Spicy Goulash

Budapest was a total fluke. I woke up in Vienna, the day before I was expecting to leave, and thought, "Hmm, I wonder what Budapest is like." So perhaps it is no surprise that, like all unexpected adventures on this trip, Hungary and Budapest have generated some of the most unusual of stories.

My arrival in Budapest was a mix of good and bad. I was initially introduced to what one might consider the country's more shady elements in that, during the course of a bus ride from the Keleti train station to my hostel, I managed to have one of my credit cards and my only ATM card disappear. I have no idea how this happened, especially since they were both zipped into my pants pocket, but, when I arrived at my hostel, they were gone. A quick call to USAA put a stop to any unexpected charges (and, from what my bank reports, nothing has been attempted since), but I was left with only the Euros, Swiss Francs, US Dollars and 20,000 Hungarian Forint (around $93) I had in my money belt (and a credit card which, after a few international phone calls, has become an ATM card). But, this being Eastern Europe, $93 gets you pretty far.

My other, and much more enjoyable, introduction to Budapest came in the form of Gergö (essentially "Gregory" but pronounced GER-goo), a chemical engineer, baritone-bass in an English choir and amature jazz pianists I met on the same fateful bus. He and I got to chatting and, after disembarking at the same stop, he gave me his mobile number and asked that I call him that evening so that "we can drink beer." Initially I was hesitant to call, concerned that he might have been the credit card thief and nervous after reading too many stories of Americans being ripped off at bars when English-speaking women sweet talk them into buying $1000 rounds of drinks, but, in the spirit of "Always Say Yes," I decided to dial away. We connected (a good sign) and agreed to meet at the bus stop. When I arrived, Gergo was with his long-time girlfriend, Annika, a language instruction book producer. It appeared that they were eager to practice their English and have me taste some of the local alcohol. And, with that, how could I say no? So, over the next three hours, we became fast friends. I learned the history of Hungary, the benefits and difficulties of the old communist system, the problems of their current government, the Hungarian perception of Americans, the structure of the educational system and the proper way to drink the tasty-yet-potent palinka, both in its apricot and kosher varieties. After two rounds, they were exhausted and I was tipsy, but my new friends were insistant that they walk me to my hostel. Once there, I received a written list of the sights, baths, streets and restaurants that "you must visit if you want to see the real Budapest." Guidebooks be damned; I'm going with the locals!

A quick word about the hostel (or Backpacker's Guesthouse, as it is officially called): think Hade-Ashbury-meets-Eastern-Europe with a serious dose of incense, Buena Vista Social Club and Indian religious figures. My room was designed around the Buddhist god Ganesha. The only double room in the place was called "The Love Shack." I was the first person ever (in their 15 year history) to pay with a credit card. Easily the coolest hostel I have stayed in yet!

Budapest and I are on great terms! The city (or, actually, two cities joined into one) is on my list of the best places I've visited. And it makes sense. Budapest combines both "old world" East and cosmopolitan West in exciting ways. You can stand in an acient castle overlooking the city, staying at the domed, very British Parliment and see a giant TV tower in the distance. My hostel, in a very residential (and, as you could probably guess, funky) neighborhood, was just blocks away from Gergö's flat, which comes in the form of an old, Communist-era housing block. The underground Metro sprawls (and one of its lines is the oldest in the world) and reaches perhaps the greatests of all of Budapest's sights: the Turkish baths. Hungary, you see, was controlled by the Turks, and it appears that the Turks felt it would be most beneficial to exploit the mineral springs beneath Budapest's rocky lands. So, about a dozen baths were created, all of which survive today. I went to one, recommended by Gergö and Annika (partially because it is located in the park where they had their first date) and, after two hours of soaking, sweating in the saunas (where I also burned my feet!), showering and swimming laps, I decided that this would need to become a daily ritual. And it did. Heck, at onlu $6 a pop, how can you go wrong?

Budapest is also a fascinating city outside of its history, contrasts and amazing baths. The Danube flows right through (separating Buda from Pest) and forces the citizens to make good use of their water-fed green spaces. I managed my way onto an island (Margarita Island), recommended, of course, by my friends, where, among other delights, I was met by a fountain that dances to classical music, ancient ruins filled with kids climbing around on them, untouched bike trails, baths (of course) amd, perhaps most importantly, only one modern building. Budapest has managed to balance its nature with its growing turn towards consumerism and Westernization. The city is super-modern (the prevelence of internet cafes and discount stores is enough to convince anyone!), and, right now, has just the right mix of charm and efficiency to make it liveable. You can haggle in the Grand Market for your veggies, then turn the corner and wind up with some of the best public transit I've encountered. If you can believe it, I was navigating almost entirely without a map by my second day.

