Written after a Hungarian Wedding in Romania

Tonight there was a wedding. Gyuri, my high school friend Heather's now husband, put it on, and it was the event of their lives.

Dancing is a big part of the Hungarian wedding. Gyuri told us, “When you are asked to dance, you cannot say no.” I thought he was joking.

From about 3 in the afternoon until about midnight they danced. Dances for the most part that they had all learned in childhood

A man - a few men - asked my friend Christi and I to dance. Or rather, they asked permission of our American male friend Tod first, then they asked us to dance. They also thanked Tod afterwards. Because many of them didn't speak English I never knew what they thought about Tod.

So we danced, or at least they tried to show us how to dance.

One man in particular with a small build, declared himself dancing teacher. He told me while we danced that we were dancing Chadash. Hungarian dancing, he told me. I tried to talk to him.

No English he says. Except what he knows to count the dance. One and two and one and two and. Then spinning; dizziness. I try desperately to stare at a post like a ballerina, but I am no ballerina. I get very dizzy very fast. I protest and made move to go and sit down.

No. He gestured at himself. “Dance Teacher. Hungarian Dancing.” Apparently there is no space in this culture for feelings of not wanting to dance. So one and two, and one and two…

I am not getting this dancing to his satisfaction. He puts his foot down. He demonstrates. Woman, walk round. He made little two finger walking motions. Lean back. Look here. He pointed at his two eyes. It was hopeless. But when I looked into his eyes there was earnest resolution. Frustration too. Chadash. Hungarian dancing. Then, wait. And watch wife.

He was off to get her. I went to my seat and watched. Christi told me how she had faired little better with Dance Instructor.

His wife danced. She didn't seem to feel one way or another about it. It struck me that she automatically followed his wishes.

I thought I was off the hook but ten minutes later Dance Teacher was back.

I had gotten the one and two and part but no spin. Then a click finally and I leaned back and focused on Dance Teacher. The room spun around, but he didn't. Aha…. The room went by faster and faster. Sure enough he had put his foot down and I was running in a circle round.

A few times I lost it and he was disappointed. Each time I was made to stop and start again. But I didn't get dizzy. Or at least not nearly as dizzy.

He finally lost step himself. Having been spun quite enough for several lifetimes, I begged off dancing more and went to sit down. This time he accepted my protests. I had gotten it. And I got more than just the dance.

It was not just a dance for him. It was about his identity, national pride and honor. And it was these things in a place where little else of value existed. It wasn't the poverty there that bothered me, so much as the despair. And that they didn't have a lot of hope.

Having control was important. I don't imagine there was a lot there to be in control of. I still remember the almost perverse focus that came over him when he made me learn to dance. This Chadash. Listen. A command. Hear music. One and two and one and two and. No softness. Only commands.

Unexpectedly, this method was very effective. It burned away all of my American feminism, choice, etc. I don't feel like dancing? Nice try. And it highlighted the good and bad aspects of our culture [see a 22 second video clip of Dance Teacher ( QuickTime, 3MB )].

In America having a choice is a given. I am used to being encouraged to fulfill my desires. As a young person you can feel inadequate in American culture if you don't know what you want from your life. It would be simple to merely think how lucky we are, and how oppressive it is there. But there was still a certain simplicity and efficiency to their way of doing things. It is very clear who you are, and what role you are to play. You need a group, and clearly defined roles. I think it has a lot to do with survival there.

For that few minutes I was Dance Teacher's extension, his “helper,” as my friend Heather vowed to Gyuri in her wedding vows. I had an identity and a role, and I was to act automatically, fulfilling his expectations. Everything was as clear as the wedding vows.

In Romania I saw many things, Dracula's birthplace, a huge salt mine and the Black Church . Lots of poverty and lack of opportunity. But my dance with Dance Teacher at Heather and Gyuri's wedding affected me more than anything else I saw or experienced.

Like yoga I found that the physical elements of the culture spoke volumes about the social relationships in Hungarian culture against the backdrop of Romania.

Anne Finstad November 2003