake. I turned back, found the Tisza river and the bike path, biked to Tiszadob, and found the ferry stop, but everything looked deserted, and the gate was closed. A search on my phone revealed that the ferry wasn’t in operation. So I decided to resort to GPS. I chose the walking route, since there was no bike option–and Google Maps deftly directed me along dirt roads, which would have been fine, except for the abundant mud. Now the sun was setting, and I saw a shepherd just ahead with many sheep and a few goats. I wanted to take a picture of the sheep, and he welcomed me to do so. He asked where I was going; when I told him, he said, “Oh, it will get dark before you arrive.” But I told him I would be fine. He said I was doing a beautiful thing, taking a trip like this. And I went onward.

It did get dark. But the moonlight was spilling over the paths, and I thought I was almost there–and would have been almost there, had the dirt roads been suitable. But I ended up in so much mud that I decided to forsake the dirt roads altogether. I told Google Maps that I was driving. The road took a very long way around, but I reached Tokaj just a little before 8 (and the check-in at the guesthouse was until 8). Now I relied on the GPS for each step, went around and around, went up a little hill, turned back, and saw the Torkolat guesthouse right there in front of me. Not realizing yet that I had arrived, I called the owner, who, as it turned out, was standing several meters away. He jovially welcomed me in, and everything was fine.

In the morning I had breakfast there, at the guesthouse. The owner made me eggs and coffee and laid out an array of spreads. Then we started to talk. He was impressed with my Hungarian (which to me felt stumbling) and asked how I had learned it. When I told him, he told me that he had studied German and Russian. We began speaking in Russian–he told me about a trip he and his university classmates had made to Riga, Moscow, and Leningrad in 1978 or so (the same year I was there). He had saved a book of Russian expressions, which he considered a treasure, since it represented an era. He told me two Soviet Russian jokes.

I saw many wooden mechanical toys around the dining area. I asked him about them. He had made them himself. He had seen models on YouTube and had figured out how they worked and how to make them.

Soon afterward, I said goodbye and headed to the center of Tokaj. You can’t go wrong in Tokaj. Old, gracious buildings with colorful ivy spilling over them; hilly roads, hills up above, wine cellars everywhere. I got some wine for the neighbors taking care of my cats and some more for a special occasion. The wine cellar pictured below is at the Hímesudvar Pincészet (over 500 years old).

Now it was time to head up slowly toward Sárospatak, then Vajdácska. I had no worries about the route, since I had traveled it before. But I did want to try to find the Jewish cemetery in Olaszliszka. It took some doing–it has a big stone wall around it, so you can’t really see it–but I found it. I think it’s opened only on special occasions–for instance, when there’s a Hasidic pilgrimage there.

Sárospatak was bustling–lots of stores open, lots of people walking around. It seemed like a veritable metropolis. My appetite bristling again, I decided to have a late lunch at A Fekete Macska (The Black Cat). They are serious about their name. The place abounds with cats. I saw at least five in the terrace dining area. And I had a delicious lunch: vegetable soup followed by chicken with galuska (a kind of homemade pasta). Then headed to Vajdácska, crossing the Bodrog river.

But that lunch was in some ways a bad idea, since it took away from my dinner appetite, and I had been looking forward to the pizza so much. They make scrumptious pizza at the Kisdiófa Panzió és Vendéglő. But I did manage to eat almost all of it (a medium-sized margherita). And it was good to arrive at the final guesthouse of the trip, where I had been four times before. I spoke with the hosts, ate more than my fill, and went to sleep.

The next morning, after breakfast, I went down a side road to see a memorial to a little boy who died. I don’t know who he was or how he died, but last spring I had seen his memorial by the side of the road. There it was.

I then went to see the Vajdácska cemetery, which has a Jewish section, and afterwards the two churches on the hill (one Greek Hungarian Catholic, the other Protestant). The Jewish cemetery is located inside the Christian cemetery, in its own section but with no barriers. The gravestones are old and crumbling, but the grounds are well kept. It was moving to be there.

The two churches are what you can always see when approaching Vajdácska, even on a foggy day. I discovered today that if I stood on the grounds of the one, I could take a good picture of the other.