And Hungarians (excepting those that took my cards) are amazing people! I have never been offered help so many times! I found myself a few times in lunch counters where I was the only English speaker and, believe it or not, trying to decipher my order became a communal effort, with everyone pitching in their English to figure me out. People in the street, perhaps eager to practice their English, would lead me where I was going, chatting me up along the way. That is something I have experienced nowhere else.

So, having seen the churches, the shopping malls, the open-air markets, the castles, the baths, the Metro, the parks, the backstreets, the mainstreets, the people, the tourist traps, the local wine shops and the traditional eateries (check out Time Out Corner, their goulash is cheap and amazing), I think I can honestly say that my rocky start was not the true face of Budapest. I am in love and I am coming back.

Waltzing through Vienna

So, with the Brno adventure over, I made my way to Vienna. Martin, from Brno, had emailed me the day prior, very serious about meeting up on my first evening there. We agreed to find our way to the main church in Vienna (St. Stephan's) at 19:00 and head off to find beer. So, after dropping my stuff, I headed off to do a little sightseeing on my own (for those who are interested, the Hofborg Castle is one of the best museum's I've visited on this trip and made me want to grow up to be a Hapsburg), munched on finger sandwiches at an open bar and then met Martin. We drank our beer by the Danube, talked more politics and the headed off to meet Julia, a German teacher in Vienna who Martin had met through the internet, at a little bar way outside of the tourist district.

And thus began the glory of Vienna.

Martin and I were inseparable for my three days there. We would meet up at noon or 13.00, grab a bite to eat and then start strolling. We swung by the Opera house, strolled through Naschmarket (an open air food market), swam in (more or less) the Danube, walked, chatted, drank coffee, watched open-air concerts projected on huge screens and met a huge number of Viennese. Martin is part of an online community called Hospitality Club, a way for travelers to meet locals and those not traveling to meet travelers. Julia invited us to a few get-togethers with her friends, so I had the chance to meet up with teachers, professors, journalists, college students, humanitarian aid workers... a whole slew of Viennese who spoke perfect English and were eager to chat. Our last evening was spent with Julia and her friends at a horror film festival (they were showing King Kong with subtitles, thankfully), riding on a huge Ferris wheel and then sipping cocktails at a beach-side bar and chatting late into the night.

Now, perhaps my experience of Vienna is not as true as it could have been. I missed most of Rick Steve's recommended sights, failed to check out Freud and Mozart's apartments, didn't make it to a wine bar (although I drank lots of good wine) and probably couldn't give you very good tourist information about Vienna. But, for all the tourism and sights I missed, Vienna is, perhaps, my favorite stop so far. Martin, Julia, Daniel and everybody else I met are amazing people who shaped my Vienna beautifully. I got to meet people, savor Viennese food, sip the wine and develop a sense for what it means to be Austrian today. Plus, my European address book is now filled with email addresses of people I am eager to keep up with.

And that I wouldn't trade for anything.

On The Road to Brno

I had it all figured out. With my trip winding down (more or less) and a need to have some sort of stability surrounding my intended return to Cyprus, I broke every rule in my Eurotrip "book" and (gasp) used the "P" word: plan. Down to Vienna I would go from Prague, then to Budapest, a swing back to Salsburg to hang out with the von Trapp family (R&H anyone?), some Alps Switzerland, then Geneva, Paris, London, back to Amsterdam and it's off to Cyprus. All without breaking a sweat.

The best laid plans.

I arrived at the Prague main train station 40 minutes early, assuming that I would be one of the first on my six hour trip to Vienna. Yes indeed, no reservations for this cheap skate! And, in fact, I was so diligent with my money, I figured out ways to spend all of my remaining Czech crowns before I got to the station. It would be nothing by waltzes and Euros for the next few days. But, when I arrived, "Wien" was nowhere to be found on the boards. I ran back and forth, up and down the platforms, praying for some sort of sign. It came in the form of a Czech college student. Seeing me in my despair, she approached me in English and asked where I was going. I explained my situation and showed her my ticket. However, this was my downfall, because my ticket only said I was headed as far as the Czech-Austrian border (my railpass covers Austrian travel, but not Czech). My new friend insisted that I must be looking for a Breclav-bound train, and pointed me towards a slow moving milk-run train headed only to the border. I protested, but she would not hear it. I eventually found myself chugging down the tracks, waving goodbye to Prague and wondering where in the heck I was headed.

