On the end of my third week I am awakened by cannon fire. At this point I knew that I had made a mistake in coming here. I had signed up for Szolnok, not Sarajevo. It turns out that there was a celebration of the Hungarian revolution against its Hapsburg overlords (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungarian_Revolution_of_1848), and the town had assembled to watch a recreation of the Hungarian army destroying an Austrian brigade:
The three horsemen of the Szolnokalypse
Yes, there were full on cannons setting off car alarms in the early morning, but being from the American south I was accustomed to reenactments:
There are roughly 7000 anachronisms in this picture. Can you spot them all?
I saw firsthand the horror of a toddler on his father's shoulders, straining to get a better look at the battle. Is there no end to our recreated hate?
Sorry guys. Even with cannon fire it was pretty lame. Let's spice it up a little:
After the battle of Szolnok, I did manage to find the train station, which was only a twenty minute walk from my hotel room. With me being deathly afraid of driving, the train station would become my gateway to the rest of Europe:
Vasutallomas is Hungarian for "too cowardly to drive".
No comments:
Post a Comment