Tuesday, August 28, 2007



This man is walking on the roof of a tram because:

a) he's posing for Adbusters.

b) he's lost.

c) he's in a French movie.

I could walk on a train, I think. I'd urinate, but I'd make it to the end. No one would know, because the wind would be so strong, it'd destroy evidence. There'd be no puddle (it'd blow away), and the generous breeze would dry me off pretty fast...if only there was a way to do away with the horrible smell. Perhaps some kind of air freshner between me and the piss?

Hey, look, I ate a burger!



Are you afraid of sleeping? I am. There's a moment I have once in a while, while hovering just above sleep, in which I think, "I'm essentially dead right now".



There's gotta be some hope beyond that. I could wake up anywhere, in a different brain even! Imagine that! I could pretend I was a wizard, and throw lightning bolts at people, OR I could be a hot, hot girl. Either way, I'm so game.



Too bad that shit never actually happens.

Monday, July 16, 2007

FINAL (AND SOMEWHAT LESS EPIC) TRANSYLVANIA POST

Before I continue, there are two people I must acknowledge for basically everything, but specifically their help with these photos and histories. Mom, dad, take a bow...





Thanks to you, I'm a proud Transylvanian, and a first generation Canadian.

*******

A few final pieces from Sikaszo, starting with the scenery...





As mentioned in a previous post, the dictator Ceausescu loved to hunt in the area's dense forests. The lot a couple of doors down was his helicopter landing zone. Even though he chose to fly in, they still paved the roads, just for him, and then they'd unpave them afterwards. What a self-indulgent bastard!

We donned funny hats and went wandering in a drunken haze. I don't remember much, other than a story about a neighbour who had burned down his shack and hanged himself only a year earlier.



We met up with some living neighbours. The husband had the hugest ears, but has ironically been deaf since he was a kid. He was a fantastic lip reader, but he only had bottom-row teeth, so if I were as deaf as he was, we'd have a major communication problem. He was the nicest cat, relaxed to the max, despite the fact that the week before, some dogs had bit his ankles so badly that his boots had filled with blood. He went for a beer, and his wife came along to ask us if we knew where he was, which turned into an invitation to our place for some moonshine brandy.



We also checked out a church my grandfather helped design...notice the Szekely cross, very "Szacred" (hahaha).



Inside the cabin, we discovered more family memorabilia. For instance, he loved his trusted Ladas, and hunted in them year after year, in the deepest of snow.



His relatives were always studious, and he met my grandmother (high school graduation picture below) at his med school.



In the fall of '96, he collapsed from a stroke (his second in twenty years) in his bathroom, his last bastion, and died two weeks later after coming in and out of a coma, in a state of manic delirium. He was almost 80. My grandmother died within a year.



********

In many ways I see now how my whole life built up to this visit. There's no way, after hearing about my heritage day in, day out, that I could delay this trip any longer.

I learned so much about my family's past, and the history of Transylvania, but it dismayed me to see the cultural fragmentation inherent to the region, and how negatively it has affected not only my family, but every citizen. Maybe I'm just too Canadian, but I believe that the future of Transylvania is in an independent, multi-ethnic, multi-lingual state in which all nationalities are recognized as equal parts in the national fabric.

I'll leave you with two images, the first of which is my mock design for the Transylvanian coat of arms.



The final photo comes from a postcard, circa 1910, on which an artist rendered what he thought Marosvasarhely might look like "in the future". Obviously, it looks nothing like the Jules Verne metropolis envisioned by this mad genius, but let this piece be my tribute to those thinkers who can see with such immense clarity what others might consider impossible.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

THE MOST EPIC TRANSYLVANIA POST OF ALL TIME

Transylvania cannot be fully explained through the impressions of one small city. Tirgu Mures is only one place amongst many. There are over ten other cities of its rough size, not to mention hundreds of little villages and thousands of yet tinier villages that dot the roads every 5km.



Segesvar/Sigisoara is the hometown of Dracula, who really had nothing to do with the vampire legend - that was an invention of Bram Stoker's, who adapted Serbian legends and wove them into American (read: not Transylvanian) folklore. What Vlad Dracul II did was defend Europe from invading Turks, although he basically negated it by killing as many Europeans as he did his enemies. He impaled a lot of people, it's true, but the vampire shit is what rules the day, so in Segesvar, they have no shortage of terrifying tourist memorabilia. Lovely Victrolas, though...and a troupe of greeters follow you around, welcoming you in seven languages. They really play the part, especialy the dwarf with crooked teeth.



The cukoo clock is quite a sight, but it only goes off at noon. Note the Saxon architecture of the surrounding town. The red colours were painted with the blood of invaders (ok maybe not).



