Update, July 31st

In Wales. So, so glad. I truly enjoyed my time in Spain, but nothing can compare with the Welsh countryside, and I am thankfully away from the heat.

It is actually chilly here, and I prefer that.

No time to blog, today. need to sort out life a bit.

Last days in Spain

I must have slept in, because I did not get to the beach for awhile. I have lost track of what I have been up to, mostly because my pencil ran out of lead and I have not found the new one, and now the post office woman has accidentally kept my pen.

I know that at some point in the miserable heat yesterday, I bought a skirt, because my shorts were still wet after washing them. I spent part of the evening trying to find gifts for my family, which is no easy task.

But I did meet a late middle aged Spanish man named Jimmie, who owns a little shop across from the post office. It is stuffed with things he has collected across the world: including Native American decorations, metal boxes, clothes, knives, statues and jewelry. There was a large glass display case functioning as his desk, full of amber. Tiny pieces set beautifully, up to huge glittering chunks. He helped me choose two as gifts.

Listening to his stories and opinions about travel, living, and people was fascinating. I just sort of stood there, with wide open eyes, absorbing. By the way, regional differences from before Christopher Columbus still exist in Spain, a sort of inter-regional racism. The durability of something like that over hundreds of years reminded me that his country was far older than mine.

He can't afford to hire people to help him, and I nearly offered to run his shop in exchange for jewelry. But I knew that I couldn't stay.

The unbearable heat helped me to leave Spain without too much pain. I took the bus and train to Malaga airport, and flew to Birmingham, England. The opposite of Nerja, really.

Monday in Nerja (July 27th)

I forgot to mention that I saw a little old lady leaning out of her balcony, dangling a large plastic bag on a rope. A young woman on the street below loaded a large loaf of bread into it, and the old lady began to hoist it up, all the while a little lapdog running around her feet.

I found a second hand shop absolutely stuffed with books. After sifting through for a long while, I found two. I was able to trade in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by Joyce, and The Picture of Dorian Gray by Wilde (finally read it, Dan! I am quite confident he does not read this...). The others I had left with people along the way, or given to the hostel. I picked up Crimson Petal and White as well as The Once and Future King. I have already finished the first one, nearly a thousand pages, and turned it in for another two today. I am reading quickly, something I delight in, because I have so little time in Chicago.

My friend and I lingered in the shops before going back to swim, tossing a ball in the water (150 times with no one dropping it), and eventually a final goodbye to this incredible little family that has welcomed me into their lives off and on the past few weeks.

I ran a few errands, did a little people watching, and eventually wandered back to sleep.

"Margharitas filled with ice..." (July 26th)

After another afternoon at the beach, my Hungarian friend and I decided to go out in search of margharitas.

We knew full well that this is a Mexican drink, and probably blasphemy here in Spain. The problem is that I have a certain song written by a few friends that has been stuck in my head since I landed in Spain.

My new roommate (I had two surprise roommates for my first night back in Nerja: a young Korean man that stayed in the hotel room all day watching t.v. with the air conditioning on, the other a young German woman living in Sweden, working on her doctorate) joined us. The woman, of course. As for the other, we all wondered whether he had left the room yet to see a bit of the town.

The lemon one was a little strong, so I ended up needing to help my friend finish hers, and we split a strawberry. Later, at a cafe next to the sea, we had pina coladas (no milk), and sangria.

I ended up drinking a little bit more alcohol than anyone else, but at least now the song has left my head.



At night, Nerja is full of people. Lanterns affixed to white walls light the streets, the stores are open late, and tiny streets are packed with restaurants. There are a lot of tourists, mostly British, from the people I hear as I walk by. So, of course, there are restaurants offering typical English food and Irish beer. But you can sift through to find the good spots.

Even little children are walking out late, playing with balls or having their portraits done. There are horse drawn carriages in lines in the main plaza, and throughout the town you can hear them jingle through the streets.

Not everyone speaks English though. Most waiters do not, and a couple of times when asking for no eggs, they thought I was ordering one. I understand the predicament, because I do the same thing. I seize on a word I know, and make assumptions. Usually it works (I have increased my number of conversations in Spanish, admittedly, mostly about popsicles, but still), but sometimes you end up with something silly. A few times here, I have no idea what I am ordering, only that it will have no eggs, cheese or meat in it.

Paella and Sangria Party tonight!

As I was walking up the stairs to my room, the guy at the reception reminded me that there would be another party in the hostel tonight, this time the theme was paella (Spanish rice and seafood) and sangria.

I thanked him, trying to explain that I could not join*, and said, "No seafood. Not in seven years."

He was shocked, of course, and as I continued up the steps, I realized how grounded that made me feel. I remembered how much time has passed, and how I feel a sense of permanence in that. Odd, maybe, but a good feeling.


*One of the guys who works here, Louis (Spaniard reading Kirkegaard, hostel worker/bartender/cook/beach recommender who has become my friend) made a vegetarian version, and came over to me with a plate and an enormous glass of sangria, which he made, of course. Might be the best I have had in Spain.

Day at the Beach

This morning, my new Malaysian friend and I went to a beach about fifteen minutes away, called "Los Alamos", that was recommended.

We settled down onto the sand, and I immediately jumped into the water. The strangest thing about the beaches here is that the water becomes deep immediately. There is a little ledge, and then I am practically in up to my neck. The cool water is a desperately needed relief from Spain's heat.

Lying on the beach in the sun would get unbearably hot, and I would rinse off in the cold shower or go into the sea. Almost unbearable, since it was the hottest part of the day. I would be dry in a minute.

Around 2 p.m., we went for another round of popsicles, then my friend headed back to the city to see a museum. Not having been to a single one in this entire trip, I did not feel much like leaving the beach.

