In my defense "feck" is really a kinder version of its swear word cousin, and I'm told Irish people use it liberally throughout the day. Craic is pronounced "crack" and is not a reference to drug use; it means "fun" in...well, it has English/Irish origins. In other words, Ireland was AMAZING.
Where Italy was a bit of a logistical "trial," shall we say, Ireland was the complete opposite. Maybe getting to Bratislava to catch a flight is a bit of a pain, with a god-awful early bus ride at 6:30am. I was so brain-fried when I got to the airport that I briefly thought someone had stolen my bag, when they had in fact moved it from the overhead storage to a seat behind me. This was my first time flying Ryanair, and I didn't think the experience was too traumatizing. Sure, we were herded like cattle onto the airplane, and everyone made quite the ill-mannered and shoving rush to find seats (there is no assigned seating), but if you're traveling alone, it doesn't matter. I didn't care where I sat, so I just took the first empty aisle seat I could find and was happy.
During the flight, the persistent advertisements and parading of products such as perfume up and down the rows got a little tiring. But fortunately I had Shades of Grey to finish and enjoyed some escapism. When I landed in Dublin, the airport bus was right outside the exit and took me just a block and a half away from my hostel, which was also just around the corner from a police station. I got in to Dublin at around 1pm, so I spent the rest of the day wandering the city. I started with a tour of Trinity College, where I learned students engaged in a shoot-out with a professor back in the day after a disagreement about the difficulty of his exams escalated. I saw the Book of Kells and the Long Room, which I am convinced must have been the inspiration for the Beast's library from Beauty and the Beast. It hols 200,000 of the College's oldest books and had a special exhibit on Ernest Walton, which satisfied this nonproliferation nerd.
After that, I wandered around the Temple Bar area, but it was Good Friday, which means that, by law, all pubs must be closed. For real. Even the alcohol sections of grocery stores were cordoned off. Otherwise, all stores were open and ready for business, which was a relief since I had thought there would be a good chance everything would be closed for the holiday. I made my way over to Dublin Castle for a bit, but was already feeling like I might be castled out (oh boy, not a good sign if you're in Ireland). I was taking pictures at one point, and this really weird couple thought I was trying to take a picture of them and actually walked over to stand smack in the middle of my shot and pose.
I walked around Christchurch Cathedral for a bit, then made my way to the north side of Dublin. I walked around Henry's Street, which is just tons of shopping and was completely unappealing to me. As I made my way back to my hostel, I saw a man in a suit skipping down the street while holding a cigarette. Stereotypically happy Irish man? Check. I made friends with a British girl in my room and went to bed early to prepare for my 6:30am tour the next morning.
While in Ireland, I booked two day-long tours - one to the Giant's Causeway and Belfast in Northern Ireland, and one to the Cliffs of Moher in the west of Ireland. The first tour was the one to the north, and boy was it full of fun characters. There were the Italians who were late to every check in, the group of Mexican kids with two chaperones who were also late to every check in, the weird American lady and her coworker, and then the rest of us normal folks. I made friends with a mother and daughter from Ohio and a girl from Berlin. The weird American lady kept making the most inappropriate comments, drumming on the back of the seat in front of her, and clapping horribly out of step along with songs our driver sang. It was bizarre. The mother and daughter and I speculated that she was from New Jersey or had some sort of social disorder, and the bus driver told us later that he was convinced she was stoned.
After stopping in a couple of smaller towns for coffee and bathroom breaks, we came to Carrick a rede rope bridge. This was such a gorgeous sight, but crossing that bridge was terrifying. It swung back and forth and bounced up and down - I was relieved when I'd crossed it but aghast I'd have to do it again to get back to the mainland. It was worth it, though - such beautiful views in that area. We then went on to the Giant's Causeway, which has to be seen to be believed. It's said that Tolkein got his inspiration for Lord of the Rings from this area of Ireland, and I'd certainly believe it. We were also incredibly lucky to have very good weather the entire time we were there. I had Guinness and steak stew for lunch - YUM. Oh, by the way, if you ever go to Northern Ireland, you should probably remember that they use pounds, not euros. Yeah, useful information. Thank god for credit cards.
We then made our way to Dunlace castle and then Belfast. Throughout this time, our lovely guide, Mike, gave us the occasional history lesson on The Troubles and pointed out how various towns were dealing with the ongoing enmity. Quite a few have made great strides - they no longer fly Union Jack or Irish flags outside their houses and are making an effort to get along, even if the road does divide the town into Protestant and Catholic sides. He mentioned the recent conflicts instigated by the Real IRA, who he says want to take the country back 40 years to the times of The Troubles. Most people want peace and do not want a repeat of that era, but with the upcoming visit from the Queen of England, people are concerned about how violence may escalate. He also had a really great mix of songs on his ipod playing when he wasn't talking - mostly Irish (ok, there was a break for Bon Jovie's "Wanted Dead or Alive" and Bob Marley's "One Love," but I'm not complaining) music that ranged from traditional folk, to instrumental, to modern jams. He was also a gifted singer and sang us a few songs as well. He sang more the next day on my other tour.
When we got to Belfast, he dropped us off for an hour, and that's when the Ohio mother's mothering instincts kicked in and she scooped me and the lone German girl up and suggested we wander together. Thank goodness because I admit to feeling a little overwhelmed at that point - something about the combination of amazing views, slight heat stroke, and a large city sitting suddenly in front of me. We passed some Hare Krishnas (seriously, these guys are everywhere) on our way to some excellent views of the city. After walking around City Hall, we were picked up and dropped off back in Dublin at 7:30pm. I was pretty exhausted, so after walking around a bit, I went back to my hostel, where I met a new roommate who was a Japanese girl studying at Limerick College. OK, guys, I've decided that the single most useful language you can learn if you want to travel Europe by hostel is Japanese: you will always meet someone who speaks it. She said that Irish people studying Japanese at Limerick have thick Irish accents when they speak it, and that just sounds absolutely delightful to me. I am in love with Irish accents, and I love Japanese, so the two combined must be amazing.
The next morning I had yet another day-tour, this one to the Cliffs of Moher (also known as the Cliffs of Insanity from The Princess Bride). I didn't know this would happen ahead of time, but it turns out I had the same tour guide from the day before. In fact, I was the only person to have him for both tours, so he and I became half-friends. This was the third day straight the poor guy was leading day-long tours, so by the end of it, he became hilariously punchy. We also gossiped about the weird American lady from the day before who managed to alienate her coworker/friend and half the bus by the end. She was quite the hoot. He sang quite a few songs the second day, which was awesome - he had quite a beautiful voice, and the bus the second day was much more receptive and into it than the first day. Second day's bus passengers were more normal, which was most a disappointment than a relief to me. Anyway, he sang The Bricklayer's Song, Seven Drunken Nights, Danny Boy, and others. I preferred his performance to the ones I linked to, but what can you do.
On our way out west, we passed the Curragh horse racing track where Ireland's famous thoroughbred horses are raised, and we passed the field where Braveheart's final fight scene was filmed. We stopped briefly at Blarney Castle, but alas I did not have time to kiss the Blarney Stone. We spent a good 2 hours at the Cliffs of Moher, which were stunning. I loved hiking the paths (which were technically restricted due to the hazard of falling, but they were perfectly safe if you were careful), and there was even a street musician playing some quite good Irish fiddle in one area. What I particularly liked about the illegal paths was that only a few tourists walked them, so you could get away from the noise of people talking and walking to be left alone with the sounds of waves crashing against the cliffs.
We headed for Doolin village, which is so adorable, for lunch. On we went to Corcomroe Abbey and The Burren, which reminded me of Pinnacles back in California. Alas, by this point, my camera had run out of battery, so I have no pictures. But I really enjoyed just walking around the rock formations and getting to do a bit of scrambling. It was at this point that, after I told him about an amazing trip to Joshua Tree, our guide told me about his trip to Burning Man where he had the best acid trip of his life.
