A quick day in Slovenia

I will write about my love for Ljubljana. But in the meantime, I have an accidental layover in Villach (Austria? Slovenia? Who knows?) Stupid Slovenian trains. but I did share a compartment with a very nice Californian man. Huge, dark, Spanish-speaking. This is his first Europe trip. Did I really do it at 18?

Sitting in a cozy cafe in the train station right now –well, a cafe-bar, as is popular in Europe. I smell like perfume. I’m actually in an awfully good mood for how horribly awry my travels have gone. HOPEFULLY I’ll only end up a few hours behind schedule. Ha!

So Slovenia. The countryside certainly does looke like a fairy tale. Rough hike up to the castle and it wasn’t a very cool castle. All done over and mostly shut off to the public. The market stretching out at the base of the mountain, beneath the watchful eye of the castle, was much cooler. My favorite part of the city, though, was the market around the Three Bridges in the center of the city. Singers, balloons, beautiful children, cute dogs, mushy couples, the smell of cinnamon and ginger cakes and wood fires. Well, okay, the wood fire smell is really more contained to the residential parts. Like where I was hiking up to the mountain and, having asked an elderly couple for directions, the woman conceded that her husband could tell me much better directions than she ever could.

The architecture was bright, cheerful, friendly. Parts were coated with graffiti, but most of the city is kept charmingly clean. And there seems to be a very strong sense of community, only because it feels like everyone who lives here spends their days just walking around, talking to each other. I’m sure that’s not the case, but that’s the feel.

When I exchanged my Croatian kuna for “local currency” and the lady handed me euroes, i wanted to cry tears of joy. I was so happy that I gave a boy at the train station a whole euro when he was asking for eighty cents. Good karma, I thought. Ha! They wound up cancelling my train, so me and all the other people waiting had to catch the next one, and then change trains TWICE, and now here I am in Villach, hoping that the train to Munich arrives soon.

A sweet boy on the platform translated the train station announcements for me, then laughed about how he has an excuse to not know history because he’s only two years older than his country. Watched a little boy insist on kissing his big sister goodbye.

Ljubljana actually reminded me a lot of Freiberg. It was almost picturesque to the point of absurdity, as though the entire city is putting on a big show for the tourists. You kind of expect that when the sun goes down, all the people stop smiling and pull the coverings of the buildings down and trudge home. Like all the other Slovenian towns that I passed through, Ljubljana kind of crawls over the mountains that rule the country. Some factory towns looked like DEATH. But usually the pine-tree-covered mountains reflect in the crystal rivers. To be honest, though, I know very little about Slovenia and its culture.

As I left the cafe, I tipped the waitress, hesitating lest it be taken as a plea for good karma by the travel gods and they delay my trains again. Back onto the trains, this time to Salzburg!

I survived the Croatian bus system.

Today has actually been a rather bad day, though people have been so NICE. Unnecessarily rode the tram to the train station with an unvalidated ticket but the polie who caught me accepted my stupidity, checked my passport, and validated my ticket. They understood English, and I think were quite amused with me. Even got back on the tram with me to SHOW me how to validate my ticket. Bought two rather dry muffins for breakfast from a woman who spoke NO English but gave me a warm smile. The “boys” at the busstop were so eager to help me get on the right bus that one actually came out of their office to walk me to the bus and make sure I got on okay. I have discovered that people here treat you better if they realize you’re a foreigner, and particularly an American. Everyone keeps telling me, “Tell your country to come visit us!” They want our tourism.

The bussride was fun, though I was so sleepy. Finally arrived in Samobor and I definitely prefer it to Zagreb. At first I wandered through an area of town that really looked like camping grounds. Central old town is precisely what I expected of Croatia –old, small, crumbling buildings packed like sardines along narrow and winding roads, no room for sidewalks. If you keep walking, the mountains rise up and the buildigns spread out and fall apart even more. It’s peaceful and quiet and just about as tranquil as you can expect. Mostly old people in the old part of town, all wearing hats or headscarves. Laundry and big dogs decorate rustic yards and a couple brooks run alongside the roads. The people seem to keep to themselves but will try to help if you ask. St. Something’s bells were ringing; the church is about the size of a one-bedroom house, but set among sweet little gardens at the foot of a mountain.

