Grandmother's
Hungarian
Homeland
By Paul Carden
Grandmother's
Such stomping and whirling and fiddling you wouldn't believe. These were the words of my grandmother at age 78 remembering her childhood in Hungary as she described her uncles dancing the czardas.
I was standing in a hall in Szekesferhervar trying to follow the steps of the czardas, taught by an energetic folk dance instructor. Thanks to The Friendship Force, I was living a life-long desire to visit the birthplace of my forebears.
Just before the turn of the last century, my maternal great-grandfathers immigrated to the United States. I was the first member of the family in three generations to return to their homeland.
The day after our arrival, our host and his son, Victor, took my wife and me to the village of Magyarpolany, identified in my great-grandfather's passport as his birthplace. There we located a fourth cousin, Janos Paulics, who guided us to the small village church of St. Laszlo.
Near the front door of the church stands a twenty-foot monument with my great-great-grandmother's name on it. It was purchased in 1901 with money sent back from the relatives who went to America. It is weather worn now and I vowed to persuade her American descendants to help restore it.
Cousin Janos speaks no English and we speak no Hungarian. Victor and Otto performed admirably as translators during our family reunion. Janos is a retired glassblower, and after many gestures and animated conversation, we departed with his gift of a set of crystal glasses. Janos also offered an invitation to return to stay in his small house.
Our visit was a whirlwind of activities. We saw churches, chateaux, and castles in Budapest and all of central Hungary. Our host made sure that we saw his favorite city, Gyor, and early imperial capital, where we had a delicious lunch at a small restaurant. In the background, American country music was playing and we all had a good laugh as I sang along.
Meals were as my grandmother had described them: goulash or soup, or maybe a very savory casserole. But they weren't prepared as she remembered the, "on an open fire on a platform about as high as a table, no chimney, only an opening in the ceiling so the smoke would go out."
At our farewell dinner, a band of folk dancers in authentic costumes performed as awesome array of Hungarian dances. Such stomping and whirling you would not believe. The music was fast and loud, but to the trained ear of a musician, it was in a minor key, plaintive and sad. I wonder if, after generations of suppression, there is a certain genetic melancholy in those of us of Hungarian descent.
Finally, we boarded a bus for Vienna by way of Bratislava, Slovakia. As we crossed national borders, we were checked each time by crossing guards. After three days in Vienna, we returned home. As the jet climbed into the clouds and turned west, I was glad that my great-grandfathers had the courage to take the same route 100 years ago, and glad that I could return to visit their homeland.
Disclaimer: The purpose of this Web Page is to share information for the purpose of research. I have not proved documentation of all genealogy material, nor have I kept source notes as I should. But I had lots of fun and met some great people along the way..
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Carden 
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Trish S. Carden (Please feel free to use this information but if you do
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