On the way back to Dublin, our guide stopped the bus next to a field of cows at one point and starting lowing at them. They all looked up at him as one, stood up from where they were standing, and looked terribly confused. He is truly the cow whisperer. On this trip, he went into the history of the Potato Famine, Famine Follies, Tinkers and Knackers, and again into the Troubles a bit. We also learned that some assert that a real Irish breakfast is Guinness and oysters (who can argue with that?). Can I just say that the Irish accent is so pretty? I think it's funny and endearing that the 'th' sound becomes 't' for soft 'th' and 'd' for hard 'th.'
That evening, I was exhausted again, so after walking around Dublin a bit more, I went back to my hostel. As I was giving a key back to the front desk, I high-fived a drunk guy, who turned out to be a Californian who'd been in Ireland for 5 months. He claimed to have just seen a dead body on the train, and wanted me to go have a whiskey with him to take his mind off of it. Well, since no great trip is complete without a bad decision, I decided to go. My bad decision's name was Shawn.
As Shawn weaved drunkenly through the street and occasionally collided with me, I learned that he was returning to California to "atone for things he'd done wrong." Oh dear. I definitely did not want to know what those were, so I steered the conversation back to CA. Before I knew it, he was suddenly peeling off his shirt in the middle of the street, and I was protesting, backing away, and raising my hands in horror. Turns out he wanted to show me his tattoo on the back of his shoulder blade. It was a pretty Celtic design. "My dad has the same one, on his chest." Ohh, that's neat. "But he got his in prison." Oh dear! "I didn't get mine in prison." Well, that's a step in the right direction for your family. "But I've been in prison, so I don't judge."
So I asked him why he'd been in prison, and he paused before saying, "Violence." Oh shit. At this point I seriously considered just sprinting back to the hostel, which was only a block and a half away. I mean, he was so drunk that he'd either run into a pole on the way back, or he'd run into a parked car. But I decided I just wanted to see him safely to a bar, and then I'd split. So here's what happened, apparently. Shawn was living the perfect life - he'd had a great day, he was in a great band, and he was back to his band's practice space. When he got there, he found the bassist sleeping with the drummer's girlfriend. It was at this moment that Shawn realized the band was toast - there was no way the drummer would get over this. Naturally, this was the bassist's fault. So Shawn "beat the shit out of the bassist." I find this story quite ridiculous on its face and in retrospect, but at the time, as he was telling the story, Shawn got quite worked up and angry about the whole thing again, as if he were reliving it. Not very pleasant.
I paused and said, "Maybe that wasn't the best way to handle the situation," hoping I wasn't inviting violence on my own person. "Oh, I know it's not, but sometimes people just think a way that's wrong and I don't know how to deal with it." Anyway, after that we talked about mothers because Shawn's mother is the best woman on the planet who loves him unconditionally and he just loves her so much. Oh drunks, gotta love them. We got to the bar, and I begged off, saying I had to get up at 3:45am for my flight (totally true) and should leave. In truth, I'd been hoping the bar we went to would have lots of people and I could just ditch my Bad Decision for more entertaining and gentler Irish people. Alas, this bar was fairly deserted, save for two patrons smoking outside. They stared at us intently as I tried to extricate myself from Shawn, which was reassuring as I hoped they'd help me if "violence" happened again. Shawn was so woeful at my departure: "You're just going to leave me here?" he cried out despondently. I said, "No, see, you have those nice two men to talk with!" He just looked at me silently, so I wished him a safe journey and walked off.
The return to Vienna was fairly uneventful, save for my seatmate crossing herself before takeoff and prior to landing (does she know something I don't?!), and the entire plane applauding the landing (seriously?). Ryanair plays that song they play at the start of races when they land, which is really weird.
I loved Ireland even more than I thought I would and can't wait to return. Hopefully that day will be sooner rather than later.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Getting Rides from Strangers in Italy
Last weekend was a glorious 4-day trip to Bergamo, Como, and Milano in Italy (pictures on facebook in 2 albums). I met my good friend Aude there, and we managed to stumble our way through the Italian countryside while eating food and pastries that were out of this world. What is wrong with America - why don't we have these pastry shops and sidewalk cafes?!
Bergamo
The first night I arrived, Lucio, the owner of Hostel #1 picked me up. Although he spoke ok English, he was either not confident in it or was the strong and silent type, because the minute we got into the car, he turned the radio way up. The station was a very confused one; it played multiple genres of music - classic rock, soft rock, and then bandstand music - and the only consistent theme was that it was all in English. We arrived at the hostel, which was in this random residential neighborhood and was actually a 3 BR, 2 Bath apartment. Lucio has only been running this place for 3 months, and I strongly suspect I was his first guest. I know that, at the very least, I was his only guest while I stayed there.
I woke up Friday, packed my things, and ate a bit of the large spread of breakfast food Lucio had laid out for me...all of which was prepackaged. Despite this, it was actually ok and not too bad. I tried to pay him but he said I could wait until Sunday (this was a theme- it's like I had to twist the hostel owners' arms to pay them). We then talked about getting me to Bergamo. I understood from our conversation that he would take his son and then take me to town. I got out of the hostel and instead found his son waiting for me on a motorbike. Yes, I rode on the back of a motorbike, gripping nervously onto the sides of a random Italian guy. I mean, what's the etiquette here? What's too invasive or tight a grip? Oh, and his son knew zero English. Hilarious.
I managed to get to downtown and then headed to Hostel #2 to drop my stuff off. Boy, this was another adventure. I took the bus as instructed, got off, magically, at the right spot...and got lost. I wandered around a very nice but quiet residential neighborhood and finally found the hostel. After some phone calls, I managed to get access to my converted silo B&B. The owner had to clean up the room from the previous guest. Her English was so-so, and so we ended up communicating in "No prooooblem!"s. For example, I was sitting in the room, collecting myself as she went about some other errands, and she pokes her head in the door, motioning to me to come out to the common room. She has placed a chocolate cereal box, sugar, and milk on the table. She then says, "And, 1 banana," places the banana on the table, spreads her hands and says, "No proooblem!" By this point, it was 11:30am, and I already had so many questions: did she expect me to eat this now? am I allowed only that 1 banana the entire time I stay there? 1 per day? 1 per person per day? and how much of the overflowing foodstuffs I see crammed in this fake little kitchen can I eat?
After she was done with cleaning the place, she kindly offered me a ride to La Citta Alta in Bergamo, which is the medieval town on high. We arrive somewhere in Bergamo, and she says, "Now, go up that road, and there is La Citta Alta!" Keep in mind that I have not seen a single map of Bergamo since I've arrived, as neither hostel had maps nor timetables of nearby transportation. I nod, smile, wave, and start walking. OK, she neglected to say that it was a 2-3 km hike up a very steep hill. I got hungry and stopped in a small restaurant that only served 4 things during lunch. I had the penne al salmone and thanked god for Italy.
I finally managed to find La Citta Alta and the views from the perimeter were spectacular - you could see the land and town stretching out below. It took me a while to realize that continuing to walk on this road would just take me in a circle around the actual town, and that if I wanted to get to its center, I had to actual go toward its center. I almost have a master's degree, and it took me a good 20 minutes to figure this out. Go team.
Anyway, the Maggiore Baptistry was really quite beautiful, as was the plaza and duomo. A Bach baroque chamber orchestra, with harpsichord, were rehearsing in the duomo for that evening's performance, so I quite enjoyed sitting for a bit to listen to that. I loved walking up and down the cute little coblestone streets and looking at the shops. I excused myself for a little slice of heaven, courtesy of a fabulous pastry shop. I also had some gelato. Then I got frustrated I wasn't still hungry when I passed a divine looking pizza place. I still regret not getting a slice. It rained a bit while I was there, but I was good to go with the world's tackiest umbrella of major Munich sights.
