Growing up in Ireland, living on the continent had an allure that would eventually prove irresistible. Hearing something described as ‘continental’, be it a look, a style, a food, seemed so exotic. While the islanders of Ireland and the UK spoke English, the Continentals spoke it with an accent that made them seem other-worldly. I was enthralled. It was only a matter of time before I ended up in mainland Europe. Read more

It doesn’t take much to imagine the neighbourhood deep in snow. But it does take a lot for me to imagine snow polo – horses on ice. Now that I know it exists, it’s bumped its way up on my list of things to see before I die. Read more

I’ve done my fair share of nose upturning at people walking the city streets using what look a lot like ski poles. Poles in the mountains my head can deal with. Poles on a footpath? Puleeeeeessse.

The whole concept of Nordic Walking has passed me by. But in the High Tatras, no one seems to go anywhere without their poles. They come to fit all ages and sizes from 9-year-olds to nonagenarians. When I’d counted my 137th pair of poles, my curiosity got the better of me.  I had to google Nordic Walking.

Turns out that by using the poles (correctly) you engage 90% of the muscles in your body. For that I could look silly (note to self). Or spend more time in the Tatras where I’d look right at home.

img_7074_easy-resize-com

Stage 1

img_7085_easy-resize-com

Stage 2 – the 15-seaters

img_7079_easy-resize-com

The highest workplace in the country

In our innocence, we’d thought we could simply turf up at Tatranská Lomnica and hitch a ride on a cable car to Lomnický štít (Lomnický peak) at the top. So much for planning. It is possible to get a small cable car a third of the way up and then change to a 15-seater to go as far as the Meteorological Station – famous for being the highest working place in Slovakia and being home to the country’s highest telephone box. But to get to the top, itself, and to be allowed wander around for 50 minutes, you had to book the funicular days in advance and cough up €46 (included in which is a €2 deposit on a GoPass skicard).

img_7077_easy-resize-com

It’s the tiny little red dot in the middle

The funicular operates between the lake Skalnaté pleso and the top of the peak Lomnický štít suspended on a 1,867 metres long rope. Along its route the funicular overcomes the altitude difference of 868 metres. Originally it was only supported by one pillar set in the southern face of the peak. After the general reconstruction it manages even without the one.

There was a free slot on Sunday, around noon. The weather forecast wasn’t great. The choice was simple. Book, pay and pray. Or play it safe. I gave it some thought. I didn’t think I’d see anything that would really impress me. I’d been higher than the 2634 m I’d be standing atop (Mauna Kea, Hawaii) so it wasn’t the height record I was after. When you’ve lived in Alaska, mountains take on a whole new meaning and while the view from the top of Lomnický štít might well be spectacular, I’d seen Spectacular with a capital S on a daily basis for years. Most of all though, I didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment. I knew I’d be gutted the Sunday noon came by and the clouds had descended.

img_7080_easy-resize-comSo we compromised. We went as far as the lake (more like a big pond in the absence of rainwater and melting snow) and wandered around, enjoying the views and the warmth of a late autumn sun (€19). It was back in the late 1700s that the mountain was first climbed by a local shoemaker. But the credit for the first recorded climb goes to Englishman Robert Townson his guide in August 1793. It would be nearly 100 years later before anyone would attempt to get to the top in winter.

img_7075_easy-resize-com

Stage 2 – you can see the peak in the background

The High Tatras are a maze of hiking trails and cycle paths. Some took the cars up and walked down. Others hiked up and airlifted back. I flew both ways. You can climb to the peak but you have to have a mountain guide with you. All so reminiscent of Alaska on a smaller scale.

Down in the village of Tatranská Lomnica, one of 13 that make up the official town of High Tatras, the penzións and hotels rule. I would love to see the place at the height of the season. It must be heaving. Hotels are still going up so it’s not like supply has outstripped demand. Quite something.

