Tue 27 Jan, 2009
Not right as not finished any thoughts buuuut:
Going into my green notebook:
Did I ever mention the insanely long joint I saw in the very first bar in Prague ? It must have been ten inches long, and thin. A boy held it - it drooped in an arch from his fingers. He passed it around to his friends and it circled back to him and his mouth, and again hung elegantly, as if he were in Alice in Wonderland and not a cavernous bar in Prague.
–
Val, regarding being wasted at Cross Club:
“Sorry for being so drunk last night”
Vlad: “Why do you say sorry for this? It was fun”
Me: “Bad Manners.. you know..”
Vlad: “No was fun! Generally guys like girls being drunk - so don’t say sorry!”
Hah, someone tell that to the other people who have tried to drag my dead weight around New York city subways.
–
1-12-09
The movies and billboards with girls in them - cover of a DVD is a girl - thin yes, but arms larger than you would see in America. Billboard - girl in a bikini - again, yes thin, but again - not anywhere nearly as skinny as the girls in the ads for say the new 90210. Saw all these as I was still hungover and my mind damaged from too much substance abuse at the Cross Club - on the bus on the way to Melnik with Vlad. His first mention of the ‘confluence of rivers.’
And oh they have a website 
http://www.crossclub.cz/
–
Sitting at the cafe at U Prince hotel the night of my 700 crown dinner:
As I say “Thank you” and she says “yes please” setting downa bread basket in a tourist trap (I know) I peer at a glass of red wine and peek at my multitudenous varieties of bread (I had to peek - I can smeel the war scent) - I cannot help but feel accomplished! I am sitting in a tourist trap outside in cold January across for the big clock in the square in Prague. While yetserday it would have been espresso and soup, today it is red wine, random amuse-bouces, soup, and pasta - ah well.
Lobster is crazy expensive here.
First bite of first bread - Irish soda taste to it (I notice later that this is common in Prague - what is the flavor? Anise?)
2nd Decent dense brown bread
3rd - not good at all. hard, almost stale
4th I didnt get to as my spoons came! noted the strawberry if sweet would have been an excellent bite with the ham.
Restaurants here have every condiment imagineable on the tables.
Waitress: “Is good Madam?”
me: “yep, thanks”
her: “please. is finish?”
I wish I hadn’t talked to my exboyfriend last night. Certainly I’ve thought of him more today than the past week. Even how just appreciatd the spice of the food and the amount I am eating - even now - of ravioli alone (he likes ravioli) meh. Prague. Your food is spicy and does not disappoiint a Texas girl.
I will say the food here comes too fast but my waitress is pleasant and efficient. Who taught her “yes please” was a general phrase to use?
(Later I would ask Vlad about this and he would explain that the Czech word, ‘prosim’ is basically this yet used where she dotted her speech with ‘yes please’.)
I wish that heat lamps were a bit warmer or that pens were a bit smoother. The lights here are beautiful. I wonder how that other (same owner) restaurant by the Charles bridge looks now? How should I feel about the tourists that wander here? Previously - mabe two days ago - the touristy-ness of Prague appalled me. But truly - isn’t that half of what Ness and I loved when we first came? The crazy kiosks selling wooden puppets? The many stores of Czech crystal? the roasted nuts
Back home in summer - you can barely move for the tourists - but I never hated them or what it did to our city. It was just the way it was. They wanted to see our sites - our Alamo - our riverwalk - the beauty we had to offer. I appreciated that.
Working in NY at Rock C. - I would at times leave the building on my lunch break and for some reason there - the tourists surprised me. Strange they seemed taking so many pictures. of what? an ice rink? a building? a golden statue?
For some reason it awlays seemed off and yet every day hundreds of tourists gathered.
Unless we’re speaking about the time near Christmas or summer break in which case change that to thousands.
Here, now, more and more people mill about. At this restaurant most just drink beer. Some eat cheap pastires. Only I ate a three cours meal. Never accuse me of being like the status quo
My photos dont capture the light. Even under this heat lamp (which I sneakily and swiftly turned the heat up on) I am exhaling steam.
It’s just after five. At 6 Vlad will be meeting me. The Show starts at 8. (really at 8:30 - he told me 8 so I wouldnt be late!)
I want to write poetry again. And I wantto be in Prague longer. Though no real great reason why. Just… I feel I should be.
God my back has been killing me.
The man working the mulled wine and hot chocolate stand went to buy a hot dog at teh competitor stand - Haha.
No one occupiset he pizza place across the way - tho it also house outside seating. They ust have thought it a graet idea. Probably in the summer. It’s not like this place is swarming. It is nice to be near a fire. I wish I comprehended being here.
–
Later that night discussing many things with Vlad and his friend (who entirely unrelated has a tattoo of ‘metatron’s cube’ on the back of his neck, as does his boyfriend) - we touched upon the iconic film ‘NeverEnding Story’ - and the naming of the princess. They said they thought you never learn the name he gives her - I said I thought he named her after his dead mother. Both wrong - he names her ‘Moonchild.’
In prague the homeless, for a dollar a night, get beds on a boat hotel.
Another small boat in the Vltava is a pub where they have movie screenings. What a wonderful city. (This is information Vlad told me.)
