10 DAYS IN HUNGARY - Day 8- WINEMAKERS a travelers art blog by North Carolina Painter Sue Scoggins

Two to speak of.  (A long post.)

Winery One.  Tokaj.  One happy family!

Who would have thought one year ago that I would be in the Hungarian hills of the Tokaj wine region chatting away with the winemaker and this daughter.

I wandered into the tasting room of the old stone house on the hill, alone.  In Hungarian, "Do you want to do a tasting?"  I gestured yes and said, "I don't speak Hungarian." held up my fingers, "just a little." "Ah.  English, then." she said and brought out 4 bottles of wine. After she explained about the first dry white, she poured and asked "Are you traveling alone?" I told her I was, that my husband passed away some months ago and that I was visiting friends.  The petite little employee, washing the glasses would turn and smile and occasionally laugh when I would talk.  We soon became fast friends and found ourselves laughing at everything while we tried to speak each other's language.  "I like you." she said.  "You are kindly."  I laughed and said, "You are kindly, too."

Many of the houses are built over wine cellars and the wineries are family run businesses.  The cellars are aged old stone with mold growing on them and go deep down into the ground.  Some have long tables and benches for events or private tastings.

Kata, Gyula and Ivette

The winemaker's daughter, Kata

By now,  I was on my third glass, (very small glasses)

"Ah.  Papa!" A man with silver white hair, tanned skin and piercing blue eyes walked in.  He came over to the counter, smiled, and began to speak in Hungarian.  He did not speak one word of English.  Totally unfair!  In Hungarian, said, "She is an American.  An artist.  Why don't you take her to meet the artist down the street."  He responded with a shake of the head and waited while we finished the tasting then brought out a special bottle, with no label, poured, sipped and eagerly waited for my response.  "Very sweet!  Yo!"  Then we took a mini tour of the town.

 Definitely, I want to send them a small painting once I get back home.
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Winery Two.   Back in Mad.

Julie had prearranged a private wine tasting with a small vineyard in Mad.  This little winery only produces 5000 bottles a year and cannot be purchased in the United States.

After walking the backroads of Mad.  After the cemetery.  After the Synagogue.  After the lonely cow and the Russian woman picking flowers we found our place.

The winery was run by a soft spoken young man who was in control of the vines. We met him at his house and helped him carry his basket full of chutney, cheese, herbs and freshly baked almond cake across the street to the winery.

He unlocked the massive doors to the winery and showed us his garden where he grew just about every kind of herb imaginable.  His girlfriend was the vegetable and herb expert.  He set a simple table and we placed the "goods" there.  I set the cake down and he dressed it with edible flowers.

He had such a gentle spirit and was so knowledgable, not only on wines, but on classical music, every day things...we sat and chatted for two hours.  His English was perfect.  He was quite proud of his beautiful wines, in a humble sort of way, and reserved the best for last.  Down in the cellar he went and came back with a sample straight out of the barrel...a special taste for us.

10 DAYS IN HUNGARY - Day 7 THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS a traveling art blog by North Carolina Painter, Sue Scoggins

"The keeper of the keys", I call him.    In English, Barnibosht. He spelled his name on the back of a sheet of paper for me, but I could not decipher it. 

When we got off the train in Mad (pronounced Mod), little did I know what a treasure was in store. I can hardly speak of it and really hesitate to write about it because words cannot do it justice.

We wandered into this little Hungarian wine town, which from afar, looked like cute little red tile roofs clustered in the rows of vineyards in the Tokaj wine region. Very rural, lined with stone walls and crumbling buildings from the 1700's, we wandered its streets amongst the barking dogs, lonely cow, occasional woman picking from her garden of white daisies and men drinking wine on benches.  Russian, Slovakian, Hungarians.

A meeting had been arranged to meet a man who had the keys to the Jewish Synagogue, which was lost in World War II, and is now closed to the public. We had his address and walked to his side yard.  It was a gray day and we were strangers, but he quietly (he did not speak a word of English) walked us up the hill past what looked to be a old Jewish seminary.  Sitting in the field behind his house was an unassuming white stucco church.  He opened the door.

When we entered the synagogue we were silent.  There we were, in a place that had been active decades ago.  Destroyed and restored. In Hungarian, with hand gestures and a kind smile, Barnibosht tried to explain the history of the synagogue. He pointed to a wall where the names of those killed at Auschwitz were inscribed. There were 800 Jews who lived in Mad at the time of World War II.  Now there are zero.

On the main floor of the synagogue was where the men sat.  The platform in the center was where the Rabbi would speak and the blue curtain was where the Scrolls were viewed. The women sat upstairs so as not to distract the men. He took us into the room where some artifacts were on display when  a young couple just happened to walk in; tourists from Budapest.  Jewish.  The young girl graciously became our translator.  Barnibosht, Catholic, told us how when he was a little boy, his father worked for a Jewish winemaker.  He had a lot of Jewish playmates and all of them are now gone. He devoted his last 50 years to preserving their memory by showing the synagogue to visitors who come through. 
                               

                                                  

10 DAYS IN HUNGARY - Day 6 - TRAIN TO TOKAJ a traveller's art blog by North Carolina Painter, Sue Scoggins

Train travel was east to the Village of Tokaj, near the Slovakia and Ukranian border.  Track 2. Depart 1:35.

Our train to Tokaj, with green plush velvet seating, was full. This was the Rozsa inner city line and we had reserved seats.  Young, old, ladies with pearls, students with backpacks, mother and babies...we all had our seats..and our techi devices.  As soon as the train pulled away from the station the devices went on, in unison, like the click, click of cigarette lighters in the back of planes after take off 30 years ago in the states.

Within 20 minutes the conductor, in his blue suit and side pack, began punching tickets.  Julie had put me in charge of all three of our tickets. (little did she know that my "test anxiety" can pop up when you least expect it.)  I had the tickets firmly held in my hands so that I wouldn't have to go searching in my little pouch.  However, the conductor, in Hungarian hand gestures, told us "you'll have to get off in Szerencs and catch a bus because something is wrong with the tracks." I immediately started fumbling for the little white piece of paper amongst my receipts where the ticket clerk wrote down all the towns we would be traveling though: Fuzesbony, Miskok, Szerencs, then Tokaj.  Found it!  Szerencs, the next to the last stop.

The country side was not unlike the states; the lush green farmland of North Carolina, striped with yellow ochre wheat fields of Kansas, with a backdrop of California hills, all under the big skies of Montana.  Little red tile roofs sprinkled in clusters like confetti every so often indicated little villages, most with a church and a soccer field.  There was no graffiti or commercial signage that I could see.  That was left in the city.

Never-lest travel tip.  Never make friends with a thief lest you find yourself penniless.
                                   Consider making reservations if your want to have a seat.

When we arrived in Szerencs, the bus was waiting to take us to Tokaj or beyond.  Then we had another 20 minute walk (which became 45 minutes because we didn't know where we were going) to Bone Vendeghaz Borozo Tokaj, Bethlehem G.u. 20, our B&B for the next two nights.  Our modest but spotless accommodations were 200 meters from the town square in the village center and were run by a charming young family who lived next door.  We found it by the green umbrellas just outside its doors on the sidewalk.