Day 10 - It Ain't Over 'Till You're Home

Getting up at 3am is no fun. Zora was staying with us in the flat for the final night so that we can take the bus together to the airport, and help her with her luggage. Her ankle is much better, but she’s walking around with a cane. So this works out well for all of us because she also has to shut down the place.

In the morning, we all got ready, packed away the final things, and began the process of shutting down the flat. Since the flat is only used when Zora, her family, or guests come into town, all the electricity and hot water provided by the building gets shut off. So I shut off the hot water (the flat is kept above freezing by hot water running throughout the flooring) and as we had already taken the luggage downstairs, Zora turned off all of the circuit breakers. We then walked out and closed the door. 

Zora has a friend that has a key to the flat, and after Zora leaves, her friend goes to the flat and removes any leftover food from the refrigerator before it goes bad.  She also checks for anything else that needs to be done, and that everything is ok.

The last thing to do was to lock the door. When Zora tried to lock it from the outside, the key wouldn’t turn. Hmmm. She then tried to unlock the door to see what the problem was…and the key wouldn’t turn. Uh oh. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle. Nothing. We’re locked out, and the food in the just-now-powered-off refrigerator - is locked in. Ugh.  

Zora had given both Diane and myself a set of keys, and someone, I’m not naming names here, but it wasn’t me, left the key in the lock on the inside. It just so happens that when you do that, it prevents someone on the outside from getting in. Now I’m not blaming - the person I won't name who isn’t me - because Zora forgot to tell us about it, and this has happened before. So there’s enough blame to go around – except for me. So Zora is going to have to call a locksmith to fix it. Problem is that there’s meat in the refrigerator, and Zora’s friend can’t wait around for the locksmith to show up and do the repair. So the only person that might be able to be there when the locksmith comes is the doorman. At least there’s someone who can help. There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment because the bus was going to arrive any minute to pick us up. And there it was. So we left.  

At Ferihegy airport in Budapest, we found a well-disorganized mess at the ticket counter with everyone trying to get in the line that wasn’t a line. While we were doing our best to locate an opening for online check-ins to get away from the riffraff, Zora made a profound statement – “In Hungary you don’t stand in line, you push.” Kinda says it all.

After a short flight from Budapest to Munich, we had to take the steps down to the tarmac where Zora was expecting a wheel chair, but no one showed up. So we get her onto the bus from the plane and she has to stand because the seats in the bus are raised up off the floor by about a foot. It would have been too troublesome to try to get her up to the seat. This bus was not for those who disabled in some manner.

We get into the gate area and again, no one is there with a wheelchair. So she speaks with some airline people hanging around the gate, and they are not very sympathetic. However, one does call for a wheelchair after some further discussion, and an “I no speak English” from one of the other agents – whereby Zora said something to her in German! Boy, was that agent ever surprised.  Zora is a very smart woman.

Now Zora has a problem in that she has a very, very short connection for her flight to Newark – she has only a few minutes. The flight was slightly delayed because of minor fog, but the captain came on the speaker system and said that we would still be on-time (on-time for an airline is being as much as 15 minutes late.)

So the wheelchair finally shows up, but the agents hanging around doing nothing refuse to push her. They claimed that someone was waiting for Zora at ground level, but they must have been waiting at the front of the plane while Zora exited at the rear. So in order to get Zora to her gate on time, Diane volunteered to push the wheelchair to the gate. However, we had to go back through security because of EU and US rules, or something like that. But no one could tell us, or was even the least bit interested in telling us where we needed to go. No connecting flight info, no directions, nothing – at all. This was my first time in the Munich airport, so I was clueless and just followed the signs for connecting gates. Hey, I’ve done this many times before.

We exited security and Diane wasn’t so sure that we were going in the proper direction. So just as we passed through the security gates, and while they were still open, she tries to go back in pushing the wheelchair and Zora, and the alarms begin going off. After a second or two, with me pleading with her not to do that, she relented, and in a few moments we found the Lufthansa customer service desk where several other people were crowding around going to Newark as well.