Up north from Tirgu Mures is Gernyeszeg, a primarily Hungarian and Gypsy town. My mom spent summers there as a child, playing at a palace. The Teleki Palota once housed nobility, but then WWII came along. It has since served as a spot for Nazi vacationers, Soviet-era professionals, and more currently, a Dickensian home for wayward children, and a place where dogs can crash for a while.



It's surrounded by a moat, withering statues, and a vicious forest full of crows. In one of the trees, a shell sits unexploded from WWII (maybe even WWI). The bark has managed to grow around it. There's also shed with a sign that teaches good Comrades how to put out a fire. Kapish, Tovarish?



The highlight of the trip, however, was the 24 hour visit to the family cabin, in Sikaszo, deep in the heart of the Szeklar homeland of Hargita. The Szeklars, as they are known in English (Szekely in Hungarian), have unknown origins, but they are the most Transylvanian people on earth, as the Hargita has been, unequivocally, their homeland longer than it has been anyone else's. They were invited into the Hungarian kingdom as border guards by a twelfth century king, and although they maintain their own traditional and distinct cultural identity, they speak Hungarian and have sided with them historically, with only one or two exceptions. They make up a huge portion of the population in three counties. Up to 85% of the people in Hargita are Szekely, and many Hungarians not only in Transylvania but Hungary proper carry their genes.

What can I say about Hargita? It's the kind of place where time stands still, and cows walk down the road.



Our plot of land was acquired by my grandfather during the Ciausecu era. He was a surgeon, Korean war veteran, and quite "in" with the Party (altho not a true believer, and therefore thoroughly uncorrupt). It was in a treasured valley, only about two lots over from where the dictator himself would land his hunting helicopter. All the hunters in the area had to cough up their gaming rights until Ciausecu killed a prize bear or deer, and anyone who fucked up went to jail.



The Szeklars are known for hand crafting some very elabourate gates. My grandfather decided to one up them by doing his in colour, quite a rare accomplishment. Whenever one of his daughters got married, he would carve a congratulatory scene starring the two of them in a dance. He also built men to guard the gates.



He spent his last twenty years converting the cabin into his own personal shrine to art and nature, all of it done by hand, and sometimes coloured in with marker pens. The sculptures conjure up the spirits of long gone relatives and Korean war colleagues, while the carvings depict folkloric scenes, and probably some of his delusions of epic grandeur.













He was an avid hunter and nature lover, creating numerous pieces out of various media to display this fact.





He also loved naked women, and invited them over all the time to pose for his sculptures.



Seeing all of this brought my mom to tears, so we decided the best thing to do was drink moonshine and eat pork immediately.



Then it was time to fire up some gulyas. 'Twas but one of about seven meals we ate that day.







After dinner, things got tense, and in this family, we solve everything with the gloves.



Mom started wailin' on Mike, and then she socked me for no reason, so I hit her with a cheap shot.

We got drunker, and walked up the hill, where my grandfather had built a burial monument for himself and my grandmother. The irony is that neither of them are buried there...and then an even bigger irony is that we thought we saw a dead body in there. But no, turns out it was just a sleeping Gypsy woman.



She lives on that piece of land, so technically it's her property. She remembered my mom from childhood, and showed her how to get over the fence. We shot the shit for a while, and she helped us clean up some garbage around the site, like old cans full of rusty nails, and what looked like tractor parts.



My mom's memories of her are quite shocking. Apparently, when the woman was a girl (she's roughly my mom's age), she broke into our cabin and played with some toys. Somehow the police found out, and they beat the girl in front of everyone.

We cut ourselves off from adventure at that point, and when night fell, it fell hard. I slept on a mattress made of wood, that was perfectly fitted to my body. When I went outside to take a piss, all I could hear were wild howls, giant crickets, and I swear I heard birds. There were billions of stars in the sky but it wasn't enough to light a damn thing on the ground.



******

In 1919, the Treaty of Trianon redrew borders in parts of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire. Hungary was punished and lost territory to all of its neighbours and the Hungarian world all of a sudden had a diaspora. All of my grandparents were born in the first years after Trianon.



My grandfather's story begins around WWI. He was born at the tail end, into a well to do family, but they were, from what I understand, somewhat broken up by a few tragedies. In his early adulthood, he once visited a friend in hospital, one who had tried to committ suicide, and from there he became interested in medicine. He went to med school, with some money that his brother had left behind, and then WWII broke out.