For more about the homeless boat:
http://www.cafebabel.com/ger/article/20957/czech-homeless-get-on-board.html
—
Notes on Hungary according to Tomas:
It is #1 in Europe for suicide
And a Joke?
In hell there is a room with 8 Hungarians. An onlooker asked why there was no one guarding the door, ensuring they don’t escape. “Just watch” replied the guide. As one Hungarian tried to stand up, the two on either side pulled him back down. This is Hungarian mentality.
Another story?
A man was having a very hard winter. One night, his cow died, and he feared he might starve to death. Just then, a genie appeared and offered him one wish.
What was his wish? That his neighbor’s cow would also die.
They tell me also the other stores in the E.U. - even big grocery store chains - sell their least good products, their lowest quality - to Hungary for higher prices.
–
Writing my last day in Budapest:
Sadness pervades me today.
Sadness and loneliness.
And the cold.
There is dampness in the air.
Moisture and indecision. I should mention.
And sickness.
And I wound up in a tourist trap anyway.
Stupid.
I hate life. Myself. Budapest.
The cold in my chest, throat, head.
The people.
I don’t want to be here.
So I walk in - order mulled wine (as I smell it immediately) and coffee, and water but the water I have to pay for and is small. lame.
Everythign is choking me. My scarf. the world.
Why cant there be sunshine?
I wish I had my laptop.
I wish I were home or holed-up in a nice hotel somewhere. Or well.
God I am tired of being sick.
I should be seeing a doctor. I probably shouldn’t be traveling alone.
What am I doing here anyway?
Or I should have seen the labyrinth yesterday when my mood was excited and good. But I didnt have my spare keys.
Today is a disease.
Today life is not pretty as the weather is not. As my host’s attitude is not.
….Later:
not sure what to say of the day.
Surely my sickness and uncertainty have affected everything lately.
I just wish I could shake it. At least then it would be normal worry and depression to deal with - Not compounded by the realization I’ve been sick for a week. And can feel the (what I will still presume is a cold) moving around and changing in my body.
It has become cottony in my lungs.
I want a doctor with a stethoscope to hear the wheezing - my breath trying to fight through the cobwebs.
Preferably American - but I will settle for Viennese. I don’t honestly recall any exceptionnaly *good* memories of hte *epople* there - but I have to horribly (awfully bad of me) assume they will be more well-educated and potentially more hypocratic with their oaths.
Hungarians seem too miserable to cure anyone - especially their own bleak dispositions.
If Joey thinks I am negative he needs to come to Budapest.
Tomas: “People from the villages have to come to Budapest to buy shoes. No shoe stores there.”
Me: “How far?”
Tomas: “100 kilometers.”
Me: “Why?”
Tomas: “why build stores when no one has money?”
My mood this morning was awful. And my disgust[ing indecision at the restaurant.]
And being appalled by the “food” (I should have sent back) - but thought they must already think me a freak. The “sandwich” was to be mozzarella, italian ham, and veggies on an oil and herb buttered peice of bread. Some kind of Italian bread.
Mhm.
It was ridiculous.
The meat literally unchewable.
One tomato
Just.. wtf.
I have now positioned myself in a posh hotel called “Arthotel” with a glass of chardonnay and a view of both Parliament and the chain bridge. I am letting the city outside slwoly fade to night.
The chardonnay is decent.
It will cost me about $5.
More than the $4 truly unspectacular ride up the ‘funicular’ to the top of the hill near Buda castle - but it was a gross day and I knew the view would be bad. At least it got me to the top fast.
And whatever. Waking still sick at 6:40 AM sucked. Laying in bed awake an hour.
Strange showering in Balazs’s shower - a shower head you must hold. He suddenly having work to do though I thought he’d be free today. Though it is fine. (I am writing with Jenny and Cody’s business pen! This is a good aside;)
He is always angry about something. He tells me I should visit the American Embassy to see about how I can see a doctor. This is true - I am sick and could potentially now have some kind of throat infection.
I wipe my nose with my free finger still wrapped around my pen - and smell the overwhelming smell of oranges.
Should I recount my day? Beyond the disappointment and utter misery of breakfast?
(The worst is no to hate the place - but to hate yourself. But when sick, tired, somehow down and out - it’s hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. And the ‘tunnel’ of my throat (as Balazs called it) is swollen and an enemy.
It looks as though someone has put a grey-blue filter on the window.
The chardonnay is soft in my mouth.
After the disaster that was breakfast - and taking the strange syrup the (only pleasant, wonderful, nurturing Hungarian - pharmacist) sold me last night - I, in my ill mood, despite my knoweldge it would make it suck regardless - headed over to the “Labyrinth”.
The pharmacist had gotten lozenges (can only take 6 a day) and syrup *thee times, after meals, and not after 6 PM or I wont be able to sleep :/) she gave me Kleanexes and she said, “A present.” 
I dont recall what I’d said that prompted the syrup. Perhaps, ’something for a cold.’ I souuld try to find if I have a fever.
But I have a slight cough now. And pleghm in my throat.
The interaction when buying my labyrinth ticket was no more heartening. The man was unpleasant, unhappy. I’d asked waht he area with all the tables and ashtrays was about - was for.
“For nothing. 1500.” Thanks. (1500 being Florenc to enter the labyrinth.)