Unfortunately, the agent said that they were now too late to get to the plane because we had to go back through security and passport control that required at least an hour. Geez! Here’s Zora in a wheelchair, we were, according to the pilot, on-time, and now she and the others for Newark can’t get on the plane because we’re late? So I don’t understand. How can we be both on-time, and late, at the same time? Makes no sense.

Now in the US, on most flights, they announce the connections, and if delayed, they ask the people to wait for the others to deplane so they can make their connections. And there’s an agent waiting when you exit to help. Not here. Nothing. No announcements, nothing about connections, no one at the gate to help. Screwed.  

After a bit, Diane and I had to depart for our flight, so we had to say goodbye to Zora, hoping that she would be ok. The agent at the Lufthansa desk told us that she would get someone to take her to the gate – whenever that would be?

So Diane and I pass through security that was practically empty, and then passport control, which was practically empty as well. We had about 30 minutes before boarding, and while we were waiting, we heard an announcement for final boarding for Zora’s flight. What? Apparently, she and the others could have made the flight! We had passed through, so why couldn’t Zora? What a pain. All that could have been avoided if the agent had just called ahead to the gate and told them that a bunch of connecting passengers were on their way. United Airlines and Lufthansa. Ugh.

The flight back to Dulles was 9 hours. The pilot took the long route through the North Pole and back so that he could get additional frequent flyer miles. This was 2 hours longer than the inbound flight we took. But our trip home was uneventful – until we reached Dulles.

Once we got off the plane we used the facilities, and then made it through passport control and customs in record time. It was mostly empty.  I then paid for my parking and left the terminal to catch our bus to the long-term parking lot. While waiting for the bus, I was going to check my Blackberry for messages when I realized I had left it in the bathroom - on the other side of immigration! DOH!!! Oh geez, what did I do?

I realized immediately that it was going to be a very painful experience getting it back. Worse than I thought.

I went over to the security office near the immigration point and asked how to retrieve it? They said that I needed a United Airlines representative that had clearance to retrieve it for me, and pointed me in the direction of the United baggage claim desk. So I headed over to the United baggage counter - all the way on the other side of the concourse – about a 5 minute walk.

Once I got to the baggage claim desk and told them my problem, the gentleman there told me that I had to go to the customs office – back where I just was. I could already see where this was going – can’t you? I mentioned that the security officer told me that I needed a United rep with clearance to get into the secure area. The baggage guy said he was sorry, but that wasn’t correct, and that only the customs persons could do that.

So I went back across the airport and found another security officer because I didn't see an immigration or customs office, and reiterated my problem. He told me exactly what the first guy said, that I needed a United rep to get back into the secure area. But after I told him what the United baggage agent said, he told me to go to the ticket counter and get someone there.

So, I hightailed it back across the airport again to the United ticket counter. I saw an agent who wasn't busy and asked.  She said that I needed to use the red phone over by the customs gate - back on the other side of the airport, to call INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service) and they would call the proper party. So I run back over to the other side of the airport, AGAIN, and pick up the red phone. 

So far I’ve done about a half mile of walking, power walking, and just plain running back and forth, all the way across the airport, four times, from one end to the other. I’m out of breath, sweating profusely, with Diane still waiting outside by the curb.

So I pick up the red phone and it rings through to INS. A woman answers and I tell her my story. She tells me that she can’t call anyone, and that I have to do that through the white courtesy phone.  Hmmm, white courtesy phone?

I look around and don’t see it so I go over to the information help desk nearby and ask. “I’m sorry,” she says, “Dulles doesn’t have a white courtesy phone. Other airports do, but not Dulles.” Oy. Not Dulles.

What now? No one wants to take responsibility, no one knows what to do, and no one wants to make a phone call. Have a nice day!

I go grab Diane so that she isn’t waiting and wondering if I’ve been sucked up into a jet engine, or have been swept away to another country for interrogation and torture.  