This time, I rented a little lounge chair and umbrella so that I could sit in the shade. I read another book, and chilled for hours.

When I got back to the hostel to take a shower, I realized that I am a little sunburned. Not being used to a bikini, I clearly missed a few spots...woops. In my defense, it is impossible to keep up with sunblock when you are continuously needing to cool off in the water.

I'll just have to stick to the shade tomorrow.

Almost done with the list... (July 24th)

Today, I met up with my Hungarian friend and her family in the morning. After a cup of coffee, we soon were out lounging in the sun, as usual.

Her father and his friend decided to rent mopeds and drive around town, so when it was time to go to lunch, it was determined that everyone would get a lift to the restaurant, which was slightly far away.

Since I arrived in Paris, I began a list of things I wanted to do. One, ride on the back of someone's bicycle (accomplished for 30 seconds in Freiburg, Germany), and two, on the back of a moped.

Which I did, through the tiny streets of Nerja, zooming by people, shops, and around cars. Then, along the larger road, where I was able to see the mountains in the distance. And then by white Moorish houses stacked up on the sides of the road, with curving arches and bright flowers. We flew down a hill, towards the beach.

There are a few things more on the list. I am hoping to get onto a sailboat, but not sure how to do that without finding someone who owns one...

Others are more simple, like go clubbing in Hungary, pub crawl in England, live music in Ireland, climb a tree, swim in the Mediterranean, and various forms of transportation.

Vegetarian paella for lunch, another dip in the sea, chilling in the sun, then back on the moped to their hotel so that I could take a shower before I caught the bus to Malaga.

Staying here for a couple of nights, then back to Nerja.

To Nerja, Spain, July 23rd

I took the early train to Malaga. My Spanish friend asked me to stay another day, but I had promised to meet my Hungarian friend last night. Even though it felt awful to leave her, I felt that I had to. Again, like many times in my travels, I have had to leave people too soon, been asked to stay longer. I wish I had more time. The problem is that I make commitments in the next town or country, or have a rigid plan (like a flight). I have been fortunate enough to be able to change plans at a moment´s notice, but not as much as I would like. I still regret having to leave Seville.

I arrived in Nerja around noon. I walked through town, nestled between the mountains and the sea; the buildings are old and white, the streets are small and full of shops, and the center plaza looks out over the water, with the cliffs in the distance.

I found the tourist office, to get a map, found my little cheap hotel, and eventually tracked down my Hungarian friend and her family, who are on vacation here.

We lounged by the beach, went swimming, and lay in the sun. Popsicles, palm trees, and sangria...

Last night, we went to a Hungarian restaurant. It was just like being back in Budapest, with similar food, and another shot of pure alcohol as an apertif... the group of Hungarians watched me closely, to see how I would react to the peach flavored liquor...

My friend and her parents are kind, considerate, and have a great sense of humor. I feel truly grateful to be able to spend time with them again, and it makes my life quite simple, here.

After dinner, we went out for a couple of drinks, and eventually went back to our respective hotels.

Street Party in Seville

By some miracle, my Spanish friend and I found each other. I happened to walk out the right door at the right time...

It was wonderful to throw my stuff in the back and climb into her car. We spoke French (we met in my language class in Paris), because she wanted to practice, and it felt natural for me because we only spoke French together in Paris.

We parked her car, and walked by a beautiful old building that is now a university, through beautiful gardens with palm trees, tiled walkways, and fountains. Seville is incredibly beautiful. There are old buildings, iron streetlamps, and an enormous stone cathedral. It was Spain as I imagined it, heard about, but had never seen. She must have been amused by my awe at everything. I truly felt like I was in Spain, but that it could not possibly be that incredible.

We stopped at a bar for something to drink, and so that I could change. We walked along the river, to another part of Seville, because the neighborhood was having a party.

Her friends are energetic, shout in Spanish, laugh, and tease each other. It was a crowd of people. They were kind to me, even though they did not speak a lot of English; I loved simply listening to them talk, and looking at all of the people around me. The street was lined with stall selling drinks and food. I drank a mixture of wine and orange juice or lemon (do not tell the French), beer, and something else I am not sure of. And had falafel.

My friend´s boyfriend told me about a sense of street culture in Spain, a tendency to be outside. I could definitely see it.

About 1 a.m. the alcohol hit me, and I remembered that I only had two hours of sleep or so, and had walked all over Barcelona. I could barely function...

Collapsed into bed back at my friend´s place.

Barcelona, July 22nd

I decided to spend the day in Barcelona, because my next flight, to Seville, was not until the evening.

I went on a search for Gaudi´s buildings. They are like nothing I have seen before, defying all convention and expectation. They curve, with strange sculptures and materials, odd perspectives and surfaces.

The first was the most incredible, a cathedral that looked like it belonged in a science fiction story, with a jaw like entrance, multiple spires, statues cut in a square style, and even towers of sculpted fruits and vegetables. I could only stare, and walk around it, finding new things to look at in every moment.

Other buildings were wavy, or covered in bright mosaics, even shiny. Before each one was a crowd of people taking photos.

I walked through a square full of market stands selling pets: tortoises of all kinds, turtles, fish, rabbits, hedgehogs, birds etc. Many animals that I have never seen sold in a pet shop.

There were the most incredible living statues, surrounded by people taking pictures. Quite strange, but very cool to see.

Eventually, I had to return to Girona, but my train was late and my bus left early, so unfortunately I had to take a cab to the airport or miss my flight.

There was terrible traffic on the highway to the airport, so my driver turned around and took another way, getting me there on time. I wonder if the bus was stuck in the traffic, and was late...