And now for the final destination before the train ride home: Sátoraljaújhely (shown in the photo at the top). I wanted to go to the Rongykutya bookstore at the very least, since I had never made it there when it was open. But along the way, on the edges of Sárospatak, I passed a woman on a walking path, and she began talking with me. We had a long conversation–and she wanted to convince me to move to Sárospatak. And yes, after Szolnok, Sárospatak would probably be my first choice of a place to live in Hungary. It’s an extraordinary town. Comenius lived and worked there from 1650 to 1654, and it has a renowned university, many historical landmarks, and a sweet and beautiful charm. But I love Szolnok, and I can visit Sárospatak at least once a year.

Sátoraljaújhely was sad to see. It has gone downhill economically since I last visited it in 2019. Or at least I didn’t notice the extent of the problems then. Store after store had gone out of business; the buildings were for sale. There were entire streets of emptied stores. But I got to the bookstore–an inviting place–and bought two books there, and also bought a sweater at a clothing store, since it was getting chilly.

The train ride home contained one of the biggest surprises of all. I first took a train to Szerencs, then transferred to a train that took me all the way to Szolnok–and stopped in Tokaj! I had not realized there was a direct train from Szolnok to Tokaj. Not only that, but the trip takes just over two hours. This means that I could take a day trip to Tokaj–and even to Sárospatak–on a weekend. It’s also by far the easiest way to get to Sárospatak, if I want to combine train and biking. In the past, when taking the train, I have always had to transfer, and the train ride itself took about four hours.

But I wouldn’t trade this bike trip for anything–and this whole description has been no more than a quick sketch. Arriving back in Szolnok was a thrill. And the cats were well cared for and glad that I was home.

Biking to Košice

IMG_5872A biking trip, especially a solitary one, has external and internal layers. When you’re out on the road, following the bike path, stopping to drink from a stream, or wondering whether you can make it up the next hill, all sorts of things happen at once. Memories, observations, questions, hopes, surprises intertwine. But you might not tell all of this to the world; part of it is yours alone, and part beyond you. Knowing this, you can tell a story. If you tried to tell everything, you would get caught up in the impossibility. Still, the impossibility is the best part; even in a story, the words and mummings mix. Even before the story, when you’re out on the road, you are enticed by things you can see and name, things in the distance that you can’t quite make out yet, and things beyond your perception.

I set out early in the morning from the lovely bed-and-breakfast place where I had also stayed a year ago: the Kisdiófa Panzió és Vendéglő in the village of Vajdácska. Last year, I had no idea that I would be teaching in Hungary or that the possibility even existed. This time, I was able to communicate entirely in Hungarian with the owners (albeit haltingly at times, with mistakes); they seemed surprised and happy to see this. A bicycle touring group–with many parents and kids–was staying there too; here are the bikes parked in the back. Mine is all the way to the right.

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I dallied on my way to the Museum of the Hungarian Language. I had already decided to try biking to Košice (Kassa in Hungarian) but saw no need to rush the first part. In Sárospatak I explored back streets and saw the castle from a bridge over the Bodrog river.

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In Sátoraljaújhely I saw an abandoned building for sale, maybe a former church. It was completely hollowed out, so I took a look inside. If I had lots of money, business sense, and time, I would buy it and transform it into something for the town: maybe a museum, concert hall, library, or school. But lacking those three attributes, I just wish it the best.

The Museum of the Hungarian Language was bright and challenging. I think I puzzled the staff with my limited Hungarian; why would someone who couldn’t speak the language choose to visit? But I understood a little of what I read and heard, and next time I will understand more. There’s something to be said for not understanding; it pushes you beyond yourself.

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Then northward! I followed Eurovelo 11, which was almost always well marked. There were long shady stretches, forays through fields and towns, mergings with the main road, and an odd diversion into a rooty forest with a dead end. (A cord separated it from a cow field, which I did not choose to brave.) I was climbing steadily and thrilling in the possibility of it all. Then, just before Hollóháza, a village famous for its porcelain, things got difficult. I had to walk the bike up a hill; I was so thirsty that I scooped up delicious water from a stream (with my hands, not a porcelain cup). Only two more steep hills remained, but I didn’t know this; I wondered whether I had made a mistake.