We go back over to the information desk, and they suggest that I just wait for someone to come out of the secure area and grab them. Well, I did one better. I just walked into the place when someone came out and the doors were opened. There was a rep standing there and waved me in, seeing that I was in sort of a panic.

I told her my problem and she pointed me to the United desk right behind me. I told my story ONCE AGAIN, and one of the gentlemen nodded as if this has happened a zillion times before, and took off into the netherland of immigration and customs.

About 10 minutes later he comes back ---- with my cell phone!!! Hooray! I shook his hand heartily and thanked him profusely. And left to go home. 

Tomorrow, I’ll summarize the trip and consider what I would do next time.

Maybe I’ll limit the strudel, and wait until I get home to use the facilities?

Welcome home!

Day 9 - The Last Day

One of the things that I've thought about since I've been writing this blog, is that I am absolutely certain that everyone involved in this trip who is reading this, Zora, Erzsi, Zsolti and Renata, Diane and Marton, will have seen things very differently than I have. I know that for a fact because when we get back to the flat each day, Diane and I briefly discuss what we did, and at times we've come up with different things. And the way I remember what happened along the way, and how it happened, is different than what she remembers. So I'm sure that this will began the expected family fights about what happened, and why someone did this and didn't do that, and why did you say that, and why did you turn right when you should have turned left, and why did you let them pay for this, etc. Ahhhh, family! :-)

We Begin to End
Today is our last day here in Budapest as tomorrow we get on a flight at 7am for home. Ugh. Can't wait to get up at about 3am - not. I am writing this at several times throughout the day so I don't have to stay up until 12am or 1am trying to craft something that others might find interesting enough to read, and maybe laugh about, or cry about, or look dumbfounded, as the case may be.

I needed to meet Erzsi at the Jewish Archives on Sip utca at 8am to see the vital records for Budapest. Diane wasn't going with me - she's on her own today to do some shopping by herself - surprise, surprise. But we would travel together to the same neighborhood where she would be starting her shopping exercise and where I would be gazing at family records (Diane might call it grazing.) So we got up early, did our thing, and left together. I only had half a cup of tea before we left (I miss the strudel,) so when we got to the Deak ter station, we stopped for coffee.

One thing that they do slightly different here in the downtown area is that they make pretty sure that the WC is used only for customers. Some places have a person guarding the bathrooms asking to see a copy of the purchase receipt (well, at least it's a job), but this place had an electronic door lock. You get your receipt, and at the bottom, literally, is a toilet code. And that's the security code you enter to get into the bathroom. Ours was "Toilet code: 1987#." Of course, that means that you can't just walk in to the store and go to the WC before you make your purchase. So you have to stand on line, wiggling and jiggling doing the "I gotta go" dance, while making a decision on what to purchase. Then, you have to find a spot to sit, and put all of your stuff down; purse, shopping bags, coffee, cake, etc, and then get up again to go to the toalett (like all of the ways they describe the bathroom here?) Not sure how the ladies do it who have a ton of packages and travel alone? It's gotta be a painful experience.

We finished our coffee, kissed goodbye, and headed in opposite directions. We made sure that Diane had everyone's contact information, just in case. Up until now, she was depending upon me for traveling and calling when necessary.

I get to the address on Sip utca and Erzsi is already there waiting for me. We check in with security and head upstairs to where the records are kept. It's a small office with 2 middle-aged ladies sitting and chatting. One of them could have been my mother several years ago. However, mom never spoke Hungarian, nor was she as lazy as these 2 seemed to be. In any case, I don't think they spoke a lick of English, so Erzsi did her thing. Although I don't speak Hungarian, I could tell that these ladies seemed to be annoyed that we were there asking them to do their job. And when they left the room for a moment, Erzsi confirmed my suspicion by telling me the same thing I was thinking.