Inside the rocks were wet0- dripping. Music played. Lights and lanterns illuminated fake cave drawings. Yes,it was lame. I really do think in the right mood, and even better with the right friend the same thing couldhave been campy fun. To a degree.
But the wine fountain - Bore a sign - illy placed *behind it* - saying it is not suitable for consumption. One look at it could tell you that - it obviously recycles from its foamy basin. But that was the sole or at least predominate impetus that set me on this quest - and to Budapest - to being with. I had seen a photo of a man in a cave drinking from what appeared to be afountain IN a cavern wall - and I got the impression these existed all over Eastern europe. A magical land, indeed.
Then I meandered the rest of the way, and took truly pointless photos of hte place. Held onto the roampe in the room of courage noted that they better have arestroom so I could was hmy hands. Thus, overwith, I walked to what I thought was a toursit info spot with internet- but upon my appproach saw all that was truly there were LYING signs promising enlightenment and an empty glass building. Nice job, Budapest.
I wandered back by the police station near the castle, wondering what a sick American with no isnuarnce is to do in Europe. I wandered only a bit further - sat on some (surely semi-ancient steps) and let tears fill my eyes. Knowing this is because of sickness doesn’t make it any less annoing. Nor the loneliness less real. What person - shall I say - or should I simply say - what 28 year old, strange, sick, twin girl wants to be alone in Hungary with a sickness she can’t shake and no loved ones to care for her?
Just sniffled wishing Ness could be here - but what good does that do? So up I stood and wandered toward what suggested a museum of Hungarian wine over the years. The lady explained it was a cellar you wander through for 45 minutes, and that you could opt for a wine tasting. I’d had my fill of pointless cave “museums” and left - down the wrong side of the hill - and found myself at a railway station in a run down area, and no Danube in sight.
Thankfully, I located the tracks on my tourist info map and saw I’d gone down teh wrong side - and had just kept going. Perhaps logic isn’t my strong suit. Or just thinking in general.
So I turned around and headed back. Along the way I saw a street hat actually had life to it. and The sun broke momentarily free fom the clouds that had exconsed it, and I took photos and bought myself an orange.
more photos and walking down the right side of the hill - I debated whether to take the bridge trolly by Martha’s Island, or the Chain bridge again - but the latter won in hopes of finding again a souvenier shop and tourist store that sells childrens’ toys. But as I walked I saw the arthotel and looked a bit inside it. Then I decided I belonged there, too, - why not sit and watch the parliament light up?
Though truly it is taking longer than I’d intended.
Ther is a place - which at the baths Tomas suggested to the Canadians and that I waS handed a flyer for when my tourist self stepped off the funicular - that is a Hungarian all-you-can-eat restaurant. (Champagne and drinks included) for what I thought to be $14 but must be a bit more - $16? maybe $20something
? Now - I don’t need unlimited champagne at this point - and am indeed not even hungry… but the idea of tasting the regions’ specialties in such a way sounds great to a girl who has been incredibly indecisive lately.
So we’ll see if I make my way over there. Truly have two locations. Shrugs.
Neither Parliament nor the chain bridge have lit up yet but I feel I’ve bee here quite some time.
The gland under my chin is asking me to help myself. Don’t worry, self, the men in Austria must be more helpful than here - though at least Tomas did take me to where I could get a new adaptor ,and Balazs this morning took me to find out train times (though he didnt tell me much about how as he got wrapped up in the conversation with the ticket info lady).
I suppose I could be filling out post cards.
Perhpas I should elucidate on the interaction with the woman in her truly tiny vege table shop.
(and all at once Chain Bridge and Parliament are lit).. Apparently that happens at 16:30.
Why elucidate? Becaus she was very pleasant. She
—-
I should mention Balazs showing me Syriana - and the sparkle in his eyes at the bathouse when he quoted the line to me “There are many ways to light Europe” as a friend would - with a big smile and confidence. And ran around the place looking at different rooms. And tucking into all the hot saunas we could find. And me accidentally hittin the button for the alarm bc it looks the same as those for light switches. And when the lady came hurriedly to check it out he proudly explained the situation in Hungarian - she too was boisterous and laughed and pushed him - then he of course blamed me (You can always make out ‘American’ in any language) and I said, “HEY!!!!” and we all smiled and ran back in - Tomas in tow - to attempt sweating.
—
“its not where you are but who you are with” - is an interesting concept when you are trotting the globe predominately on your own.
Granted I have hosts in every city - who at the least allow me to sleep in their apartments -and at the most take me around and (if I am duallly lucky) show me a decent time.
But I would say a large majority of my time has been spent on my own.
Granted I could also say a large majority of the past two weeks has been spent on my own AND with this nagging cold/infection - which really isnt fair is it? Considering I am a fairly moody person anyway.
—
As the boys entered last night - still shutting the door - both at the very end of hte hallway - I barely visible on teh ginromous couch - Ben says, “Val! you have a new hair color!?” and Alan laughs that it is no wonder he can’t seem to have a girlfriend when he doesnt even notice such things.
People therefore again are the same everywhere.
Their happiness with their night was palpable, and the enthusiasim and energy swept me up in questions of my own - did they meet any girls, their collection of email address, excitedly asked to recount the stories Ben had already Alan about his dating endeavors.
This morning I was surpise to find ground coffee and not nescafe. Online, Ben informed me no Austrian would drink instant coffee what with the Vienna cafe culture.