I saw castle ruins on top of a very high hill and, desiring to explore them, couldn’t find a way up. I found a man who spoke a very small amount of German, and he gave me directions to a certain point. There I found a shopkeerer sweeping her steps, but she spoke nothing except Croatian. Fortunately, with hand gestues I explained what I want and she gave me diretions. I bought some very strange fruit jucie from a small shop and then hiked the mountain, which overlooks a small resort with a very blue pool and very white buildings. I don’t like the resort; it feels out of place. But Croatia, with its nice climate, is really pushing for tourism. The path was muddy and covered in still-falling leaves, and either unpaved or dotted with stone steps far too high for the average stepper. The view from teh top was truly breathtaking though. There was a sign, I think telling me to keep out, but I still edged around the ruins. You can see down either side of the valley, the distance disappearing in mist. I know nothing about the castle; it was probably nothing but a landloards place of abode, all crumbled whitish-grey stone that looks to have come from a part of the mountain on the far side of the valley, where the same color stone looks like it was mined and then forgotten.

The new part of town, where the tourism center is located, reminds me of Freiberg or Fuessen. The buldings are faceless, small, often brightly colored. Quaint. The central square bustles with easy-going people, an it’s impossible to tell who belongs here and who’s a tourist. Everyone walks around with a friendly dog or grinning baby. Even at it’s busiest, though, the tiny buildings and lazy brooks that break the town up remind you that it IS smalltown. Big enough that people don’t seem to know each other, though. Leaves clung to the trees but the seasons are winning. The mountains cage the town in.

I wound up on the wrong bus back to Zagreb, but after nearly having a HEART ATTACK MELTDOWN, I realized I was actually in the main trainstation. Thank GOODNESS. So with a bit more difficulty, I found the right tram that I needed, and it took me back to my hostel, where I crashed for a bit before heading out to explore a bit more.

The square in front of the trainstation is beautiful and seems to always be full of people. There was some sort of big concert or event taking place, but it looked like it was about to rain so I din’t linger.

Unfortunately, though I enjoyed Samobor quite a bit, Croatia was actually a very lonely, homesick time for me. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do, especially with language being as much a barrier as it was. Zagreb itself offered more than I saw, but I planned poorly and missed a lot. I’m leaving, though, feeling like everything either says “city” or “country,” but never “Croatia.” I fear Croatia is losing their culture in the name of tourism . . .

Happy Thanksgiving?

Zagreb is interesting in that it’s a bit city and yet it’s not. It FEELS like it’s a big city, but there are spaces between the buildings once you step away from the (small) immediate downtown, and lots of parks. The people in general seem rude or apathetic, sidewalk hogs, though the drivers seem much nicer and more patient than in Budapest. When my camera appears, people seem annoyed or anxious. One man was so unnerved about being in a photo that he kept picking at his ugly toupee and even stopped ti adjust it in a window before realizing it was a window for a lingerie shop, haha. There are hair salons on every corner, and the shopping streets are certainly on par with Budapset, Vienna, and Rome.

The city itself isn’t clean, but it doesn’t strike me as quite as dirty as Budapest or Brussels. The open spaces help, for sure, as well as that my hostel is actually in a residential section just outside the city.

In places the streets smell sweet –sweet garbage. I foudn a few nice (though not gorgeous) churchs but didn’t go inside. I bought my charm for my charm bracelet (After thought: okay, so I wandered into a jewelry store to buy this charm from a man who spoke NO English, German, nor French. I noticed he weighed it, which was a little odd, but he was clearly SO excited to be selling it to me. I thought I understood the currency exchange. WRONG. That little gold charm wound up costing me $112. And I couldn’t find the place the next day to return it. Darnit!) Bought stuff for dinner in a grocery store where I for some reason thought the lady was overcharging me. I’m so sick of foreign currencies.