In 1940, Hungary retook control of Northern Transylvania. He joined up with the Honved (Hungarian Army). The Hungarians were part of the Axis, but the depth of their collaboration is subject to muh debate. The US special envoy during American neutrality (who remained in contact well afterwards) describes them as "an unwilling satellite". It wasn't exactly a thoroughly fascist country at first, as there were no fascists in charge of the government quite yet, and only 10% of the voting public voted for them (there were limited free elections during the era, and Social Democrats and other centre-left parties were not made illlegal). On the other hand, anti-Jewish laws had been instituted by Regent Admiral Horthy, who in the 1920s purged Hungary of its Communist elements. He is seen by some as an anti-Semite, but he was a complex figure, and the reality is only partially true. While he was a very conservative and nationalistic, he was also wary of German influence and disagreed vehemently with Hitler on numerous occasions, to the point of outright defying his wishes. Horthy's regime refused to deport the Jews (although in the country, pogroms and Army atrocities were ignored). He remained largely non-compliant regarding sending troops to fight the Russians. However, young able bodied Jewish men were sent on stints to the army, where they served as "work soldiers", slave labourers essentially. The early stints went without much incident, when Hungary evaded combat and the appalling potential of nationalism had not yet produced many results.

This all changed in March, 1944. As the war got less and less successful on the Eastern Front for the Axis, Hungary tried unsuccessfuly to forge a separate peace with the Allies. Hitler was so angered that he deposed Horthy, installed a homegrown fascist government in Budapest, and brought Eichmann in to send the Jews to camps. The situation became very grave. 400,000 Hungarian Jews were killed in only 8 weeks, most of them in Auschwitz. The deportation and annihilation of the Hungarian Jews represented the most gruesome and bleak period of the Holocaust, when the gas chambers were at their most active. Many of the dead came from Transylvania.

In 1940, Hitler enacted the Vienna Accords, which redrew borders within the Axis. Transylvania was split between Romania and Hungarians, who retook control of Northern Transylvania, and while they had not started deporting Jews, nationalism was much stronger in Transylvania, where Hungarians had lived under the spectre of Romania for two decades. The Hungarian army marched into these territories, and their activites were immediately of a violent nature. The work camps for able-bodied young Jewish men became deathly violent, and ridden with disease and hunger.

Back home, the notoriously crowded ghettos were established, and then the deportations began, without protest from local Hungarians. My father's side of the family were almost wiped out entirely (this is a subject I will address in the future). The Russians, however, were mowing down the Ukranian front and made it into Transylvania by the summer of 1944. The retreating Hungarian Army, who had been badly defeated at the front, took out much of their aggression and anger on the Jews who had served in labour camps. Many were killed on the spot or turned over to the Germans to be sent to death camps.

Both of my grandfathers were chief doctors, and both organized escapes. My Jewish one lead his fellow slave labourers out of their camp after making a deal with a guard.

My mother's father, from the gentile side of the family, was on the other end of the coin. He was in the Honved, but had never been a follower of fascism. He made a deal with his commanding officer that allowed his unit to escape the front line without being turned over to anyone. So ended his first war.



He took to Communism immediately, and was quite the believer at first (his sister had been part of a revolutionary art movement in the 30s). He rose up the ranks as a professor and army surgeon, and in 1953, he went to Korea on a Communist goodwill mission organized by the Russians. He was in command of a mobile military hospital, just like the one in M*A*S*H*, except red as dead. He carried a camera around his neck everywhere he went. He witnessed napalm attacks, convoys of orphaned children, and mass starvation.

(SOME OF THESE PHOTOS ARE NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART)



He brought back a great deal of propaganda.



But he also brought back a boy who had been orphaned. His name was Yu Ki Bin, and he lived with my family in Tirgu Mures through the 50s, until the early 60s. He went back to DPRK as a teenager, and sent numerous letters to my grandparents. He addressed them as "Dearest Mother and Father". His last letter was tragic. He asked for medicine, because he had gotten sick in the army. There was no return address, and he was never heard from again.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Erdély induló : PART FOUR*

In exploring Tirgu Mures, we found much that we had never expected to see. I, for one, was unaware of the painstaking skill put into every piece of architectural design and interior decoration. My mother remarked to me that in her time, she had never noticed it either. "It just didn't occur to me to look up and marvel at something."



She did, however, find a world to gaze upon in puppetry, and she spent hours and hours as a child watching puppet shows in a local theatre devoted to the activity. It's now a cafe, so over some "capps", we discussed how things had changed, not just on the outside, but in her mind as well. Feelings were mixed, no doubt. As much as they were about loss, those feelings and perceptions came from discovery, not only of the new things, but the ones she had always known.



We decided to shoot the town and revel in art in and design. Some of the best art, we found, had been made by kids at a school.