Now being the idiot that I am on occasion, this being one of them, I didn't do much preparation with names and dates, etc. I was just going to wing it. Erzsi, on the other hand, is an experienced, methodical, professional, research scientist in particle physics, and so she took me to task for not being prepared - through giving me a motherly glance, you know, the kind the says "you have been a bad boy!"  In all honesty, I really didn't know what to expect, so I brought my laptop that has all of the family data. So I was prepared, sort of. But Erzsi came to the rescue because she had some of the basic info already written down on paper. This room in the Sip utca archives is not bogged down by computer servers or electronic search engines, databases, or iPads or iPhones, only people and paper - and I believe there was a typewriter there as well.

After some additional discussion, the ladies told us that all of the information they have has already been photographed by the Mormons for the Family History Library, and is freely available. In that case, I already have all of it - ugh. But Erzsi suggested that we should see the original books since we are already there, so I wrote down a few names and dates, and the ladies went into the back room to take the books out of one of the two large, old, heavy wooden cabinets.

They invited us into the room that is pretty small, but has enough space for the cabinets housing the original record books, a table and a desk. So the ladies opened several books to the pages that had our family names. We asked if there was a cost to photograph the pages, when one of the ladies said something to Erzsi, and the other shook an old plastic soup container at me that had a few coins on the bottom - like the containers that you get in the Chinese restaurant for takeout, but with a slot on the top for coins. Obviously, it would be ok to just donate a small amount to the archive. I can live with that.

So I take pictures of the entries for my family with the help of the ladies - some births of a few Zeisler children, and the one for the baroness, Caroline Melanie Weiner, born in 1865. About 9 photos in total. Then we are done and I ask Erzsi how much should I donate? She replied to me that they normally charge so much for a page when they do it (I don't recall the exact amount,) and therefore I should donate about 20,000 HUF - about $100!!! Ahem, choke, gag, and other throat-clearing sounds...I'm not so sure that I want to "donate" $100 for something I already had, and didn't really need. On top of that, I didn't have that much money with me. After giving Diane some money this morning, I only had about $50 left over, about 10,000 forints. So after asking Erzsi again if that was the right amount to "donate," I agreed and Erzsi loaned me the difference. The ladies thanked us, laughed hysterically behind our backs as to the success of their con game, and we left. I really don't have a problem donating money to the archives as it is a very good cause, but I would have liked to have known ahead of time what I was getting myself into. Well, that's what you get when you are 1) unprepared 2) don't know the language. Sheesh. We then sat down outside the room for a few minutes to discuss our next foray into the deep, dark, and confusing land of Hungarian genealogy. Next up, the archives at the Dohany synagogue to check out the burial records for Gyongyos. But that's not until 2pm and it was only 10:30, so I headed back to the flat where I am writing this now.

Birth records from 1881. Bottom listing is for Jeno Zeisler, my grandfather's older brother who died before my grandfather was born in 1884. Of course, most of the photos came out blurry - at least for the names I'm interested in. Can't win.

At 2pm I met Erzsi at the Dohany synagogue to see if we could locate and look through the death records for Gyongyos. Heading into the synagogue grounds, we asked where we needed to go. The girl pointed us in the direction, and we went through the gate and straight ahead. Wherever she thought we wanted to go, wasn't where we wanted to go. So we headed back and asked again. This time she pointed us towards the museum part of the synagogue, a 90 degree left turn from the previous one, and we headed that way.  

Erzsi spoke with the guards at the museum entrance, and after a somewhat lengthy discussion in Hungarian, they pointed us upstairs. One of the guards joined us to make sure we got to where we wanted to go. It was a good thing because the upstairs is a catacombs of twists and turns and going up some stairs and going down some stairs. It was really cool because I got to see the temple from behind the upstairs balcony, not a place they usually take the tourists, like me. We found the archive squirreled away way in the far back corner, and told one of the archivists what we were looking for - the burial records for Gyongyos. We settled in while one of them brought us the record books.

The records start in 1846, but I glanced at the one they gave me and it was the birth records. I hadn't really thought about researching the births for Gyongyos, but that was cool. I asked about the burial records and they brought those down as well. Again, they begin in 1846. 

