There were speakers and theologians who came from various countries to teach on Bible topics at Spring Canyon, the camp my dad managed, staff boys and girls from all over the country, the year Siouxanne (some of you know that song) lived amongst us and brought all kinds of new music with to our town without a record store, introducing me to many of the bands I loved during the rest of high school (and beyond).

And this guy named Larry Norman, who wound up hiring me as a backup singer.

 

 

 

 

Little pre-internet reminders that connections and inspirations will happen when and how they are supposed to. Even in what seemed like the end of the world, the world found its way to us. Some people discovered our corner of the world, got there before us, and stayed.

The Ungvarys—like adopted grandparents to us, lived in their little cottage on Cottonwood Lake. Sandor (short for Alexander?) had come to the USA after escaping a concentration camp in his native Hungary, eventually landing in New York where he met his wife Elizabeth, who had risked her own life hiding Jewish children in Dutch homes during World War II. Together, they helped to settle Hungarian refugees in New York before teaching at universities in various states, eventually settling 10 miles outside our little town.

They gave us hugs and cakes and cookies whenever we came around, and their tiny Dutch cottage was the coolest places I’d seen. Everything Ikea would later teach all of us about efficiency and small living had been on display with old world charm added in at the Ungvary cabin. I loved their attitude toward space and contentment, and it influences me to this day. (i.e. I like Ikea. I enjoyed living in a van. Multi-function furniture excites me!)

Today, I find myself in Budapest. Sick in bed in Budapest, I might add. I haven’t seen much of this city, but it has me thinking about the Ungvarys. I wonder what they would think of Hungary today. How strange to be on vacation in the very place Sandor had to escape. Mr. Ungvary died in the mid 1990s. I will forever remember him in his fur hat with his thin mustache and thick accent, and his usual greeting in the dead of winter, “Spring is coming!”

I moved away from Buena Vista as soon as I finished high school, and within 10 years, the rest of my family had moved to other places too. I left with the dream of singing and seeing the rest of the world, thinking there was no time to waste. For Sandor, Buena Vista was the geographical destination at the end of a long journey; for me, at the time, it felt like the starting blocks I could not wait to leap out of. So, we’re finally doing it. (It turns out I had a lot of time to waste.)

Mrs. Ungvary died in 2006, not long after we had moved to Denver. No one told my family the news until one night, I had a dream. In the dream Elizabeth Ungvary gave me a little wink across the room at a party, and somehow I knew it was from beyond. I called to check on her in the morning and it turned out she had passed a couple months prior.

I am content to enjoy the small space of our hotel room, and I’m grateful to have down time and wifi to work. I am enjoying the local honey to soothe my cough, the beautiful architecture in the close vicinity, and thinking of Sandor and Elizabeth with hope of catching their commitment to their faith, their optimism, perseverance, contentment and perhaps one day at the end of all this, even a sense of destination. For now, I am content to wander a while.

I looked all over for a picture of the Ungvarys but could not find one. 🙁

Update: We did get out of the room for a river cruise, moved over to the Pest side of the Danube, and walked around the Jewish Quarter a bit. Mostly, we were sick, but here are a few pictures.