And yes, on Sunday, around noon, the peak wasn’t visible. So I wasn’t at all disappointed.

img_7105_easy-resize-com img_7104_easy-resize-com img_7102_easy-resize-com img_7099_easy-resize-com

 

As the week draws to a close, I’m officially confused. Even more so than usual. Back in 2009, I went on a road-trip to Eastern Hungary and saw one of the simplest and most beautiful churches I’ve seen, ever. Since then, when I think of Gothic, that’s what comes to mind. So yesterday, in the Church of St George in Spišská Sobota, I was a little taken aback to read that it was Gothic, too. And the two couldn’t be more different.

img_7106_easy-resize-com Just as we went in, a busload of Austrian tourists descended on the place and we got lost in the crowd. Taking photos was verboten and usually not one to break the rules, I put my camera on silent and shut down the flash. But when I could, I snapped. I made my peace with God figuring that such a beautiful place deserves a wider audience.

It’s a miracle that the five Gothic altars have survived as long as they have (the earliest dates back to the 1400s) and are in such good nick. They’re stunning.

img_7116_easy-resize-com    img_7109_easy-resize-com img_7108_easy-resize-com

img_7115_easy-resize-com

The 1464 Altar of the Blessed Virgin features the four principal virgins (a new one on me, one that leaves me wondering what made them principals?): St Dorothy of Cesarea, St Catherine of Alexandria, St Margaret of Antioch, and St Barbara of Nicodemia. The two on the right look shinier than the others because they’re copies. The real ones were stolen back in 1993. Is nothing sacred any more?

img_7118_easy-resize-com img_7107_easy-resize-com

But beautiful and all as the altars (and the Holy Tomb) are, it was the modern-day stained glass windows that mesmerised me. Added over time from 2007 to 2013 they’re quite something. Each has a story. I could’ve looked at them for hours trying to interpret their meanings. I didn’t manage to get photos that did them any sort of justice, but someone else did. They’re worth checking out.

I’ve banged on before about modern architecture and the shortsightedness of urban planners ruining the look of places so I was really glad (and grateful) to see that it is possible for old and new to coexist and harmonise. It’s a matter of taste. When fifteenth-century Gothic can sit quite happily beside twenty-first-century whatever, that’s something to behold.

Higher up the Tatras, in the town of Nový Smokovec, there’s an Evangelical Church with one of the most interesting altar backdrops I’ve seen. One that makes Christ look positively human. That too, I could have looked at for hours, but the church was locked up and standing on the wrong side of locked doors shortchanged the moment.

img_7154_easy-resize-com

And not alone am I confused, I’m also a little worried. September is officially over. And October has opened with a bang. Today, Hungary will to the polls in a referendum that asks the question:

Do you want the European Union to be able to mandate the obligatory resettlement of non-Hungarian citizens into Hungary even without the approval of the National Assembly?

Critics say this is the Hungarian version of Brexit – I hope that’s an overreaction. But for months now, the city has been awash with billboards asking questions like:

  • Did you know? More than 300 people were killed in terrorist attacks in Europe since the start of the migrant crisis.
  • Did you know? The Paris terrorist attacks were carried out by immigrants.
  • Did you know? 1.5 million illegal immigrants arrived to Europe in 2015.
  • Did you know? Brussels wants the forced resettling of a city’s worth of illegal immigrants into Hungary.
  • Did you know? Almost one million immigrants want to come to Europe from Libya alone?
  • Did you know? Since the start of the immigration crisis, sexual harassment of women has increased in Europe?

I worry that the propaganda might have taken hold. I hope not. It remains to be seen whether reason prevails.

Fifty-five thousand people live in Poprad-Tatry in Slovakia. We may have seen 100, if that. In the High Tatras for the weekend, Poprad-Tatry was our first port of call. Of course, the previous weeks being what they were, I’d done sod all research and had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that we were heading for the mountains.

