
Balaton Beach

fun in threes, sometimes fours

I can't deny I wasn't a little nervous about the thought of traveling close to 700 kilometers (420 miles) with two bikes strapped to the roof. The bike racks seemed to be less than stellar examples of design.

This became evident the day before as we were actually putting the bike rack together and it turned out that two of the u-bolts were too long and so the threads didn't extend far enough to enable us to tighten them properly. A few extra nuts and the problem was solved.
Putting the bikes on the rack (that sounds Inquisitorial) Wednesday morning revealed the need to improvise some more: we had to secure the front wheels with nylon string so the handle bars didn't bang together as we rolled along.

Before our departure, a group photo was in order.
The trip itself was somewhat uneventful – just the third time from Poland to Budapest.

We stopped in Donovalay for a snack, in Sachy for coffee, Vac for a walk, and somewhere for lunch, though I can't remember where.
Gary denerwował się trochę tymi rowerami na dachu, ale w gruncie rzeczy mieliśmy poczucie, że nasz samochód wyglądał po prostu – cool – z tak wspaniałym bagażem. Największy stres przeżyliśmy jednak na ulicach Budapesztu. Jest to miasto wyjątkowo nieprzyjazne dla kierowców, szczególnie tych obcych. Centrum miasta to labirynt ulic jednokierunkowych, w tygodniu miasto jest niewyobrażalnie zakorkowane, a do tego budapesztańscy kierowcy nie mają za grosz cierpliwości i nie zdejmują nogi z gazu, jak tylko warunki na drodze im na to pozwalają.

Poza tym jechaliśmy sobie beztrosko, słuchając dobrej muzyki. Gary przygotował wcześniej najróżniejsze składanki na wszelkie możliwe nastroje, jakie mogły nas dopaść na trasie.

After my folks got on the plane Thursday morning, Kinga and I headed to Balaton, finding a wonderful room with a fenced yard where we could leave the car in Felsoors.








The blessing is one of the most personal times of the whole wedding. Only family and closest friends are present as both sets of parents offer their blessings and best wishes to their children before the ceremony.

It's usually a very teary affair, with one or both of the mothers crying and perhaps a guest or two joining in.

It's at this point, I suppose, that the seriousness of what's happening really starts to settle in.

Było bardzo uroczyÅ›cie z tymi wszystkimi mowami, na szczęście obeszło sie bez zbyt głoÅ›niego szlochania.



After the blessing, it's off to the church.
According to Polish custom, the bride and groom are actually the first to enter the church. They go in and sit down in front of the altar while all the guests file in.

We decided to do it a little more "American" style: my Dad escorted Kinga's mother in, and I escorted my Mom, followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen.

I stood by the altar for a few moments and then Kinga came in.

Shortly after that, Kinga and I went to a small room off the main altar with Johnny, the best man, and Maja, the maid of honor, for all the paper signing and other technicalities.

After that and a small misshap concerning a Bible, we returned to our places and the Mass began.
The Mass, despite all the unexpected pre-Mass adventures, started on time at one o'clock.
Our Mass, conducted by the rector, Stanisław Górecki was somewhat Spartan in that we elected not to have the traditional organ accompanyment during the prayers and recitations, so there was a spontaneous element to the Mass as no one really wanted to be the one who started belting out the "Amen" and such.

We did have music, though: the local youth choir sang, and a traditional Highlander band played (though not together, of course!).Other than that, the Mass was pretty much according to the patter of Masses for the last, I guess, few hundred years: two readings, some hymns, some prayers, a sermon, communion, and a benediction.


There was an anxious moment for me as we neared the giving of the communion. I had earlier been told that, as a non-Christian, my vows would be a little different than Kinga's as a Catholic. The Catholic wedding vow, after promising to be faithful, loving, and so on until death, ends with something like, "So help me God and all the Saints." Since I don't believe in these beings, it doesn't make sense for me to be asking for their help, and so in perfoming mixed marriages, the priest usually leaves that out for the non-believing partner.
In my case, though, the priest had me say that. Suddenly I was worried that he might have forgotten and later might offer me communion.