It’s quite a bit warmer here, at least in the city during the day. Sky blue, fluffy clouds. Uneven sidewalks sometimes, but the hoggers are problematic than the bumps in the pavement. The new trams are nice in appearance, but they’re continuously having to stop for lights, cars, or pedestrians, so it’s kind of a rough ride.

It also gets dark later here, though I was still back to my hostel by 5:30 pm for a Thanksgiving dinner of a tuna sandwich, gummi worms, and rum&warm milk. Yep, that’s right. Happy Thanksgiving! In a country where no one has yet to understand my English, French, OR German, with my family gatering together so far away from me . . . I actually am ending teh day lonely and depressed and as homesick as I have ever been in my life. At least there’s an internet connection!

Good thing I was who I say I am

Woah, boarder between Hungary and Croatia is NO laughing matter! The train stopped and border control poured on (I mean a dozen people in uniforms) while others checked around the outside of the train. I was stamped out of Hungary and into croatia by two different people after they had called my passport in to check it out. One last person checked my stamps and had me identify which bags were mine. Then they had to see my train ticket. This same process had to be done to every single person on the train.

I asked one of the guards near me if it’s always this strict or just between Hungary-Croatia and he said always, but he must mean only for the boarder of Croatia, because it certainly wasn’t this strict in Slovakia. Of course . . . I say that, but on that train from Prague to Budapest, they collect your passport before you go to sleep and then I remember they still knocked on my cabin and had me say hello. Jerks.

While the passports were being checked, several dozen flies buzzed strangely outside my window. Eery. There were upwards of nine police in the narrow car train aisle at one point. All I could think at this point was geez louise, what have I gotten myself into?

Well yesterday was mostly Buda

so today I went on to Pesti. Managed to meet up with some friends today; I was actually very proud of myself for finding their hostel relying solely on my mapreading skills in a rather helter-skelter city. It was such a blast being with them, too.

Exploring the northern half of the city, we crossed the river and then hiked up the forested hill (or MOUNTAIN, as we called it, all being out of shape) to investiage the citadella perched on the top and overlooking the city. A giant statue of St. Gillert rose steadily beside us, and with each graffiti-covered stairwell, teh city grew smaller and smaller, and also more beautiful behidn us. I’m glad to say it was a clear day and we could see quite some distance either way along the river.

The citadella had a WWII bunker exhibit in it that we didn’t feel like paying for, so instead we walked aroudn the outside, peeking into the stalls of vendors. From there, we ambled back down the hil and then across to the most fairy tale castle I have ever seen in my life. Ivy crawled over the dark brick of rounded turrets with black pointed roots. Pine trees lined the cobbled pathways. I checked for Rapunzel, believe you me. It wrapped around on the hill, pressing up against some much more modern architecture where I believe the government buildings are. We found some ruins, but there was no sign telling us what they were ruins OF; Budapest is awful about not marking things.

We stretched on the lawn of the fairy tale castle to catch some sun, then stopped for lunch before coming to yet another palace-type place along the same stretch of land. This one was made entirely of white stone and mosque-like spires. The arched windows let the setting sun filter through (I say setting, but it was 2pm!), casting the unidentified statues orange in the light. The view from the platforms of whatever this building was, of the city, was breathtaking.

Wandered together up and down fashion street before settling into a quaint Italian restaurant for dinner (you can ALWAYS find good cheap Italian food in any European city; Italian food or falafel.) They played elevator-style versions of Michael Jackson, we think because they thought we would enjoy it, being American and all. Then went for drinks in a pub with a flirty waitstaff. Not long after dinner, I split since my hostel was on the far side of the city. Despite being slightly anxious about walking alone through an occasionally shady city, no one even looked at me twice.

