Bodnar is my wife Karen's maiden surname. It’s Hungarian. Her great grandfather and great grandmother left Hungary in 1910 to come to America. To my knowledge no one in her family even several generations later had ever returned for a visit. In 2002 Karen and I decided to change that and make that return visit.

For Karen this would be her first trip abroad. I had been to Europe several times in the past but never to Hungary. Not wanting to be totally unprepared we asked her parents and aunt and uncle if they knew where the great grandparents had come from. We also wanted to know if there were any relatives we could contact when we were there. Unfortunately, it became apparent that any communication had been lost since the death of my wife’s great-grandmother in 1985. Little information was gathered except for the name of the place in eastern Hungary where the ancestors had been born - a small village called Tiszadada.

Tiszadada? Sounds like a sneeze but at least it was something to go on and a starting point. Karen bought a map of Hungary and spent a good deal of time with a magnifying glass inspecting all of the map’s nooks, crannies and folds. She finally found a map spot where lots of towns started with "Tisza". It seems there is a Tisza river in eastern Hungary and although we both know no Hungarian, we figured out that towns located on or near the Tisza river had that "Tisza" character string as part of their name. With the magnifying glass and a pencil tracing the surrounding area, and eventually the river, we found Tiszavasvári, Tiszagyulaháza, Tiszalök, Tiszadob, and then Tiszadada. There it was. We found her Hungarian origin and our destination.

Our subsequent travel research did not surprise us to find that there were no direct flights to Tiszadada. We did find several attractive package deals and we settled on one that included some time in Prague, Czech Republic along with some time in Budapest, Hungary. In addition I booked a car that we could then drive to Tiszadada from Budapest, stopping at points of interest in between. Both visits in Prague and Budapest were very enjoyable and much could be written about those times but this is a Tiszadada tale.

In a few days after gaining confidence in navigating and finding places to stay we drove to the Tisza river area. Finding each "Tisza" town back home on the map was nice and we could use our imagination as to what each one would be like and reveal, but it was quite a bit more interesting actually driving through them. We squeezed our car through narrow roads, marveled at thatched roof houses, and observed chickens, cattle and goats. Fields of sunflowers and people either picking or selling watermelons made us stop the car to take pictures on several occasions too. Karen, the passenger, then spotted on the right side of the road a large green sign. The sign was not very much different from what we have here in upstate New York except for the strange "Tisza" town information. In large letters at the top with an arrow pointing straight ahead was the word, Tiszavasvári. In large letters in the middle with an arrow pointing to the left was another "Tisza" word, Tiszalök. And then at the very bottom of the sign in much smaller, yellow letters was the village name of Tiszadada. There was no arrow but there was a yellow "5" and we got excited knowing Karen’s ancestor’s birth village was only 5 km from us….. somewhere, in some direction.

We started down a narrow road that, at the time, we jokingly called a bike path. Now, after looking back at pictures of the road sign, I suspect we actually may have been correct. No matter since we never came upon any bikes or any other car either. Soon we arrived in Tiszadada.

Mission accomplished, but what really was the mission? We talked some and agreed that if we could find a cemetery we might actually find headstones with family names. I suggested that every village must have some sort of ‘town hall’ where records would be kept. Perhaps we could even find the house where Karen’s great grandparents had once lived. How we might communicate our inquiries to town officials was another matter. Our combined language skills did not include Hungarian but only a little French and German. We would try anyways. Mission objectives set, we decided to find a place to stay in the nearest "big" town, Tokaji, and return the next day to "live the mission". On the way out of Tiszadada I spotted a building that somehow looked ‘official’ to me.

Next morning we left Tokaji to drive back to Tiszadada. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find our way back as there were few turns and only one road involved. I’m pretty good with directions especially after having come that way less than 24 hours previously. But I managed to miss one left turn and soon realized that I wasn’t recognizing anything from the day before. We turned around, found the correct turn and were once again headed correctly back to Tiszadada. It was no big deal as we only lost 10 minutes. How significant could a 10 minute delay really be?

Arriving in Tiszadada, we parked our rental car on a street not very far from the building I saw the day before. A flag flying on the building reinforced my suspicions that there was an 'official' character to the place. We started to walk towards the front doors and I noticed some glass enclosed bulletin board like structures. Under the glass were many pictures and postings. The postings were meaningless to me as they were all in Hungarian but the pictures were not unlike what you might see taken for and at town and community events. I told Karen that I think we may have found the Tiszadada town hall. It was open. We went inside.

I didn’t know how to say "Good Morning" or "Hello" in Hungarian and certainly not "Is this a place where we might examine archival records to try to find my wife’s ancestors, where they lived, and where any might be buried." I tried my limited German to ask a lady at a desk if anyone knew English. She asked for a young woman co-worker to assist. Karen and I became a bit more at ease when the younger woman said she knew a little English. Karen started to explain our records quest. We both found out then just how much little English, the woman actually knew and could understand. We tried again using different, smaller, and simpler English words. Still no progress except a few other co-workers gathered with the young woman, almost circling us, in their attempt to understand our questions. Karen was getting frustrated as she felt she was getting nowhere. Then she had an idea. Taking a pen from her purse she started drawing a ‘family tree structure’ on some paper that she had with her. At the top she wrote her great-grandfather’s name, Istvan Bodnar, said his name out loud, and then started to add other descendant relative information. We believed that some form of communication happened when the Hungarians nodded their heads started talking at once. We could not understand a word. Karen started on another explanation attempt as an old man walked into the building. He was doing whatever it is they do at this ‘official’ building and was just walking out when Karen said "Istvan Bodnar" again in her second explanation. Suddenly, the man stopped, turned, walked straight toward Karen and, while pointing his finger at her said, "Istvan Bodnar, …Josef Bodnar,… Julianne Bodnar" followed by a bunch of strange sounding words that only the Hungarian’s could know. Karen did not comprehend and the old man recognized that. The old man tried again and again to make Karen understand. He apparently believed that by getting closer to her and raising his voice each time that Karen would eventually understand. It did not work and he became a bit agitated waving and pointing his finger some more. As his excitement grew more people seemed to gather around us. We knew they knew something; they knew they knew something too. But they just could not communicate it and it seemed to frustrate them. By now the old man was only inches from Karen and almost yelling. The frustrated group was getting louder too. Karen said to me "Tom, let’s get out of here." She was frightened.

An old woman slowly walked in. She immediately reacted to the group commotion in the corner where an agitated old man waving his finger seemed to hold Karen hostage. The old woman listened for only a few seconds. She then walked directly to Karen; they both stared at each for only a second and then they hugged. There were tears in most everyone’s eyes. We will never forget that moment.