I had every intention of sleeping in the airport in Seville, but I received a text from one of my Spanish friends, asking me if was going to be in town that night. Since my phone is out of money, and it has been impossible to add money on the road, I sent her a quick email from the airport, that in fact, I was arriving that night.

Airport Party, July 21st- 22nd

I flew into Girona, Spain, arriving around midnight. I had decided that I did not care about a hostel enough to pay for it (I kind of hate hostels, cannot stand them after couchsurfing). So I slept in the airport.

About a hundred other people were doing the same thing. People were curled up around their bags in every corner of the airport departures area, practically in rows. There were groups playing cards, listening to music, reading, but mostly sleeping.

I found a place near a couple of young women who had iPod speakers playing music, nestled between them.

I had a little trouble sleeping on the floor, but not much. The police came in and woke everyone up at 4 a.m., but apparently for no reason that I can understand, because no one was asked to leave, and people just went back to sleep.

In the morning, some people were kicking a ball around, others were up and chatting; I have never seen an airport community like it.

Back to Hamburg for a towel, then up to Luebeck, July 20th and 21st

I left my travel towel with my host in Hamburg, Germany, so she met me at one of the train stops to hand it over. I shouted and waved, hanging out of the train car, so that she could find me.

It was fortunate, because I had wanted to give her one of my books. I have been reading a lot, mostly classics because there are cheap. I think I have read four books this week...mostly in transit.

I continued on to Luebeck, Germany, where I met my next CS host, a young man going to university there.

We made vegan German pancakes, and talked for awhile; I definitely enjoyed hanging out with him. He traveled through Australia for ten months, quite a story. I have met so many travelers who have done incredible things, it is quite inspiring, and makes me feel like my trip this summer is quite tame. But that does not bother me, it is just how it is right now.

In the morning, I ran some errands in town, and then wrote my journal summary for Paris in about an hour. No time on the road for computers...

My host and I went for a walk through the town for a short time, because I had to catch the bus to the airport to go to Spain.

There is a beautiful, clean river in Luebeck, quite a far cry from the dirty Pittsburgh rivers, and he asked me if I could stay another night, so we could go swimming. Something about a particular cove he wanted to find. I truly wanted to stay, but that would mean that I would not have been able to go to Spain.

Always feeling like I do not have enough time, that the summer is not enough.

The Morning in Bavaria, July 20th

My night train arrived at 6 a.m., and I took a short train ride to one of the seas near Munich to a town called Bernried.

When I reached the little trail through some woods, I stood in awe of the glittering sea lined with trees and meadows. I walked through the forest, through a crowd of pine trees in the gentle morning sunlight. Locals were out walking their dogs, or taking a stroll, through the forest, or by the meadows. They are so fortunate to have constant access to such a beautiful place.

I wandered down to the sea, following the walking paths. I left my things beneath a tree, and waded through the water, over tiny stones. The water was perfectly clear and cool, like the lakes of my childhood. It was quite a small sea, more like a lake, really.

I continued to walk along the water, stopping here and there to sit. There were sailboats floating off the shore, and far, on the other side, more little towns.

I climbed a tree that was hanging out over the water, and sat for awhile, watching the ripples flow over the stones beneath me. It was beautifully quiet, and every once in awhile someone out on a walk would pass by.

I walked through the lower part of town, which consisted of an old church and a collection of white-washed classic German houses (dark wood trim, tons of flowers, particularly roses, peaked roofs).

There was a large park on the other side of town, and I walked through meadows and along the water, until I had to return to the train station.

Final Night Train, July 19th

I almost missed my train to Munich. It left from Vienna at midnight that Sunday, so I slipped into the tiny cabin with six sleeping berths. The rest of the beds were occupied by a group of young Asian men.

After sitting up all night twice, I was in awe of climbing into my own bed, and receiving a cup of tea when I woke up in the morning. Even though it was a few hours sleep, it was far superior to other nights...

And I was not trapped into lengthy conversations with people who did not bring anything to do on a twelve hour train ride.

The Weekend in Vienna

In the morning, my Austrian friend and I walked around the city a little bit more, and had something to eat. It was pouring, and the strong horizontal wind meant that we were completely soaked. My umbrella was absolutely destroyed.

But after awhile, the weather improved. I found my two American friends; months ago, I promised to meet up with them on this particular weekend.

We walked through the main part of the city, went out to eat, and eventually wandered back to where I was staying for the night.

After chatting with my hosts, we decided that I would hang out with my American friends a bit more. I ended up staying the night at their hotel, because the subway had stopped running when I tried to go back. Apparently I fail at catching the metro in ANY city I go to...

Sunday was very laid back. I returned to my Austrian host´s apartment and slept for awhile, then this really kooky, funny Austrian made vegan goulash. Mostly, I spent my day doing laundry, and trying to figure out the next few steps in the plan. I have been functioning on basically two or three days ahead solid, and a general idea of where I will be four days from now.

Sometimes I barely know what I am doing tomorrow.

Update, July 23rd

I am in Nerja, Spain, a small town on the southern coast, east of Malaga.

Palm trees, beach, little winding streets, white-washed buildings, and sangria...

Will be here until Wednesday.

Some Surprise Help

I slipped out of the party, leaving behind an unbelievable amount of fruit and alcohol, to find an internet cafe where I could call my bank.

After using three different phones at one place, unable to connect, I told the woman there that I would only pay for the one phone call that had worked.

I do not usually yell at someone in shop, and I walked away shaken and stressed. I had been trying for days to sort this thing out, but traveling does not match well with bureaucracy.

Trying to compose myself, I sat down on the ground in the courtyard of the apartment building, so that when I returned to the party I would not seem upset.