I had really hoped to photograph all of the records, but seeing as it was my last day in Budapest, and we only had two hours at most, and the birth records are huge, that wasn't going to happen. 

So Erzsi started researching the death records while I went through the birth records. I was looking for any Ungar or Zeisler. Several people who subscribe to H-Sig (the Hungarian special interest group - a part of JewishGen - a Jewish genealogy organization) had asked me to tell them if I came across this name or that name. Unfortunately, since time was so short, I wasn't able to do that at all. I barely had time to look for my own family records. Of course, this had to happen on my last day here - and for only 2 hours!

I found no solid information that would link any of the Ungar births to my family, but there are numerous Ungar births between 1846 and 1875 when this record book ended. There was only 1 Zeisler birth, and there may be a connection. But that will require a bit more research when I get home.

With regards to burials, there were no Ungar burials at all. None. It's a bit funny because my gg-grandmother, Josephine Ungar Zeisler, was born in Gyongyos in 1827, so one would think that someone from the family, either her mother or father or a sibling, would have died there. Not between 1846 and 1876. I ran out of time (only had 2 hours) and therefore wasn't able to go any further, but I did complete the books that I had been given. Erzsi had to leave early, about 30 minutes prior to closing, so we said our final goodbyes for this trip. She was a lot of fun and hugely helpful for a third-cousin once removed. She even paid for half the "donation" from our trip this morning. What more can one ask? 

However, there is one bright light to all of this. As I mentioned previously, one of my goals was to photograph the record books. I confirmed that the Mormons have not gotten their hands on these books, and in speaking with one of the archivists who had previously lived in Washington, DC for several years, he suggested that it might be possible, with the 90 year exception, to photograph the records. So that's something to consider for another time.

It's about 7:30pm here now, I'm very tired, and have to catch the bus at 4:20am. Since we've just completed a great dinner created by Zora, I am going to pack, and then go to bed.

Not sure if I'll be able to blog tomorrow as it'll be a very long day, and I'm sure I'll be exhausted by the time I get home. However, I do plan on writing again once or twice to tell about our trip home,  to summarize it all, and to remind you of all the fun we've had along the way with our friends the strudel and palinka and shopping and Erzsi and Zora, one last time. 

Jó éjt, boldog álmok. (Good night and happy dreams.)

 

Day 8 - A Day to Celebrate

Interesting day. Nothing like what I expected, although I'm not very sure what I was expecting? It was a day of celebration in two parts: life and death. Life; because this week claims the birthdays of both myself and Erzsi.  Death; because today was the last of three days of national mourning - a holiday for celebrating the dead - three days for everyone to visit the cemetery. Or something like that. Not a bad idea actually. Helps the flower vendors quite a bit. And although not a part of this celebration, today would have been my parents' wedding anniversary.

The schedule for today was simple. Wake up, eat breakfast, wait for Erzsi to pick us up at 11:45 to go to our birthday lunch with everyone, and then go to the cemetery. It wasn't quite that simple, but close.

After waking up, Diane and I ate the last vestiges of whatever leftover strudel was...left over. The strudel is finally dead, and thankfully there isn't another to take its place. Sort of appropriate for a day of national mourning. Not so sure, however, what we're going to have for breakfast tomorrow? Palinka and pickled herring I guess?

Zora called and suggested that if I was ready early, I should walk over to her place and chat. So I did. Diane stayed back at the flat to do her thing without me. I think she appreciated the time alone, and I'm certainly glad that she wouldn't be with me at Zora's just in case we discussed family matters - and I'm sure she was glad too, because we did.

