Harvestfest 2005

It was about this time last year that I ventured into the heart of the Bible Belt with the cult leader's daughter to listen to bluegrass music at Harvest Fest. Needless to say, the Hungarian "city" of Hernandnemeti's version of Harvest Fest this weekend was a bit different in nature.

We were so excited, of course, to arrive in Laura's hometown of H-Nemeti that Liz, Harpswell, Gaines and I jumped out of the bus a stop too soon. A bit of confusion and a 2km walk later, though, we were right where we were supposed to be: Laura's first-world apartment. Seriously amazing accommodations.

I must confess that we saw very little of the Harvest Fest the next day. We did not run out into the fields to help pluck grapes from the vines. We did not even let the parade interrupt our lazy afternoon of eating ice cream. But I assure you there was plenty of unplanned harvesting.

Yerik and Jenna brought both Mariah and vaguely suspicious ditchweed back to Laura's after arriving by train Saturday morning. After our spaghetti proved, frankly, too terrible to eat, we turned to the neighbors, who were stirring a pot of goulash over an open fire. They welcomed us with homemade brandy. (Courtesy, of course, demanded that we accept.) They also gave the boys beer, but wouldn't offer the same to the girls. When we showed an interest in the walnuts on the ground, a dozen kids clamored into the walnut tree and spent an hour shaking down walnuts. I didn't find much pleasure in eating them, but I did enjoy the smashing-open part of the activity.

The goulash and company were nice, excepting for the cartilage. The un-chewable chunks required a "discard bowl." The mosquitoes are incredibly bad here in Hungary and they drove us inside at dusk. Unfortunately, the now obnoxiously drunk neighbor men were driven inside, too. For an hour they pestered us, in Hungarian, to join the party downstairs and dance. The ladies, especially, were not excited by the invitation. So we went to a bar, in our attempt to escape. After a beer, we made perhaps the greatest decision ever made in human history. We decided to push the aversion to partying inside of a school out of our head and explore the booming music coming out of the local elementary school.

Laura had been invited by her fellow teachers, but none were there when we got there. We were greeted rather rudely at the door, but after our quasi-Hungarian language skills affirmed our status as American teachers, we were welcomed...with trays and trays of palinka and Unicum.

Mind you, we were standing in the front lobby of an elementary school. Tables on the edges of a giant dance floor welcomed perhaps a hundred college-aged and adult revelers. They were all dolled up, men and women alike. It was some sort of homecoming reunion for the city, we guessed. In front was a big seven-piece band, decked out in bright yellow. For hours (we think) they played Hungarian music and we danced the night away. I kicked off my flip-flops and spent most of the night barefoot. We used freshly picked grapes when we ran out of chasers.

My favorite story comes second-hand. At the end of the night, after I'm sure we'd confirmed that Americans are both drunks and poor dancers, rumor has it that I grabbed one last shot of Unicum for the road. (Just sampling the culture, folks!) Gaines didn't think it the best choice for me, so she politely asked if she could have it. A sucker for sharing, I gave it to her. She slammed it down onto the floor and yelled "No more for you! We're leaving." I was crestfallen, I'm sure. Gaines had to remind me the next morning that I had right then and there asked her to "please remind me to call you a bitch in the morning."