—
walking around talking bout Rock me amadeus
Dear Alan,
my excited little pup
I feel obliged to mention
I have eaten all your chocolate up
I have also drank the cola
down to its last drop.
It was very nice to meet you
-Vallers!
—
As I sit in a gelateria - which is not at all Viennese - the coffee they serve being illy - should I recount my time here? I dont really know how to feel about it. It has predominately been spent in recovery of an illness. It was marvellous arriving - the city so clean, so logically engineered and plotted, so techy industrial in the prettiest of ways. Shiney glass, smooth swift trains, bright lights. The Viennese clearly appreciate the melding of the new with the old in their aesthetics. Their old streets - still gorgeous with cobblestone and buildings adorned with well-kept architecture - sometimes house cinemas, cafes, clothing stores - all with glowing windows. I guess that is part of the surprise that Ben’s favorite bar which we dropped into last night looks like your average punk dive from the outside - the door covered with half-ripped-off stickers, no shiney windows begging passers-by to come in, promising them a far more glamorous life. Then again that’s only fair considering once you get inside you arent exactly greeting with a fancier life, but with two bars, some seating, modster kids hanging out, and a dance floor where strangely shaped lights fly by. I can certianly imagine it on a crowded weekend night and felt slightly bad we didn’t make it on one, but on a Sunday where it was empty and the disappointment in Ben’s face was palpable.
This gelato - I ordered a scoop of hazelnut and a scoop of coffee - tho I can honestly say I can only tell one flavor and it just tastes way too sweet and slightly spicy to me.
This is my pre-dinner dessert :P Why not?
I had wanted soup but this works too.
At least the wine is OK. Again nothing to write home about, but somewhat spicy and not cold.
I have had fairly low self-esteem since being here. Mainly because Alan (the other CSer that was here when I arrived) and Ben were talking about their attempts at picking up girls. This didnt bother me and in fact I thought it was really cute, at it made me feel like a giggly, excited accomplice in crime, hearing about the exploits second hand only because I was sick and they were my boys happily recounting their endeavors to me at the end of the night.
It wasn’t until the ball - and I had of course dyed my hair to match my dress, which didnt at all bother me at the time - that no one hit on me - which bothered me only slightly - that I Started thinking this way. But like any negative thought introduced into reality, it becomes difficult to shake, and I have therefor every day (and with every photo) felt more and more unattractive. Not that my face has changed at all… just that my opinino of it has. Which is not to say that in most of my photos from Prague I felt pretty - or, god bless me, the photos from the day of the Baths at Budapest - no! I know I didn’t look very pretty then… Perhaps i just brushed it off as ‘oh well, i am not a beautiful person, i amj just a person traveling around.’ and that was that. But I guess being here with guys you acutally like - that are out there looking for pretty girls - and realizing no other guys out there are flirting with me… well.. it does make me wonder why that is. Though truth be told it doesnt make me wonder all that much - as I dont think I am all that pretty and I can see the attraction to Zule[ma] - another CSer here in Vienna. She is from Peru, petite, has perfect skin, dark skin, dark shiney hair, etc.
In contrast I am the tall, gangly, white as hell girl, with slightly fried purplely hair - not blond - not big boobed - just that ‘other’ from the United States.
But Ben did say I was cute. And last night before bed I made him give me a hug, and he kissed me on the forehead and happily said he felt i was like a little sister to him, as impossible or illogical as that is (as he is 25 and 4 y
years my junior.)
Today I didn’t leave the house till 3 PM. Lame, I know. I wanted to go see the glass tower I had seen from St Stephans the day before, and which we had passed on the way home, as well as the largest cemetery in Vienna, and perhaps a “heurigen” - a sort of winery or vineyard or something where you can drink lots of different kinds of wines and eat country/rustic viennese food. But as i left late, i barely accomplished anything. I did see the tower, but in a rush, as I wanted to make it to the cemetery before dark, which I also didn’t accomplish, as the tram ride was long and even then it was already at or so sunset. The light waned fast and the cold moved in and I was mad at myself. If I am good at nothing else, ridiculing myself is something at which I am deftly skilled. But I made it over the fence all the same.
My sister was glad I called - she was so happy to hear from me. (Maybe I should trek the globe more often?) Though in reality I have no idea how much I’ve spent already tho I can only guess it is a lot.
I can say in all honesty, though, that I was far happied to be doing breezy laps around a random and not-exactly-beautiful ice rink in Vienna than had I paid less to do the same in Bryant Park. Central park.. well that one was fun;) But that is still New York.. And when I got off the rink last night, I got to walk by amazing buildings from hundreds of years before. (I have decided 1/8 L is a good size for a glass of red wine. Take note, mortals.)
We talked Wolfgang and Zule (not much talk was required) into going to have dessert and coffee with us. Though those two had dinner - which truly makes it incomprehensible to me, how tiny she is. She shoveled down some sort of “caprese” earlier in the day - which I had thought to be a salad but appeared to come in fried wedges. I myself had had a lot of ham with some tomatoes covered entirely with mozarella on oiled baked brown bread - so many slices - but decent. She had handed me hot sauce to put on it. Finally I realized it was habanero hot sauce! What is Austria doing with Habanero hot sauce from Mexico?! I didnt taste her meal at the time, but I did taste Ben’s - a creamy grey gravy chicken dish replete with the flavor of onions and herbs, lighter and healthier than what Ma would make, but excellent in that same vein, with strange potato dumplings.