A young couple came up to me, asking if I was alright. First in German, then in English. When I explained what was going on, but that everything was fine, I was with friends, etc, just stressed out, they were incredibly kind.

They explained that they used to live in the apartment complex, but their place had just been ruined by a fire. They did not have insurance. Their daughter is living with her grandparents, and they are staying with an unpleasant neighbor until they figure out what to do. Or else they would give me ten Euros, or something.

I told them that they had far more to worry about, but they still insisted on guiding me to the next internet cafe, a couple of blocks away.

Along the way, they explained that they were drug addicts. They were open about it, stating it as fact, with no excuses. I noticed that the woman shook a little bit. Before their now-burned apartment, they lived on the streets.

They spoke with the owner of the call shop in German for me, and then left, telling me they would be across the street buying cigarettes. A few minutes later, they came back to check on me, to see if it was working, and then waved goodbye.

I was stunned. Here were two people that I was supposed to fear, yet I felt entirely safe with them, who showed me every kindness. And, I reminded myself, I had very little to worry about in life.

Arriving in Vienna

I arrived in Vienna tired, dirty, and hungry. And with no money.

My Austrian friend met me at the train station, and after taking a shower at his place I collapsed into bed for a little while.

Then we went for a long walk through the city. He showed me the enormous, impressive, impossibly white imperial buildings. Stunned, a little, by the show of power.

We walked by the new palace, where Hitler stood and spoke to a crowd of over a million during World War II. I listened to my friend speak about who Austrians are now, how that time affected the people.

His friend was throwing a fruit and chocolate party that night, and asked everyone to bring something. With the some of the last bit of money (he only had about 20 Euros), we bought watermelon, peaches...and beer. Tall cans of cold Austrian beer that we drank was we walked through the city.

Update

Not enough time to blog at the moment.

Was in Vienna for the weekend, met up with various friends.

Now going to Germany, then to Spain on Tuesday.

Copenhagen, and the Night Train, and my Vegan Twin

After lingering around the apartment, my Danish friend and I set off to explore Copenhagen a little bit before my train to Vienna. The official buildings are made of brick, with green roofs, quite different from the cities of Austria and Hungary.

Without her, I am not sure what I would have done.

Eventually, I caught the night train to Vienna. This time, I had no choice but to sit up all night in the middle seat of a cabin. And it was hot.



But, I did meet two guys from Montana who were traveling around for a couple of weeks. There was a young Danish woman, a very large German woman, and a young guy with piercings who showed up around midnight. We played a Scandanavian card game for awhile, and then fell asleep. Or tried to, in awkard positions.

Earlier in the day, my Danish friend´s mother had given me three little cucumbers. Sometimes, when someone does not know what to do with a vegan, they just sort of hand over random vegetables. It was sweet.

Some time before the card game, I decided to eat one. The guy from Montana sitting next to me said something, and I told him that I was vegan, and always eating the most random things while traveling. He said, ¨I´m vegan!¨(Last thing I expected). How long? Two and a half years! Exactly the same. And the cause was a chicken patty, the same for me seven years ago. And he is 20, as well. Vegan twin.

Half a Kroner, and Christiania

For some strange reason I have yet to explain, I completely forgot the PIN number for my debit card, which I discoverd in Copenhagen. I can remember my card number by heart, various numbers from random things, even passwords from three years ago.

So I exchanged my last ten Euros for Danish kroners, got a reservation for the train the following day, and bought a bus ticket to meet my couchsurfing host.

Who was a wonderful young Danish woman, who met me at the bus stop with a giant hug. We quickly became friends. After getting settled at her mom's place (due to her flooded apartment), we went out to a place called Christiania.

In the sixties, hippies moved into some abandoned buildings near the center of Copenhagen, and the community has grown to include a collection of houses, cafes, bars, and market stalls. It is almost autonomous: they openly sell hash and pot, and the police do not stop them as long as they do not sell hard drugs.

We walked around, had a few beers, explored, etc. There is a beautiful little lake lined with unique houses built by people from Christiania.

With my last twenty kroner, I bought some amazing falafel.

I think I should keep the half-kroner, which was all I had left.

I can fake being German.

I met my host, a young woman living with her husband and small child just outside of the city. She took my backpack, gave me directions, and left me to wander the city for the afternoon.

I had the best falafel I have ever had, at a little place near to this internet cafe, and then walked around. I got to their house around 7:30 p.m., a cute little stone place in the suburbs of Hamburg. Literally has a white picket fence. But much cooler than a typical house built in the 50s (which they thought was old, but to me a house is not old until it has seen a hundred years), because they have a singing bathroom, where the lightswitch is connected to the radio, playing beach tunes, and there are fake palm leaves, a little surfboard-turned-light, and pictures of hula dancers. And they have a trampoline, which of course I jumped on while my host cooked dinner (she is vegan as well) using vegetables we had just picked from their garden.

I learned that they are planning a six-month trip, starting in November, where they are going to spend most of it in New Zealand, WWOOFing. But they thought my journey was amazing, which is sweet considering their plans. And it was promising to hear that couchsurfing had opened up their world in Hamburg, made it more exciting. Since I plan on hosting when I am in Chicago, this was very, very, encouraging. I think it will keep my world as open as I feel it is now.

Slept for a long time this morning, and then went into the city.

I wandered among the major shopping district, and was reminded again that I have a German clothing style, in a way. Not much of a shopper, but I cannot help noticing. I found a bookstore, where I read travel books until I was kicked out for not buying anything. At least that is what I think happened, since she was speaking German and all I know is that I am not allowed to sit on the floor in a bookstore here.

