My Home - Az Én Hazám

In a few days, after having spent a couple of weeks here in Hungary, we'll be travelling back to Italy for Easter. In that time, the children were finally able to meet their great-Grandmother as well as the rest of my family, I've discovered more of our history and we're all staying in our ancestral home which is wonderful. Firstly because I love sleeping in a house with many loved ones, whether it's extended family or friends, I'm always relaxed knowing there is lots of love in the house, despite the extra noise and commotion.

Secondly, it's the only place that's ever felt like home for me. This might sound strange given that I've spent most of my life in Australia. But it was here I learnt to walk and talk and played countless games with my grandparents and uncles, from the time I was a baby until the age of 5 when my parents escaped the country. Since then I have moved close to 30 times, between 4 countries (the counting gets hazy after 25) so it's fair to say I haven't exactly put down roots.

In addition, my great-great-Grandfather built our house here over 120 years ago but my family has lived here, on these lands for centuries. There are three cemetaries in town, each one older than the next, and some ruins of a fourth. In each one are graves with our family name, most of them with full names and dates. One summer with my cousins we discovered the oldest one so far but the years had worn away the stone making it difficult to read the headstone completely, apart from recognising our name. Given the age of the others it probably dates back to the 1700's. Yes, it's a long time ago but somehow it gives me a sense of certainty to know my family has had a known presence here for so long. I feel connected to this place despite, or maybe because of, my travelling ways.

All this might sound macabre but I've been visiting family graves since I was little so it's never seemed strange. Also most Hungarian graves are regularly tended to and planted with bright flowers. It also helps that All Saints Eve on the 1st of November is a special occasion for many people which is observed with great reverence. Here is a great article describing the event which is similarly celebrated here in Hungary.

And another bonus of having a hometown : When I walk down the street old ladies recognise my features and from that alone immediately know which family I'm from. Their faces soften as they smile and start telling me tales of my mother playing in their garden. I'm never quite sure who they are though, they don't introduce themselves and I feel bad for not remembering so at home I ask my Grandmother, 'Who's the lady at No. 42?' and I get another wonderful story in return about the lady in question and how we're directly related 5 generations back.

Last week I took the children for a walk to the vineyards. On our way back an old man stopped his tractor on the road to offer us a lift back home. We started chatting, he was funny and kind and offered us all water as we'd been out walking. The kids took to him immediately. Afterwards he told my aunt Magda that when he asked our names he couldn't hear the response over the noise of the tractor - but when he first looked into my daughter's eyes he knew immediately she was a Bajomi.