The Greek village of Beloiannisz

Yesterday we decided to drive out and visit the Greek village of Beloiannisz, about 40 km south of Budapest. I have vaguely heard about this place, it was established in 1950 for the Greek refugees who fled Greece after the civil war. But this was the first time to actually see the place.

Essentially, the village is at the end of a dead-end road and the only way to get there is by making a huge detour, at least if you are coming from Budapest. At the beginning of the village is a new Greek church, looks very imposing. The houses on the main street are also quite unusual for Hungary, they are joint together and are painted in all sorts of bright colors. And all the street signs are bilingual, in Hungarian and Greek. There is Odos Elektra, for example, which is simply Elektra utca in Hungarian. Petőfi utca is Odos Petoufi.

In the middle of the village is the public library, next to it is the Kultúrház (Culture Hall). There was someone cleaning the snow in front of the library and I asked him whether the library was open.

"The library?" was his response.

"Yes, the library."

"What library?"

I pointed to the building in front of which we were standing.

"Ah, the library. No. But you should have asked the Tanár úr," and he pointed at a man who was walking away. He yelled after him, "Tanár úr! Is the library open?"

"No." And the teacher disappeared in a building.

Our snow sweeper said that we should go to the school and ask there, the library is their jurisdiction. And he signaled at the building where the teacher had disappeared.

"But is the Culture Hall open then?" was my second question.

"No. You should ask in the school, it belongs there, too."

So we walked over to the yellow building he referred to as the school. The short and stocky teacher was just coming and his biggest concern was to mount a bicycle. I took the opportunity, said hello, and asked whether the library was open. I meant, ever.

"No."

"But this is a city library, right?" I pressed.

"Considering that this is a village, no." -- came the snappy answer. He was, of course, right. But that was not the point. And by this time he successfully mounted that bicycle of his and was leaving us stupid folks behind. As the man who held the key to knowledge in Beloiannisz was slipping away, I asked yet another question, my last:

"So when is it open?"

He thought a bit, and said without looking back at us, "Thursday," and hit the pedals. Now this all happened on Friday so whether Thursday was just the furthest day of the week he could think or the actual opening hours, I don't know. One thing was clear, he was beyond us.

Of course, we did not want to read in the library, just thought that either there or in the Culture Hall we would have some local museum or whatever information to look at. But it seemed that we were not wanted there.

Before leaving, I got into a conversation with an older lady who was carrying some heavy bags. I was happy that someone was finally talking to us but then she told us that she was from Besnyő, the neighboring village and came here to sell things to her customers. Every now and then she would take the bus here and bring some eggs, vegetables and "bunnies" to sell to a clientelle. The bunnies were not Easter bunnies made of chocolate, as I first thought but actual rabbits, or rather, rabbit meat. She was very proud that she still worked and made this small business going.

She has never seen the Beloiannisz Public Library open. "It used to be the Party Hall," she added. As to the town, she said that there were not so many Greeks there anymore. Lots of other people came here. She knew someone who married someone (a Hungarian) and moved here from Sopron.

"She sold her home in Sopron and moved here. Now I have never been to Sorpon but that woman gave it up for Beloiannisz..." she shook her head, implying that this was probably not the smartest move of the lady in question. Moving from Sopron to Beloiannisz.

She also told us that most people in town commuted to Budapest to work there. There were clearly not a lot of jobs locally. Outside the ugly building of the municipal government we saw the schedule for welfare payments.

Leaving, for a moment we thought of stopping at the Greek church on the edge of the village but immediately realized that it was probably closed.