...the belated but absolutely FUNtastic photos of the funfair at my Grandma's from a week ago. (Better late than never should be the official motto of my life, huh?)
Funfairs are one of my favorite themes to take photos of. I think there's something extremely special about the atmosphere of Hungarian búcsú-s, starting with the venders selling lollipops, cotton - and god only knows how many other kinds of candies, long rows of booths filled with absolutely useless toys, children throwing tantrums for not getting their seven hundredth Barbie doll or Matchbox car, mommies wiping tears and cotton candy off of the face of their beloved offsprings, daddies trying to survive the day with a pint of beer in hand, grandmas idyllicly gossiping on a bench in the shelter of shady trees, while colorful balloons are filling the blue sky.
Right next to the fair the travelling gypsy dynasty has taken over the square with their worn-down caravans and ever so colorful and kitschy props of marry-go-rounds, shooting-gallery, dodgem, and dragon-ridden rollercoaster. Poor old ponies are walking around in endless circles all day long, mutt alsatians are trying to get out of their hutch, while beautiful but tacky gypsy girls are dreaming of rich husbands and a little less romantic life.
The hours of fun fly by quickly, and all of a sudden the sun starts fading away with tickling rays on round cheecks, the hullabaloo is slowly dissolving as families find their way home, venders are packing back their precious goods into brown banana boxes, the gypsy dynasty is shaking the dust from their feet, already looking for their next gig. Then the following morning the only things reminding us of one last day spent frolicing are the piles of stinky turk in the sallowing, downstrodden grass and the chilly new season brought by the coming wind.
Right next to the fair the travelling gypsy dynasty has taken over the square with their worn-down caravans and ever so colorful and kitschy props of marry-go-rounds, shooting-gallery, dodgem, and dragon-ridden rollercoaster. Poor old ponies are walking around in endless circles all day long, mutt alsatians are trying to get out of their hutch, while beautiful but tacky gypsy girls are dreaming of rich husbands and a little less romantic life.
The hours of fun fly by quickly, and all of a sudden the sun starts fading away with tickling rays on round cheecks, the hullabaloo is slowly dissolving as families find their way home, venders are packing back their precious goods into brown banana boxes, the gypsy dynasty is shaking the dust from their feet, already looking for their next gig. Then the following morning the only things reminding us of one last day spent frolicing are the piles of stinky turk in the sallowing, downstrodden grass and the chilly new season brought by the coming wind.
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