When we got off the train, the view was surreal. To the left, tall apartment blocks competed for skyline with the Tatras as a backdrop. To the right, colourful roofed houses against the same backdrop had me thinking of Alaska. I’d only been there 30 minutes and already I wanted to come back in the snow.

img_7049_easy-resize-comimg_7053_easy-resize-com

We’d booked in to a penzión in Spišská Sobota, one of the four towns that joined up in the mid-twentieth century to form the city.  It’s about a 30-minute walk from the train station, as the crow flies. And fly we did, through a tunnel (with its own photo exhibition), across waste ground, over fields, and even over a bridge. The locals like their shortcuts.

img_7052_easy-resize-comimg_7054_easy-resize-comimg_7055_easy-resize-com

Penzión Fortuna is a family run three-star affair that has one of the best restaurants in town. The food was excellent. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a Waldorf salad on a menu and I’m adding their carrot and garlic spread to my list of starters. Friendly, helpful, and very obliging, they definitely set the tone for the weekend. To top all that off, we weren’t staying in the main house but in one across the square, one set in a row of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Burgher houses. And we had a massive attic room with a mountain view complete with living area. What more could a body ask for? These Burghers (middle class businessmen of the day) had it good.

img_7068_easy-resize-comimg_7133_easy-resize-com Sobotské námestie, with its artistic signs and postboxes is quite stunning. Although lined on both sides with penzións, it seemed to be waiting for people to arrive. The season hadn’t yet started. Most people come to the Tatras to ski. The last of the summer’s Nordic walkers had gone closer to the mountains. It was quite img_7141_easy-resize-comsurreal. Beautifully kept, all ready for business, but no one had as yet arrived. Other than those we saw in the restaurant and the staff at the penzión, there was no one else around.

Poprad apparently has one of Europe’s highest international airports, higher even than Innsbruck in Austria. We missed it. Didn’t even see a sign. The city itself dates back to the thirteenth century when the king of Hungary invited German colonists to settle in the rural farming region. In the mid-fifteenth century, Hungary pawned it to Poland who held it till the 1770s. The Russians came in 1945 and the tourists have been coming ever since.

Considered by some to be the gateway to the High Tatras, for others it’s the start of a regional Gothic tour, and for more still it’s the home of a locally famous business success story. Back in  1845, a small business started making nails and horseshoes. Today it has morphed into  Tatramat, the washing-machine factory spoken of with reverence. NHL fans might know it as the home-place of Peter Bondra, the 37th player in league history to score 500 NHL goals and twice score 50 goals in one season. Lots of frozen lakes to practice on in the neighbourhood.

And speaking of cold, the town is also home to Aquacity, a massive waterpark with a cryotherapy centre where temperatures go as far below as -120 degrees Celsius.

CRYOTHERAPY PROCEDURE

Upon arrival, guests are given moisture resistant clothing that includes a T-shirt, shorts, headbands, gloves, socks, clogs and a mask to cover the nose and mouth. Certain parts of the skin must remain exposed, in order to induce the above mentioned stimulation of receptors. Pre-treatment begins by entering the ‘pre-chamber’, with its temperature of -60 °C and lasts for approximately 30 seconds. Following this is entry through the internal passage doors into the main Cryochamber, where the temperature reaches -120 °C and where clients are in motion all the time, avoiding any skin contact. Exit is again via the pre-chamber, allowing the body to adapt to the change of temperature. After leaving the Cryochamber, the clients then perform 20 minutes of intense exercise.

They had me up until the last.

An overnight stay isn’t enough to do the city justice but then, it’s not going anywhere and I can always go back.

 

I have an innate distrust of guide books, the well-known names in the travel world. I doubt if the authors have ever even been to the places they write about. I dislike their sameness. I prefer to find books written by locals, books that talk about the depth of a place rather than gloss over the superficial elements designed for photo opportunities and postcards.