I headed back to the hostel early because the last bus leaves at around 7pm and I was nervous about missing it. Fortunately, I got back in time, worked out a bit in my room, and then wandered to the single bar/restaurant in the entire area. But, to my horror, it was having some sort of shindig for dudes - there were like 12 of them eating from food that had been set out. Where the heck did all of these people come from? There's nothing out here! And why are they there? Anyway, I quickly ordered a random sandwich and scurried back to my room, where I watched TV. First, I watched Smallville in silence (this was before I realized I had to smack the TV to get sound), and then I watched a variety of shows dubbed in Italian as I channel surfed. There was Leverage, Lost (boy, you thought that show was confusing in English? HAH), Walker Texas Ranger (if Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer when he speaks English, they create whole new universes when he's dubbed in Italian), and CSI: Miami (this show was not dubbed, as the network clearly realized it was so awful that they needn't go to the expense of making it understandable to Italians). There was also a horrifying Italian game show that really has to be seen to be believed.
Como
The next day I was set to meet Aude in Como. Alas, it was a day of missed connections and logistical failures. I missed the bus from near my hostel by 10 minutes and had to wait another 45 minutes for the next. Then I missed the train from Bergamo by 5 minutes and had to wait another 30 minutes for the next. As I was trying to puzzle together exactly how I get to Como from Bergamo, I was approached by a Lithuanian cardiac surgeon who was also confused and spoke excellent English. Together, we managed to puzzle through how to get to Como and became travel buddies. We went our separate ways in Como, and Aude and I were reunited!
Oh, man, Como. I love Como. It was perfect weather too: sunny and warm. The lake looked gorgeous, the food was excellent, and the shops were a ton of fun too. The town was a cute ocean-side town with many small streets. We also went up the hill by funicular to Burnate, where we had an amazing view of Como, the lake, and some of the other towns nearby. I would love to go back to Lake Como some day and travel on it to see other towns. We got back late to our hostel that night, and I managed to convince our hostel owner, via text, to come early the next morning so we could pay her.
Milano
After we paid our hostel, we wandered out of the hostel trying to figure out if the hostel owner had meant she would give us a ride to the bus station...or what exactly was going on. We turn back, and she's motioning for us to come back as she chases after some other guests who have just exited their rooms. She then convinces these nice guests to give us a ride to Bergamo train station, as that is where they were going as well. Turns out, it was a family from Salzburg - very nice mother and two daughters. The mother was hilarious - she had to pass and circle past the exit to get back to Bergamo at least 4 different times.
At the train station, the machines weren't working so everyone was reliant on the ticket windows. Of course, as the line hit its longest, one of the windows closes. A man tried to cut in line but was yelled at in Italian by everyone else, which was pretty awesome. We barely got our tickets in time for our train, despite getting there 30 minutes ahead of its departure. Once in Milano, we found the Duomo and were in awe. This places is an impressive, spiral-filled white structure. Unfortunately, it's also a bit of a tourist trap and you have to be wary of people trying to sell you friendship bracelets and the like. We decided to wander around and see if we could do some shopping. Alas, my radar seemed to be set on "price range out of this world," as I had a knack for picking the ever increasingly expensive streets. It was fun to see these expensive boutiques, though, and to people watch. People in Milano are certainly fashionable, but not necessarily tasteful... In any case, we were definitely the poorest people on that street.
We managed to see a photo shoot for a fashion magazine of some sort, I met two Japanese store clerks in a glove store, and we bonded, and I got to try Risotto Milanese, which was pretty good but not my favorite Italian dish. Aude had to leave me at that point, and it was a pretty hard goodbye. I didn't want to be in Italy anymore at that point, and didn't relish returning to Bergamo. Fortunately, I'd brought a book with me (Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere), which helped me feel normal soon enough. I got another ride from Lucio to Hostel #1, where I was still the only guest, but get this: there were now maps of Bergamo in a variety of different languages laid out on the bench in the hallway.
The next morning, as I was eating breakfast, Lucio puttered around as he listened to blaring Italian rap. This stuff was hilarious - it was like...upbeat pop music tracks with rhythmic Italian phrases overlaid. I don't know how to describe it other than to just say it was very funny. I was able to buy my ticket to Milano from the machine, but it gave me 1 euro in change in the form of 5 cent coins (UGH). Back in Milano, I wandered around Duomo again, this time getting a ticket to go on the roof. I hung out there for an hour and wandered back down, had my daily gelato (me: "1 scoop please" man: "WHAT? WHY?!"), and finally found the inexpensive street in Milano. By this point, I'm wandering around with my backpack on, scarf tied on top, sweatshirt slung around the bag, khaki pants rolled up, and I'm not really in the mood to shop. I also am not sure it's possible for me to look any more like a backpacker. So, as I pass the Greenpeace volunteers, I see immediately that they're going to hone in on me. I try to beg off in English, but they speak English as well. So I just say, "Sorry, no..." The woman gets this over exaggerated indignant look on her face and ways, "WHAT? WHY?!" I seem to provoke this reaction a lot from Italians. I earned a slightly toned down version of that from both hostel owners when I refused coffee.
Anyway, I was tired of wandering around alone - you're such a prime target for every tourist hawker. They follow you around, and random men come up to you and tell you you're pretty and walk with you (this sounds nice, but it feels threatening to a woman traveling alone). I decided to go to the airport early to see if I could get an earlier flight, but no dice. So I was at the airport about 5 hours early. Fortunately, they have stores for window shopping, I had capstone research to do, and I found another book at the bookstore (Jasper Fforde's Shades of Grey). I left Italy with a full stomach and a rested mind.
Bergamo
The first night I arrived, Lucio, the owner of Hostel #1 picked me up. Although he spoke ok English, he was either not confident in it or was the strong and silent type, because the minute we got into the car, he turned the radio way up. The station was a very confused one; it played multiple genres of music - classic rock, soft rock, and then bandstand music - and the only consistent theme was that it was all in English. We arrived at the hostel, which was in this random residential neighborhood and was actually a 3 BR, 2 Bath apartment. Lucio has only been running this place for 3 months, and I strongly suspect I was his first guest. I know that, at the very least, I was his only guest while I stayed there.
I woke up Friday, packed my things, and ate a bit of the large spread of breakfast food Lucio had laid out for me...all of which was prepackaged. Despite this, it was actually ok and not too bad. I tried to pay him but he said I could wait until Sunday (this was a theme- it's like I had to twist the hostel owners' arms to pay them). We then talked about getting me to Bergamo. I understood from our conversation that he would take his son and then take me to town. I got out of the hostel and instead found his son waiting for me on a motorbike. Yes, I rode on the back of a motorbike, gripping nervously onto the sides of a random Italian guy. I mean, what's the etiquette here? What's too invasive or tight a grip? Oh, and his son knew zero English. Hilarious.
I managed to get to downtown and then headed to Hostel #2 to drop my stuff off. Boy, this was another adventure. I took the bus as instructed, got off, magically, at the right spot...and got lost. I wandered around a very nice but quiet residential neighborhood and finally found the hostel. After some phone calls, I managed to get access to my converted silo B&B. The owner had to clean up the room from the previous guest. Her English was so-so, and so we ended up communicating in "No prooooblem!"s. For example, I was sitting in the room, collecting myself as she went about some other errands, and she pokes her head in the door, motioning to me to come out to the common room. She has placed a chocolate cereal box, sugar, and milk on the table. She then says, "And, 1 banana," places the banana on the table, spreads her hands and says, "No proooblem!" By this point, it was 11:30am, and I already had so many questions: did she expect me to eat this now? am I allowed only that 1 banana the entire time I stay there? 1 per day? 1 per person per day? and how much of the overflowing foodstuffs I see crammed in this fake little kitchen can I eat?