But I can have the simplest conversations in German, if I pay attention and guess what they are talking about. Mostly with cashiers. I kind of love it, as sort of a game, to see how long I can last until I have to ask them if they speak English. It is actually going quite well.

I walked by the lake, along the canals, past restuarants and shops, and many, many ducks and swans. I love Hamburg, because the buildings are beautiful and the birds are hilarious to watch, as they swim along, diving at each other and hopping up onto the walkway. People stopped me for directions, and I was often able to help them, because I had a free map from the tourist office or had been to where they were looking for. I ended up at St. Michael's church, where I went to the top to see over the city.

The view was astounding, and you could walk in a circle, able to see the entire panorama. The light glittered off of the river, and I could see that the residential buildings enclosed courtyards, like Paris. I could see the path I had taken through the city, and where I needed to go next. I took the stairs back down, walking through octagon shaped room after room, able to see the metal beams and large bells.

I found the subway, and went back to the same falafel place, and now I am going to go back to the house to make dinner. And maybe jump on the trampoline again.

Hungary to Germany

After lounging around the house, watching part of Mamma Mia (my not having seen it was a sacrilege in that house), and eating more amazing vegan Hungarian food, I took the train from Szolnok to Budapest, to catch the night train to Hamburg, Germany.

I had grown accustomed to being with my friend and her family, and it was difficult to say goodbye. But it turns out that we will be in Spain the same time next week, so I will meet her in Malaga.

On the night train, I shared a cabin with a Hungarian university student named Bernie. That was his nickname, actually, because I could not pronounce it. Night trains are kind of shady, or at least that one was. No one else was in our cabin, so after talking for awhile, we were able to each lay down over three seats and try to sleep. I felt a lot safer with him there, but it was more important that I was there for him, because there were three scary-looking prostitutes searching for customers on the train, followed by their pimp.

Anyway, we arrived in Stuttgart at 6am, where I said goodbye and looked for my connection to Hamburg. It was on an express train, obviously intended for business people, because mostly everyone else seemed to be in a suit.

It is a good thing I love trains, because it took me about 22 hours, which I fortunately did not count until I arrived in Hamburg.

Bubbles!

Saturday night, we went out with a group of my host's friends. After a little bit of confusion over where to go, we ended up at a bar, where I had a few shots of various, mysterious hard liquors (still no chaser...). Then, we went to a club.

The DJ played some form of acceptable electronic-dance music that I actually enjoyed, and we danced with a crowd of Hungarians. There was a fog machine, and the best club lighting I have ever seen. The intelligent-light literally formed a box shaped beam that would shift around or just explode into lines. I have to admit I stared for a moment. But mostly danced.

And there was a bubble machine, spraying heaps of bubbles onto the dance floor, and we just kept on dancing among the flashing lights, pounding music, and bubbles.

We left soaking wet, but it was worth it.

Chasing the Sun

The next day, we decided to put on our bathing suits and lie in the sun outside, because it had been too cold the day earlier to go to the lake.

After a late start, as it always seemed to go (because we would sit and chat for awhile over breakfast after sleeping in late...), we settled outside on a blanket, with books. But we had to keep on moving our blanket, following the sunlight that was slowly being blocked by the house. All the way up onto her patio and off the grass, until we gave up and sat in the shade. Her mother came home with sorbet and ice cream, and joined us on the blanket. It was the best lemon sorbet I have ever had, with actual pieces of lemon peel. This is the moment I knew I would remember, where the two of them are sitting there, laughing and smiling, chatting about what we should do next while eating sorbet. During my trip in Hungary, I felt like I was experiencing a normal summer, the kind I had with my sister, of just chilling, going out to the movies, etc. Except this time I was 4,200 miles from Sutton, MA. Still, very similar.

Szolnok

After sleeping in, and lingering over breakfast, my friend, her mother, and I went into town. By the way, her mother is sweet, caring, and an amazing cook. She not only made vegan versions of traditional Hungarian dishes, she washed and ironed my clothes, and was always thinking of new things. Since she was a teacher, she was home for the summer, so was able to spend time with us. She is trying to learn English, and is doing well. I had to remember to speak slowly, and forget any slang of any form. Back to hand motions and guessing again, just like any other country, except that Hungarian comes from a completely different language background (along with Finnish, they do not actually know where), so there is very little I could decipher. Unlike other languages, I could only gather about 4 words, and 2 sentences. The most important ones, I guess: hello, thank you, yes, no, I do not speak Hungarian, I speak English, and of course, sunflower.

We went to the local musuem, which had rooms of ancient objects, and model houses from ages ago. We walked around, looking at different kinds of pottery and stone tools, up to rustic metal jewelry and beads.

But on the next floor was an exhibit on a massacre of Polish officers. I slowly walked, reading and looking at the pictures. Since the museum was about to close, I had little time to process it, but if anything, I felt very...quiet inside. A sinking through the floor, in awe of the world's terror.

And frustration and embarassment because I know so little about history, really. That is what I am learning on this trip. That I actually know nothing, that there is so much out there that I have not learned or seen. That I am incredibly disconnected, I suppose, and that I need, desperately, to learn as much as possible.

The next room was full of colorful paintings, which helped to counteract the intensity of the hallway's exhibition. Not that I intend to walk away from history in any capacity, but more that I needed to come out of that place, because it was not the time to properly study it.

There was music playing outside, part of some summer concert. Later, we met up with my host's friend and her mother went home, and we lingered, listening for awhile. Then we went out to the movies, a perfect summer thing to do.

Back at her house, we had a barbecue outside, which quickly turned into pizza after it started to rain. Always, we ate well, lots of fruit (including watermelon), and her mother's homecooked dishes. Loved it.