Over at Zora's place, she hobbled around a bit on her sprained ankle, located herself on the couch, and we chatted for about an hour and a half or so about the family and other stuff (yep, Diane would have been bored to tears listening to more of this stuff - and probably would have hurt me when we got home.) Towards the middle of our chat, Zora got up and waved me into the kitchen. There she poured us both a drink of some Polish alcoholic concoction made from juniper berries. Not bad really. And we only had 1 shot apiece. I forgot that I hadn't had my morning dose of palinka, so this was an interesting substitute. Almost gonna miss the stuff when we get home. Harboring illegal spirits on the plane, however, is usually frowned upon. And we don't drink much at home anyway. Diane and I have made some great liquors over the years, but we end up giving most, if not all of it, away.

After our chat and saying goodbye for the moment (we would be together again in another hour or so) I left and walked back to the flat. No long after I returned, Erzsi arrived to pick us up for the lunch, and noticed the bottle of palinka on the table that she had given us just a few days ago - not quite empty. She looked at me as if she was very insulted, and said with her Hungarian accent "Jerry, you do not like the palinka? You haven't had any!" Haven't had any? The bottle is 1/3 empty, and it didn't evaporate. I told Erzsi that we've been having shots for breakfast, and that I knocked down a few at night. Erzsi looked back at me and said "If I had it, it would be empty!" Hmmm, now I know a little bit more about Erzsi than I did just a few minutes ago.

There were a total of 7 of us that would be having lunch together including me and Diane, Zora, Erzsi, Erzsi's husband Marton, son Zsolt, and his lovely wife Renata (not that the other women aren't lovely, it's just that Renata has a really nice perky personality - and being the youngest in the crowd doesn't hurt either.) So we finally had everyone together. Took 8 days, but we made it.

We arrived at this very traditional (Zsolt's word) Hungarian restaurant not too far from where Zora is staying in the Groedel apartment. "Traditional" is not necessarily the appropriate word for the restaurant's decor. I would say the more appropriate word would be "rustic." The tables are made of heavy pine, as are the seats - as if we would be eating out in the forest and forgot to bring the pick-nick table and chairs. However, the seats are not made from just a single slab of wood, they are made up of what were once probably large branches that were connected together in some random manner. Have you ever tried to sit on a bunch of narrow logs? Not very comfortable. However, the restaurant was nice enough to supply pillows to sit on. So although it was a bit weird on my bottom, and I had to squirm around from time to time to get the circulation moving again in the various parts of my lower half, it worked out ok.

There were only a few other people in the room with us; a single, older man, and a younger woman. Both were sitting alone at separate tables. The rest of the smallish room was empty.

The food, however, was a different story from the seats. Ohmygoshhowdoimakethisathome? It was the best food that I've had since we've been here. "Awesome" is the word that comes to mind. The family shared a bit of theirs with me and Diane, and all I can say again is "awesome." Diane agreed. We started with a really flavorful fish soup that was served family-style in this weird bowl that was hanging from something like a tripod. Guess they were going for the Neanderthal look. Then came the main course. Mine was beef with chicken livers, Zsolti had a chicken dish, Diane had a vegetarian dish, and the others had whatever they had. All I know is that it was all really, really good.  

After a bit we had to take the traditional family pictures, some with all of us and some with just the birthday boy and girl, and some with Marton's camera and some with mine. But we needed someone else to take the family picture because my arms wouldn't reach across the room. So I began looking around for someone from the wait staff, when the young woman from the table nearby must have heard us discussing the situation, stood up, and said that she would be glad to take the picture for us - and said it with a perfect, New York accent!

Now here were are in the bowels of Budapest, not a small city, in an area that's not very touristy. And who is the one person that wants to help us take our picture? Someone from New York. Makes no sense, but what the heck. Can't get away from it for trying. But she was really very nice, and did a pretty good job with my camera, one that requires a bit of manhandling - perfect for a New Yorker.

Here, here, the gang's all here. L-R: Marton, Zora, me, Diane, Erzsi, Renata, Zolt. See me squirming?

We finished picture-taking, thanked the girl (who said that she was living in Manhattan and found this place in Fodor's guide to Budapest,) left the restaurant and headed for Erzsi's house for cake and champagne.