I really enjoyed the home atmosphere of my hostel, but I think Forints are a horrible currency, even if $1=173Ft. I love the Hungarian lace and dolls and porcelain but only saw a few people dressed as traditionally as I had expected –you know, with head shawls adn skirts. Overall, though I did have a good time, it seems Budapest has succumbed to globalization and to really get a feel for old-school Hungarian culture, I’ll have to head out of the city. Another time, though!

Budapesti!

I can see that Budapest was once a very beautiful city, most likely around the turn of the 20th century when all the art nouveau buildings were new. As it stands now, though, the area around my hotel is dirty, ugly, and literally falling to pieces. Windows are knocked out and the streets are filthy. Graffiti everywhere, and it seems every other building is under construction.

After taking the WRONG bus for thirty minutes and then almost getting fined 5000Ft on the tram because I didn’t understand (okay, I kinda did understad, but I played stupid) the ticketing system, I finally made it to my hostel –I’m the only one sleeping in my room, though there are four beds. I spent the rest of the day exploring and not being too impressed with the city.

Várpalota (or Buda Castle) was a lovely compilation of several different styles of architectures because it was built and then added onto through the centuries. I paid 100Ft to enter the tiny, very very old church there which was as simple in construction as it was NOT in decoration. Even with the ornate paintings and castings and statues attached to every flat surface, though, it still maintained the small, cozy feel to it; like a family had poured everything into decorating it for show. The castle grounds were fun to explore; each turn seemed to present a brand new castle, though it was simply the different styles of architecture tricking me. There’s a museum of agriculture housed there. And out front, an ice skating rink dotted with bundled-up skaters just made the castle absolutely fairy-tale-like. On the far side of the rink, Hero’s Square is dominated by large blue statues of the mighty rulers and warriors. On teh castle grounds was a statue of George Washington, which I cannot figure out for the life of me. It wasn’t like he really had any dealings with Hungary, that I know of. After all, he was the one telling the US NOT to get involved with other countries.

After exploring the castle for a long time, I spent my afternoon partaking in a rather pricey shopping spree (H&M, Promod. I didn’t understand the currency exchange and spent about twice what I meant to. Oops!) Got lunc and dinner both in little market/convenience stores, one in front of the the beautiful St. Stephen’s Basilica. Beautiful and orante, but I just couldn’t make myself go inside. I’ve been in too many churches and they’re all blending together. Also found the Budapest opera house, which is draped with yards and yards of bright red fabric to advertise their current production of Elektra. Interacted with very few people during the day; English is certainly NOT commonly spoken here.

Last day in Prague and I’m off

I didn’t write much, and even then a week LATE, so you’ll have to pardon me.

I visited the Mucha museum in the morning. Though France tries to claim the artist as theirs, he was born and raised in Prague. The museum was great; I actually knew more of his work than I expected, and truly am in love with his art. “The Moon” and “Repose de la Nuit” are two of my favorites.

Spent the afternoon in Prague taking a tour of the Jewish Quarter. The synagogues really were beautiful, though the tour itself was long-winded and the guide was hard to hear, small and squeaky. The graveyards really fascinated me; I’ve always had kind of a morbid fascination with them. The creator of the Gollem is buried in one of the cemeteries, and I, like so many before me, put a stone on his grave and made my shallow wish. By the end of the tour, though, everyone was antsy to be on the road to their next adventures.

My train didn’t leave til late that night, so I shopped with Jessye and Amanda, searching desperately for a hairbrush. It was IMPOSSIBLE to find one. Crazy, right? Do Czechs not brush their hair? Hung out in the rather creepy station; saw Jessye and Amanda off; then finally settled into my cabin on my train. It was AMAZING. I never splurge on travel. I always take the cheapest seat possible, but had rented a bunk as a Thanksgiving treat to myself. I didn’t just get my own bunk, though, I got my own little ROOM! I had a bed, and my own little bathroom with a toilet and a shower. AMAZING. I’ve never felt so spoiled in my life . . .