At our second restaurant of the night, Ben ordered a chocolate cake which was OK and I attempted ordering the ‘apfelstruedle’ special on the board outside, which they were out of, so I Resigned to some sort of cream strudel… I alwasy thought strudel would be a sort of air cripsy friend dough, but in fact it is a dense cake-like thing that reminds me of a danish, though in my life I can’t say if I have ever even really come into contact with a danish. At any rate, it was not wonderful, but I ate a fair amount of it and all the jammy fruity parts. It worked out at any rate, as we rushed back home (After “I Told [Ben] sp” that movies dont play in the 7 o clock hour) - did laundry - then rushed back out (Thanks to Ben who is, unlike me, able to get up, get going, and go go go! and not get stuck by apartments, laptops, sitting) we made it out to the English theater to see ‘Changling’ and I got to eat a whole bag of popcorn. Exiting the theater was a trip, though. Or if you would prefer better, more eloquent language (as, for the love of all that is pure and holy, I would) - leaving the theater was incredibly surreal. I could tell for him it was not - certainly it is normal to walk out of a 21st century theater and step out onto darkened cobblestones, surrounded by buildings hundreds of years old. I, on the other hand, took a picture.
Afterwards we stopped at the aformentioned bar - and after he drank a coke and I drank an awful glass of red wine, we went back to his apartment where I heated up some of the absolutely insane amount of left overs we’d had from the previous adventure of dining out at “Centimeter” - tho of course I added some of the pepper sauce I had bought to the dumpling dish I reheated and also cooked some veggies. Ben bemoaned this situation - as it was far too late to be eating anything at all - especially something far so heavy. But as Ben is a boy who is so ridiculously thin, he had no right to complain and ate the food I gave him. Ha!
This of course preceeded him finding (though I should have written down all the exactitudes) my train times to Romania, and suggesting I stay another day. Granted I WISH i had dont MORE with this day, but..whatever right? I am myself and life is life, and it is what we make it. I just didn’t make much of it today.
Tonight I will pack, tomorrow I will be on my way. To Romania. Where a nice girl has already offered to meet me at the train station.
I am glad that I am over any misgivings I may have originally had about Romania. Cluj is a college town and is bound to be very fun.
I didn’t expect Ben to say he would meet me at 7:30 - I thought I had far more time to recount and even move back to typing up my thoughts of Budapest. Now I have 15 minutes to pay the bill and head up the street to the church.
Yes I have been here. Granted I was sick the first couple days. Granted I spent over $300 on a not-so-amazing dress and accessories… (shouldnt I have gotten some shoes for Vanessa?) I think I maybe should have?!
SIGH
It isnt that I dont want to buy people souveneirs - It isnt that I dont care. I dont undesrtand it myself or know what it is!
Wine at the restaurant we are goign to is three times the price of here, and not as good.
gasp
but I am already tipsy!
However I will revort to my sef destructive tendencies and order another glass with teh check.
(Come on!! even if the $ is that bad it is still $3.25 for a glass of wine. Should be better but hey!)
Damn why does the dollar have to suck so? $2 is so much better! stupid USD!
Gosh I could sit here and write a lot longer
…. bah! 3 glasses of good red wine and 2 scoops of (eh) gelato - Euro 7.70.
I left a 2 euro tip. lame. prolly 20 cents would be better. stupid fuckin tourist. oh well.
bottoms up brothers!
Could you imagine the glory of traveling Europe if you were from Ireland there had a decent job? They shop for clothes in the US! The FLY there to do it! The world must be their oyster.
Other countries not-withstanding.
Ok this is one of my new favorite places. I didnt think Id feel comfy here. But I do. Weird huh? even before drinking it felt like a comfortable place for a solo gal to sit and write.
Surely I could have done more writing.
Well, hopefully on the train tomorrow - as the limping, loping present is calling now.
which is to say I love my new friend who, while too skinny (but he is European, in love with dancing, and just strange in the ways of really being strict since i believe his life with his parents and with his ex of 10 years), brad-pit resembling, amazingly laid back and sweet tentative only roomie - is waiting on me. to go have dinner. with a girl he finds more attractive than me. What can u do?
be the drunken older younger sister I guess
—
Now on the train to Budapest. I analyze - walking up and down the train with my camera (always considering myself insane) the different cabins. First class. Dining car, snack area, 2nd class in the rooms with facing chairs, 2nd class that resembles first class. I Dont see much of a difference though there must be one. I feel it is too warm on this train, to be sure. Especially in first class - it is almost hot in there. Unfortunately I have an hour ‘lay over’ in Budapest. While Vanessa seems to have found that train station charming, I simply do not.
Ben was nice enough to accompany me to Westbanhoff this morning. He was also kind enough to buy me three different kinds of bread - as he and his Austrian counterparts (even the newly-converted Peruvian Zule) claim Austria has the best bread - better than France. He got me three different kinds, one that is brown adn dense, covered with seads, filled with shredded carrots, cabbage, nuts. This is a great snack, and it makes me happy. It reminds me of chinese food. It seems to me something my sister would enjoy also. He got me half an enormous round of brown bread which is spicy and I suppose is to be toasted or eaten with sandwiches. Finally, he got me a flakey turnover-style pastry dusted with powdered sugar and filled with some kind of sweet fruit jam that I gobbled up lickity split.