We took two cars and met at Erzsi's about 15 minutes later, after a brief tour of the area. The view from Erzsi's house is wonderful as it looks out into a valley. There's lots of houses in the valley and the surrounding area, but it's up on a hill so it has lots of privacy. Very impressive.

In the living room was a table completely set up (by Marton no less) with china and two cakes. One was a chocolate cake for me, and the other was a blueberry somethingorother for Erzsi. On top of mine they had written "Happy Birthday Jerry" in English, and on Erzsi's, it was in Hungarian. Cute.

Zsolti opened the champagne, poured the sparklie stuff, and we toasted to us.  Marton had prepared a few sparklers for the cakes, and so when we were ready, he lit them, and we took a few more pictures. Thankfully, no one sang anything.

Lighting the sparklers on the cake.

We enjoyed the cake and ended this part of the day having had a very nice family celebration.

Folks, this was the culmination of my family research, and the very positive result of the time, effort and money my sister and I have put into it over the years. It's the common heritage that binds us, gives us that common link that opens the doors, and allows us to share our lives with people who are now relatives, who were once total strangers and unknown to us completely. It was a really, really cool moment that I wish my sister, Bonnie, could have enjoyed as well. I'm really glad that Diane was there. It's one of those moments that you want to, no, need to, share.

After the cake and wine was done, we headed off to the cemetery. Zora wouldn't be joining us as her sprained ankle was still a problem.

It took about 30 minutes to get to the cemetery, just about sunset, and we were very fortunate to find a parking spot right away in this very crowed street surrounding the cemetery. Near the gates are the volumes of flower vendors selling their wares.

We were there visiting Erzsi's and Zora's grandmother, Iren Groedel (a daughter of the baron and baroness) and their parents. All three are interred in the same grave. So Diane and I purchased a bunch of flowers, as did the others, negotiated with the dealer, and walked the short distance over to the gravesite.

The tradition is that each person lights a candle and places it on the gravestone. The stone consists of a headstone and a short stone that lies flat over the grave. This gives you a place for candles which are set in a glass. Looking around you can see thousands of lit candles throughout the cemetery. It's really very nice. They asked me to light a candle, which I did, but I also did something else.

The Groedel family was originally Jewish, but most converted in the early 1900s to assimilate and avoid antisemitism. So I thought that in addition to lighting the candle, I'd honor Iren's birthright and place a small stone on her headstone. Zora was apparently familiar with this Jewish tradition, and understood. Diane was a sweetheart and lit a candle for Zora who wasn't able to come. We then stood silently for a bit saying our prayers privately, and left when another family needed the space next to where we were standing. The space between the rows is very small, and there just isn't enough room for more than one family at a time in adjoining or across-row plots.

On the way out is a memorial to those fallen heros. Surrounding a central statue is a round, but flat depression where people have placed many hundreds, or even several thousand candles to honor those that served and died in the multitude of Hungary's wars. It was a spectacular sight.

Overall, the entire process lasted about 30 to 45 minutes. We then said our goodbyes to Zsolti and Renata, with whom over a few short hours, we learned a lot about each other, and sincerely enjoyed their company and conversation. It really was too bad that we weren't able to meet them sooner in the week, as I think we could have had a really fun time together running around Budapest.

Marton and Erzsi dropped us off at Chain Bridge as it was only about 5:30, a bit too early to go back to the flat. They suggested that we tour Szent Istvan's Basilica right near the bridge. Sheesh, is that church huge, and the pillars inside the church are the largest pillars of brown marble I have ever seen. It's a beautiful place. Can't say that I've ever seen a more well-decorated church. Not that I've been in very many, but of those that I've seen, this one is by far the most impressive.

Chain Bridge

Szent Istvan's Bazilica (thanks for the pix, wiki)

Inside the Basilica (thanks for the pix, wiki)

 We headed back to the flat to prepare for tomorrow's journeys. I will be doing some research at the Jewish archives and another facility, while Diane goes.....shopping!

The strudel is dead, long live the palinka!

Itt nézett, te kölyök. (Here's looking at you, kid.)