Terezenstadt was rough.

Today was quite possibly one of the most exhausting, draining days of my life. Keep in mind that EVERYONE was out clubbing all night long –I was one of the last ones to leave. Then we had to be awake early to head out to Terezenstadt, the concentration/deportation camp in the northern region of the Czech Republic.

It’s hard to explain such a significant place in words; as a writer, I recognize the difficulty in conveying the emotions tied to a place. Anything said sounds hollow and cheesy and melodramatic. The camp itself is located within an old fortress, and the town of Terezen still stands around it; even as we pulled up, old ladies were walking and kids were playing with a ball right outside the camp walls. The town itself felt eerily silent, though.

Inside was even spookier. Empty, chipped cement walls and dusty gravel or dirt paths connect plain buildings housing dusty old furniture. The solitary confinement chambers made my claustraphobic mind skitter just looking at them, especially the ones without any sort of crack or windows. I stood inside one for just a moment, my foot in the door so the door COULDN’T swing closed and lock me inside. The bunkrooms, empty except for rows and rows of splintery wooden bunks, look exactly as they do in the pictures. You expect to see the living skeletons piled in there, staring back at you with gaping, sunken eyes. Walking through the camp, you can’t help but feel slow an clumsy and heavy; each breath seems unnaturally loud.

You can wander through the Small Fort, which has a series of underground tunnels that connect the various parts. You feel like a rat in a dark maze. On one end of the tunnels is the wall where three Jews managed to escape in the dead of night; on the other end is the gallows and the firing wall. We took a bus up the road to the crematorium and just happened to visit at the same time as a Birthright group. Inside the crematorium you just feel cold and dirty; you see the ovens and know EXACTLY what happened. Even if Terezenstadt wasn’t a death camp, even if it was only corpses that went in the ovens . . . The Birthright Group were singing and chanting and the Hebrew bounced off the cement walls that will never lose their invisible stain. I was breathless, heartbeatless. I don’t think I have ever in my life felt so small and helpless.

The landscape around Terezenstadt is beautiful: mountains, valleys, fields. The guards houses in the middle of the camp are as beautiful and elaborate as the bunkrooms are not. Terezen was one of the show camps, so it’s not even one of the worse. The infirmary is an empty room with four rusted iron beds. There’s a barbershop with a line of mirrors, faucets, and sinks along one wall, but they were never actually used. Just for show.

Outside the front of the camp, there is a large momument –a large white Star of David and a tall white cross towering over smaller crosses. Here are buried the remains of everyone who died at the camp, a monument to the lives lost. It just didn’t quite seem enough. It’s hard to see the small crosses (one for each documented death) and connect a PERSON.

As the only possible finish to such a heavy day, and in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday which will fall during the travel break this coming week where everyone is spread all over the continent, there were Thanksgiving dinners had in three different apartments. I went to the one in David and Anh’s apartment, where everyone brought something to contribute to the meal, and then we went around and said what we were thankful for. Because what else can you do after visiting a concentration camp but be thankful?

Museums and Clubs

Spent the morning visiting a museum with Giorgio as my tourguide (ah, every girl must fall in love with one of her professors, musn’t she? and he and I got to talk just the two of us MANY times, haha). Afterwards, I walked around the shops lining the steep streets around the castle with some friends, then meandered down to the Lenin Wall. It was truly breathtaking. Obviously I only could understand the things written in English –song lyrics, poems, declarations, warnings, advice, promises– and the doodles. But there were marks left in all manner of languages or designs. There’s just something about places like that where you are forced to be aware of how many people there are in the world, and how many have been standing right where you are. And except for someone who wrote “Pooh #17,” it was all done in such a mature, respectful light that it gives you respect for the human race.

The Charles Bridge was packed with vendors, performers, admirers, and even a group of people celebrating a bachelor party. It was difficult to stay together due to the crowds; it began to rain a bit and the sky was so dreadfully dreary. A bit more shopping ensued, and then naps for all!

