Why are you wearin that stupid man suit?

So onward to Slovakia with a new pair of underwear.  The side trip was so worth it - what a charming town.  And to think that ten years ago even locals wouldn't be caught walking the main drag alone.  The whimsical statues around town - some inspired by actual town characters, some (like the man poking of the manhole) inspired by the creator's playful imagination - are my favorite part of walking around town.  Oh that and the chocolates I bought.  When I buy postcards some awful American women stand to the side complaining about how "Europeans never form proper lines."  they're all the same you know.   I hate their generalization and "holier than thou" attitude, but then wait forever in line while a couple people just walk in front of me to the cashier.  Was that a sign that I should be a jingoistic ultra-patriot with no ability to see beyond myself and my limited cultural experience?  Or a sign that life is random and coincidence-generating.

The 2€ Primate House admission is worth all 200 pennies (and European pennies at that!)  Even though there weren't even any primates inside.  I was expecting orangutans and chimpanzees and instead just saw lots of old inanimate objects.  But seriously, the museum was small but beautiful.  And not your typical, ridiculously overdone palace.  These are just rooms filled wipth nice things without the in-your-face, my-kingdom-is-bigger-than-yours ostentatiousness.  I mean, possibly because Slovakia doesn't fit that description.  Where Budapest went out nail guns blazing in a sea of construction during it's years as the center of one half of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Bratislava remained a little more true to it's size. I can almost imagine myself living in this palace without being blinded by all the gilded gold structure.  Part of it wouldn't even require getting used to, since the outside of the palace is the exact shade of pink that my childhood room was.  Inside are housed six tapestries that make up a complete story set.  My feminine side draws me to the spectacularly stitched ladies shoes in all their blue and pink glory, depending on the character and the tapestry.  From stripy and flashy, top simple and understated, both would make great additions to my growing collection.  Christmas anyone?  Other things stitched extremely well are the townscape backgrounds and a man just barely underwater, with the waves only partly betraying the outline of his bare backside.  They're beautiful works of art that managed to survive various parts of history when a wall was built around them.  So yes, the shoes and the beautiful royal blue woven wallpaper behind the tapestries.  Get me those and I'm happy.

 Next things get weird.  I get taken up by a UFO and fly far away into the sky, away from civilization, surrounded by aliens.  But these are aliens of the foreign variety, not extra-terrestrial, and the UFO is just a restaurant and panoramic viewing place above the bridge built by the soviets during their occupation.  It really does look like something out of Star Trek enterprise, so everyone calls it UFO,  the walk across the Danube is nice, as is the climb up.  And the stunning and surprising 360* view is worth every bit of fear I have to endure standing up so high on a structure that sways every time an elevator goes up and down.  The surrounding areas are prettier than the actual old town.  From the hilly suburbs to the opposite soviet apartment blocks reclaimed in a patchwork of vibrant colors, it's a sight to behold.  The park area right on the Danube looks so peaceful.  Not too far away turn multiple wind fans - on the other side of the Austrian border - hard to believe it's so close.  I guess Bratislava can't expand too far in that direction.

Hiking the castle grounds back on the other side of the river offers more great views and a closer look at some nature.  My camera batteries die so I miss a great piece of graffiti with the quote "WHY ARE YOU WEARIN' THAT STUPID MAN SUIT!" with the picture of a funky man below.  Dinner back in the old town is mediocre and interrupted by a glance up at the town clock, which for some reason thinks it's two time zones to the east.  My mind races as I try to figure out where the time went and how I'm going to pay my bill, walk to the bus station, take a bus and get my luggage from storage to make the night train in 30 minutes.  And then on the waitress' station computer I see the real time and I have those two hours back to dilly dally.  Note to self - bring a watch to Europe or a charger for your phone.  Since I've now checked out at that restaurant I head to another, using dessert as my way to kill time.  As I eat my less than mediocre Germknoedel, I watch a large, three generation family share dinner and laughs across from me.

