Tag: freedom

The Allure of Discovery Trips: Why We Travel to Discover

February 5, 2026

We travel not just for leisure, but for discovery. At a recent lunch, friends talked about the journeys they hope to take before age or health makes such trips impossible. This made me wonder: why does traveling hold such appeal? I am not thinking of holidays or beach escapes, but of trips to countries unknown to us—adventures I call discovery trips.

Discovery trips offer a sense of freedom. Packing minimally—a suitcase and a backpack for daily excursions, I leave behind daily commitments. Far from home, it feels liberating not to worry about bills or routine chores like taking out the garbage. In unfamiliar countries, every day offers discovery: meeting new people, sampling local dishes, observing architecture, and learning to navigate local buses. Conversations with locals often become both enjoyable and necessary as we find our way.

Travel also offers an education. Seeing things with new eyes becomes inevitable. The visible poverty in India, for example, places North America’s general wellness into sharp relief. Comparing Ottawa’s traffic to maneuvering through downtown Dhaka, Bangladesh, showed me how minor our own traffic woes are in comparison.

Before these trips, I research our destination. After returning, I expand on what I’ve learned. I once knew about the Indian caste system in theory, but witnessing it firsthand deepened my understanding of its implications.

The memory of an incident at Kolkata’s airport remains vivid. A well-dressed man suddenly placed his suitcases in front of ours as we waited in a long line for x-ray inspection. My temper flared, and I pushed his suitcase aside, firmly telling him we had arrived much earlier than he had. He made no argument—perhaps because we were foreigners. That experience prompted me to return home and delve into the history and evolution of India’s caste system.

There was also the night our hosts in Dhaka took us to their favorite restaurant. When they ordered goat brains during a period of mad cow disease in England, curiosity mingled with courtesy. We ate. The dish resembled scrambled eggs, though spiced differently.

Each trip required us to set aside our Canadian routines. We engaged all our senses with local culture, cuisine, and people. I took no notes at the time, yet I now realize that relying on memory allowed me to reflect and better recall details that differ from our own way of life.

Reflections on the 1956 Hungarian Uprising Remembrance

October 28, 2025

This week, I attended a flag-raising ceremony commemorating the sixty-ninth anniversary of the Hungarian uprising of October 23, 1956, at Ottawa City Hall. I looked forward to meeting some grey-haired Hungarian refugees, with whom I could make contact, talk about the old country, and share our experiences in Canada.

About fifty people showed up for the ceremony. I did hear a few people speaking Hungarian, chatting in small groups. They seemed happy to talk with each other. I went by myself, looking for some social interaction and discussion. Still, nobody seemed interested in making contact, even though I walked around and tried to break into conversations.  

When I found a young fellow standing by himself, I asked him if he was Hungarian. To my surprise, he said he was an RCMP officer. I wondered if he was on an assignment to ensure security at the event, requested because staff from the Hungarian Embassy and other diplomats were in attendance. the event organizers.

Another person I approached was a black woman who, with a friendly smile, explained  with a friendly smile that she was with the Nigerian Embassy and had been invited to this event. I found myself confused; while I understood the logic behind inviting certain European nations, I questioned the inclusion of African countries. Nevertheless, she was charming, and we talked about Africa and my trip to Tanzania.  

Although the flag-raising was outside, due to inclement weather, the group moved to City Hall first to listen to the speeches by the dignitaries. The small conference room inside was insufficient to seat everyone, so I stood in the hallway listening to the speakers.

The Deputy Mayor, Sean Devine, who, by the way, is my local City Councilor, opened the ceremony. He paid tribute to the courageous Hungarians who perished during the 1956 uprising and commented on the contributions the refugees made to Canada. Although Sean did not mention it, well-known people such as Anna Porter, a writer and publisher, and Robert Lantos, a film director, were fifty-sixers, among others.

Ms. Katalin Haas, Charge d’Affaires at the Hungarian Embassy, spoke about the significance of the 1956 rebellion and invited representatives of the Canada-Hungary Parliamentary Friendship Group and a representative of Global Affairs Canada to speak.

Many speakers mentioned the 38,000 people who arrived in Canada after the uprising looking for freedom and dignity and the over 300,000 people of Hungarian descent now residing here. All the speakers emphasized the Hungarian people’s desire for freedom and dignity.  

Adam van Koeverdan, Co-Chair of the Canada-Hungary Friendship Group, spoke about his mother, who escaped Hungary during the uprising. That made me feel old. I was sixteen years old when I fled Hungary, and he was talking about his mother! Further indicating my age was a group of young people talking about being fourth-generation Hungarians. I felt ancient by that time.

The speeches were well delivered but seemed hollow to me, as the speakers lacked a fundamental understanding of the nature of life in Hungary in the 1950s that sparked the rebellion. None of the speakers had firsthand experience of life in Hungary at the time of the rebellion. The speakers’ comments were sincere but lacked the emotional gravity that people with direct experience could have brought.

For example, I remember when our neighbor in the apartment house where we lived disappeared one night, and nobody said anything about it. Nobody raised any questions. Or when my father, a medical doctor, was called many nights to patch up people caught trying to break through the Iron Curtain or swim across Lake Ferto. Or when my brother, a student in Budapest, walked home to Sopron, a distance of 200 kilometers, when the revolution broke out. During the uprising, the absence of cell phones or live communication made it difficult to receive updates from him for several days. This lack of information caused considerable concern among our family about his safety. The family feared the worst. After coming home from school one day, our mother told Peter and me to set off along the highway to Vienna, each of us carrying a sandwich in our backpacks, a memory that has stayed with me ever since.  

I thought that a few refugees talking about their escape, or a film showing the tanks in Budapet crawling with students during the uprising, would have been relevant and impactful. However, I recognise that the objective of the ceremony was to honour those who lost their lives, rather than revisit the events of the uprising. Those people attending who were old enough to witness the rebellion personally may not have felt completely satisfied. I wondered, how many of us oldtimers attended?