After kneeling at the main altar (which, apparently, everyone was supposed to do, but didn't),

Kinga and I left arm in arm.
Msza podobno była piękna. Tak słyszeliśmy od gości, bo my widzieliśmy tylko kolejne wpadki – z Biblią na początku; ksiądz proboszcz osobiście biegał na plebanię. Do tego zapomnieliśmy przynieść świec do kościoła, no i przez 10 minut myśleliśmy, że księdzu wszystko się pomieszało z tym ślubem. No ale jakoś wytrwaliśmy, chociaż to był dla nas ogromny stres. Zresztą, jak powiedział ksiądz na kazaniu: czymże jest olimpiada w Atenach i wizyta Papieża we Francji wobec tego, co my w tym momencie przeżywaliśmy.

With the Mass over, it was time to leave. I suppose of all the moments one imagines about one's wedding, this is one of the (for me) least exceptional. No shudders; no thinking, "I really feel married now"; no sense of anything except, "Whew, the most stressful part is now over."
Well, no, that's not true. There was a certain amount of pride I personally felt. After all, look how beautiful the bride was that day.
After all the guests came out, it was time to kiss them. All. One after the other.
After the newlyweds and guests leave the church, the bride and groom "receive" all the guests — nothing particularly novel about that for a non-Pole. What is novel is the kissing.
Mwa, mwa, mwa — left cheek, right cheek, left cheek again.

The men kiss the bride; the women kiss the groom; the women kiss the bride; and most disconcertingly, the men kiss the groom.
Having been raised in a non-kissing culture, it's taken a little while to get used to it. It's not just at weddings — most official, congratulatory occasions require kissing.

On Saturday 14 August 2004, I kissed about 120 people. I tried not to take the initiative, especially with the men. But if a man wanted a smooch, well, culture dictated that I pucker-up.

When Dave came along in the receiving line, we shook hands like men and left it at that.

Kissing finished, the photographer took over.

The four cooks began working Tuesday, actually. First order: making the cakes. Because it's part of the Polish wedding tradition to give departing guests a small box of cakes to take home, about double the logical amount of cakes is necessary. In other words, the cooks baked enough cakes for double the people.


An abbreviated view of the assorted collection is below.


Thursday and Friday the cooks were chopping, grinding, frying, boiling, and everything else imaginable. And they were loading the main stove with coal, for people still cook with traditional ovens and stoves here.


Four cooks, four days: that makes an estimated 130+ man-hours just for preparing the food.


The amount of beverages for a twelve- to fifteen-hour party of one hundred forty people is almost back-breaking. Soft drinks, juices, and mineral water were on every table in abundance, and this meant it all initially had to be delivered and worse, taken upstairs.
Fortunately, we had quite a bit of help doing this. (Actually, "we" is not quite right, because I wasn't even there. I was off on another errand.) But when the party was over and all the empty bottles and unconsumed beverages had to be taken back downstairs, there were just two of us: my Dad and I.

Over a thousand balloons were used to decorate the hall. Instead of ten of us sitting around half a day blowing up balloons, we hired a company to do it.
The tables were all our responsibility, though.

"Now, this is history," someone commented as we cleaned the car. "Four Americans cleaning a Pole's car!"
It's inconceivable to go to a wedding in a less than a perfectly clean car, so Dave and I set out cleaning it, inside (i.e., even deep into the trunk) and out Frday afternoon. Soon my father joined us, and Mom held the hose for a little while, giving rise to the history comment.




Of course, what's the good of cleaning a car in such a big group if there isn't a little bit of socializing going on as well? Jan called us all into the garage from time to time and gave everyone a shot of wedding vodka and instead of a chaser, we sampled the wedding oscypek. And Johnny, the best man, dropped in for a while on his way from Liverpool (!?!), making for a nice little afternoon.
And finally: the car's washed; the food's prepared; the clothes are ready.

