The Csada Homeland

Trip Start May 12, 2006
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Trip End Jun 04, 2006


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Sunday, May 28, 2006

Spent a hot Sunday afternoon wandering the streets of Zrenjanin, where my Csada ancestors lived before emigrating to Canada in the early 1900's.  Back then, the town was called Grossbechkerek, and it was part of Hungary.   It felt pretty bizarre to walk where my great grandparents would have walked, and I was sad that I couldn't speak the language.  It would have been a much more meaningful experience if I could have chatted with some locals, and asked them if they knew any Csadas.  Someday I will have to return.

Other Serbian adventures:

- Blowing right by a Serbian border guard, not realizing he wanted us to stop so he could check the trunk. He literally had to run after us, and caught up when we stopped to change some money. We managed to smile and shrug our way sheepishly out of any dire consequences.

- Being stopped by the Serbian police for speeding. Fortunately, they let us off with no fine, since we were tourists from Canada - "very far away".  I will note that Byron was at the wheel, and only 10 minutes earlier I had read aloud to him the section of the guidebook warning about the zealousness with which the Serbian authorities enforced speed limits!

- Unexpectedly stumbling upon some sort of punk motorcycle rally in Novi Sad, when all we really wanted to do was visit the fortress

- Eating the most gigantic plate of meat I've ever seen.  Try eating this in one sitting:  one schnitzel the size of a dinner plate, two kinds of sausage, a quarter chicken, and one steak cutlet. And that was AFTER the fish chowder appetizer.  But the sweet young waitress went to so much trouble to translate her favorite menu items from Serbian into English for us, it would have been rude to leave too much on the plate.  Hiding my leftovers under the cabbage leaf garnish was the only alternative.

- Getting lost on the back roads and hills outside of Novi Sad while searching for a monastery and eventually finding a different monastery, which was just fine with us.  Once you've seen one 12th century fresco, you've seen them all, right?
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