This is my worst travel fear. Showing up at night, in a small, rural town where I can barely speak the language with no room reservation and no way to get out is not my idea of a good time. And that, it seems, is exactly what was happening. I grabbed my guidebooks and stared at the Czech map, trying desperately to figure out the route of this train. I traced a few possible paths, but nothing seemed to work Finally, I found a conductor who spoke no English and, through a series of hand gestures, sketches, bad German and guidebook hysteria, I eventually figured out the route. We would be headed by one relatively large town, the town of Brno. My guidebook makes passing mention of it. And lists the possibility of a place to sleep. That was good enough for me. Off to Brno we would go.

Yet, my introduction to this fabled town of my salvation was indeed a rocky one. I hopped off at the first "Brno" sign I saw, only to discover that I was about 50km away from town, at an unmanned station (how does one buy a ticket with no local currency?) where all of my fellow travelers were afraid of me. I pulled out as much Czech as I could to try and decipher the schedule, discovering to my delight that there would be a train to the main station in 35 minutes. That put my arrival in Brno at 23:47, with no place to stay and no money. Yet.

As I left the train at Brno main station, wondering both how I would find a place to sleep and how I would pay for it, the first thing I noticed was that this town was kicking! Pedestrian-only streets, rope lights above the streets, thumping techno from discos. Already sounding like a nice place. I stopped by an ATM, pulled out Kc2000 (about $50)and started walking, trying not to be distracted by the lights and sounds. I turned down streets, walked up alleys and, suddenly, was confronted with a sign from the gods: "Youth Hostel, Beds Available." It turns out that Brno is not a popular town, so the one youth hostel around always has space, even at 00:17. I raced in, claimed my bed (for about $11, which is ridiculously cheap in Europe) and sat down at the free computer to quickly check my email.

Where I met Martin, a Danish traveler. We chatted for about an hour, covering politics, history, travel, the EU, a good smattering of late-night hostel chat. And it turns out that Martin is on his way to Vienna. We exchange email addresses and plan to meet up when we get there.

If we get there.

I spent my night dozing, planning to catch an 8:00 train headed to Austria. But, when I awoke at 9:36, I realized that this was not going to happen. I was too tired, to sluggish to force myself onto another train to Vienna. Today, it seemed, was my day in Brno.

What I discovered is that Brno is a delightful little town. The home of Gregor Mendel (of genetics fame), it maintains a scientific and innovative edge. Yet, despite the flashy buildings and multinational corporations that are moving in, the town has a lot of old charm. I strolled an open air market, bargained my way into a kilo of peaches for about $0.50, checked out Mendel's old green house and monastery, and headed for the castle. I had a terrible lunch, where I am sure the waiter ripped me off by about $10, which was quickly remedied when a tipsy Czech man decided he wanted to chat with me (via German and pictograms). I enjoyed tea in a tea room (the latest trend in the Czech Republic) and then found myself heading to (get this) a Czech production of "Twelfth Night" in the castle I had visited earlier. (Mom, Dad, does this sound familiar, if we replace "castle" with "ancient Greek theater"?). As I heard Shakespearean verse sung in Czech (and performed exceptionally well; one of the best "Twelfth Night" productions I've seen) under a star-filled sky in a Hapsburg-era castle, I knew I hit the jackpot. Brno, for it all the insanity that went into it, won me over big time. And the next morning, when I rolled out at 8:50 for Austria, I was actually a little sad to leave.

Lessons learned from this experience:
-- 1. Always keep at least Kc1000 in your socks.
-- 2. Listen to directions in train stations
-- 3. Don't let planning interfere with your trip

(P.S. Special thanks to the hungover Englishmen in the Brno hostel for giving me the title for this post. I was forced to listen to a poem with this title as I munched on corn flakes and banana in the breakfast room with them. Just imagine it pronounced slured, with the rs as ws, in a thick Cockney and "Brno" far more like "Bruno")