Life and death on the Tisza
Mary Murphy
June 29, 2012
‘It’s started. They’re flowering. Catch the next train to Subotica and someone will meet you at the station.’ I’d been waiting for this particular phone
‘It’s started. They’re flowering. Catch the next train to Subotica and someone will meet you at the station.’ I’d been waiting for this particular phone
I met a woman once who had survived the concentration camps. I was in awe of her. She was old and frail, but feisty. It
I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have a big head. It rarely bothers me except when I get the urge to
Three hundred and seventy verses, 1480 lines, make for one hell of a long poem. But I read them all, cover to cover, the first
Get the phone call – revise the route – hop on a train – and enjoy the best of Serbian hospitality. Just another Sunday in
I’m a great fan of markets. I love sorting through other people’s junk in search of a piece of history or something that I can
Living in Budapest, it’s easy sometimes to forget that there’s a whole other world out there, one that lies beyond the city limits. A world
I’ve never professed to be an art expert – what I know about art (other than knowing what I like) could be written on the
‘Wear a good bra’, she said seriously. ‘It’s the hév’, I thought, ‘how bad can it be?’ One hour and fifteen minutes later, I was
The developers must die a little inside each time they see this community garden on Nagytemplom utca. Smack in the middle of the Corvin Sétány