After she was done with cleaning the place, she kindly offered me a ride to La Citta Alta in Bergamo, which is the medieval town on high. We arrive somewhere in Bergamo, and she says, "Now, go up that road, and there is La Citta Alta!" Keep in mind that I have not seen a single map of Bergamo since I've arrived, as neither hostel had maps nor timetables of nearby transportation. I nod, smile, wave, and start walking. OK, she neglected to say that it was a 2-3 km hike up a very steep hill. I got hungry and stopped in a small restaurant that only served 4 things during lunch. I had the penne al salmone and thanked god for Italy.
I finally managed to find La Citta Alta and the views from the perimeter were spectacular - you could see the land and town stretching out below. It took me a while to realize that continuing to walk on this road would just take me in a circle around the actual town, and that if I wanted to get to its center, I had to actual go toward its center. I almost have a master's degree, and it took me a good 20 minutes to figure this out. Go team.
Anyway, the Maggiore Baptistry was really quite beautiful, as was the plaza and duomo. A Bach baroque chamber orchestra, with harpsichord, were rehearsing in the duomo for that evening's performance, so I quite enjoyed sitting for a bit to listen to that. I loved walking up and down the cute little coblestone streets and looking at the shops. I excused myself for a little slice of heaven, courtesy of a fabulous pastry shop. I also had some gelato. Then I got frustrated I wasn't still hungry when I passed a divine looking pizza place. I still regret not getting a slice. It rained a bit while I was there, but I was good to go with the world's tackiest umbrella of major Munich sights.
I headed back to the hostel early because the last bus leaves at around 7pm and I was nervous about missing it. Fortunately, I got back in time, worked out a bit in my room, and then wandered to the single bar/restaurant in the entire area. But, to my horror, it was having some sort of shindig for dudes - there were like 12 of them eating from food that had been set out. Where the heck did all of these people come from? There's nothing out here! And why are they there? Anyway, I quickly ordered a random sandwich and scurried back to my room, where I watched TV. First, I watched Smallville in silence (this was before I realized I had to smack the TV to get sound), and then I watched a variety of shows dubbed in Italian as I channel surfed. There was Leverage, Lost (boy, you thought that show was confusing in English? HAH), Walker Texas Ranger (if Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer when he speaks English, they create whole new universes when he's dubbed in Italian), and CSI: Miami (this show was not dubbed, as the network clearly realized it was so awful that they needn't go to the expense of making it understandable to Italians). There was also a horrifying Italian game show that really has to be seen to be believed.
Como
The next day I was set to meet Aude in Como. Alas, it was a day of missed connections and logistical failures. I missed the bus from near my hostel by 10 minutes and had to wait another 45 minutes for the next. Then I missed the train from Bergamo by 5 minutes and had to wait another 30 minutes for the next. As I was trying to puzzle together exactly how I get to Como from Bergamo, I was approached by a Lithuanian cardiac surgeon who was also confused and spoke excellent English. Together, we managed to puzzle through how to get to Como and became travel buddies. We went our separate ways in Como, and Aude and I were reunited!
Oh, man, Como. I love Como. It was perfect weather too: sunny and warm. The lake looked gorgeous, the food was excellent, and the shops were a ton of fun too. The town was a cute ocean-side town with many small streets. We also went up the hill by funicular to Burnate, where we had an amazing view of Como, the lake, and some of the other towns nearby. I would love to go back to Lake Como some day and travel on it to see other towns. We got back late to our hostel that night, and I managed to convince our hostel owner, via text, to come early the next morning so we could pay her.
Milano
After we paid our hostel, we wandered out of the hostel trying to figure out if the hostel owner had meant she would give us a ride to the bus station...or what exactly was going on. We turn back, and she's motioning for us to come back as she chases after some other guests who have just exited their rooms. She then convinces these nice guests to give us a ride to Bergamo train station, as that is where they were going as well. Turns out, it was a family from Salzburg - very nice mother and two daughters. The mother was hilarious - she had to pass and circle past the exit to get back to Bergamo at least 4 different times.
At the train station, the machines weren't working so everyone was reliant on the ticket windows. Of course, as the line hit its longest, one of the windows closes. A man tried to cut in line but was yelled at in Italian by everyone else, which was pretty awesome. We barely got our tickets in time for our train, despite getting there 30 minutes ahead of its departure. Once in Milano, we found the Duomo and were in awe. This places is an impressive, spiral-filled white structure. Unfortunately, it's also a bit of a tourist trap and you have to be wary of people trying to sell you friendship bracelets and the like. We decided to wander around and see if we could do some shopping. Alas, my radar seemed to be set on "price range out of this world," as I had a knack for picking the ever increasingly expensive streets. It was fun to see these expensive boutiques, though, and to people watch. People in Milano are certainly fashionable, but not necessarily tasteful... In any case, we were definitely the poorest people on that street.
We managed to see a photo shoot for a fashion magazine of some sort, I met two Japanese store clerks in a glove store, and we bonded, and I got to try Risotto Milanese, which was pretty good but not my favorite Italian dish. Aude had to leave me at that point, and it was a pretty hard goodbye. I didn't want to be in Italy anymore at that point, and didn't relish returning to Bergamo. Fortunately, I'd brought a book with me (Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere), which helped me feel normal soon enough. I got another ride from Lucio to Hostel #1, where I was still the only guest, but get this: there were now maps of Bergamo in a variety of different languages laid out on the bench in the hallway.
The next morning, as I was eating breakfast, Lucio puttered around as he listened to blaring Italian rap. This stuff was hilarious - it was like...upbeat pop music tracks with rhythmic Italian phrases overlaid. I don't know how to describe it other than to just say it was very funny. I was able to buy my ticket to Milano from the machine, but it gave me 1 euro in change in the form of 5 cent coins (UGH). Back in Milano, I wandered around Duomo again, this time getting a ticket to go on the roof. I hung out there for an hour and wandered back down, had my daily gelato (me: "1 scoop please" man: "WHAT? WHY?!"), and finally found the inexpensive street in Milano. By this point, I'm wandering around with my backpack on, scarf tied on top, sweatshirt slung around the bag, khaki pants rolled up, and I'm not really in the mood to shop. I also am not sure it's possible for me to look any more like a backpacker. So, as I pass the Greenpeace volunteers, I see immediately that they're going to hone in on me. I try to beg off in English, but they speak English as well. So I just say, "Sorry, no..." The woman gets this over exaggerated indignant look on her face and ways, "WHAT? WHY?!" I seem to provoke this reaction a lot from Italians. I earned a slightly toned down version of that from both hostel owners when I refused coffee.
Anyway, I was tired of wandering around alone - you're such a prime target for every tourist hawker. They follow you around, and random men come up to you and tell you you're pretty and walk with you (this sounds nice, but it feels threatening to a woman traveling alone). I decided to go to the airport early to see if I could get an earlier flight, but no dice. So I was at the airport about 5 hours early. Fortunately, they have stores for window shopping, I had capstone research to do, and I found another book at the bookstore (Jasper Fforde's Shades of Grey). I left Italy with a full stomach and a rested mind.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
"Do not fear the sausage!"
An Egyptian, a Russian, and three Americans arrive in Munich...beginning to a bad joke or an awesome weekend? Clearly it's the latter (proof is in the pictures on facebook).