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Then suddenly: downhill! A long slope carried me most of the way to Košice.

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A little after 3 p.m. I arrived; I sat down for a hearty meal–maybe a bit too hearty, because my stomach took a beating later. I walked around a little. My great-grandfather Max Fischer came from here–or rather, from a village 16 kilometers to the east. I wouldn’t have tried to bike there, though; the roads I saw last year are too hilly and dangerous, with no provision for bikes. There may be easier, quieter routes, but I don’t know them yet.

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Rather than stay the night in Košice, which would have resulted in a long and complicated trip back home (not all trains allow bikes), I took the train back to Slovenské Nové Mesto and stayed in a hotel just a few minutes from the Sárospatak train station. In the morning, on my way to the station, I saw the Comenius campus of the Eszterházy Károly Egyetem, a university with a rich history. I believe that this campus houses a teachers’ college. Comenius lived and worked in Sárospatak from 1650 to 1654.

I would eagerly do this again. It’s a half-day trip, but enough for one day (for me, anyway, because of the hills). There are just a few things I would do differently: start out earlier, wear biker shorts instead of jeans, bring water, visit a swimming pool in Košice, and then take a few more hours to walk around. As for time of year, this was just right: either spring or fall. Summer would be too hot and intense, winter too cold and uncertain.

But this first bike ride to Košice will stand out, even with its little errors; I saw that such a thing was possible (within the surrounding impossibility): that I could get on the bike and ride on and on and on. And still the stopping was as important as the motion, the beginning as beautiful as the end. Here is the pond in Vajdácska at sunset.

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I made some edits to this piece after posting it.

Lights in the Windows

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I biked yesterday from Sátoraljaújhely’s Museum of the Hungarian Language (which a student had recommended to me) all the way up to downtown Košice, Slovakia–in four hours or so, over hill, over dale. There is more to the whole trip than I want to put into words right now–stories upon stories–but here are two photos from the evening, after I returned by train from Košice to Slovenské Nové Mesto, the Slovak side of Sátoraljaújhely. Here is a horse grazing by the Ronyva stream, which separates the two countries here and the two sides of the town.

A little later, I passed by Sátoraljaújhely‘s little ohel (by the Jewish cemetery) and saw it lit up inside. There was a car parked out in front. I was so happy to see signs of life–though I may have misinterpreted the situation–that I thought of going up and knocking on the door. I immediately thought the better of it, though; I was bedraggled from the bike ride and did not want to bother anyone or show disrespect. Those lights may well have been signs of loss; beyond that, the place holds more losses than I will ever know. Under different circumstances, with advance inquiry and permission, I might visit one day; this was not the right time.

Pesach Sheni–“Second Pesach,” also known as “The Holiday of Second Chances,” had ended just an hour earlier; it’s possible that some people had come to the ohel to observe it. In that case, someone might have stayed late to put things back in place. But something entirely different may have been going  on.

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I biked onward toward Sárospatak, where I spent last night (I returned home today). Along the way, I heard frogs in the muddy stream and recorded the sounds. I learned last week from a student that frogs say “brekeke” in Hungarian. Remarkable, that! That must have come from Aristophanes’ Frogs, but how and when? Apparently there is even a Hungarian verb brekegni, which means “croaking,” or,  more figuratively, “chattering.” My dictionary doesn’t have it, but it does have brekeg (“croak”), brekegés (“croaking”), and (my favorite of all) brekegő (“croaky, croaking”). Unlike “croak” in English, these words have no connotation of death.

That brings me back to the Hungarian language, where one segment of the bike trip started. But this does not mean that I have come “full circle”; no circle circumscribes these past few days. Or if one does, it will take me some time to bike it.

 

I made a few edits and additions to this piece after posting it.

What’s in a Map, and What Isn’t?

hungary map

As I look at the map of Hungary (something I’ve been doing a lot lately), I see how it can be understood only through its history. The country is surrounded by Slovakia, Ukraine, Romania, Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Austria; from 1869 to the Treaty of Trianon (1920), Austro-Hungary (the Austrian Empire and the Kingdom of Hungary) encompassed most of this region. After Trianon, many Hungarian speakers found themselves cut off from Hungary. Hungary lost over two-thirds of its territory, while new countries (the Kingdom of Romania, the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, and the Czechoslovak Republic) gained sovereignty.

