Whether we have travelled extensively or stayed in one spot, I’m curious about how geography has impacted our lives. For this reason, I am starting an interview series talking with a wide range of people about place and how different places have shaped us. Were our perceptions changed? What opportunities opened up? Did we feel claustrophobic, a part of a community, or deeply isolated?
This week I sat down with someone for whom geography has transformed hobbies into passions, and then those passions into a career. Someone who has had the tenacity to flourish on the opposite side of the world, and someone I first met in a classroom five years ago.
Back then, Gergő had just arrived in Australia from Hungary. He was grappling with English, but, like many students I’ve taught who left their country at the peak of their careers, Gergő was coming to terms with his new identity in Sydney, too. “I dreaded speaking English back then,” he says. “I would ask for a ‘coffee train’ rather than a tray. Every interaction was embarrassing.” One thing he knew, however, was that he wanted to stay here for as long as he could.
Born in Győr, in north-west Hungary, near the border of Slovakia, Gergő grew up in a landlocked country. The nearest significant body of water was the Danube and the Croatian coast was over five hour’s drive away. Nevertheless, he was drawn to water. He first went fishing when he was five years old. His grandfather told him stories of the sea, of sailors and explorers and all the things that lived in it. The ocean captured young Gergő’s imagination, and being close to water became a preoccupation. He devoured nature documentaries and felt at peace outside amongst it.
Gergő fell into his profession as a prosthetist in his family’s business. As his status rose and the job title bore more and more responsibility, he turned to gardening as a stress relief. On a property fifteen minutes outside of Győr, next to a recreational wakeboarding lake, Gergő spent every spare minute in his garden. He even installed a pond to bring the water to him.
Eventually, the hobby produced both literal and figurative fruit — the garden won several landscaping awards. The time and effort Gergő had put into it would also come in handy when he finally made one of the biggest decisions of his life.
As a European, Gergő had always been fascinated with Australia — the animals, the landscapes, the weather, the proximity to oceans. It seemed like the opposite to Hungary. “It was the ultimate exotic destination,” he says. As fate would have it, he had friends who had already made the journey across the globe to live there, sending Gergő photos and anecdotes of life among the gum trees.
His curiosity to see the country for himself reached a fever pitch. So, for his thirtieth birthday he stayed with a friend in Byron Bay. Unfortunately, a tropical storm drowned out the sunny outdoor plans and Gergő fell so ill he had to be hospitalised. He says that this was the true test of his affinity with the country. As soon as he could, he returned to Australia with his then fiancée and toured the entire east coast.
It was during this trip that he decided to give up his comfortable lifestyle in Hungary and make the move. After sixteen years of emotionally draining work in prosthetics, it wasn’t a decision he made lightly. The company had 3000 patients and anyone coming into the role would need five years’ training. He would have to tie up many loose ends before leaving, and put certain goals to rest. Hungary, a relatively flat country, sits above the Carpathian Basin full of thermal springs. Gergő once dreamt of purchasing a manmade lake — something only wealthy Hungarians could afford — but changed his mind when he realised he could live by the sea, instead.
Trading in his tourist visa for a student one, he chose Sydney to live in for its proximity to nature, the sunshine, and work opportunities for migrants. However, not only did the student visa limit how much he could work, his low English skills kept him from working in the industry he had left behind, too. He says, “I was so naive, I even tried getting a job in my field. I could barely string a sentence together.” A working holiday visa was not an option, either, as Eastern European countries are still seen by the Australia government as risky investments, the lure of remittance migration too strong.
Indeed, his gardening skills came to the rescue. As Gergő says, “Plants don’t speak English”. He could get by on the manual labour skills honed by years of working in his garden. Convincing a landscaping company to hire him just based on before and after photos of his own garden, he spent his formative years in Australia outside with his hands in the dirt.
“In that first year I would wake up at 5am and not get home until 11pm. My life was work and study.” When he could, Gergő pursued his other hobby for stress-relief. In Hungary he had started macrophotography, taking close-up shots of insects and the intricate material of the flowers in his garden. On the trip along the east coast of Australia, he had practised composing landscapes, capturing the glistening waters of the ocean that had eluded him in Europe. Photography was a time-saving extension of his other creative pursuit of nature drawing.
Living in Sydney, Gergő was pulled to the sea every day. He took his camera along, the muse of the shoreline sparking a creative drive. On these visits to the beach Gergő would spy other photographers keener than he out in the swell. “It took me a while to brave the water,” he says. “Two of my biggest fears are sharks and spiders. I thought Australia would be filled with both, I was even scared to cross Hyde Park at one point.” Luckily, being out in gardens for work helped him get over the fear of spiders.