Years ago in Venice, we wandered around with Tiziano Scarpa’s Venice is a Fish. Sadly, I lent the book to a friend whose flat was burgled; the burglar was obviously planning on taking a trip there, too, as he made off with my mate’s laptop and my copy of this brilliant little book. I bought it because I was struck by the blurb: With everything from practical advice for aspiring Venetian lovers to hints at where to find the best bacaro, Scarpa waves the tourist in the right direction and, without naming a single restaurant, hotel or bar, relates the secret language needed to experience the real Venice. So ignore the street signs – why fight the labyrinth? Excellent.

A couple of weekends ago, on the second of my Border Dashes this year, we headed to Košice, a city in Eastern Slovakia known more familiarly in Hungary as Kassa. We caught the 6.30 am train from Keleti Station on Saturday morning and arrived at our destination around 10 am.

We’d booked into the lovely Penzión Hradbová, close to the Dominican Church. Newly refurbished it has a great little spa and offers a cooked breakfast in the morning. The staff are friendly, helpful, and on call 24/7. Recommended.

Bags dropped, we headed to the Tourist Information Office. With just 36 hours to see as much as possible, we thought a walking tour would be a good place to start. It was here that we found a gem: a bi-lingual guidebook. Milan Kolcun’s Details in Košice. A sequel to Wanders in Košice, it focuses on the details that are so often overlooked. It tells story after story of the little things worth looking for.  We bought both and sat for an hour over coffee at the fabulous secessionist Hotel Slavia on the town’s main street, where we picked out what we’d like to see and plotted our route. Our picks were not included in the two-hour walking tour we had later that day so we really did get to see a lot.

IMG_4396 (1280x960)IMG_4292 (800x600)From the grandeur of St Elisabeth’s Cathedral to the barrenness of Miklus Prison, from the treasury of gold coins discovered in 1935 to the splendour of the botanical gardens, the city is made for walking. We tracked down the military shoe tree, the gargoyle of the ugly woman captured by the water goblin, and the stonework on the old Thalia theatre. We wandered the backstreets tracing the footsteps of the great poet Sándor Márai. We found craftsman’s row and promised ourselves to come back when everything was open. And we lucked out and got to see the heart-wrenching inscription preserved on the wall of the synagogue.

IMG_4458 (800x600)IMG_4461 (1280x960)Košice is home of the oldest marathon outside of Greece. It has a world-renowned opera house that attracts big names (the programme is worth keeping an eye on). And it has the best pizza this side of Naples. I kid you not: the pizza at ZaZza Pizza is worth the train ticket alone.

Sunday evening we were ready to head back to Budapest. According to Máv (both the website and the ticket agent) our train was to leave at 18.30. Remembering our near miss when in Subotica recently, I asked the Penzión to triple-check. Máv was wrong – again. Beware. The one train of the day leaves for Budapest at 18.02. Am sure there is nothing in any guidebook about that!

First published in the Budapest Times  29 April 2016

A good way of getting to know a city, without resorting to guide books, is to read a fictional novel that’s set there. Another way, is to find someone famous who was born there and then following their story. Banksy in Bristol is a good example of this. And in Košice recently, Sándor Márai  provided another ready-made treasure hunt.

Somewhat famous for being the first person to write reviews of Kafka’s work, Márai is probably better known for his 1948 novel, Embers, which published in English in 2000. It’s original Hungarian title is more fetching I think… A gyertyák csonkig égnek (candles burn until the end). It’s about an old general and his friend from the military academy who reunite over dinner after 41 years of not seeing each other.

In 2006, Jeremy Irons and Patrick Malahide played the stage version in the Duke of York in London. [Irons hadn’t been on stage in 18 years and his return was eagerly anticipated.] Its original run was extended by four weeks due to popular demand but the critics’ reviews were mixed.  Christopher Hampton’s stage adaptation of the novel was billed as one that explores ‘the eroticism of male friendship’. I’ve had the book on my shelf for years and have yet to open it.