I'm so happy to see my tiny little bed in the train.  I fall asleep almost instantly and don't wake again until the attendant comes by with a wake up call.  And hot tea.  And a chocolate croissant.  This is my kind of travel.

Schengen rhymes with changin'

Or at least it sort of rhymes.  Rail travel throughout Europe has been through some changes over the last few years with the EU Schengen agreement.  Only in Paris so far have I had to show my passport.  Hungary, Austria, Slovakia, Germany and now Switzerland couldn't care less whether I dart through their countries or not as long as I'm coming from another Schengen country.  So much for hello.  What eases the travel stress for EU citizens, erases one of the best free and compact travel souvenirs a backpacker can get - the passport stamp.  On the flip side, not having to forfeit your passport for hours on the night train is definitely comforting.  My favorite quote about the Schengen agreement comes from my travel guide: "Even as borders fade when you change countries, you still change telephone cards, postage stamps, and underpants."

For my last night before country swapping, Patricia and I see Mr. Nobody in English with Hungarian subtitles.  The theater is tiny, but for about $2.50, who cares.  To give you an idea of the theater's size, our group of 7 is too big to fit in one row.  The movie is incredibly strange - another one about dreams and separate dream worlds.  Afterwards we head too far away to Szimpla, a bar built into the ruins of a building destroyed during WWII. I'm low on forint and low on energy to hold a conversation, but once the discourse turns to fox news and Americans and living in Berlin, my energy builds back up (sadly the amount of forints in my purse didn't follow suit).  On our walk home later we watch some oh so cool German teens get kicked out of McDonald's - when you're too obnoxious for the golden arches, you know you're classy.  I mean as much as getting kicked out of McDonald's is an ultimate goal of mine, I hope its for something other than running my open mouth down a display case over and over.  Especially now that that's been done already.  I'm all about originality.

After an early morning wake up call and jogging circuit between tiger tims and the money exchange, I check out and head to the train station.  Getting out involves using all of my extra forint - and 10 (about 5 cents) from either a very friendly or very impatient Hungarian woman behind me in line.  My journey takes me to the Hungarian border then over to Austria and then back to Slovakia.  The one hour I spend in tiny little Parndorf, around the familiarity of the German signs and Deutsche sprache almost makes me want to skip my final foray into the former East entirely.  But that par of my trip will come soon enough.  Parndorf is alternately burning and freezing, but after a few minutes i realize it's the first place I've seen the sun in days so the temperature is not so important.  Onward to Bratislava with a Shengen change of underwear.

Soaked through and through

Not sure if I offended my tour guide at the parliament, but I feel like I must have offended *someone* as I trudge through high waters to the Great Synagogue. I stop wading through the rivers to grab some salmon carpaccio as a place recommended for foodies in Budapest (tasty!) but then find the synagogue closed for a Jewish holiday. Fumbling my camera under my umbrella with no free hands and no free brain cells, I grab some shots to make the sopping wet journey something less of an exercise in futility. Every water-logged fiber of my being wants to head back to my warm, dry, friendly hostel, but I press on to the next opportunity to enlighten myself. Might as well just stay wet right? Which means more walking tot eh Buda side. I'm sure theres a bus, but it just seems somehow more logical to keep moving, keeping trudging through and not worry about relying on schedules and wheels. My feet constantly hate me for this unhealthy reliance I have on them. Somewhere about a quarter from the end of the bridge they start letting me know just how much they hate me. The balls of the feet seem to be the only part that have the, well, balls to do the backtalking. If only they had eyes to enjoy the view they were getting!

Up the expensive funicular and over to the Hospital in the Rock on the other side of castle hill. I just make it for the hourly tour. Yes! The day isn't a wash after all. Highlights of the tour include looks at all the old lab equipment (a hand-operated centrifuge?!), old propaganda in the bomb shelter built as an extension from the hospital and the hilariously overwrought faces of the wax figures bringing the hospital to life. There are also funny stories about a couple hospital machines being used only once. One was used only on Madonna to recreate a hospital for the movie Evita (filmed in Budapest). And the `new` X-ray machine which was used only to X-ray the main doctor's broken pinky finger. Poor guy.