Soon enough, the landscaping business sponsored him to get a permanent residency visa. These come at great cost to businesses and the individual, but Gergő had proven his worth to the company. A requirement of PR visas is passing the International English Level Testing System (IELTS) exam at the level the government deems satisfactory.
Gergő’s strategies were to read voraciously, and to distance himself from the comfort zone of other Hungarians. “Not only did this help improve my English,” he says, “but it helped me enjoy Sydney more. Expats can alienate themselves from the host country when they get together.” He also employed the talents of a certain ex-teacher to help with his writing.
After becoming a permanent resident, a shoulder injury kept him from the physical toll of landscaping. So, Gergő started his own business, keeping some of his loyal clients, and for the labour he couldn’t do hired some off-siders.
The injury freed up time for photography. “I had procrastinated putting together a website and taking myself as a photographer seriously,” he says. He had already bought an underwater camera case, wetsuit and other gear for ocean shoots, and invested in free diving training. He went out every morning to see if inspiration struck, sometimes driving hours out of the city before work to find the magic. He was consumed by getting new compositions, and asked a thousand questions of his peers. “I have spent a lot of time and money on this,” Gergő says. “I’m totally absorbed by it even though there can be months between great shots. You have to be crazy dedicated.”
Entirely self-taught, Gergő’s photography eventually garnered the attention it deserved. Three years ago, he sold his first print. Through the combined exposure of Instagram and entries sent to international photography awards, Gergő has been getting recognition from a wide array of established publications.
His motivation is to share the peace and elation he gets from visiting the ocean. “When people think about or look at nature,” Gergő says, “they are taken out of their daily life. It’s an escape from stress and takes them to another world.” He uses editing to heighten the drama of his photos, enhancing certain details — like contrast, lighting, motion, blur — to create mood. “The composition is already there, but there are subtle changes I can make to evoke what I see in the scene.”
Things aren’t completely rosy in the city of sails, however. Sydney, while good for work and beaches, can be ostracising for a new migrant. Especially, Gergő says, for a migrant who avoids sticking with their in-group. The city can ghettoise migrant populations due to the high cost of living. To get the best deal and not fall victim to price gouging, new arrivals tend to stick to who they know they can trust.
Gergő’s hard-fought battles with English have resulted in an inferiority complex. “I know it’s all in my head sometimes,” he says, “but I still don’t feel like I’m on equal footing with native speakers.” He says this can make it hard to make friends. “Australians can be a bit racist,” he says. “Just my accent can keep people at arm’s length. I noticed it a lot with my high status customers on landscaping jobs.” Australians, he says, get overwhelmed by a difference in language level. “They lose interest, or see a friendship as too much work.” He offers some self-reflection: “I remember even I used to do it back home. Some Romanians are native Hungarian-speakers, but just because of their different accent, we used to make fun of them. I guess this is my karma.”
“I know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but Sydney right now,” Gergő says, “but it still doesn’t feel like my forever home. Nothing is keeping me here, really. This might have something to do with having no partner. The ideal place would be somewhere near the sea, of course, walking distance to the beach and warm weather. I like the quiet, but I also like bigger cities with lots of things to do. So ideally, Sydney without the traffic.”
“I like places where there are enough people who are considered and concerned with the world around them. I like interested people into self development, and positive growth. I don’t like lazy, complacent people, consumed by convenience. I’m allergic to ‘stuck’ people,” Gergő laughs. “I went back to Hungary for the first time after five years in Australia. I was worried I wouldn’t want to leave. It was nice to see family and friends, but after two days I couldn’t wait to go back to Australia. I didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore. There was this weird heavy feeling across my back, and I felt sorry for people still there.”
At the end of the interview, Gergő tells me he’s sitting the citizenship test in a couple of weeks. He volunteers for Plastic Free Bronte — an environmental group dedicated to ridding his local beach of plastic pollution. While he’s been in the country and a part of the organisation for years, Gergő is still wading in. “There’s a superficial acceptance in Australia,” he says. “Most people don’t realise the determination it takes to stay here.” For now, the continuing fascination with the seascapes he dreamt of as a child outweighs the frustration and patience of relocating across the world. He says, “I wake up and go to bed thinking of my photography and the ocean. I need it to make this all worth while.”
Follow Gergő’s photography at Instagram, or find out more/buy a print from his website.
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