There was a sign up sheet in the main office, and as I saw more and more names be added to the list, I decided that I’d give it a whirl. I’ve learned that my Hungarian becomes decidedly better after a few glasses of wine. Interestingly enough, there was also a bus hired to drive us all to the wine cellar. They are adamant that no one drink and drive in this country- it’s a terrible crime and one can receive severe punishment if you’re caught. So, the school forked over the money and paid for us all to be picked up and taken to this area.
the faculty party bus
I was a bit sheepish at first, I boarded the bus with several of my colleagues, but I had no one to sit with. It was okay because I was able to watch the scenery then, but I felt a bit stupid initially. As we stopped at more and more places along the way to this village, we picked up more and more people and the bus came to life. When we got to Labatlan – the village we were heading to- we stopped for a quick tour of the cultural house and museum. Most villages and all cities here (there are BIG differences between villages and cities – in terms of funding and size and such) have a cultural center where they proudly display their history and artifacts- this village was no different. After the tour we tromped back into the bus and headed for the cellar.
András the gym teacher holding up some random fruit...
the group at the cultural house
I had no idea what to expect, as I hadn’t ventured out into “wine country” on my own. I was pleasantly surprised when we arrived though. It was an area of rolling hills that were more hill than rolling. As we moved farther and farther up the hill side, it became quite clear that there were several (I was told dozens) of wine cellars in this particular area. We got off the bus and enjoyed a scenic walk to his particular cellar among gardens and grapes growing in small plots
over looking the valley - though not a very clear picture
András again - pretending to pick grapes
beautiful isn't it?
When we got to Istváns cellar (I’m not entirely sure if his name really is István or not since I don’t know the guy, but odds are it might be) we were greeted with 4 or 5 picnic tables in a long row adorned with the compulsory bread and glasses ready for the wine. We began with the obligatory shot of pálinka (which he also made) and he made a toast along with the headmistress and down the hatch it went. Ew. I still hate pálinka- it burns on it’s way down, and never tastes good. Ew. This was followed by mass consumption of bread in anticipation of more bread to follow. We went into the cellar and saw where the wine making process took place. He has a grape press that is more than a century old, it was pretty cool! Then there is the actual cellar part. He has wine and non-alcoholic wine, pálinka and juices that he has made in there.
lit candles to make sure there is enough oxygen in the cellar
the "ante"-room
Following the tour of the cellar was the lineup for gulyás his wife had made. There was a huge vat of it (as all good gulyás comes in) waiting for all of us to dig into – to accompany our bread of course. I spent most of the meal talking with some of my English colleagues, but I was also able to branch out a bit and talk with some other people who either had been afraid to speak English before, or I became more confident in my Hungarian – not sure which happened.
the table - bread and wine (just like Jesus would want it I think)
the host "István" on the left and his wife in the black pants
the secretaries - Kata is sitting down. She's my favorite!!!
the boys end
After dinner (and glass of wine after glass of wine after glass of wine) we moved back into the cellar ante-room if you will and many of the veteran teachers told stories of what it was like in the old days. Their “good ole days” would be our best days in the US I swear. At any rate, I had too much wine and paid for it the next day, but I was dropped off from the bus at the stop near my house and made it home to sleep very well that night. What an interesting faculty experience.
in the anteroom telling stories
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