This trip was my first time driving in a foreign country (well, I'd driven in Puerto Rico before, but that's not really a foreign country so it doesn't count). A smarter traveler might have done some cursory research on how roadsigns or road rules might be different than in the States, but I am not that person. Just getting out of Vienna was an adventure, as I had no idea how to get out of the small outer ring road to the main one. Anyway, we got on the autobahn, and boy do people drive fast on that thing. I was still skittish since I hadn't driven in 2 months, was driving in a foreign country, and was feeling strongly I didn't want a speeding ticket. This was before I realized there are large sections of the highway that have no upper speed limit. For real.
We got to Munich that evening, and trying to drive around a foreign city with only printed directions to guide your way is quite stressful. Zach did an excellent job, though. By a small miracle, we managed to find our hostel, park, and check in. Our room was fabulous - 6 very comfortable beds, clean sheets, a bathroom, etc. The hostel itself was a run-down hotel that was right by a metro station and just a 10 minute walk from Marienplatz. Some people went out that evening, but Nikita and I are old and need our beauty rest, so we went to bed early.
The next morning, we got up early so that we could wander around Marienplatz before a free city tour. After grabbing breakfast, we found Viktualienmarkt, which is Munich's major open air market. There was lots of food and cute arts and crafts related to Easter. The minute we stepped into the market, I proclaimed to the group that all I wanted to do was eat all day long. So we sat down in the beer garden to partake in what we'd been seeing locals do since 9am, which is drink beer and eat pretzels. Yes, 9am. Well, we wanted to blend in, so naturally we had second breakfast at 10am, consisting of aforementioned beer and pretzel. I managed to get through a fifth of my 0.5 liter beer before declaring defeat (in my defense, I didn't like the beer I ordered).
While we were drinking our beers, eating pretzels, and generally looking like very happy tourists, an older man with broken teeth in a green jacket wandered over to our table from his adjacent table, where he had been sitting with his wife. He proceeded to introduce himself as a Bavarian named Max, told some really bad jokes, and then offered us snuff. Some of us tried it, and he was completely thrilled by this, so he sat down with us and started yodeling: tra-la-la-la-ooooo. He wandered back to his table, but we toasted him a couple of times, and he yodeled at us when he departed.
We went back to Marienplatz for a fabulous free tour by Sandsman's. Our tour guides were from Scotland and England - their accents were lovely, and they were both quite charming and entertaining. We began with seeing the huge clock in Marienplatz do its thing at 11am, which was less impressive than I'd hoped, but still entertaining because it was so charmingly lame. After that we made our way to Munich Frauenkirche, which is one of the few pre-WWII buildings in Munich still standing. Allied forces apparently used it to orient themselves: "Ah, yes, this is Munich - commence bombing!" Anyway, there's a footprint in this church that is supposedly where the devil stomped. See, legend has it that the only reason the church was completed in such a short amount of time (20 years - fast for that time period) was that the devil helped out, under the impression it would turn out dark and unpleasant. When it turned out to be full of light, he lost it, and retaliated with...a footprint. Watch out for that devil - he may make shoeprints in your house too if you upset him.
It was at this stop that we also learned that prior to the bombings of the city, officials knew it was likely the place would be bombed, so they commissioned artists and photographers to capture the look of the city. That way, when they rebuilt it, they were able to recreate many of the buildings and retain the Old World small city feel. After another general history lesson, we made our way to Viscardigasse, or Dodger's alley. Just around the corner is the spot where a plaque listed the names of the "20 Nazis" who were killed in the Beer Hall Putsch. During Hitler's rule, townspeople were required to salute the plaque as they passed. If they didn't, they were beaten or thrown into concentration camps. So people started going through "Dodger's Alley" to avoid having to salute the memorial on their way to Odeonsplatz. Unfortunately, the Gestapo started recording people's names and the number of times they went through that alley so that they could punish people who were obviously avoiding saluting the memorial.
We walked around some more, past the Residenz, down the ridiculously expensive street of stores, and to the opera building. There, we learned the origin of Oktoberfest. We arrived at Hofbrauhaus and learned how disgusting the place was back in the day - I will never look at walking sticks the same way again. We stopped for a beer and pretzel at another beer hall, but I think that 10am beer ruined me for the rest of the trip. After seeing some more sights, we climbed up the top of St. Peter's Church, which offered a fabulous view of the city. We were hungry after all of this walking, so we headed back to Hofbrauhaus and its live music and ever-flowing beer.
I ordered Viennese sausage. Now, our waiter was very kind and made sure to tell me to take the skin ("like a banana") off of the sausage prior to eating it. However, this is no easy feat, and I ended up having to use my hands to peel the darn thing. Next to us, there was a table of guys in lederhosen, on their 3rd liter of beer, several of whom appeared to be laughing at me. Yes, I said lederhosen. Did you know that people in Munich wear lederhosen and traditional dress completely unironically? Some men's hats have the small pen-like thing released so that the feathers poof, and others didn't. I asked Val if she thought there was a reason behind this, and her reply was: "Yes: drunk." In general, if you ever wondered why something happened in Munich, it was due to one of two reasons: 1) drunk or 2) beer. Anyway, the upshot is that one of the lederhosen-clad lads came over to try to explain, again, to me how to peel the skin. Then our waiter returned and began an even lengthier discussion of peeling sausages, the tragic story of his foreign friend who was so flummoxed by it that he was fearful of the dish, and he ended with the proclamation: "Do not fear the sausage!"
We then walked off the heavy meal at Englischgarten, which is this beautiful park in the middle of Munich. There were a lot of people taking advantage of the warm sunny spring day. After a brief shopping stop, where I bought the world's tackiest tourist umbrella of Munich, we walked to the fountain in Marienplatz to meet some friends of Nikita's who are living in Munich. It was only 8pm, and there were already black-and-white lederhosen clad drunks trying to fish beer bottles out of the fountain with fishing poles. OK, there are so many questions here: why is the beer in the fountain? why are they wearing those outfits? why do they have fishing poles with them? Answer, per Val's Maxim: drunk. Then, some random guy pushed another guy into the fountain, which was a bad idea since the now soaking victim took great offense to that and proceeded to chase the other guy down and threaten to beat him with a beer bottle. He settled instead for kicking him. Naturally, they both complained to the police.
We had a lovely dinner, I made new friends, and then we walked around Munich at night, by the river. It was a perfect ending to a lovely day. I slept like a baby that evening.
The next day, we had a fortifying breakfast before a 6 hour tour of the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial. It was the most important concentration camp during WWII because it was the first camp and the testing ground - everything that ever was implemented at the others began in Dachau. It is also largely intact, whereas many camps were blown up after the people within were liberated. Today, Dachau is an extremely important research center for those studying the Holocaust. We had a very knowledgeable tour guide named Marcin, who did a fabulous job of giving historical context, explaining the different structures, daily life, and supplementing the tour with knowledge he gained from reading memoirs and seeing the memorial's archives. Of course, no experience is complete without a drunk Neo-Nazi following your group around, but Marcin swiftly warned the memorial officials about him and got him removed. I spent most of the tour teetering between hunger and nausea - hunger because we hadn't eaten anything since 10am and the tour went until 5:30pm, nausea because of some of the things we learned (in particular, one very gruesome act of torture that Marcin saw photos of and felt it necessary to explain to us..I'm glad he chose not to talk about the horrific medical experiments that went on at Dachau).
I could talk about a lot of things from that tour: I could tell you about the clothes and shoes we saw, the registration room, the torture room, the torture cells, the barracks, the crematoria, or the only remaining fully intact gas chamber; I could tell you about what we learned about the impacts this camp had on its victims and the people in Dachau. But it would be no different than what you've read, assuming you've read anything about concentration camps. To actually physically be there to see for yourself how large the camp and its structures were and what everything looked like is a completely different matter, and I would encourage anyone with the chance to visit Dachau to do so. In the meantime, if you're still curious, ask me about it and we can talk.