IMG_4421 (800x600)IMG_4419 (800x600)Fascinating, isn’t it, how someone who has once found fame in their native language can, nearly half a century later, be famous all over again in another. And even more fascinating is the thought of all the books out there still to be translated into English. [I have my favourites of those that have been.]

IMG_4287 (800x600)IMG_4219 (800x600)IMG_4298 (800x600)IMG_4297 (800x590)IMG_4221 (800x600)Anyway, as I said, Márai’s years in his home town left a trail to follow and explore. From his birthplace on Bočná st to his studio in the old Thália Theatre, a lovely old frescoed building, to Maleter’s House whence he kidnapped his bride-to-be, the lovely Lola. Or the confectionary where he first met Lola during an ice-cream competition (am not sure if they were eating it or making it). Then there’s the Premonstratensians School he attended and the family home where the commemorative room is now housed.

I had to Google Premonstratensians. They’re known in Ireland as the White Canons (a new one on me) and are what’s called Canons Regular (another new one) – monks who live in the community under the order of St Augustine. Why didn’t I know that? But even more interestingly, they actually work for a living: they’ve created and operate small industrial activities such as printing (Averbode, Tongerlo, Berne), farming (Kinshasa, Ireland, Postel), cheese-making (Postel), running schools (Averbode, Berne, USA, Australia), agreements with breweries (Tongerlo, Postel, Park, Leffe, Grimbergen), retreat centres (nearly everywhere), astronomical observatories (Mira, Grimbergen), artistic bookbinding (Oosterhout), forestry (Schlägl, Geras, Slovakia) and pilgrimages (Conques). That’s a change.

And as we wandered looking for these landmarks, we saw the wealth of architecture the city has to offer. There IMG_4278 (800x600)really is a surprise around every corner. And the added attraction is that it’s all walkable.

What is a tad peculiar though, is the tram line on the main street. No longer in use, it creates a certain expectation that something might be coming at any IMG_4375 (800x600)IMG_4319 (800x600)minute. There’s a watchfulness about the place, a sense of anticipation, that feeling that just about anything could happen. Magical.

One of the many fanciful notions I have is that inside every statue is a real person, trapped for eternity in whatever position their maker has chosen for them. I’ve spent way too much time thinking about how I’d like to be immortalised in bronze. The idea of a full-sized me in a full-sized bed reading a full-sized book was high on my list for a while, but given that my IMG_4279 (600x800)back has been acting up lately, even that comfortable notion isn’t as attractive as it once was.

I quite like the relatively recent (2004) sculpture of Márai that is tucked away on a quiet square on the corner of Zbrojničná and Mäsiarska. It’s of him sitting on a chair, legs crossed, as if
in conversation with whomever chooses to sit in the empty chair opposite him.  It doesn’t look the most comfortable of poses, but think of the great conversations you could have with him, the best of listeners; thinkg of all the confessions he must have heard, a little like Jozef Attila in Budapest. Anyway, it’s been filed as an option. But first, I need to do something that will give the world reason to cast me in bronze and plonk me somewhere for eternity.

I like a good story. I like facts and figures, too, but I’d prefer a good story any day. Give me something I will remember. Like the one about the miller’s daughter in Košice who fell in love with a man who didn’t love her back. Nothing new there, I hear you say. She was so upset that she decided life wasn’t worth living. She jumped into the water at the mill-race, determined to put an end to her misery.

IMG_4290 (600x800)Now in the mill-race lived a water goblin. He took a fancy to yer woman and pulled her deep into the waters. Her body never floated to the surface. A year later, a coach driver was passing by in an awful hurry. He was taking a midwife to assist in the birth of some local nobility. But as they approached the mill-race, the coach swung off course and drove down into the waters. Soon after, the Košice water babies were born. Today, the water goblin lives by the willows and only ever shows himself to children. What exactly all this has to do with the ugly face on the facade of a Secession style house opposite where the old mill-race used to be … that bit got lost in translation.

