I've Got Friends (In Heves, Of All Places)

Rachel Jones is a sparkling gal. She used to just be a former camper and the little sister of a friend. Mandy, taller by an inch, is one of my best friends from Camp Nan A Bo Sho and UW-Madison. Without her, I simply wouldn’t be the same me. Bones, as we used to call her summer long ago, is now a special ed teacher lucky enough to find herself holed up in Jackson, Wyoming, under the shadow of the Tetons.

Next year, though, Rachel will be more than just another camper I’ve befriended. She’ll move into a new category in my world of acquaintances: roommate! Five of us will share a pad in Madison, two block from the state capital, two blocks from James Madison park.

And Margaret Bermingham’s one of her good friends, a wonderful girl in her own right. They worked together two summers at NABS, the two summer after I left. She goes to Boston University now, but makes it home on occasions like Halloween in Madison and camp reunions. She spent the spring in London, studying and interning, and has been travelling since classes ended.

If you are so enabled, facebook them. (Uh-oh, Jeremy learned a new verb!)

When I heard that they wanted to make Hungary the third country on their spring-time European travels, I was jazzed. These ladies are good shit, and I had long been advocating that anyone and everyone should come experience a taste of Hungary with me.

So far, only my parents had been willing. And there are inherent differences between parents visiting and friends visiting. Chess museums and handiworks cooperatives are traded on the itinerary for gypsy ghettos and bars. So it goes.

The girls arrived from Salzburg by train on Thursday, but they assured me that they felt capable, with good directions, of weaving through Budapest, boarding a little Hungarian bus by themselves, and then manage to get off at the right town. I vowed to help by waving like a madman outside of the right station. Heves and I were both excited. Not often that beautiful young gals come from America!

In truth, I was distracted from my waving duties by picking flowers and talking to students, the girls managed to negotiate their way to Heves and get off the bus at the right spot all by themselves. It’s a major accomplishment, I’m not exactly sentineled on the beaten path. They even managed to get their bags out of the bottom of the bus by the time I saw Heves’ two newest blondish heads awash in the confusion of a foreign land. I’m sure the bus driver was skeptical of their sanity until I greeted them. I was happy, these were my first camp hugs in a long time.

As soon as the bags hit the floor, I welcomed them with palinka, one of our favored Hungarian traditions, before we wandered through the streets of Heves. I’ve been here a long time, I’ve forgotten the shock they felt. Despite it, they smiled. I loved how fast we could all talk together.

Despite Hungarian advice to the contrary, I made them peek into the gypsy ghetto with me after ice cream. Long lines of small houses, set tight against dirt roads with the leprosy of potholes. Broken windows mar walls, garbage paints the ditches unfortunate rainbows. It’s (not) affectionately known in these parts as "krakko." The Hungarians insist that it’s impossible to enter and exit alive. We disproved the skeptics (and/or racists) because I wanted to show the girls the first and the second (and maybe even the third) world natures of Heves. There are many. And its hard to understand the school without seeing that side of town. I wish you all could. They asked a lot of questions, but I didn't have good answers. I don't know if there are any.

We made Italian spaghetti and drank African wine, but when the lights at the Hungarian bar were turned out on us, we figured it was time to hit the hay in anticipation of a deeeelightful Friday ahead.

Up Next? Rachel and Marge tackle Hungarian seventh graders, moose-drawing, 16th century towers, rural trains and, of course, Hungarian men!