It was a heavy day, but when we returned to Munich, we had to depart very soon to return to Vienna. As we were walking back to our hostel, who did we bump into but...Bavarian Max, the yodeler! And he yodeled at us as we passed him! It was brilliant. On the drive back, I'd become wise to the fact that you can go super fast on the autobahn with little consequences, and we totally zoomed back home.
This trip was my first time driving in a foreign country (well, I'd driven in Puerto Rico before, but that's not really a foreign country so it doesn't count). A smarter traveler might have done some cursory research on how roadsigns or road rules might be different than in the States, but I am not that person. Just getting out of Vienna was an adventure, as I had no idea how to get out of the small outer ring road to the main one. Anyway, we got on the autobahn, and boy do people drive fast on that thing. I was still skittish since I hadn't driven in 2 months, was driving in a foreign country, and was feeling strongly I didn't want a speeding ticket. This was before I realized there are large sections of the highway that have no upper speed limit. For real.
We got to Munich that evening, and trying to drive around a foreign city with only printed directions to guide your way is quite stressful. Zach did an excellent job, though. By a small miracle, we managed to find our hostel, park, and check in. Our room was fabulous - 6 very comfortable beds, clean sheets, a bathroom, etc. The hostel itself was a run-down hotel that was right by a metro station and just a 10 minute walk from Marienplatz. Some people went out that evening, but Nikita and I are old and need our beauty rest, so we went to bed early.
The next morning, we got up early so that we could wander around Marienplatz before a free city tour. After grabbing breakfast, we found Viktualienmarkt, which is Munich's major open air market. There was lots of food and cute arts and crafts related to Easter. The minute we stepped into the market, I proclaimed to the group that all I wanted to do was eat all day long. So we sat down in the beer garden to partake in what we'd been seeing locals do since 9am, which is drink beer and eat pretzels. Yes, 9am. Well, we wanted to blend in, so naturally we had second breakfast at 10am, consisting of aforementioned beer and pretzel. I managed to get through a fifth of my 0.5 liter beer before declaring defeat (in my defense, I didn't like the beer I ordered).
While we were drinking our beers, eating pretzels, and generally looking like very happy tourists, an older man with broken teeth in a green jacket wandered over to our table from his adjacent table, where he had been sitting with his wife. He proceeded to introduce himself as a Bavarian named Max, told some really bad jokes, and then offered us snuff. Some of us tried it, and he was completely thrilled by this, so he sat down with us and started yodeling: tra-la-la-la-ooooo. He wandered back to his table, but we toasted him a couple of times, and he yodeled at us when he departed.
We went back to Marienplatz for a fabulous free tour by Sandsman's. Our tour guides were from Scotland and England - their accents were lovely, and they were both quite charming and entertaining. We began with seeing the huge clock in Marienplatz do its thing at 11am, which was less impressive than I'd hoped, but still entertaining because it was so charmingly lame. After that we made our way to Munich Frauenkirche, which is one of the few pre-WWII buildings in Munich still standing. Allied forces apparently used it to orient themselves: "Ah, yes, this is Munich - commence bombing!" Anyway, there's a footprint in this church that is supposedly where the devil stomped. See, legend has it that the only reason the church was completed in such a short amount of time (20 years - fast for that time period) was that the devil helped out, under the impression it would turn out dark and unpleasant. When it turned out to be full of light, he lost it, and retaliated with...a footprint. Watch out for that devil - he may make shoeprints in your house too if you upset him.
It was at this stop that we also learned that prior to the bombings of the city, officials knew it was likely the place would be bombed, so they commissioned artists and photographers to capture the look of the city. That way, when they rebuilt it, they were able to recreate many of the buildings and retain the Old World small city feel. After another general history lesson, we made our way to Viscardigasse, or Dodger's alley. Just around the corner is the spot where a plaque listed the names of the "20 Nazis" who were killed in the Beer Hall Putsch. During Hitler's rule, townspeople were required to salute the plaque as they passed. If they didn't, they were beaten or thrown into concentration camps. So people started going through "Dodger's Alley" to avoid having to salute the memorial on their way to Odeonsplatz. Unfortunately, the Gestapo started recording people's names and the number of times they went through that alley so that they could punish people who were obviously avoiding saluting the memorial.
We walked around some more, past the Residenz, down the ridiculously expensive street of stores, and to the opera building. There, we learned the origin of Oktoberfest. We arrived at Hofbrauhaus and learned how disgusting the place was back in the day - I will never look at walking sticks the same way again. We stopped for a beer and pretzel at another beer hall, but I think that 10am beer ruined me for the rest of the trip. After seeing some more sights, we climbed up the top of St. Peter's Church, which offered a fabulous view of the city. We were hungry after all of this walking, so we headed back to Hofbrauhaus and its live music and ever-flowing beer.
I ordered Viennese sausage. Now, our waiter was very kind and made sure to tell me to take the skin ("like a banana") off of the sausage prior to eating it. However, this is no easy feat, and I ended up having to use my hands to peel the darn thing. Next to us, there was a table of guys in lederhosen, on their 3rd liter of beer, several of whom appeared to be laughing at me. Yes, I said lederhosen. Did you know that people in Munich wear lederhosen and traditional dress completely unironically? Some men's hats have the small pen-like thing released so that the feathers poof, and others didn't. I asked Val if she thought there was a reason behind this, and her reply was: "Yes: drunk." In general, if you ever wondered why something happened in Munich, it was due to one of two reasons: 1) drunk or 2) beer. Anyway, the upshot is that one of the lederhosen-clad lads came over to try to explain, again, to me how to peel the skin. Then our waiter returned and began an even lengthier discussion of peeling sausages, the tragic story of his foreign friend who was so flummoxed by it that he was fearful of the dish, and he ended with the proclamation: "Do not fear the sausage!"
We then walked off the heavy meal at Englischgarten, which is this beautiful park in the middle of Munich. There were a lot of people taking advantage of the warm sunny spring day. After a brief shopping stop, where I bought the world's tackiest tourist umbrella of Munich, we walked to the fountain in Marienplatz to meet some friends of Nikita's who are living in Munich. It was only 8pm, and there were already black-and-white lederhosen clad drunks trying to fish beer bottles out of the fountain with fishing poles. OK, there are so many questions here: why is the beer in the fountain? why are they wearing those outfits? why do they have fishing poles with them? Answer, per Val's Maxim: drunk. Then, some random guy pushed another guy into the fountain, which was a bad idea since the now soaking victim took great offense to that and proceeded to chase the other guy down and threaten to beat him with a beer bottle. He settled instead for kicking him. Naturally, they both complained to the police.
We had a lovely dinner, I made new friends, and then we walked around Munich at night, by the river. It was a perfect ending to a lovely day. I slept like a baby that evening.
The next day, we had a fortifying breakfast before a 6 hour tour of the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial. It was the most important concentration camp during WWII because it was the first camp and the testing ground - everything that ever was implemented at the others began in Dachau. It is also largely intact, whereas many camps were blown up after the people within were liberated. Today, Dachau is an extremely important research center for those studying the Holocaust. We had a very knowledgeable tour guide named Marcin, who did a fabulous job of giving historical context, explaining the different structures, daily life, and supplementing the tour with knowledge he gained from reading memoirs and seeing the memorial's archives. Of course, no experience is complete without a drunk Neo-Nazi following your group around, but Marcin swiftly warned the memorial officials about him and got him removed. I spent most of the tour teetering between hunger and nausea - hunger because we hadn't eaten anything since 10am and the tour went until 5:30pm, nausea because of some of the things we learned (in particular, one very gruesome act of torture that Marcin saw photos of and felt it necessary to explain to us..I'm glad he chose not to talk about the horrific medical experiments that went on at Dachau).