It is fine and well that this train has a dining car, but it certainly eludes me as to why the train going from Budapest to Cluj - an 8 hour trip that arrives at 9:45PM or so - does not.
The attendant in this restaurant car is Hungarian and jolly. I would almost describe him as cute in his attitude as he seems one of those charicatures of foreign old men - smiling, nodding, proud of himself, his job perhaps, his country. When I first spied the dining car he waved at me to sit, asked if I wanted coffee, and told me only the snack car had electricity for internet. (though truly the dining car had one spot but perhaps he didn’t want to relinquish such.) So now I am in the snack car, though truly I could have just sat in the first class seat, leaned semi back (nott hat there is a recline option that I know of on the seats) and read. I know I am not writing with the flowerly language I have employed in the past. I truly feel when I initially got on my first train from Frankfurt to Dresden, I wrote in the style I should be writing in - a style that would perhaps entertain.
I also realize my previous entry was excrutiatingly long, due mainly to the inability to update readily.
Now I am in a warm snack car with hard seats that is far too warm, passing green fields on a fairly foggy, overcast day. Decidedly a decent day for traveling. I was rather disappointed with myself yesterday. Not feeling too well, leaving the house rather late, the cemetery was already getting dark. I drank too much wine before meeting everyone for dinner - and at dinner felt like enough of a lush. I dont know if they could tell, cared, knew. Zule and her friend Wolfgang decidedly plan to come to Italy when Mike and I are there. Ben wants to but doubts he can. Of course I would like it if Ben could. I would love it if Danny from Prague could, and of course if Vlad could, but I am certain he could not afford such.
When I inquired how much the champagne was, the cooks response was “so cheap so cheap! how big? big? small? Small? only 3 euros? you want two?” hehe
I like to pretend Euros are the same price as dollars. When I told Ben this he basically laughed at me and said loudly, “No! 1.40 to the Euro!” Well thanks Ben, that means I spent $300 on that damn dress. Do I really want to think that? No! For $300 I should have a far more immaculate dress, that is new, and gorgeous!
In Texas, at Nelda’s, and of course in Chicago I believe, you can find amazing dresses for $60 to $90. A new beautiful prom dress in a department store might cose you over $100, some Vanessa and I admired were $300 at a specialty shop - but weren’t they fun and exciting?
Though at least everyone says I looked elegant, and I hope I did - I hope it is true.
I remember once Tim wrote a poem about me, saying I was elegant and graceful (citing one night Vanessa, Tabby, and I had gone to a gothic auction and I had borrowed a dress from Vanessa and styled my then semi-long pink hair in a sort-of up-do) - but I don’t consider myself elegant, and certainly not the night of the ball. But Ben was truly sweet and danced with me several times, in his words “teaching me” many dances. Dances of course I was not taught because I could not show them to you, but dances that at the time were fun to wiggle into, step with, be spun around dizzily. I acn say it is not what I had envisioned from a Viennesse ball, and perhaps for that I would need to be rich, dating someone rich, and have gone to a ball that cost far more than 20-30 euros for a ticket. But I am 28 and I feel that, if that is something that is in my futre, there is certainly still time for it.
I suddenly realize my battery, and not the power cable icon, is showing up on my screen. I try and tell the cook that ‘this doesn’t appear to be working’ but he explains that we are in Hungarian customs and it will only be 5 minutes. Indeed.
I think it should be a requisite that first class has power. ….and we go on, and the power returns, and I am again a ridiculous American.
Did I mention our travails of ice skating? I don’t believe I have, though this time I will certainly read what Ive written before posting. The night after the ball, Ben and I got a late start leaving the house. We left as the sun was setting. I bemoaned this a bit, only because I had not been out at all in Vienna, save to purchase my dress and accessories (surely I should have bought shoes for Vanessa as well. But then, I am not too worried, as I know anything she might see in Austria that she loves will most probably be outdone in Italy, where I can readily send them with Mike.) Unfortunately I now have said dress and shoes to tote around with me, as well as a box that now holds all the random scraps of paper I have been saving from my trip - the plan of which is to scrapbook - which I rarely - ok Never in my life - have done. But if I mail them home to myself, I feel I might have higher chances than I would becomming annoyed by these things I would tote around. Though this dress and these shoes for another month? Or at least another three weeks? And might I add it is now the 27th, my pass expires the 9th, Mike arrives the 15th. I have yet to discover what my transport might be for those 6 days. At the very least I am finally going to be in Romania tonight. I think it will be far less a culture shock that, at the height of my sickness and despair in Budapest, I felt it would be. I already have one brave, strapping, enthusiastic girl ready to meet me at the train station - to rescue me almost - saying sometimes “you need a storm” which is part of her name on CS, and saying also I could stay with her. I am so excited to meet her, as I have yet to meet a girl like this on my travels. At the last check of my email last night, Alban (Surmely) also had written that he would be there to meet me - that he has dreadlocks - and (in a typical French laissez-faire attitude) he would find me, no problem. The lights have dimmed and I have reverted to battery power. Why does this occur?
