Notes from Abroad
A walk through the park
Sunday, January 24, 2010
By Dayna Barber
GVL Study Abroad Columnist
The last moments of my time in Hungary are growing near. After I am gone, I wonder what stark and prevailing images will remain in my mind of this small, Central European country.
From my very first moments here, during the summer when I was plunged into a pool of culture so unlike what I had expected, still to this day I have not fully recovered my brea
th but have learned to live with smaller inhales.Life is a process in Hungary, an ongoing one, constantly transforming to the rhythm of modernization and liberalization in order to cast away the remaining shards of communist influence and catch up with those countries of the West.
The history of this country is long and not easily recounted. Foreign occupations and wars have traversed this land for centuries and the wounds are deep and fresh. Not merely 20 years ago, the Soviets withdrew from Hungary taking with them their totalitarian regime, but their presence remains in the cities and country side.
When you take the road north to Tokaj, the famous wine region of Hungary, one can see an old soviet tank perched eerily on the side of the road. In Budapest, some buildings still bear the scars from Soviet guns whose bullets pierced through the concrete.
In fact, the campus on which I study use to be a Soviet barracks, and it is almost inconceivable for me to imagine
Soviet soldiers walking through these halls with their voices echoing off the tall, vaulted ceilings.However, despite the prominent affect these features may have on one's mind, the most memorable attributes are the ones I see every day that appeared unsettling at first, but became oddly beautiful to me.
When walking along the lengths of the narrow streets, gaze upon the walls that accompany them. Many of the fences are topped with barbwire that were constructed by the Soviets during the occupation, and are now being shrouded by creeping vines trying to cover the past. Flowers blossom on these vines and it looks so strange in comparison, beautiful flowers laced with barbwire. The brick walls are crumbling but painted with massive portraits of graffiti, rebellious pictures and names scribbled haphazardly, as if in retaliation against the wall, marking their territory and reclaiming what is theirs.
The great forest, or park rather, that I walk through every day on my way to class holds such lovely scenery, but is slightly tainted by a haunted beauty. The park holds little surprises nestled in corners of overgrowth and shadow which conceal old monuments of people lost to the Soviets or the Nazis.
But they are forgotten, or at least they seem to be, hidden away from view in the depths of the park. Strange that on the main paths of the park, I see women and children playing gently, couples holding hands and people on their way to somewhere important.
But when you look off the main path, you see the elderly, walking slowly with hands clasped behind their backs, and you know that they have visited those old, hidden monuments to look upon the faces of a past hidden from sight and mind, but not forgotten.
These sights and sensations will be most memorable because they penetrated my heart with their sadness and will remain there because of their severe beauty.
Posted 6:04 PM