On the Danube, and the Opera House

My host and her friend took me on one of those sightseeing tours along the Danube, to see all of the majestic, important buildings. It was a bit chilly, but fun. After eating lunch, wandering through the streets, and having some watermelon soup (fruit soup is another thing that is brand new to me), we went to the Hungarian Opera House.

It turns out that her father is a director there, so we went in the back door and up to his office. With wide eyes, I saw the grandeur of the old offices, which seemed much more normal for everyone else. Then we joined the guided tour of the opera house.

Our guide led us through ornate rooms, talking about kings and queens, and gilded walls. I asked him about the theater lighting, and he gave me a strange look and talked about the chandelier...I decided not to ask again.

We had dinner near a beautiful pond with ducks, where I thoroughly confused the staff by being vegan.

It was a lovely day.

Budapest

My friend lives in Szolnok, Hungary, about an hour from Budapest. But she met me at the train station. I did not tell her, but when I transferred in Vienna, I saw people running to hug people left and right as they got off the train. I felt a bit sad, but knew that I would have a reception like that soon. And sure enough, there she was, running toward me, waving...

We went out to dinner at a lovely restaurant with her parents. Throughout my trip in Hungary, my inability to speak the language brought on many interesting experiences. I thought we were talking about drinking, so I was not prepared to be drinking raspberry flavored alcohol as an apertif. Never managed to get a chaser in that country...

Dinner was delicious, and my friend translated for me the entire night. She must have been exhausted be the end of my visit. I had my new map of Europe out, and her father explained Hungarian history for the last 150 years, something I was delighted to hear, because I have been talking with people all along the way about their countries and their lives. My poor friend had to translate it all.

Part of the story concerns the Austrian invasion in 1848 (I really hope that is right), and one result was the hanging of many Hungarians. The Austrians would clink their beer glasses after every hanging, in celebration. In response, the Hungarians stopped drinking beer for a long time, and even now, no one clinks their beer glasses together.

I quietly remembered how often the Austrians toasted, holding their mugs of beer out to everyone around the table.

"I knew you were American because you were eating peanut butter."

I took the train to Budapest, across the length of Austria. The DB train system is the best in Europe...so clean, so organized.

Austria is my favorite so far, because to the west are the beginning of the Alps, with relatively small mountains but they are topped in snow, and covered in pine trees. Again, the air is cool and incredible, and makes me feel like I could not imagine being anywhere else in the world. I wish I could have taken pictures, but it did not work with the moving train. Even now, thinking about it, I am in awe of its beauty. Just like Wales, where I could barely breathe it was so gorgeous.

Then, towards the west, the land is flatter, with more farms than hills. But, like Italy, there are fields and fields of sunflowers. I am collecting the word for sunflower in the various languages I travel through, something I started in Germany. The only rule is that I have to ask someone, I cannot look it up...

On the first train, after awhile I had the little room to myself, so I stretched out on one row of seats and slept. On the second train, it was packed, but at least I found a seat.

A young woman, wearing a sparkly tube top, tight jeans, uncomfortable heels, and fake eyelashes was sitting next to an elderly nun. Fascinating to watch them interact. And when we got to Budapest, I offered to help the nun and her friend lift their heavy bags down, and after thanking me and telling me her friend was coming, she told me she knew I was American because I was eating peanut butter.

Must stop that, and wearing flipflops, and whatever else. I at least do not have a huge backpack. As soon as I got out of Italy, everyone spoke to me in German, assuming that I was a local. I must look more Austrian than Italian...

Cheers!

I surfed in Austria with a young Polish woman who lived in England for awhile, and other places around Europe, and is now in Innsbruck, but leaving in a month. People in Europe seem to move around a lot.

We immediately went to a bar to meet up with other couchsurfers, because it was the night of the monthly meeting. Eventually, about twenty people were there, mostly Austrians but there were a few Polish. Apparently, even though they speak German, Austrians do not mix beer and coke like the Germans, and I got a few strange looks. But not in an unkind way, because these people were amazing. First of all, Austrian men are a thousand times more expressive than Americans, because my three new friends I was talking to for most of the night would throw their arms around each other, kiss on the cheek, etc. But had only just met to surf couches.

After anyone bought a new drink, or really at any time at all, the whole crowd would start clinking glasses, and shouting "cheers" or the equivalent in various languages. It was jovial and sweet, and I laughed at the number of times they did it. After awhile, all I had was a glass coke bottle, so I would absentmindedly clink it against their beer glasses anytime someone called a toast, in the middle of a conversation, it was so often.

They gave me a lot of travel advice, drew a relatively accurate map of Austria in my travel notebook, and taught me more German. When I left, they made me promise over and over that I would friend them on CS, that I should visit, and sent me off with hugs and kisses on my cheek.

There were four young Polish men staying with my host as well, an incredibly kind group that were on a camping trip (it was raining). My host made amazing pasta and vegetables, after hearing that I was vegan. Apparantly she has several vegan friends, and was vegan for a time. Incredible to find after so much trouble in other countries.

Leaving Italy

The trains from Firenze to Innsbruck, Austria, were beautiful. First, through the fields of Tuscany to Bologna (where I picked up Italian chocolate for my Hungarian hosts, and cannolis for my Austrian one), and then on to the last Italian town on the border, called Brennero. The Italian countryside was pretty, but nothing truly remarkable.

But when I were closer to Austria, the scenery changed completely. Suddenly, there were hills and mountains covered in straight, tall pine trees, there were streams of absolutely clear water running alongside the train tracks, and when I opened the window and leaned out, the air was unbelievebly cool and clear. After days in the oppressive heat of Italy, I could only stand at the window for the entire ride to Innsbruck.