I feel that while I was still in Prague it may have been wise to order another train pass - just to cover my last few weeks and aid me in what will eventually now be a panick.
I have no idea how much money I have already spent, but I do know I will have to check at some point to make sure I still have enough in my checking account.
But ice skating - and us having left late that day. We wandered around the center and near sunset into the art musuem, which Ben had read on the CS forum was free - and which was a nice alternative to merely seeing buildings and landscapes (which has been the majority of my trip thus far). We talked about our favorite painters (we of course both love Van Gogh and Munch’s ‘The Scream’.) We talked about his family, a bit about mind (predominately about siblings). We both found the art fairly dull but the Egyptian and Greco Roman areas a bit more interesting. Either way, the architecture of the museum itself was beautiful, so Ben took a photo of me with stairs and a door as the setting, and not the art itself.
Ben’s face, eyes, expression very often remind me of Brad Pitt. He even has a scar under one eye that enhances this resemblance and in my opinion his handsomeness ten fold. How did he acquire this scar? While at the Baths in Budapest with his exgirlfriend and her family - he was leaning down at a buffet to inquire about a dish, when his girlfriend passed her mother a glass - and his face ran SMACK into it.
I laughed when he told me he had decided to wait till returning that night to Vienna to see a doctor -as he didnt want to go to one in Budapest. His mom of course chided him for this, she being a doctor herself, and ultimately he wound up getting no stitches and instead was left with a lovely small scar.
I said I thought it looked very good on him, and I do.
As we walked that night, after the museum, we passed City Hall (Rathaus) which itself has the spires I have come to love so well, and which is illuminated by an ever-changing array of fun colors, in front of which is situated an ice skating rink. We decided to come back the next day with Zule, and went on to dinner at a place called “Centimeter” - a college pub/restaurant, with decent food and an extremely entertaining, if kischy, marketing scheme of selling breads with different toppings ‘by the centimeter’ and I believe perhaps beer in a similar vein. Food can also come in shovels, on swords, etc - and never (I can see now) in small or even normal human portions.
We decidedly missed our movie that night and instead went back to his house to watch “Seven Pounds” which was extremely dull, and which I fell asleep during.
The next day, thanks to Ben, we left far earlier and had a full day. Again we went down to the city center to wander.
(I just saw someone pushing a bicycle holding budnles of firewood on the left side of teh train, tho on the right side there is clearly an airport - modernity meets the countryside?).
Darn! He was going to give me sliced pickles for free but because I asked for a paprika it is now two euros :( But I wanted to try it! alas!!
The pickles are fairly sweet - mom would not be pleased In america I dont believe this would be considered a snack. Nor could you charge 3.50 for it. But… what can you do when you’re on a train in Hungary? I can now address that this yellow paprika is not hot but is flavorful with a touch of spice and ultimately is good. Weird way of dining today. Sweet jam-filled bread, nut and vegetable-riddled bread, pickled pickles (;) and paprika.
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We didn’t in fact take a train to the center but walked there. And once there, we climbed to the top of St. Stephan’s cathedral. Ben purchased our tickets, perhaps because I had bought dinner the night before. Either way it was a nice gesture, as was his showing me around all day - though he had meant to leave at some point to get some housework done. I can’t say the view from St. Stephans is all that impressive. I *can* say the hike up the stairs is rather difficult. He pointed out to me where he lives - very well in fact. “see that ugly hospital building - remember? and the two towers to the left? and then to the right further off the two brown towers?” And I saw a tower I really loved - gilded with a round bulb remniscient unfortunately of bongs that captivated me as a kid. A place they burn waste, apparently, and a place we would later pass on the train home and that I would visit the following day.
We left there and walked a bit more when it occured to him to take me to an art-house (literally) so we told Zule we would be 15 minutes late meeting her. And it was worth it, as this house was so interesting - also done by the artist who did the tower I liked.
We then took trams to meet Zule at City Hall - and of all the sides she was on the one we came to initially. It is nice to be taken around by someone who is so laid back as Ben - who knows which direction to take (almost all the time) and who understands how much time to take everywhere. Rather a vast divergence to when Brian showed me around Boston - where he stated I prefer quantity over quality - though I can’t deny it is fairly true for me (but I am an anxious person often, and therefor often feel the need to see everything)… which of course is in stark contrast (one would imagine) to the fact I didn’t leave Ben’s apartment until ridiculously late yesterday. But then it is one thing to have someone to show you around, or to even know where to go, or at the least have someone to just - as Theron did in Chicago - get you out of the apartment. That, for me, is difficult, and I think my mother and perhaps some of you would understand.
But we did meet Zule and we ate at a place called 1519 (I think) - and it was also decent. She of course focused on the soccer match behind me. Her friendd from CS joined us at the end (wolfgang - what a classic name) and we all headed to City Hall for ice skating, where (I agree) it was Far too crowded and (they agreed) far too pricy, so we changed to another place Zule knew of - and skated there. Considering I spent in all around 14 Euros, I am glad we moved to the *less* expensive place. It was fun, a large rink, less people, and it even had a bar on it! I didn’t participate in said bar as I didn’t really care to, didnt know what was what (damn you German!) and felt $3.80 for any drink was too much. Of course that night for dinner/dessert the place we went had wine for none other than $3.80 euros / small glass so - you win some you lose some.