IMG_4425 (600x800)

While the town is awash with ugly gargoyles, it also has a few patron saints and protectors hidden away in niches. The theory behind these is that each of us has our own saint – presumably someone whom we are called after. I get two – Mary and Martha – which perhaps explains my split personality. Even if we’re orphaned, we still have someone looking out for us.  This statue of Our Lady is one of the few to survive 40 years of socialism and interestingly, sits atop a house that is currently up for sale… mmmm.

IMG_4426 (800x600)IMG_4275 (800x600)IMG_4302 (600x800)IMG_4304 (800x600)Elsewhere, throughout the town, there is plenty to look up at and look out for. So many nooks and crannies, so much going on. Košice is a gem of a town, one that’s made for walking around. The weather was cooperating and the coffee was good.

Another story we heard was that of the shoe tree in the park on Moyzesova Street. Back in the day, military service was part and parcel of life in Slovakia. Young men had to do their two years.   They would leave home, perhaps for the first time, at a young age. Families and girlfriends stayed behind as they went to do their duty. God only knows what met them. Hazing, bullying, lonely nights wondering what they’d done to deserve it all. Enlisting is one thing; conscription an other. On their last night in the barracks, with freedom just one sleep away, they’d hurl their military boots out the window, readying to don their civvies in the morning and return to the real world. If you look up, you can still see some shoes hanging from the lime trees.

IMG_4365 (800x600)

 

 

 

IMG_4329 (600x800)IMG_4305 (800x600)The bell tower, too, has its story. When the Germans were in town, the locals wanted rid of them. One local landowner from Perín rallied the masses. Groups of locals gathered secretly, plotting to overthrow their occupiers. One day, a couple of boys got into a serious fight. Punches were flailing and the two were going at it. As they were dragged apart by an onlooker, one of them turned to the other and taunted – you wait, you just wait till the farmer from Perín gets you; there’ll really be a war now.

Unfortunately for them, they were overheard and taken in for questioning.  They told all. The city gates were closed and the local fomenters rounded up and tasked with building a bell tower for Urban’s bell. The tower was built without scaffolding. Many prisoners died. There was only so high people were prepared (or able) to go. Today, on the northern side of the tower, you can see statues of two small children – a reminder of the two young lads who betrayed the town.

IMG_4276 (600x800)
IMG_4273 (566x800)Of all the stories I heard though, my favourite has to be about the beggar’s house. There’s a story going about the town that there was once a beggar who begged his way to a fortune. Enough to buy him this house. And while this is a great story, it’s simply that – a story.

While I think of it – Back in 1980, Senegalese author Aminata Sow Fall won the Grand Prix de Litterature de l’Afrique Noire and was shortlisted for France’s Prix Goncourt for her book The Beggars’ Strike. A brilliant satire on giving alms.

But back to my beggar’s house in Košice. It was built in 1898 by the Jakabs, a well-to-do construction family. And if you look closely at the man he’s more like a merchant than a beggar – given the purseful of money on his belt. The harvest scene painted on the facade is also another nod to prosperity. I must admit, though, I prefer the man-made-good story.

And on stories, seventeenth-century Spanish playwright, Pedro Calderon de la Barca, had this to say: What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough: for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.  Enough said.

 

There’s something fascinating about seeing stuff made out of other stuff. Handbags made from bicycle tyres. Wallets made from plastic bags. Altars made from guns. Yep – I did a double-take and checked whether I’d heard that one right. An altar made from guns, indeed.

IMG_4225 (800x600)IMG_4248 (600x800)St Elizabeth’s Cathedral in Košice is the largest church in Slovakia. You could spend an entire morning or afternoon in there and still not see everything there is to see. The Gothic spiral staircase is a case in point. Built in 1425, two staircases wind upwards in opposite directions, meeting  four times. On Valentine’s Day, apparently, couples queue up to climb the stairs, kissing when they meet  on their ascent.  The stairs are used as a metaphor – parting lovers reuniting and parting again, but each time they meet rising higher IMG_4247 (598x800)perhaps in expectation and ideals. A nice twist on church fundraising.

