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Authors: Barbara Wilson
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same time. “If you’re not going with us, we’re renting a car and driving there ourselves,” Jack announced. “And who knows if we’ll ever come back?”
An hour later the three of us were stuffed into the Polski Fiat, me in the front with my legs jammed up to my chin and Jack in the back seat amidst a hastily purchased basketful of sausages, fruit, biscuits and wine.
Like most Hungarians Eva believed that Romania was the Devil’s own country, filled with backward, starving serfs, ruled by vicious, Magyar-bashing communists. She reminded me of the Hungarian proverb: “Outside of Hungary there is no life, and if there is life, it is not the same.”
“Of course, if we go to Transylvania, it is not like we are going to Romania,” she consoled herself, as we headed out of the city and found our way to the highway that would take us across the Hungarian plain to the border.
“How’s that again?” inquired Jack, trying to get settled so her elbow was not in my ear, nor her dress above her waist.
“Transylvania was part of Hungary for a thousand years,” Eva said. “And then, after the First World War—which Hungary was forced to join, because it had been forced to be part of the Habsburg Empire—we lost two-thirds of our land. Some went to Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia, but most of it went to Romania. Because the Romanians and the French,” Eva held up two crossed fingers, “they were like this .”
“The Treaty of Trianon,” I nodded. “It carved up the Austro-Hungarian Empire in a way that satisfied no one. But then, how could they satisfy everyone? In this part of Europe, political borders have never coincided with the ethnic boundaries.”
“But Cassandra, you must admit that there are two and a half million Hungarians trapped inside Romania, trapped for seventy years now.”
“Seventy years and they’re still arguing?” said Jack.
“How long have the Arabs and Jews been at it? What about the Hindus and Moslems, or the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland? I won’t even mention ex-Yugoslavia. In the Balkans, seventy years is nothing .” I said. “Part of the problem is that Transylvania doesn’t actually border the current state of Hungary anymore. It’s two hundred miles to the east. And there are several million Romanians living in Transylvania now—what would happen to them? I know that Ceauşescu encouraged them to move there—but there’s some evidence to suggest that the Romanians have been in Transylvania for centuries. They believe that anyway, that they’re descended from the Roman colonists of ancient Dacia…”
“The Romanians just are liars, if they told you that,” interrupted Eva.
“You can read it in any history book,” I said.
“Not in Hungarian history books!”
From the back seat we heard the rustle of cellophane and cardboard as Jack unwrapped the first box of biscuits. “I don’t know,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, “I was never great at history, but I’ve never understood all this ethnic squabbling in Europe. Back and forth, and forth and back, across the same boring old territory. First one group is in power and oppresses the other, then the other group is in power and oppresses the first. But way before the Hungarians and the Romanians, way before the Romans and the Huns this was Old Europe, home of one of the Great Goddess civilizations. There are paleolithic and neolithic sites all through this area of the Balkans.”
“I thought you weren’t great at history,” I said, impressed. I wasn’t sure I knew the difference between paleo and neo.
“It’s prehistory I’m interested in, not patriarchal bullshit like kings, wars and empires. Charis Freespirit told us all about the work of Riane Eisler and Marija Gimbutas this winter on our tour. Gimbutas is an archeologist and Eisler based some of her new theories about dominator and partnership societies on Gimbutas’s research. The Great Goddess cultures weren’t
An hour later the three of us were stuffed into the Polski Fiat, me in the front with my legs jammed up to my chin and Jack in the back seat amidst a hastily purchased basketful of sausages, fruit, biscuits and wine.
Like most Hungarians Eva believed that Romania was the Devil’s own country, filled with backward, starving serfs, ruled by vicious, Magyar-bashing communists. She reminded me of the Hungarian proverb: “Outside of Hungary there is no life, and if there is life, it is not the same.”
“Of course, if we go to Transylvania, it is not like we are going to Romania,” she consoled herself, as we headed out of the city and found our way to the highway that would take us across the Hungarian plain to the border.
“How’s that again?” inquired Jack, trying to get settled so her elbow was not in my ear, nor her dress above her waist.
“Transylvania was part of Hungary for a thousand years,” Eva said. “And then, after the First World War—which Hungary was forced to join, because it had been forced to be part of the Habsburg Empire—we lost two-thirds of our land. Some went to Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia, but most of it went to Romania. Because the Romanians and the French,” Eva held up two crossed fingers, “they were like this .”
“The Treaty of Trianon,” I nodded. “It carved up the Austro-Hungarian Empire in a way that satisfied no one. But then, how could they satisfy everyone? In this part of Europe, political borders have never coincided with the ethnic boundaries.”
“But Cassandra, you must admit that there are two and a half million Hungarians trapped inside Romania, trapped for seventy years now.”
“Seventy years and they’re still arguing?” said Jack.
“How long have the Arabs and Jews been at it? What about the Hindus and Moslems, or the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland? I won’t even mention ex-Yugoslavia. In the Balkans, seventy years is nothing .” I said. “Part of the problem is that Transylvania doesn’t actually border the current state of Hungary anymore. It’s two hundred miles to the east. And there are several million Romanians living in Transylvania now—what would happen to them? I know that Ceauşescu encouraged them to move there—but there’s some evidence to suggest that the Romanians have been in Transylvania for centuries. They believe that anyway, that they’re descended from the Roman colonists of ancient Dacia…”
“The Romanians just are liars, if they told you that,” interrupted Eva.
“You can read it in any history book,” I said.
“Not in Hungarian history books!”
From the back seat we heard the rustle of cellophane and cardboard as Jack unwrapped the first box of biscuits. “I don’t know,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit, “I was never great at history, but I’ve never understood all this ethnic squabbling in Europe. Back and forth, and forth and back, across the same boring old territory. First one group is in power and oppresses the other, then the other group is in power and oppresses the first. But way before the Hungarians and the Romanians, way before the Romans and the Huns this was Old Europe, home of one of the Great Goddess civilizations. There are paleolithic and neolithic sites all through this area of the Balkans.”
“I thought you weren’t great at history,” I said, impressed. I wasn’t sure I knew the difference between paleo and neo.
“It’s prehistory I’m interested in, not patriarchal bullshit like kings, wars and empires. Charis Freespirit told us all about the work of Riane Eisler and Marija Gimbutas this winter on our tour. Gimbutas is an archeologist and Eisler based some of her new theories about dominator and partnership societies on Gimbutas’s research. The Great Goddess cultures weren’t
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