REMEMBER the Iron Curtain? Well, its gone. As of midnight last December 20, its gone completely. That was the time when Hungary and several other countries joined the Schengen Zone within the European Community and the era of completely open borders dawned in Central/Eastern Europe.
Last Friday we relived a bit of family history, retracing the Szasz (now Scott) family's footsteps on a day in 1956, more precisely on November 23, when Mum, Dad and I crossed into Austria as refugees. Now that Schengen is with us, it doesn't just mean passage in and out of Hungary whenever I feel like it - that has been the norm even if you only have a Hungarian passport, for some two decades now. It doesn't just mean that passport control at the main border crossings has ceased since last December. It now also means that one can walk across fields, farmland, over creekbeds into, say, Austria whenever and wherever the fancy strikes us. If only my Mum and Dad had lived to see this . . .
So, last Friday Fran, Maggie, Den and I relived my adventure of more than 50 years ago. Except, of course, we did it in broad daylight, there were no Russian patrols to hide from by diving into roadside ditches, no searchlights cutting through the night, not even the sound of distant shooting. None of that, thank God. Just bright sunshine on a cool, crisp winter's day and the challenge of piecing together memories of half a century ago. Finding the little road with the ditches, tracking down the tiny brook which straddles the border, walking across long forgotten fields towards the village of Deutschkreutz, where we slept in a haystack that first night, so long ago . . .
That is what we did and we found it all. And the border which was a lifethreatening presence in 1956 is now no more than a sign for us to pose in front of, some forgotten pylons in the undergrowth, which in another era used to support high voltage barbed wire, an almost hidden and mostly forgotten marker from 1922, when the Austro-Hungarian border was last redrawn and an abandoned Austrian guardhouse. Mementos of one of the most exciting and probably THE most emotional days since we moved to Budapest almost four and a half years ago (can you believe it has been that long already?).
Like I said before - who would have, who COULD have believed this possible?
Last Friday we relived a bit of family history, retracing the Szasz (now Scott) family's footsteps on a day in 1956, more precisely on November 23, when Mum, Dad and I crossed into Austria as refugees. Now that Schengen is with us, it doesn't just mean passage in and out of Hungary whenever I feel like it - that has been the norm even if you only have a Hungarian passport, for some two decades now. It doesn't just mean that passport control at the main border crossings has ceased since last December. It now also means that one can walk across fields, farmland, over creekbeds into, say, Austria whenever and wherever the fancy strikes us. If only my Mum and Dad had lived to see this . . .
So, last Friday Fran, Maggie, Den and I relived my adventure of more than 50 years ago. Except, of course, we did it in broad daylight, there were no Russian patrols to hide from by diving into roadside ditches, no searchlights cutting through the night, not even the sound of distant shooting. None of that, thank God. Just bright sunshine on a cool, crisp winter's day and the challenge of piecing together memories of half a century ago. Finding the little road with the ditches, tracking down the tiny brook which straddles the border, walking across long forgotten fields towards the village of Deutschkreutz, where we slept in a haystack that first night, so long ago . . .
That is what we did and we found it all. And the border which was a lifethreatening presence in 1956 is now no more than a sign for us to pose in front of, some forgotten pylons in the undergrowth, which in another era used to support high voltage barbed wire, an almost hidden and mostly forgotten marker from 1922, when the Austro-Hungarian border was last redrawn and an abandoned Austrian guardhouse. Mementos of one of the most exciting and probably THE most emotional days since we moved to Budapest almost four and a half years ago (can you believe it has been that long already?).
Like I said before - who would have, who COULD have believed this possible?
No comments:
Post a Comment