The large balcony hosts a place for private prayer. The King’s Oratory is home to a 7 m crucifix with larger-than-life figures of Jesus, Our Lady, and St John. The balcony bears an inscription reminding all who can read it that Ladislaus the Posthumous is the rightful successor to the Hungarian throne. [Ladislaus was crowned king at the age of 12 weeks.]  It’s all quite something to look up at.

IMG_4240 (600x800)
The high altar of St Elizabeth is gobsmackingly gorgeous with its 48 pictures painted by unknown artists. It is the only preserved altar of its kind in Europe. The double-sided painted panels are open and closed depending on the Church calendar. It’s  very unusual, given the predominance of women depicted in the paintings; it’s certainly one for the sisters.

IMG_4236 (800x600)
IMG_4245 (800x600)IMG_4246 (800x600)The large, upside-down chandelier speaks of the arrival of electricity to the town. In 1913, the candles were replaced by lightbulbs. It also needed something to hang from. The powers that be at the time thought a replica of St Stephen’s Crown would do the trick as back then, Košice was still part of Hungary. How quickly things change.

There are all sort of murals and paintings on the walls. Some have been restored to their former glory; others are still in the process of being restored, the layers of time quite visible.

IMG_4253 (600x800)

For a while the Cathedral belonged to the Protestants and then to the Catholics. And naturally, when one or the other laid claim, quarrels ensued. Back on 4 September 1619, the Calvinists made a play for the Cathedral and the three Catholic priests in residence, one Polish (Melichar Grodiecki), one Hungarian (István Pongrác), one Croatian (Marek Krizin).  They promised to spare their lives if they recanted their Catholic beliefs. But they wouldn’t. Three days later, all three were killed. The martyrs were beatified nearly 300 years after their death. The altar to them was built in 1923. They were canonised by Pope John Paul II when he visited in 1995.

IMG_4261 (600x800)IMG_4258 (600x800)

The statue work is exquisite. I was  taken by this statue of Our Lady – one of the first I’ve seen of her in such a reflective mood. Another caught my eye. My old friend, Sára Salkaházi, the feisty, chain-smoking rebel who signed up to the Sisters of Social Service and met an early death at the hands of the Arrow Cross in Budapest on 27 December 1944. I’d forgotten she was from Kassa (Hungarian for Košice).  I hope she won’t have to wait as long for her canonisation.

IMG_4233 (600x800)

This is the altar though that is made from guns, guns melted down after WWI (I think it was that war… ).  A much better use, I’d say.

IMG_4234 (800x594)There is so much more to see in the church. And if you get a chance to hear the organ being played, so much the better. I was more than a little amused at the thoughts of candles by the minute. I suppose cost efficiencies are the way of the world and I shouldn’t be at all surprised that the old wax candles are being replaced by cleaner, more affordable lights. But it just ain’t the same  in my book. Thankfully, there are three churches in Budapest that I know of where you can still light an old-fashioned candle, even if the price of same is far outstripping inflation.

 

For some inexplicable reason, I have a strange fascination with the Holocaust. I can’t quite get my head around so many people being systematically put to death. I can’t even begin to fathom how others could stand by and let it happen. And deep down, there’s the ever-present question: What would I have done had I been around then?

Oh, of course, I’d like to think that I’d have been fighting on the side of righteousness, aiding and abetting Jews in their escape. I’d like to think that I’d have been so incensed by the wrong that was being done that all thoughts of personal safety would dissipate as the need to do something took hold. I’d like to think all that but I don’t know.