Back to movies for a second - Budapest has been used for a number of movies because it's cheap and offers a great backdrop for other European cities and apparently Argentina as well. Spielburg had the entire area surrounding the opera turned into a mini-Germany (I think it was Germany for the movie Munich). For the days surrounding the filming, tourists could be found scratching their heads and dazed, confused at their suddenly inaccurate maps.

After the tour I chat with the guy my age running the souvenir shop. At the shop, they sell some of the 10,000 extra WWII era bandages they still have lying around. The shop attendant is very interested in describing the meaning of the propaganda on a postcard I buy and his interpretation thereof. We chat a few minutes about California and goulasch and places to visit and it leaves me in a sunny mood.

The skies almost echo this change - the downpour has at last ceased and tourists across the city can be heard zipping away their umbrellas with glee. I wander around the hill and then the funicular whisks me back down to 0. Meaning point zero with a giant 0 statue marking the point from which all other distances in Hungary are measured. Bratislava seems to have a similar system.

I give into my body at this point and head back to the hostel around 5:30. I make plans with Patricia to see a movie with a bunch of foreigners (and their sympathizers) later that evening. Then I try to break into my hostel's social scene. But they're all talking about the rigors of 6 months of travel and it's hard to break in. Like birds, they are all starting that annual migration southward as the weather worsens. Seems incredibly smart since it seems that fall has skipped the northern half of Europe, as I will discover later.

With all my enthusiasm straight off the plane, I was incredibly jealous of the 6 monthers with all their time to hop to and fro around these amazing locales. Inwardly I was planning my own such trip - when could I do it? how would I get away? But I've begun realiying more and more that I'd rather be with my family or otherwise surrounded by people I love. Don't get me wrong, I love traveling and I love experiencing things as an individual. But I don't think I love it six months worth. So instead I'm starting plans to lobby my dad for my dream low key (and relatively cheap!) vacation around these parts.

Old regimes have left, the bureaucratic mess remains

It's raining when I wake up after only a short break of sleep. Raining and raining and raining. I head to the Parliament to meet Patricia, arriving a little late. It turns out that she slept through her alarm and would write me emails throughout the day apologizing and making new plans for the evening.

So I head on to master the byzantine mess of the Parliament myself. First around the building to the wrong side, then back around the building to the wrong line. Then inside the building where I manage to get the last ticket for the 10am tour when everyone in front of me has been receiving tickets for the 12pm tour. So I head back to the wrong line, which I had been told was the line for people with tickets. 10am comes, 10:15am comes, and I get curious. I poke my head out of line and towards the front of the line and lo and behold the entire front half of the line has disappeared into the ether. I guess I missed the tours? Another tourist, a man from Japan, is in the boat of left-behinds with me. Luckily Mr. Arigato is more forward than myself and goes on a mission to find answers. He explains our case in broken English to a Spanish language tour guide, and I try to add pieces in what I think is more clear English. But the lady answers Mr. Arigato, while turning to me and rudely insisting that she does not speak German. Or maybe I'm more obsessed with German culture than I believed and I've started speaking German without realizing it? In non-German countries? Eventually someone tells us we can sneak in with the Spanish tour group as long as we keep it a secret. Alright.

Inside we roam around for a few seconds and then something beckons us backwards. Is that English? Sure enough there's a two person tour group being shown around by a private guide - a common way to see these cheaper Eastern locations from a local's perspective. After casually standing a few feet away, we get permission from the British couple to crash their tour.