One of the principles of the Treaty of Trianon was the “self-determination of peoples”–but who and where are the peoples? Should countries be defined ethnically, and is this even possible? Eva S. Balogh argues that the new borders did not correspond closely with ethnic lines–and that, given many Hungarians’ belief that the only solution lay in the full restoration of the former Kingdom of Hungary, “it was almost inevitable that Hungary would end up on the side of Germany, the country dissatisfied with the status quo.” Or was it? Balogh herself suggests that if the situation had been presented and approached more carefully, things might have turned out differently.

IMG_3359To understand Trianon, one has to go back farther still, and then farther still, and forward too, and back again. Also, one cannot look at the “big picture” alone. If you zoom in on the map (which I obtained through Google Maps), you will see, to the southeast of Košice, a town called Sátoraljaújhely. Keep zooming in (you have to do so about five more times), and you will see, just over the Slovak border, another town, Slovenské Nové Mesto. These together were once a great town, a center of Jewish culture and the capital of Zemplén county. As of Trianon, the Ronyva stream has separated the Slovak (formerly Czechoslovak) side from the Hungarian side; that was neither the beginning nor the end of the sorrows. From the photo here on the left (which I took at the end of my bike trip in May), one would not know the town’s grief and losses: the World War II bombings, the deportation of nearly all the Jews to Auschwitz, the Soviet occupation. Even reading the history, I only begin to grasp parts, and only from a distance. I can zoom in further and further, I can visit the town and walk over the border, but still it will take years to understand, as a beginner, what happened here. It is worth the long, slow study.

 

The map image above is courtesy of Google Maps.

  • “To know that you can do better next time, unrecognizably better, and that there is no next time, and that it is a blessing there is not, there is a thought to be going on with.”

    —Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies

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  • ABOUT THE AUTHOR

     

    Diana Senechal is the author of Republic of Noise: The Loss of Solitude in Schools and Culture and the 2011 winner of the Hiett Prize in the Humanities, awarded by the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture. Her second book, Mind over Memes: Passive Listening, Toxic Talk, and Other Modern Language Follies, was published by Rowman & Littlefield in October 2018. In February 2022, Deep Vellum will publish her translation of Gyula Jenei's 2018 poetry collection Mindig Más.

    Since November 2017, she has been teaching English, American civilization, and British civilization at the Varga Katalin Gimnázium in Szolnok, Hungary. From 2011 to 2016, she helped shape and teach the philosophy program at Columbia Secondary School for Math, Science & Engineering in New York City. In 2014, she and her students founded the philosophy journal CONTRARIWISE, which now has international participation and readership. In 2020, at the Varga Katalin Gimnázium, she and her students released the first issue of the online literary journal Folyosó.

  • INTERVIEWS AND TALKS

    On April 26, 2016, Diana Senechal delivered her talk "Take Away the Takeaway (Including This One)" at TEDx Upper West Side.
     

    Here is a video from the Dallas Institute's 2015 Education Forum.  Also see the video "Hiett Prize Winners Discuss the Future of the Humanities." 

    On April 19–21, 2014, Diana Senechal took part in a discussion of solitude on BBC World Service's programme The Forum.  

    On February 22, 2013, Diana Senechal was interviewed by Leah Wescott, editor-in-chief of The Cronk of Higher Education. Here is the podcast.

  • ABOUT THIS BLOG

    All blog contents are copyright © Diana Senechal. Anything on this blog may be quoted with proper attribution. Comments are welcome.

    On this blog, Take Away the Takeaway, I discuss literature, music, education, and other things. Some of the pieces are satirical and assigned (for clarity) to the satire category.

    When I revise a piece substantially after posting it, I note this at the end. Minor corrections (e.g., of punctuation and spelling) may go unannounced.

    Speaking of imperfection, my other blog, Megfogalmazások, abounds with imperfect Hungarian.

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