A recent study on anti-Semitism in Hungary Anti-Semitic Prejudice in Present Hungarian Society (Antiszemita előítéletesség a mai magyar társadalomban) notes that 32% of Hungarians participating in the survey have strong or moderate anti-Semitic views and somewhat scarily, one of five of those surveyed believe that Hungarian Jews should leave the country.

Let’s go back in time a little, to the Slovakian town of Košice (Hungarian Kassa). Košice was ceded to Hungary, by the First Vienna Award, from 1938 until early 1945. Of course, the German occupation of Hungary filtered down, and between 16 May and 3 June in 1944 the town’s Jewish population was forcibly removed. One in five residents were Jewish: 12 000 of the 60 000 living in Košice. Rounded up, detained, and then transported to the Auschwitz, fewer than 600 would return. Just one in twenty made their way back.

I’ve heard the heartstone beat in Salaspils near Riga. I’ve visited the artists colony of Terezín outside Prague that Jews believed was a gift from Hitler. I’ve been to Auschwitz, Birkenau, and Dachau. I’ve seen the memorials – the crystal chandelier in Skopje, the chairs in Kraków, the children’s memorial in Győr. I’ve partaken in the March of the Living in Budapest, heard stories of survivors, and wondered at the other five million also wiped off the face of the earth during that bleak period in history. But what I saw in Košice affected me like nothing else.

IMG_4439 (800x600)IMG_4440 (600x800)Looming over Puškinova ulica, the relatively new synagogue (1927) looks remarkably unused.  The side gates were locked, the doors closed tight. We asked someone who said it was never used these days. Always closed.  It was Sunday, so I’d hoped it would be open. A notice in Slovakian mentioned something about something happening at 2pm on a Sunday… that very day. We hung around and waited. I really wanted to see inside – to see the writing on the wall. We were in luck. That day, they were giving two tours  – in Slovakian.

IMG_4444 (800x600)

We paid our €2 and sat through an hour of history that we couldn’t understand. When the others looked up or to the side, our eyes followed suit, but we had no idea what we were being ask to look at. It was cold. I felt myself wandering. I had little trouble imagining 2000 Jews imprisoned here in a space built for 800. No toilets, no food. Crammed together awaiting an uncertain future. Down the road, in a large steel arena, thousands more awaited the same fate. 

IMG_4448 (800x600)IMG_4450 (800x600)And on 21 April, 1944, Tibi, one of the 2000 incarcerated in the house of prayer, scribbled a note on the wall in pencil: We are here. I don’t know where they are taking us (Itt vagyunk. Nem tudom hova visznek.) This message came to light during the renovation of 1970. For 63 years, it had gone unnoticed. No one knows who Tibi is. Was he one of the 600 who returned? How old was he? A man, a boy, a child? But somehow, the handwritten note makes it all very real. It personalises the huge numbers – 12000 – and gives one of them life. Weeks have passed and I’m still thinking about Tibi. IMG_4441 (600x800)There are about 250 Jews left in the town – just 0.1% of the population. One local resident, Ladislav Rovinský, is determined to make sure that the town gets a proper memorial. A plaque was erected outside the synagogue in 2004 but it’s easily overlooked and hardly seems fitting, given the thousands who died so needlessly. Rovinský isn’t Jewish himself, but he’s hell-bent on ensuring that no one forgets what happened. Written up in the Tablet a couple of years ago, the article is worth a read.

Perhaps the most frightening element of it all is the danger that this might all be forgotten.

Later Rovinský acknowledged he could likely obtain foreign funding far more easily than he can at home, where the struggle to get the memorial off the ground reflects the awkward realities of “the Jewish issue” in today’s Slovakia, where more than a quarter of the population agreed in a January poll that it is time to stop discussing the deportations and mass murder of Jews in the Holocaust.

Interestingly, back to the Hungarian survey, when asked if they’d agree to having X move next door, 33% said they wouldn’t want Americans! Now, that’s a new one on me.