The Parliament itself was probably less interesting than the surrounding hubbub. It was built as part of the 18965 quirky Hungarian 1000 year celebration - quirky because building umpteen magnificent palaces, churches, statues and a parliament is a funny birthday celebration, and because they celebrated the wrong year. Magyars first arrived in 895, not 896, like originally thought. And the powers that be realized this - but need an extension on their massive development project. Sounds like my students!

After climbing 96 steps to see the crown at the bottom of the 96 meter dome (see a theme here?) we saw the Hungarians pride and joy. An interesting crown with an interesting history - amended and changed, hidden and found again, sent to a then top-secret location in the US for safekeeping during WWII and then returned by Jimmy Carter. Actually of its storied history I think that's the most intriguing part to me - the fact that historical artifacts were hidden off in lands away from the war. It's easier to connect to that reality of preservation during difficult times somehow than the reality here pasting your romanticized picture over a jewel seemed like a necessary way to assert your power over an empire of peasants.

One half of the former two house parliament is no longer in us. Turns out this is possible when you build the largest parliament on the continent and end up as one of the runts of the litter population-wise, after turnover and turmoil. So we went in the old House of Lords - not used because the Soviets chose the red chambers over these blue ones. Shocker. Amazing handwoven carpets adorn the antechamber - one of the largest? the largest? There are so many arbitrary relativistic claims given on tours, so who knows. However big it is, those ladies must have worked their bums off because the carpet is still in perfect condition and the government doesn't mind us feeling its odd crunch under so many pairs of shoes.

The parliament room is leafed with gold all about, equipped with a primitive electronic vote system and apparently boring. Scribes have to be changed every 10 minutes and the worth of debates was measured by the number of cigars it was worth leaving to waste in the cigar holders outside.

Walking out my fellow tour crasher and I (is there a Hollywood deal for Tour Crashers in our future?) have a conversation about baseball. Definitely the first time that someone's initial response to my hometown's name has been an enthusiastic "Padres!" He must be missing our current slide while on vacation. We chatted about Aki and the lack of good turf and players left in Japan. I bite my tongue and don't tell him that Ichiro's stance makes me want to scream.

Outside the rain keeps bursting down upon the Budapest streets. I try to tip our impromptu tour guide but after taking the money she turns around and gives it back. Did I offend her? So thank you random anglophones for letting me crash your private, and likely expensive, tour. Oh and thank you Hungarian Parlament for letting me experience a little bit of what it must have been like to be a citizen during some of those regimes with mazes of bureaucracy to weave through. An ersatz experience of a life amid bureaucratic roadblocks. And I thought I was just in for a dry trek through an old building.

This might be more exciting if I was blogging from Mars

After a glorious seven hours of sleep - which by some magic felt more like nine - I woke up ready to face my first full day of vacation. Speaking of vacation, it's been confusing to explain to everyone that I'm sort of on vacation, sort of on business and when I mean business I sort of actually mean school. Everyone else traveling in late september is on a gap year, so I'm a bit of an oddity. In fact, I don't think I've met even one other short term traveler.

But I digress. After grabbing a treat at a mediocre bakery (which only made me more anxious to return to Germany's delicious ones) I head out to Deak ter (Deak square) to meet up with a bike tour group. Biking is my tour method of choice. No bus windows keeping you in an American bubble away from reality and no sore feet limiting the radius of your adventure. (No, it would be a sore butt limiting me after a few hours on that bike seat.)

I had to search forever for the tour meet site, which was different from the tour store site. But finally I found our Hungarian tour guide Agnes as well as Floridian Patricia and the two other ready bikers. Off we went. First out to Heroes Square to see the monuments to former kings. Basically what you expect in every European city. But the ride through the park behind the statues was divine. Lush greenery, lots of construction, and some castles built as a celebration of Hungarian culture. Okay, that's probably a lot like other European cities as well, but so freeing. One curious piece was the statue of Anonymous - the scribe who recorded Hungary's history but forgot to record his name. Oops!