Where I had to scramble to remember any German that I had learned before.

Good Plans Going Wrong to Make Better Plans

I wanted to go to a little walled city called Lucca, about 90 minutes from Florence, but I left my hostel late so I missed the first train, it rained, and then the next train (three hours later) sat in the station for an hour. So I got off, deciding to just stay in Florence, but terribly disappointed.

But, as I am re-learning, things always work out.

I decided to flan through the city, along the river and then through the main part of town. Florence was beautiful, with tall arched stone passageways, old buildings, and little pockets of incredible shops.

I carefully put my backpack down when I stepped into a tiny shop stuffed with handmade ceramics. A friend of mine owned a soup toureen that she bought in Tuscany at a little shop exactly like that one, and it was grounding to realize where I was, in this same sort of place. I had listened to her travel stories in awe, and I realized that I am joining her, in a way.

I was walking through the square by the Duomo (largest cathedral of Florence), where painters are lined up, with their watercolors of the Tuscan countryside and the rooftops of Firenze. One woman caught my attention: first of all, men are usually the painters, and second, her paintings were beautiful, and I realized that I wanted her to know.

So I said hello, and told her that. Her name is Maria. She barely spoke English, and with my few sentences of Italian, we spoke about light, color, what I paint, where she learned, what she loves to paint, which were her favorites, and what they meant to her. I asked her what the Italian word was for sunflower, and she wrote "girasole" in my travel notebook, and then sketched one. She did it quickly, but I was delighted, because it showed how she saw the flower. Anyone would have drawn the petals, the dots for seeds, but she drew different layers of circles in a way I had never seen before. Florence is full of tourists, so she had the classic scenes: fields of sunflowers, red roofs, the Duomo...but at the end of her portfolio were nudes, and still lifes. There was one painting on display that centered on a light post, with purple flowers pouring down from the left and the Duomo in the distance. She told me that this one holds a lot of emotion for her, that Florence means flowers, that it matches, that it was her own work and not a copy of someone else's ideas.

I bought it. And as she handed me the paper bag, she dropped in another small painting, saying that it was a gift, saying she would never forget me. "Ciao, bella".

Cradling my paintings, sitting on the steps of a church in a little square in Florence, I finally fell in love with Italy.

"Tu parles anglese?"

Emre and I met up to see the tower again in daylight, where we took a thousand pictures, and he posed, "holding up" the tower. I nearly died from the touristy nature of our morning, but I never said a thing. He bought so many Pisa shot glasses...

After deciding that I wanted to spend the night in Florence, but still go to Viareggio for the beach during the day, we split up at the train station. He continued on to Rome, and I left to swim in the Mediterranean.

After finally communicating with an Italian on the train, because she spoke French, I set off to walk to the beach. Two young women were standing at the map, so I asked them if they spoke English. They are from Michigan.

So we walked together to the beach (a very long, hot walk), but when we finally reached the sea, it was worth it. The water temperature was perfection, and the sand was so smooth. Basically collapsed, piling our bags next to the water. We spent the afternoon swimming and sunbathing, and eventually caught the train back to Florence.

I am so very glad that I met them, not only because they are so much fun, but also because without them it would have been a very stressful day. Such a long walk to the beach, then I would not have been able to leave my bag (I decided I would rather be flexible than leave it in Pisa), and we had some trouble getting the train back. Definitely a bright spot in my Italy trip.

By the way, if you thought I ate poorly in Paris, that was nothing compared to Italy. Stores close early, so I always missed them for some reason or other, and the only food available was gelato and pizza. From ten a.m. to midnight on Sunday, I ate five popsicles, a little bag of chips and some crackers...

Update

In case anyone was wondering what happened to me (even though I have only been out of contact for five days), I had an incredibly difficult time getting onto the internet in Italy. It is just a pretty inconvenient country, and I was focusing more on being there.

Was in Austria last night, now in Hungary, with my very good friend who was studying French with me in Paris.

Torino to Pisa, and Islamic Fanaticism

I decided to go to Pisa, taking the train through Genova. It wove through the tall hills, tunnels, and along the coast. I was glued to the window the whole way. So different already from Torino, with pastel colored houses, palm trees, and towns nestled everywhere. I felt like I was looking at a postcard, with the houses piling up on the hill along the coastline. The woman sitting across from me who spoke little English must have thought I was a nut, sitting for two hours, only looking out the window.



I had met Emre, a young Turkish university student, when I helped him find the correct car on the train. We started talking, and it turned out that he was going to Pisa as well, so we decided to stick together. Our train was about an hour late; we walked the length of Pisa (not far, about an hour), through little winding streets, over the river, by the leaning tower, out to the camping village. My new Turkish friend has an amazing sense of direction. We would get to a point, without knowing where to go next, and he would just say "this way", and I would stop and ask. And he was always right. Freakishly right. After dropping off our things, we went back out to see the tower again. That building is definitely falling over.



We found a little cafe, where I had the most amazing pasta sauce I have ever tasted. We had a sweet red wine, very different from Paris, and a long conversation about politics, religious extremism, and war.

It was difficult to hear his stories, because he explained a point of view held by some that makes America a blanket of oppression and Christian violence. Even though he did not share the views, he kept on referring to America as "you", to me, and assumed I was Christian. Apparently, a fifth of Turkey, and only people who live in the east, are fanatic Muslims that the government is trying to control. He told me that there is a certain point that the police would not let me pass, going to the east. One common idea I found in what he said was viewing Turkey as an Islamic nation, a much more solid national identity than I feel about America. Basically referring to "us" as a Christian nation, and expressing a sort of view where Muslims can take care of Muslims (let Turkey step in to sort out Iraq, so that the Muslims there cannot justify attack with jihad against Christians). I explained to him that I did not view America in such a solid way, and that I strongly rejected any privilege experienced by Christianity, and that when I meet anyone who identifies with a certain religion, I consider that a personal choice and not a group identity.

