TRAVEL DIARY

A weblog regularly updated by Jodi Rose.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

11:52 PM
Posted by jodi rose

a busload of tourists arrived this morning and unpacked their cameras to document their visit to the rebuilt bridge. I was having an off-duty morning so didn't accost them to collect impressions. next time.
the town seems to be getting busier - maybe just end of school year.

summoned to gyuri and sofie's apartment to farewell karol, who returns to switzerland via budapest this weekend. he is very happy that all the bridge guards invite their friends to share the experience, and the word is spreading about sturovo. I reccomend a trip purely for the vadas baths, the bridge is an added bonus. Or vica versa.

Gyuri edits the local newspaper, I must write and article for the next edition - he and Sofie talk me through the main stories (all in Hungarian and Slovakian). Front page is the new baths and spa center which opened in Esztergom a few weeks ago, and the Sturovo chicken. I had just noticed the mestska policia have this symbol on their car - actually it's a rooster, and found out it is the town's symbol - like Warsaw's mermaid and Malmo's griffin.
Sturovo was originally called kakat - which apparently means rooster - and the two blue stripes symbolise the two rivers, while the triangle represents the shape of the old castle/fortress. There are 5 points in the crest, for each time the town burnt down. An unexpected lesson in heraldic symbolism - it's a very cute looking fowl.
Inside, someone is optimistic about something, but I can't remember who. There's an article with itemised account of city funding, which seems to be mainly for sport related activity and building. Story about the physics competition at the elementary school; and a cultural exchange program with students from Spain, Poland and Hungary, visiting a cobbled street somewhere. Hey, some of them look familiar - think they were staying at the hostel patio in bratislava the night i was there. Very friendly, asked highly relevant teen questions about Australia (like, are the boys there cute - I told them, depends what you like) then ran around the corridors all night.
Back to the Sturovo Parkany a okolie es Videke regionalis havilap; the town is jubilant about something - Saint Imre, who is the patron saint of the local church and was the son of the first Hungarian King. He was sainted for... 'living like a saint' I'm told, and died at 21. Which makes it easier to stay out of trouble, I guess. Following this is a biography of Hungarian playwright Csepreghy Ferenc, 1842 - 1880, another short life. Not sure if his plays are being performed still.
An ad for the Parkany-Esztergom Winter ball, Jan 14 is illustrated by the new bridge connecting the two towns enclosed by a scroll and wreath with both coats of arms, the Esztergom one seems to mainly feature the Basilica. Sturovo is definitely the underdog - or underchook - hardly ever appears on the maps, but we're changing that! Also a rant from film club saying why does no-one ever come?
Or at least that's what I'm guessing, from recent attendance. Tried to go last week even though the film was in french with czech subtitles, but was secretly glad only one other person showed up so came home.

The main feature article which captures my imagination is about Paul, the homeless man. It's a seasonal 'remember those less fortunate than ourselves' type angle, but the story behind is fascinating. He is the only homeless person in the town, I saw him in the street a day or so ago and his presence begging in the pesia zona seemed incongruous. 'Does the state provide housing?' I ask. Yes, but in Novy Zamke - which is 50km northwest - and he comes back here because he loves the Basilica and the River, and can't be away from them.
In the 1970's he lived on the bridge - the one arch left standing - and was quietly drinking and minding his own business when a Russian soldier came and told him to move on (or off). In the ensuing struggle, the Russian soldier was hurled into the river, and Paul went to the police station to advise them of this accident. They laughed and sent him away, telling him he was drinking too much and imaginging things. So a few days (or weeks) later, when the body washed up 30km downstream on the Hungarian side, the police arrested Paul and he spent twenty years in prison. Now he lives in the gimnazium (high school) which is being renovated, in the part that has no roof or running water (a friend tells me they could have school swimming class in there instead of at the vadas baths) during the winter; and in summer he lives in the cemetry. 'Which one', I ask, 'the Russian?'
"no!' chorus gyuri and sofie, 'the Catholic cemetery.' Obviously, I guess, considering his history - also the Catholic one has trees for shade, a wall for privacy and very ornate graves always covered with fresh flowers - while the Russian is slabs of anonymous concrete in an open field with a monumental statue of a grief-stricken mother cradling her (presumably) dead son to her bosom, towering over it.
So, next time I see Paul I will empty my wallet into his hat.