Back down the sprawling Andrassy utca we went from suburban to somewhat urban to hello commercialism. Oktagon square looks as if America threw all of its fast food monguls onto Hungary in one fell swoop after the commies left. No need to spread those suckers out. Hungarians need their big macs and their KFC now and they can't be forced to walk more than a few steps between the two. I imagine that was the reigning philosophy at the time.

Next onto St Istvans basilica, which is not actually a basilica. We looked at it, acknowledged that it was a church and rode on. Is there really much more to do from the outside of a European church? Similar story for the Parliament, although I did press Agnes for more details on living through the recent transition between Soviet occupation and freedom. She recalled getting her first passport at 12 years old and marveling at the inscription saying it allowed her access to any country. She could actually go to Vienna. Imagine being so enthralled that you can go to a city a couple hours away by train.

The "liberation" monument erected by the Soviets is surrounded by gates and constantly monitored. No shock that some Hungarians are bothered by its continued presence, not as a historical artifact rather than a serious marble ode to communism.

On to the riverfront. I think of Grandmother cruising down the river years before, but the fact that my mom would have been unable to enter the country back in 1980.

Across the chain bridge, and we've left the flat part of the bike tour. Now for a steep climb up to castle hill. My legs thank me for all those treadmill hours prepping them somewhat for this trek. I manage not to embarrass me and am rewarded with a view of a bombed out building? Did I mention Budapest is dark? Most of the hill is beautiful, if touristy, but this one building was left unrestored as a reminder of former days. In the battle for Budapest, the Nazis held the Buda side, facing the Soviets opposite the Danube. Along with blowing out the bridges to create scenes that look straight out an apocalyptic, over-produced Hollywood mess, the occupiers used the Castle hill church as a horse stable.

After some postcard views back to Pest and listening on as lovers are serenaded by a string quartet, we get out real reward. What goes up, must come down. And bikes are no exception. I'm more cautious than the other speed demons in the group, but that Buda air breezing past me and the views of Buda away from the river and away from the flood of tourists - oh they were worth that climb alright.

And back to Pest and some silly statues and big squares. And then the tour ends. Patricia and I makes plans to meet later and then I head to the market.

The market is a mess of stalls for locals ands tourists alike. Produce, kitschy t-shirts, duck liver, paprika, postcards - there's a lot to see here. I like watching the locals survey and buy the foods, as long as they're not buying whole cow liver. That needs to go on a list of things I don't need to see. Cow liver, duck liver and pretty much every other flavor of liver.

I buy a fried dough lunch and remind myself of my travel philosophy when saying yes to a few cucumber slices on top doubles the price of my meal. Whatever, it tasted delicious and the fresh veggies a huge part of that. After some divine little cookies it's back to the hostel for a few moments of respite (did I mention my sore bum?) and to pick up my swimsuit.

Off to the Szecheny baths to meet Patricia. I'm glad she wants my company, because the baths are a must, but the baths alone? In a bikini? With all those scantily clad old men? Turns out the alone part isn't a must. Thankfully.

With the nippy fall air, the hot spring waters are more than heavenly. Especially when you throw in a whirlpool, built in the shape of a whirl. Whimsy, I love it. But most of the bath is not whimsy-centric. Oh no, it's serious business - designed to impress. And it does. We sit around for a couple hours. Shockinly, our foray into the regular swimming pool only lasted long enough for us to swim across to the other warm pool. When a man spends ten minutes leering at us from a far, I thank my luck again that I have a buddy with me.

Afterwards we turn in our 80s fasion watches (these serve as entry and exit passes, as well as locker keys) we head out on the town for a bite to eat. Ending up at a Hungarian place with the word Labor in it (because I can't escape lab), we have an absolute blast. Our conversations range from death missions to Mars (Patricia's end of life plan) to loud exhortations about looking into each others eyes (my joke on German cheers traditions). We'd worried that we had offended our waiter when we scoffed at his initial suggestion of the most expensive thing on the menu, so we left him a nice note and then waited to see him read it. Good thing, because instead of seeing the letter he first saw the jacket I left behind. He was also happy to see the note thereafter and gave us a big thumbs up. So I didn't learn thank you in Hungarian for nothing.