I could talk about a lot of things from that tour: I could tell you about the clothes and shoes we saw, the registration room, the torture room, the torture cells, the barracks, the crematoria, or the only remaining fully intact gas chamber; I could tell you about what we learned about the impacts this camp had on its victims and the people in Dachau. But it would be no different than what you've read, assuming you've read anything about concentration camps. To actually physically be there to see for yourself how large the camp and its structures were and what everything looked like is a completely different matter, and I would encourage anyone with the chance to visit Dachau to do so. In the meantime, if you're still curious, ask me about it and we can talk.
It was a heavy day, but when we returned to Munich, we had to depart very soon to return to Vienna. As we were walking back to our hostel, who did we bump into but...Bavarian Max, the yodeler! And he yodeled at us as we passed him! It was brilliant. On the drive back, I'd become wise to the fact that you can go super fast on the autobahn with little consequences, and we totally zoomed back home.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Buda Buda Buda! Pesh Pesh Pesh!
We began our journey to Budapest (pictures on facebook) by a) exchanging currency and b) getting on an earlier train than intended (yay! and this turned out to be key later on). Can I just say that Hungarian Forints are total funny monies? 1 euro = 263 forints, which is just absurd and leads to regular spending of thousands of forints. Not quite as bad as the Italian Lire were, but still.
So we board our train and manage to find a four seater, settle in, and begin a great gab-fest covering everything from what it's like to work at international organizations, to attitudes towards Islam in different countries, to dementia, to attitudes toward the U.S., all while snacking away on really tastey bread, hummus, chips, and drinks. The nice Austrian man stamped our tickets. Then we crossed the border into Hungary, and the tired and unhappy Hungarian woman looked at our tickets and said, "No good." Wait, what? "The date - it says tomorrow." We look at the date, and what do you know, the guy at the train station put the wrong date on the ticket. We argued, "No, they already stamped our ticket." She remained upset and said, "no." So, what do we do? "You come back tomorrow." This is when my companions got really upset, "No, that's not happening. We are not coming back tomorrow. We are staying." She sighed, muttered angrily, signed our ticket, and moved on.
Anyway, the rest of the ride was fun and uneventful, and then we arrived in Budapest. So, where's our hostel? Ah, yes, we have an address. Hmm, I wonder how the train system works here...or where the heck our hostel is... Well, it turns out that the guy sitting across our aisle spoke fluent English, had been listening in on our conversations, thought we were all right, and suddenly spoke up: "Where are you going? Ah, Garden Bridge hostel - I know where that is. Here, follow me." He then proceeded to lead us to the metro, negotiate buying tickets for us ("Ah, these ticket sellers, they only speak Hungarian. Here, let me help you."), and tell us what stop to get off at. He was very kind to help us out, even if, in retrospect, he sort of led us astray. We exited the subway...and found ourselves smack in the middle of downtown Pesh-side Budapest. For those who don't know - Budapest was originally two cities straddling the Danube - Buda and Pesh. They have different styles of architecture, so they look distinct from each other.
So, we're in the middle of downtown Pesh with no idea where exactly we are. I look at the map, discern our hostel is next to the river, and so I do the only logical thing there is to do in this situation: approach two nice-looking strangers and ask, "Where's the river?" We are pointed in the general direction of the river, which we manage to get to after much meandering. Then I ask another passerby, "Where is Molnar Utca?" which is the name of the street of our hostel. "Oh, it is quite far - down the river, cross the bridge, and down a bit more." OK, down the river we go!
Except this lady totally lied - our hostel was on the Pesh side, not the Buda side. Anyway, by a stroke of luck we found our street, and Zach's eagle eyes found the completely non-descript, sign-lacking door to the hostel. We get in, the person manning the fort told us to not worrying about paying then but to make sure we pay before we leave, and after chatting with the various other travelers, hit the hay.
The next morning was an early start for us - we had an excellent breakfast, walked up and down the main drag of Pesh, and then crossed over to the Buda side. We found the Castle district and walked around the immense castle, and we even found the Amazing Race check-in point there! There were great views of Pesh and the Danube from up there. We then headed on to the Fisherman's Bastion, which was my favorite - great arches and this cute little walkway. St. Matyas Cathedral was astonishing - it had the regular spired architecture you'd expect, and then surprisingly it had these gorgeous colorful tiles on the roof. Absolutely beautiful. We had a 50 cent ice cream, walked along the backstreets of Pesh to the river, and crossed back over to the Pesh side.
After a tastey lunch at a beerhouse (which a patron warned us had bad food but that we enjoyed just fine...perhaps that speaks to our unrefined tastes...), it was time for a free walking tour - Communist style! This tour focused on what daily life in Budapest was like under Communist rule, and the architectural influences of that era. We learned things like the difference between bad Communism and happy Communism (no joke) and that people were happier as time went on under Communism. For example, in bad Communism, if you were a priest or went to church, you were deported or killed. Under happy Communism, you could go to church, but your employment options would be restricted (e.g., you were relegated to more manual labor or menial jobs - no doctor or university for you!). Our female tour guide was hilarious and endearing ("OK my dears, this is a walking tour, so let's get walking!"), wore a red flower tucked behind her ear, and was very energetic. She had two coworkers that occasionally pitched in, one of whom had a favorite catch-phrase that began almost every sentence: "Guys, come on..."
They took us to the Jewish quarter, where prices on food and drink completely bottomed out - it was astonishing how cheap it was. They also showed us the different styles of architecture and bullet-holes in buildings. The tour ended at this really crazy cafe that had absurdist art everywhere and boasted all sorts of alternative music performances. There, they showed us momentos from their own pasts - their passports under communist rule, the communist party booklet with its monthly stamps, postcards with pictures of the old communist statues, etc. I think this part of the tour was my favorite. Overall, the tour was interesting and informative, but at 2.5 hours it was kind of long.
We ate dinner at a cheap Hungarian place, which had a live violinist and guitarist who were quite friendly and actually quite talented. Our food was excellent. We struggled to stay awake and lost that battle at about 10pm that night. As a result, we woke up super early the next morning and totally psyched about going to a bath.
So, Budapest is known for its baths - Turkish baths, for the most part. These date from the 15th-19th centuries and involve water that has various minerals and are thus known for their medicinal and healing properties. Lots of elderly people like to go to them because they ease pains and rheumatoid arthritis. We went to the largest and perhaps most famous in Budapest: Szechenyi baths. This facility has 10-12 different baths, all of them various temperatures. But wait for it, the thing that excited me most about this place? One of the baths has a lazy river, which is more like a frenetic river. It whips you around in circles quite fast and is such a blast.
Our original plan had been to spend all day at the baths, but after that morning, we were bathed out (and quite pruny already). Instead, we spent the afternoon eating at a cheap Indian place and then walking around. We happened upon a divine pastry shop, and I had the best caramel macaroon ever. Holy wow.
We returned to our hostel to head out...and to get a refund. See, when we'd left in the morning, we approached the person on duty and tried to pay. She said, "No, you've already paid." "Uhhh...no we haven't?" She consulted her paperwork, "Yes you did." "Um...did any of you guys pay? No? Um, look, we haven't paid." (seriously, she wants to argue this with us?) So she figures out what we owe, and we fork it over. At the time, I thought it was a lot, but I'm so confused by the thousands of florints we're dealing in, and the rest of my party seemed fine with it, so I let it go. I don't have much money left and am quite disappointed in my money management skills, think back to what I spent things on, and wonder where it all went wrong. Well, when we return that afternoon, she says, "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, but I overcharged you. By a LOT." So we got a huge refund.