Honestly, the conversation was terrifying. I was aware of these ideas and perceptions, having studied them already, but to hear them confirmed was unsettling. I was also exhausted, so not entirely prepared to deal with the information. I know that it was filtered through someone's opinions (and particularly what his father has told him), but even that shows a bit of the worldview. I am not sure if I entirely believe his argument that American arms dealers are selling guns to terrorists, which could definitely be true but he had no evidence to support his claim. But I do believe his stories about being held longer at airports, and other friends who have seen only Muslims being strip-searched, or all the Muslims being seated apart from others on the plane.

Coming away from it, I know that we share many common views, a desire for peace and a love for education, a non-dogmatic religious experience (we basically are in the same place in how he views Islam to how I view Christianity), and that we both have people in our countries who are blinded by fear and ignorance.

He paid for dinner, out of appreciation for listening.

Friday Night

After the library search, I walked to the river, which was beautiful, lined with trees and spanned by graceful stone bridges. You could see castles and churches up in the hills and across from it. I sat by it for awhile, dangling my feet over the edge of the pier and watching the water flow by.

Back at the flat, with my amazing Columbian hosts, I cooked dinner and chatted for a long time. I feel fortunate to have met them, because I know so little about Columbia. Their stories focused on its beauty and food, but I did manage to hear a little bit about politics (which they said were decent at the moment). I realized that I only have met a few people from South America, and know very little about it. To be honest, I associated Columbia with drug lords, so their perspective got rid of that bit of ignorance. I loved their company, and I appreciated how normal friendship is with people from all over the world.

Library to Library

I find that things in Italy are closed for various reasons that are often not clear. Trying to find a way to get on the internet in Torino, I started at a main library (following directions from my Greenpeace Italian), which was closed due to construction, I think, considering I had the entire conversation with the two women working there in Italian. As in, they spoke Italian, and I tried to piece it all together from similarities to French and English, and general guessing and hand motions.

The next library (after some much needed sorbet), was open, but the internet room was closed. The librarian sent me on with directions, and called ahead to the next library. It turned out the place he marked on my map was wrong, but it did not matter, because I had barely gotten out the door when a guitar maker named Andrea asked me if I was walking to the library.

He guided me the entire way there, fortunately, and I asked him about Italian politics and the people. In his opinion, Italy has been electing the same kind of politician, over and over, out of fear and laziness. And that they have an embarassing president...

"She is Definitely Not Italian!"

A tall, lanky young Italian man working for Greenpeace took one look at me as I walked down via Lagrange in Torino, and shouted "You are DEFinitely NOT Italian".

His name was Marco, and has lived in Torino all of his life. I asked him what it was like to live in Italy, and his response: "hot". The heat was oppressive, you could just feel it closing in around you and all you could do was sweat. But you get used to it. I loved it, in a way, because it is so very different from Chicago. Paris never truly felt like school, so I had no sense of a transition into summer. More like, one day we did not have classes anymore. Here, I feel the heat and know it is summer. Marco told me that my flip flops make me stand out (I broke down and wore them because of the heat), and before I went on my way he tossed out another loud, joking "She is definitely not Italian"....

Torino has large avenues, tiny streets with little cafes, piazzas, a castle, theaters...everything I wanted from an Italian city. I was perfectly content to walk the streets, listening and observing.

Italian trains

The train from Milano to Torino was so miserably hot...no air conditioning, tons of people. But as I was sitting there, I realized that feeling that heat, smelling the air, and hearing the voices, I knew I was in Italy. That visceral difference that makes life, life. Obvious, but beautiful in a way.

Met up with my CS hosts, several young Columbians getting their Master's degrees. We ate a whole, amazingly cold melon, a relief from the heat.

My host and I walked to the nearest grocery store, and got completely distracted by the produce section. There were fruits and vegetables that I have never seen before, with strange shapes and colors. I tend to find exactly the same vegetables all over the world, so to see something completely foreign was shocking. Of course we took silly pictures with strange spotted red beans, and a green fruit with a pointy end...I can't describe it. Oh right, I also took pictures of the aisle entirely reserved for pasta, as well as the long wall of pasta sauce...

A cool shower, a great meal, and a full day of plans to look forward to.

Back to Bristol

Returning to Bristol on my way to Italy was a lovely relief. My friend and I went down to the suspension bridge that spans a gorge to see the sun set over the hills. Again, England has many, many types of hard cider, more than I have ever seen. We drank toffee flavored cider (tastes like caramel apples), sitting on a bench in the park, watching the sun set.

Then to the pubs: for local cider, a cosmo at a place with great live music, and back to The Woods for a last strawberry cider for the night.

And then off to Italy...

Accents

Since I left Paris, I have been surrounded by a range of accents. All the variations within the Scottish, Welsh, and English, not to mention the different Irish ones.

I have learned that I am a sponge for them. I literally have to fight off picking up the one of whoever I am talking to. Wales was especially difficult, because it was in the beginning. Oddly, Ireland was a little bit easier than the U.K., except that the ones I have heard are so different that I can't keep them straight.

My cousing Padraig has what I consider to be the best Irish accent. It is that Mayo one, where all the words a little bit tighter and flatter. For the first day, I was wondering why his accent was so damn familiar, and then I realized that, if anyone has seen War of the Buttons, it is exactly the same as the character Fergus. I am determined to learn it.

The problem is that when I tried out my Irish accent the other day, it was just a mix of every accent I have heard in the last couple of weeks.