Monday is a travelling day again. We’d decided in Bela Rechka to visit our fellow countrymen in the Banat region. The village of Svatá Helena, where Roman’s stepfather was born, was the clear choice. A chance to collect another personal story, this one even from the category of children’s dreams. Also, Roman and Agnieszka want to test the possibilities of collaboration in situ. But first things first.
We get up according to plan, although we hadn’t planned such a leisurely pace, the result of a short night. Céca sees us off and we promised to meet again soon (PQ 2007). We arrive in Jabuka with only a ten-minute delay, caused by our dear Serbian police and its deep interest in our four-wheeled companion.
Breakfast in Jabuka, prepared by Dragan’s mother, is delicious. While eating, we listen to a new CD of local music put together by Pepa using the recordings which Martin made on his first visit here. Dragan’s mother is overjoyed and immediately calls up her neighbours for coffee. In Dragan’s room the three of us look through maps and software to find the best route to Svatá Helena. For a while it look like a historical map of Austria-Hungary will be the most useful. Finally we find help on www.banat.cz, which is administered by the NGO People in Need.
Not only do we find there the shortest route, but a very scenic one at that. It looks like we will be able to see all the beauty of Vojvodina and Banat. After passing lush meadows and fields of black earth we cross a meander of the Danube and some old sand dunes before reaching rich pastures, limestone mountains, and – as the grand finale – the wild Danube as it flows through the legendary Iron Gate. We fight for the best views, sometimes from the car window, sometimes just having to stop and look. The customs office on the Serbian-Romanian border brings us back down to earth, however, and its irritating post-socialist spirit affects us all. A reminder of something that we thought long gone.
Svatá Helena itself welcomes us with picturesque sceneries and the pleasant Czech spoken by all the friendly people we encounter upon our arrival. In addition to Roman’s family, we receive a warm welcome from the local pub dwellers and the local teacher, Mr Skořepa. We are included almost naturally in discussions of the soil, tomorrow’s funeral, school memories and memories of times past. Everyone has something to say about Roman’s relatives. For instance, about those who have left for Bulgaria and Argentina. We learn quite a bit of history: about the grandfathers’ arrival, the relations between local Catholics and Baptists, the school situation, the growing number of empty houses, the dwindling number of young people, and how everyone wants to go to the Czech Republic. We also talk about ourselves and our project. We arrange a visit to the local school to hold workshop with children. Without even having to try, we are accepted by the locals; maybe it’s our openness and willingness to listen. The real tourists sit alone, trying to overhear conversations or, struck by the culture shock, gathering impressions of how “primitively” people live here. Somehow the locals take a liking to us. Maybe they recognised our interest in people and their lives and everyday joys, the fact that we aren’t there just to spend our holidays.
We are put up in a vacant house, full of grandmotherly smells, doilies, biblical quotes and a black hen forgotten in the outhouse in the courtyard. Both she and Pepa are sure to remember their night-time encounter for a long time to come. It sure made for a good story the next day. It begins to rain. Roman fell asleep while looking at the day’s pictures, and slid into the monitor. We sleep like kings.
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