After that, it was a bit of an adventure to find the bus the hostel lady told us to take, and then we got off at the stop she said to use...but there was no train station there. So we walked some more, found a subway, and managed to get to the station that way. Zach tried really hard to spend the rest of the florints he had, but beer and food were super cheap at the station, so that was a no-go. He did come away with a bottle of traditional Hungarian alcohol that was about 40 florints...and let's just say that you get what you pay for. We spent the train ride back playing Pass the Pigs and watching the scenery go by. At one point, we were passing through a bunch of very depressing little Hungarian towns that were heavily influenced by communist architecture: all the houses were interconnected squat cement little bits of hell. Crossing the border from Hungary to Austria was an exercise in watching the standard of living shoot up by an order of magnitude. It was like night and day.
This weekend: Munich, and my first experience renting and driving a car abroad. Oh boy...
So we board our train and manage to find a four seater, settle in, and begin a great gab-fest covering everything from what it's like to work at international organizations, to attitudes towards Islam in different countries, to dementia, to attitudes toward the U.S., all while snacking away on really tastey bread, hummus, chips, and drinks. The nice Austrian man stamped our tickets. Then we crossed the border into Hungary, and the tired and unhappy Hungarian woman looked at our tickets and said, "No good." Wait, what? "The date - it says tomorrow." We look at the date, and what do you know, the guy at the train station put the wrong date on the ticket. We argued, "No, they already stamped our ticket." She remained upset and said, "no." So, what do we do? "You come back tomorrow." This is when my companions got really upset, "No, that's not happening. We are not coming back tomorrow. We are staying." She sighed, muttered angrily, signed our ticket, and moved on.
Anyway, the rest of the ride was fun and uneventful, and then we arrived in Budapest. So, where's our hostel? Ah, yes, we have an address. Hmm, I wonder how the train system works here...or where the heck our hostel is... Well, it turns out that the guy sitting across our aisle spoke fluent English, had been listening in on our conversations, thought we were all right, and suddenly spoke up: "Where are you going? Ah, Garden Bridge hostel - I know where that is. Here, follow me." He then proceeded to lead us to the metro, negotiate buying tickets for us ("Ah, these ticket sellers, they only speak Hungarian. Here, let me help you."), and tell us what stop to get off at. He was very kind to help us out, even if, in retrospect, he sort of led us astray. We exited the subway...and found ourselves smack in the middle of downtown Pesh-side Budapest. For those who don't know - Budapest was originally two cities straddling the Danube - Buda and Pesh. They have different styles of architecture, so they look distinct from each other.
So, we're in the middle of downtown Pesh with no idea where exactly we are. I look at the map, discern our hostel is next to the river, and so I do the only logical thing there is to do in this situation: approach two nice-looking strangers and ask, "Where's the river?" We are pointed in the general direction of the river, which we manage to get to after much meandering. Then I ask another passerby, "Where is Molnar Utca?" which is the name of the street of our hostel. "Oh, it is quite far - down the river, cross the bridge, and down a bit more." OK, down the river we go!
Except this lady totally lied - our hostel was on the Pesh side, not the Buda side. Anyway, by a stroke of luck we found our street, and Zach's eagle eyes found the completely non-descript, sign-lacking door to the hostel. We get in, the person manning the fort told us to not worrying about paying then but to make sure we pay before we leave, and after chatting with the various other travelers, hit the hay.
The next morning was an early start for us - we had an excellent breakfast, walked up and down the main drag of Pesh, and then crossed over to the Buda side. We found the Castle district and walked around the immense castle, and we even found the Amazing Race check-in point there! There were great views of Pesh and the Danube from up there. We then headed on to the Fisherman's Bastion, which was my favorite - great arches and this cute little walkway. St. Matyas Cathedral was astonishing - it had the regular spired architecture you'd expect, and then surprisingly it had these gorgeous colorful tiles on the roof. Absolutely beautiful. We had a 50 cent ice cream, walked along the backstreets of Pesh to the river, and crossed back over to the Pesh side.
After a tastey lunch at a beerhouse (which a patron warned us had bad food but that we enjoyed just fine...perhaps that speaks to our unrefined tastes...), it was time for a free walking tour - Communist style! This tour focused on what daily life in Budapest was like under Communist rule, and the architectural influences of that era. We learned things like the difference between bad Communism and happy Communism (no joke) and that people were happier as time went on under Communism. For example, in bad Communism, if you were a priest or went to church, you were deported or killed. Under happy Communism, you could go to church, but your employment options would be restricted (e.g., you were relegated to more manual labor or menial jobs - no doctor or university for you!). Our female tour guide was hilarious and endearing ("OK my dears, this is a walking tour, so let's get walking!"), wore a red flower tucked behind her ear, and was very energetic. She had two coworkers that occasionally pitched in, one of whom had a favorite catch-phrase that began almost every sentence: "Guys, come on..."
They took us to the Jewish quarter, where prices on food and drink completely bottomed out - it was astonishing how cheap it was. They also showed us the different styles of architecture and bullet-holes in buildings. The tour ended at this really crazy cafe that had absurdist art everywhere and boasted all sorts of alternative music performances. There, they showed us momentos from their own pasts - their passports under communist rule, the communist party booklet with its monthly stamps, postcards with pictures of the old communist statues, etc. I think this part of the tour was my favorite. Overall, the tour was interesting and informative, but at 2.5 hours it was kind of long.
We ate dinner at a cheap Hungarian place, which had a live violinist and guitarist who were quite friendly and actually quite talented. Our food was excellent. We struggled to stay awake and lost that battle at about 10pm that night. As a result, we woke up super early the next morning and totally psyched about going to a bath.
So, Budapest is known for its baths - Turkish baths, for the most part. These date from the 15th-19th centuries and involve water that has various minerals and are thus known for their medicinal and healing properties. Lots of elderly people like to go to them because they ease pains and rheumatoid arthritis. We went to the largest and perhaps most famous in Budapest: Szechenyi baths. This facility has 10-12 different baths, all of them various temperatures. But wait for it, the thing that excited me most about this place? One of the baths has a lazy river, which is more like a frenetic river. It whips you around in circles quite fast and is such a blast.
Our original plan had been to spend all day at the baths, but after that morning, we were bathed out (and quite pruny already). Instead, we spent the afternoon eating at a cheap Indian place and then walking around. We happened upon a divine pastry shop, and I had the best caramel macaroon ever. Holy wow.
We returned to our hostel to head out...and to get a refund. See, when we'd left in the morning, we approached the person on duty and tried to pay. She said, "No, you've already paid." "Uhhh...no we haven't?" She consulted her paperwork, "Yes you did." "Um...did any of you guys pay? No? Um, look, we haven't paid." (seriously, she wants to argue this with us?) So she figures out what we owe, and we fork it over. At the time, I thought it was a lot, but I'm so confused by the thousands of florints we're dealing in, and the rest of my party seemed fine with it, so I let it go. I don't have much money left and am quite disappointed in my money management skills, think back to what I spent things on, and wonder where it all went wrong. Well, when we return that afternoon, she says, "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, but I overcharged you. By a LOT." So we got a huge refund.
After that, it was a bit of an adventure to find the bus the hostel lady told us to take, and then we got off at the stop she said to use...but there was no train station there. So we walked some more, found a subway, and managed to get to the station that way. Zach tried really hard to spend the rest of the florints he had, but beer and food were super cheap at the station, so that was a no-go. He did come away with a bottle of traditional Hungarian alcohol that was about 40 florints...and let's just say that you get what you pay for. We spent the train ride back playing Pass the Pigs and watching the scenery go by. At one point, we were passing through a bunch of very depressing little Hungarian towns that were heavily influenced by communist architecture: all the houses were interconnected squat cement little bits of hell. Crossing the border from Hungary to Austria was an exercise in watching the standard of living shoot up by an order of magnitude. It was like night and day.
This weekend: Munich, and my first experience renting and driving a car abroad. Oh boy...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)