Skating here - I of course made them ridicule my Americanism.. The Zamboni was cleaning the ice even as everyone (children included) continued skating! In fact it was almost a game, as the Zamboni made its lovely slick, wet track across the ice, everyone got behind it and skated like snakes and the pied piper, or well, something far cuter than that. I of course did the same. I fell twice, and I blame it on the toe picks! Why would anyone put serrated stoppers so close to the front of a blade! I am sure it makes sense to some, but not to a girl who grew up roller blading with back-stoppers! But falling didn’t bother me, and in fact I had a lot of fun tryin to race Ben, falling, getting back up, and catching up to him - as he apologized (later again after my second fall) that he is just incapable of stopping when I fall - of stopping fast. He fell too, but it was adorable why he fell. We were skating along together and he asked, “have you ever tried jumping?” after which he hopped, raised his knees high, and fell squarely on them and his hands. Afterward I hopped a few times perhaps an inch of the ground, and we both decided that that was certainly high enough.
Zule and Wolfgang enjoyed beer as Ben (who I keep wanting to call George as he also somewhat, with his dark hair and nonchalance) reminds me a bit of George from Houston - ordered some sorts of lemony-herbed-spritzer… but keep in mind EVERYTHING in Austria is spritzer! Wine spritzer is the bees knees to these kids, and juices are turned into spritzers, even some already-carbonated drinks are further-carbonated and diluted with soda.
Hey, to each his own I guess, but I won’t be jumping on this particular bandwagon.
I love, however, that I am in Vienna, and that I am bigger than I was a year or two ago, but that everyone thinks I am thin! Alan from Estonia went so far as to ask if it is “OK” if I drink diet coke. As if there is a health concern and some of us have prescriptions to drink regular coke. I find it also amusing as he saw me eat the entirety (almost) of the enormous chocolate and hazelnut bar he brought for Ben - that he would wonder such. But Alan lives in a far different world than the rest of us, with an obsession (to the max) of flirting with girls, of falling in love immediately with a girl (at the ball at least) and having his heart devastatingly broken when hearing this girl has a boyfriend.
Nevermind that he lives in Estonia, a country up by Finland. Nevermind that he danced with the girl and ran around with her in a few different rooms at a ball one night, nevermind that he had already been interested in other potential girls at this point … But as I said, Alan is Alan, and amusing in his eccentricities. Endearing, however, in his appreciation, passion, and in the way he gushed at truly enjoying his time couch surfing with Ben and meeting me.
Alan, by the way, eats like a vaccuum. After arriving home from the jazz club with Ben the night before the ball - he ate like someone would if they were wasted, starving, and trying to stave off a nasty hang over - with that amount of logic and that amount of immediacey… But of cours he as not at all drunk and was just being himself. Bell peppers, honey, bacon extremely marblized with fat, a slice of cake, bread, etc. He also ate before we left for the ball, then ate a bowl of goulash and two rolls at a cafe right before the ball. I don’t know if he ate at all at the ball (as Ben and I had) but he certainly went about his odd course of eating afterwards. I told him it was of course endearing, that American men don’t eat like this at all. In fact that New York men hardly eat at all period. Though of course one might say these are my experiences.
But in fact they are my experiences, which is why I am recounting them.
Alas that I have finished my second small bottle of champagne. I still have an hour left on the train, but my goal is not drunkenness.
I was thinking about getting a bottle of wine during my stop over in Budapest for the so-many-hour trip to Cluj as a nod to my sister, but we shall see. I have so much to carry around with me, and I am lazy, and I never really know what to do.
I know I am writing too much and that none of it is very interesting.
I should probably be writing about chatting as we walk along the cobbled streets, taking photos of architecture, looking at all the people - young and old (the old over-made-up, over-fur-coated, sitting in cafes or looking in expensive store windows) - just living, really living their daily lives.
As Zule and Wolfgang recount their many nights, many weeks of nights, of drunkenness - Ben says, “So you see? people drink here!” I say, “Just not you!” “Just not me,” says the former alter boy till around or after 20 and the volunteer. “I never started so there is no point now.” He is 25 and of course I agree. Dancing is his drug of choice, so why adapt a less than gorgeous one? Ben had met Wolfgang before, Wolfgang did not recall such, Zule laughed that it made sense. Ben will never understand truly why this makes sense.. But he is wilder than he was previously, as he had been in a relationship for 10 years. Now he has a red kitchen, bright sheets, a colorful abstract cat toilet seat, his own apartment, and goes out almost every night. This is what men do, isn’t it? When they are in relationships no longer.
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Vanessa and I were to take a train from Prague, through Budapest, to Romania. We were to take a wine route. I am certain there are places along the way which I am passing - which we would have in our story stopped at. Had I Done research, had our story come to pass.
In vienna, I can’t say what I experienced other than that ice skating in Vienna beats ice skating in Bryant Park, because afterwards you are still in Vienna, you are not walking amongs sky scrapers, seeing a billion cars, dodging taxis. You are walking on streets that are older than the inception of your thoughts, that are walked by other people, and waiting for gorgeous, well-engineered trams that come in “1 minuten” or subways that truly tell you how long you have to wait. Not line New York - though of course at least those trains run all night. In Vienna, after a certain time, it is up to you and ‘night busses’. But hey, nothing wrong with that.