Szeged is known for several things—the best salami in Hungary, the best paprika in Hungary, and me, Geoff Kann. Well, it’s not well known for that last bit, but, you know, maybe it should be.
One other thing that it’s known for that I had zero idea it was known for is the annual mayfly hatching. I only heard about it, like, 8 years ago on one of my visits. They call it “tiszavirágzás” or “flowering of the Tisza.” The phrase is used as a Hungarian proverb, and it implies all sorts of things about the unity of life and death and the beauty of short but intense episodes of life. Soooooo romantic!
The mayfly is getting pretty rare these days, but it’s native to the Tisza, which flows through Szeged. It’s even protected as an endangered species now. I think that’s less about protecting bugs and more about protecting the local freshwater sturgeon—also endangered but also Szegeders favorite fish for dinner—which love to eat little mayflies. Yum?
The lifecycle of these mayflies is something of a morbid marvel. Baby mayflies live for three years (!) at the bottom of the river. Around midsummer, usually at sunset, bunches and bunches of mayflies emerge to the surface, have a wild couple hours of dancing and mating, and then promptly drop dead. It's an entomological soap opera. You can't help but be moved by the dramatic arc of their short lives.
I have spent Eight. Long. Years. waiting for my chance to see this near-mythical event. But the mayflies and I have never been in Szeged at the same time. It’s like trying to time cherry blossom season. Good luck. Your best bet is to show up and stay for however long it takes for it to happen.
This time though? This time we’re here pretty close to the right time! Woo hoo!
So I devoted myself to scouring Hungarian-language websites on the lookout for The Moment the event would occur. Friends and I even ventured out one evening to where the Tisza and Maros rivers meet on the off chance that it was happening, but all we really saw were a boatload of mosquitoes. So many mosquitoes. My bites had bites.
So I bided my time and I continued to watch the web. As time went by, though, and I learned more, I grew…let’s say “concerned.” First, I learned that the mayfly species here in Szeged is called the “Giant Mayfly,” which does not sound good. I've long had a complex relationship with bugs—ranging from wary indifference (when I can’t see them) to abject terror (when I can) so as you might imagine, my enthusiasm wilted a bit upon this discovery. And the addition of “giant” to any bug’s name sends involuntary shivers up my spine.
I also found pictures online like one captioned, “Tisza mayfly on a child’s shorts.” I thought, “Maybe it’s just a very tiny child,” because the mayfly stretched from the kid’s waistband down to the middle of her thigh.
The last straw was a bronze sculpture I found along the river on one of my walks of the mayflies mid-flight. I didn’t make note of the sculptor’s name, but I feel confident that the piece is a later collaboration between HP Lovecraft and Hieronymous Bosch. It's impressive, but also mildly horrifying, like discovering a monument dedicated to all your deepest irrational fears. It’s called the Mayfly Monument, but it might better be called The Swarm.
So, no, I never got to see the “flowering.” In the end, I decided to admire the idea of the mayflies from the comfort of a favorite coffee shop. And that's fine. Sometimes it’s okay to take a step back and say, “Nope, I don’t need giant bugs in my life today.” And you know what? That's a pretty good lesson to take with me.
But if you’re ever here at the right time, you can go find them and then come tell me what all the buzz is about (hahahaha…I crack me up sometimes!).
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