SECOND HUNGARIAN FLAG

When someone travels to New Zealand, they can encounter certain challenges that make them feel very alone. By this, I mean being far from family, friends, familiar places, smells, and routines. Of course, in today’s world, staying in touch online is almost always possible, but the large time difference can make even that difficult. And, of course, a video call is never quite the same as meeting in person. So what can a person do in such a situation? You have to start socializing slowly, meeting people, attending events, and immersing yourself in the flow of the new community. That’s what happened with me. After I arrived, I began exploring local shops, pubs, and restaurants. That’s how I discovered a pizzeria called UMU.

It’s worth mentioning that I’m quite fond of food, so I couldn’t resist a strong, spicy Diavola pizza with sausage. Incidentally, even though I like spicy food, on the day of the 2025 Hungarian Festival and Market, I ended up last in the chili-eating contest. While ordering, I struck up a conversation with the manager, since people in New Zealand are generally very friendly, and they enjoy talking with newcomers. That’s how my friendship with Detroit Evans began. My accent gave me away, and he asked where I was from.

After a while, UMU became my regular spot, since it was on my way home. Sometimes I’d just stop by to say hello to Evans, and we’d chat about how our days had been. After many encounters, once he learned I was Hungarian, he told me that he fences and that Áron Szilágyi is his greatest role model. He wants to be like him, so he dedicates every day to fencing alongside his university studies. On one occasion, he told me he would soon travel to Melbourne with the New Zealand international fencing team for a competition – to the very Australian fencing center where Áron Szilágyi had also trained.

Weeks went by – writing articles, working with the Hungarian community, seeing my dear mother’s face on video calls in the mornings, a few dates (part of socializing, of course), tennis matches, a trip to the egg-scented geothermal region of Rotorua, sleeping in a car at a campground, and a strange conversation with a priest – but that’s another story. In short, time passed, and I found myself craving pizza again. This time, Evans suggested I try the meatball pizza.

While eating, he excitedly told me how he analyzed Áron Szilágyi’s videos and fencing techniques, feeling ready for victory the next day. That’s when I realized he was about to travel. In that moment, I came up with the story for the second Hungarian flag, in roughly two seconds. Before asking him for anything, I explained my flag idea – its meaning, importance, and what I hoped to convey. He found it both creative and clever.

I then said, “Listen, Evans, here’s this little Hungarian flag – I always carry a few in my bag, because you never know when inspiration will strike – please take it with you to Melbourne, to that fencing center where Áron Szilágyi also competed.”

“What am I supposed to do with it? Where should I put it?” he asked.I replied, “I leave that to you, but please choose a memorable place that will remind you of fencing.”

The next day, I woke up early, eagerly waiting for Evans’ message. In the afternoon, he wrote that he had narrowly lost the final to the top-seeded Australian in a tight match. “Oh, and of course, I didn’t forget the flag,” he said – “I hid it behind the scoreboard.”

What a wonderful choice, I thought. I asked when he had placed the Hungarian flag there. He said, after the match. “See,” I joked, “if you’d placed it before the match, you would have surely won.” We laughed heartily, and then I told him to hurry home, because I wanted to try another pizza.

Since then, that little Hungarian flag has been resting behind the scoreboard at the Australian fencing center, representing our country, Áron Szilágyi, the three Olympic gold medals, and the future generation of Hungarian fencers.

Áron Darvasi

KCSP scholarship holder