At the ethnographic museum, Hungarians displayed their unrivalled skill at crafting obscure Transylvanian ceramic stoves...



...and the Teleki Library houses thousands upon thousands of first edition texts of numerous languages and disciplines, from across written history. Highlights included: hand drawings of designs for turn of the century mechanical horses; Tycho Brahe's book on comets; the first texts ever printed in Hungarian and Romanian; a hieroglyphics chart; and Benjamin Franklin's first book on electricity. It's all under glass, lock and key, of course, but a family friend runs the place, so we got a decent tour.



Also celebrated at the museum are Janos and Farkas Bolyai, the father and son who theorized non-Euclidian geometry (a huge hit for fans of three dimensions, and possibly those of the 4th and 5th). I got to see their original notes, and their skulls. They named my father's school after one of them, and it's only 450 years young.



My grandmother on my dad's side made her living at the Kultur Palota, teaching and playing violin. She taught scores of children across generations how to play, including a future conductor of world renown. My grandfather played there, too, and my dad attended hundreds of concerts in the theatre. I'm pretty sure the acoustics of the venue are hard-wired into my neural networks, in Jungian fashion.



The innards are a shrine to Hungarian folklore, famous composers (Fransz Liszt) and nationalist heroes (Lajos Kossuth).





The Rumanian Orthodox Church was thoroughly Byzantine, not to mention enormous. It had no shortage of faithul visitors, who came to pray at lunch hour as if the world were about to end.



We could hear the bell ringing from a smaller church every morning near our place. We were disappointed to discover that the bell, so authentic from a distance, actually came through a speaker, from a tape. Also, the church was built as an exact, carbon replica of an older church that once stood in the same spot.

On the outside, you could light a candle for the living, and another for the dead.



Sometimes traffic lights didn't work, and the odd Dacia from the 70s needed some work, but for the most part, cars were well kept in Tirgu Mures...except for their mufflers, which made the town stink like diesel, and the insanity of traffic in a town built before cars were invented.





ULTRA LATINA is a Romanian nationalist youth slogan, or something to that effect. The Hungarians respond by either crossing out the sign entirely, or by simply adding an R, so it would read "Ultra LatRina". Meanwhile, RATICIDE is used to poison dogs. I believe these posters are warning ads that list numbers to call in case you ingest some by mistake...oh, and apparently, BOYS and not Girls, suck.

In a couple of places, you can see more sloganeering, most specifically, ones that read "MURES TERITOARE ROMANESTE". How nice that they make us feel welcome in our own hometown.

Romanians have a name for Hungarians in Transylvania, "Bozgor", which most likely comes from Slavic origin ("bez gorod" in Russian means "without place"). Considering that Magyar tribes began settling Transylvania as early as the 700s, it's a pretty inaccurate statement. I don't mind abuse, as long as it's accurate.

Romanians believe that they are descended from Dacians, a group of people who fought against Romans who had a military presence in the area. According to the Daco-Roman theory, the central argument behind Romanian nationalism, the Dacians and Romans interbred, and thus was born the Romanian people, who then settled in the Carpathians for a few centuries, without leaving behind any traces of their civilization, and then of course when they came back down from the mountains, the Magyars oppressed them and drove them away.

This theory is rejected by a majority of specialists in the field. A more accpeted notion is that the Romanian people are of diverse origins, and are more likely to have come out of Albania and Greece as nomads who had close links with Italians. But because the Daco-Roman theory has been propped up by modern Romania, it's a deeply entrenched belief system, fuelled by Antonescu in WWII and perfected by Ceausescu afterwards. Nevermind that there is absolutely no direct or even indirect evidence to support this theory, not an iota of proof in a 1000 year period. Nevermind that the Magyar kings invited Wallachs (Romanians before they were referred to as such) to settle in Transylvania to avoid Russian and Turkish oppression. Nevermind that the Latinization of the alphabet was facilitated by Hungarians, whose church was under the jurisdiction of Rome (the Romanian Orthodox Church, under the Byzantine powers, was insistent upon Romanian retaining the Cyrillic alphabet). Nevermind that the Romanian people were able to freely develop their own national identity under this supposed period of Hungarian repression. Nevermind history, fact or common decency.

Thus, to the term "Bozgor", and the idea that Transylvania is the ancient homeland of Romanians, I object not on nationalistic, but factual grounds.



Everyone is in love in Romania, everyone. At the very beginning of each day, and at the very end of my night, I'd walk by Parcul Indragostitsilor - "Lovers Park". If I brought a Canadian girl to a park like this, she'd probably hit me or run away.



"Jesus ete bun cu noi!!!"

* Read parts ONE, TWO and THREE.

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