It's a beautiful night only slightly sobered by the lack of open gelato shops and the lack of open metro stations. Hmm. Both scientists, the two of us triangulate the point closest to our two separate hostels and agree to walk each other the mile or so there. From that point its only a couple minutes further to new friends and new hours of sleep to enjoy.

Tomorrow - more outings with Patricia for the Parliament and an evening show. And who knows what else Mother Travel has in store for me. I certainly don't, because I spent time writing this instead of referring back to my guide. So goes life.

Day 1, or is it 2?

Time kind of escapes me on these travel days. Flying from the east coast I always find the flights are actually too short, i.e. they don't allow enough shuteye time. Throw in friends wanting to have a farewell girl talk night the night before my departure and it's been a while without sleep.

So I'm just jotting down the basics and hopefully I can come fill in the blanks later.

After some delays, a 2pm arrival in downtown Budapest, or Pest to be exact.
Mini pep rally with myself to prevent immediate retreat to the bed that looks so nice and cozy and ready for me (it still does actually)
Visit to the House of Terror - the first person accounts of the gulags are nothing short of devastating. It's somehow always a revelation how personal history is. The Hungarians had interesting commentary on the "victimizers" to end the exhibit.
Tosca at the state opera house - to clear my mind I go see an opera that ends in murder suicide? Budapest IS dark. Lovely music, lovely building and lovely evening though.
Genetics - can't get away from work. A student question and senate stuff take up some of my evening time.

And now for the most glorious part - sleep!!

Rick Steve's Travel Philosphy

The title of my blog is ripped from Rick Steves, one of my travel heroes. Here's his reprinted travel philosophy that very closely mimics mine.

"Travel is intensified living - maximum thrills per Knute and one of the last great sources of legal adventure. Travel is freedom. It's recess, and we need it.
Experiencing e real Europe requires catching it by surprise, going casual...'Through the Back Door.'
Affording travel is a matter of priorities. (Make do with the old car.) you can travel-simply, safely, and comfortably-nearly anywhere in Europe for $120 a day plus transportation costs (allow more for bigger cities). In many ways, spending more money only builds a thicker wall between you and what you came to see. Europe is a cultural carnival, and, time after time, you'll find that its best acts are free and the best seats are the cheap ones.
A tight budget forces you to tracheal close to the ground, meeting and communicating with the people, not relying on service with a purchased smile. Never sacrifice sleep, nutrition, safety, or cleanliness in the name of budget. Simply enjoy the local-style alternatives to expensive hotels and restaurants.
Extroverts have more fub. If your trip is low on magic moments, kick yourself and make things happen. If you don't enjoy a place, maybe you don't know enough about it. Seek the truth. Recognize tourist traps. Give a culture the benefit of your open mind. See things as different but not better or worse. Any culture has much to share.
Of course, travel, like the world, is a series of hills and valleys. Be fanatically positive and militantly optimistic. If something's not to your liking, change your liking. Travel is addictive. It can make you a happier American as well as a citizen of the world. Our Earth is home to six and a half billion equally important people. It's humbling to travel and find that people don't envy Americans. Europeans likes us, but, with all due respect, they wouldn't trade passports.
Globe-trotting destroys ethnocentricity. It helps you understand and appreciate different cultures. Regrettably, there are forces in our society that want you dumbed down for their convenience. Don't let it happen. Thoughtful travel engages you with the world - more important than ever these days. Travel changes people. It broadens perspectives and teaches new ways to measure quality of life. Rather than fear the diversity on this planet, travelers celebrate it. Many travelers toss aside their hometown blinders. Their prized souvenirs are the strands of different cultures they decide to knit into their own characterl the world is a cultural yarn shop, and travelers are weaving the ultimate tapestry. Join in!"