In the evening, a big group of us went for a “traditional Czech dinner” at a cozy restaurant that was ridiculously expensive but very fancy. It was nice to do something as a group but without the ENTIRE group. From there, everyone mosied back to the apartments and got ready to hit the clubs as a WHOLE GROUP. That’s right, all sixty-eight kids, plus a bunch of our professors, went together to this awesome club. Five stories high, each storey features a different style of music –rave, oldied, techno, rock, and alternative. Danced all night long until the wee hours of the morning when, exhausted and bleary-eyed, we walked back to catch a few hours of sleep.

Our first full day in Praha

Our apartments had a deal with a quaint little restaurant down the street for us to have breakfast there. I was the first one arrived and spent quite some time this morning sitting by myself, ordering in English to a very sweet girl a little older than me who spoke perfectly fine English with an accent. It was fun being up earlier than most. I got to walk to breakfast bundled against the cold and dodging Czechs on their way to work. There were sidewalk sweepers clearing up the square.

We had walking tours in the morning, which mainly consisted of showing us “Old Town,” which consists of art nouveau (such as Hotel Europa and the Community Center) mixed with some gothic. Wandered through the Powder Gate (where the town used to keep all their gun powder) where Old Town technically begins. Czech architects took the cubism movement a step further and actually embodied it in their buildings. The colors are bright and cheerful, gaudy if you will, but at the same time elegant. A horse-drawn carriage stood outside of the old gothic church and I half expected Czech royalty to step down. Ended the tours at the Charles Bridge where the chill from the water had us all freezing our nsoes off. From there, you can see across to Praha Castle.

For lunch, a bunch of my friends and I wandered back to a cute street market we had seen earlier and poured over the stalls of wooden toys, jewelry, crystal bottles, and PANSAKI. I have wanted pansaki since I was in sixth grade and did a report on Poland. I decided take a chance and buy pansaki and just hope for the best. (After note: those pansaki traveled in my backpack through Czech Republic, Hungary, Croatia, Slovenia, the long train ride back to the Netherlands, and then the trip home –on a plane from Duesseldorf to London to Detroit to Boston to DC to Dallas. And not a single egg broke.)

In the afternoon, we had tours of Prague Castle and the churches within. Inside the central church, St. Something-or-other’s, the stainglass windows were the only thing that really seperated it from any other Gothic church; many of teh windows were art noveau, which really looked kind of strange in such an old church. Except not all the windows have been replaced yet, so many are simply ugly all-yellow windows. Went through the Great Hall, then to the old church –one of the oldest churches that was still used until recently (or maybe still is?). Long flat roof, windows with rounded arches for the women to watch the service through from another room because they weren’t allowed in the main building.

From there, wandered through the Golden Lane at dusk which looked like something straight out of a Disney movie. Franz Kafka lived there at one point, but now it’s dozens of cozy little shops tucked into what look like houses the Seven Dwarves would live in. The walk down from the Castle was beautiful with the sun setting over the river and the lights slowly blinking alive up the dark hills. There were people selling things all along the Charles Bridge, and even a large marching band went by to raise awareness about organ harvesting in China.

In the evening, met up with friends for a quesadilla night in one of our apartments where eight drunk British boys wandered in out of the hallway (literally wandered in) and tried to hit on us girls. Finally got rid of them, then spent the rest of the night watching cheesy television with Bridget, Anh, and Blake.

I know Prague is supposed to be prettier in the spring, but I find something romantic about the spindly bare black branches. Almost everything in the city is cobblestone, which is bad on the feet but quaint to admire. The city itself just seems to embody classy elegance; you feel sort of like early-20th-century royalty just wandering around. The old AstroClock in the Old Town square is as fascinating as it’s said to be, and it’s amazing to see such diverse facades right next to each other –Baroque, Roccoco, Gothic, and Art Nouveau all in a row. I can see why Bohemia is associated with artsy; each movement clearly took hold quite strongly here.