Next: the wedding.
McCarthy admits up front, in his foreword, that both he and Waiss had one aim: to convert the other. That the book is published by an evangelical publishing house testifies to the fact that Waiss failed; that the book is not titled “Letters that Converted a Catholic Priest” testifies to the fact that McCarthy failed.
Who won the debate is more a question of readers’ preconceptions than anything else. Catholics will be unconvinced by McCathy’s arguments, and few Protestants will be moved by Waiss’s somewhat bland presentation.
Of the two, McCarthy is much more aggressive, and in many ways, much more rational. But there is a mystical element in Catholicism that doesn’t mix well with pure rationalism. Recall that after consecrating the host in Mass, priest speak of the “Great mystery of faith.”
At the heart of the book is the question of authority: both accept the Bible as an authority, but evangelicals stop there, where as Catholics see Tradition and the Church as on equal footing as the Bible, comprising together the Word of God. Much of the book, then, revolves around Waiss trying to show how the Church’s extra-Biblical notions (i.e., those not specifically detailed in the Bible, such as the papacy, Mary’s Immaculate Conception, etc.) are, in some way, Biblically based while McCarthy chips away at Waiss’s arguments. The tables turn from time to time, especially discussing “sola scriptura,” but by and large, it’s a game of “Prove it from the Bible.”
As such, McCarthy and Waiss toss one phrase (or a derivative) at each other quite often: “No where in the Bible do we find X.” McCarthy fills in the variable with Papal authority, Marian devotion, the importance of Tradition; Waiss replaces “X” with the notion of “sola scriptura,” the Trinity, and a couple of other ideas. With the exception of “sola scriptura,” Waiss’s contention seems to be that McCarthy and evangelicals are essentially “guilty” (my term, not his) of the same thing they accuse Catholics of: incorporation of extra-Biblical doctrines. Waiss could have pushed McCarthy a bit harder on this point, I think, for he doesn’t even mention a host of non-Biblical based notions that “sola scriptura” evangelicals accept: Sunday worship, non-observance of Jewish holidays (i.e., no where in the Bible does it explicitly say that followers of Jesus are to stop observing the Jewish festivals), Easter, and Christmas come to mind.
This shows the Protestant notion of wanting to have its theological cake and eat it, too. Protestantism accepts the early Church councils’ decisions about the New Testament canon, the proper day of Christian assembly, the appropriateness of celebrating Jesus’ birth and resurrection, but most denominations (especially evangelicals) are unwilling to accept the Catholic Church’s continuing authority. This is one of the paradoxes of the Protestant movement, which necessarily implies that the Church started off correctly, but somewhere got tangled up in a mess of legalism and false belief. Sadly, questions like “At which point?” and “Why would God let such a thing happen despite his promise to the contrary?” aren’t mention in the book. It leaves me feeling that Waiss pulled some of his punches.
On the other hand, McCarthy demolishes some Waiss’s arguments in support of Catholic theology. His handling of whether Jesus had half-brothers (i.e., whether Mary remained a virgin her whole life and whether “brothers” in the New Testament should be translated “cousins,” as the Church maintains) is well done, for example.
As I mentioned earlier, who won the debate depends on readers’ preconceptions. As a non-Christian skeptic, I found the debate to be a draw. This is because “Letters” is a debate about the tenants of a religion based on a self-contradictory book, a notion neither McCarthy nor Waiss would take into account. For example, is one saved by faith alone or by faith and works? It depends on where you look in the Bible. Did Saul/Paul’s traveling companions on the road to Damascus hear a voice or not? It depends on which chapter of Acts you read. Does the bread and wine become Jesus’ actual body? It depends on how you read a couple of different NT passages. With such a flawed starting position, a draw is the best outcome either participant could hope for.
When such contradictions arise, the great literal/figurative differentiation arises. Indeed, much of the book also seems to be an argument as to whether or not to interpret this or that passage literally or figurative, with each side accusing the other of taking the passage out of context.
On the other hand, it is refreshing to see debate that doesn’t often (though sometimes, to a slight degree) slip into personal insults. While many Protestants (and this almost always includes fundamentalists, and often includes evangelicals) think the Catholic Church is the Whore of Babylon and the Pope the Anti-Christ and many Catholics regard Protestants as heretics, McCarthy and Waiss keep things civil the whole time.
One final criticism: the length precluded truly in-depth discussion, and many of McCarthy’s and Waiss’s comments go unanswered.
Overall, I would say it’s an interesting read for the simple fact of seeing to opposing views clearly (though perhaps too succinctly) presented.
















































































