Fungary

I wish I could claim credit for knighting Magyar/Hungary with the great nickname of "Fungary," but the honor goes to the publishers of the fabulous tourist brochures we were given when we checked in at easyhotel.com. The brochure offered tips on things like "How to get hammered" and other coaching that was somehow omitted from our guidebook(!). Shocking. We avoided the spots suggested in these brochures, which may be why we didn't stumble into any of the "hen" and "stag" parties that Budapest attracts. Nuts.

It was another typical ho-hum week for Andrea and Brian. Kicked off with a bicycling tour of Budapest that included stops at Heroes Square, the castle, City Park, the Chain Bridge, etc.

Our guide was a skilled instructor, and would approach most city sights by saying things like "OK, now ride your bike in this direction, keep your eyes open, look at some of the statues, then come back to me in 5 minutes over under that shady area and tell me what you've learned." Needless to say, there was no slacking on this tour.

Some of the important things we learned are: 1. If you want to be a Hero in Hungary it's helpful to have a bushy mustache, 2. A speedo is a wonderful chess playing costume (especially in the city baths), and 3. By count of the friendly and seemingly successful Kebap dealers downtown, the Hungarians and Turks have resolved any pesky misunderstandings they might have had in the past. I didn't see much goulash in Turkey-- clearly this is a missed market opportunity that should be exploited ASAP.

While sometimes a bit too oily, the Goulash supply was unlimited, and despite many samplings we have not gotten our fill. TV programs were all in Hungarian -- so when the tube was on we turned it to strong man competitions that can be understood with little commentary. "Ugh; Errrrrrrgh!" translates well across dialects. If you haven't realized it by now, Central/Eastern Europe produces a lot of strongmen for these competitions. This makes for many fine fitness centers, which Brian enjoys visiting although he spends an inordinate amount of time taking massive weight plates off the squat and bench press bars.

From Budapest we zipped by train northeast to Eger - a small town famous for producing many of Magyar's Olympic swimming and water polo champions. The massive lap pool is much more fabulous than it has any right to be for such a small town, and as you might expect we enjoyed a fantastic afternoon there. Andrea and I "split" a lane which means we didn't have to keep tapping on people's feet to pass them, and Andrea had the fun and excitement of searching around the building for the woman in charge of the locker keys at the end of her swim. There were three other women waiting along with Andrea; she got many approving nods from the natives.

We arrived in Eger to find that our visit coincided with the annual festival celebrating Dobo's victory over the Turks during the 16th century. This was super timing because we got to enjoy natives in medieval costumes, young burly guys swinging swords at each other, flag twirlers, jesters, people on stilts playing instruments while walking around the "old town," barmaids, historic goulash, and of course *very* authentic 16th century kebab.

Running out of clean clothing at the end of our trip, we checked into university dormotories located on a hill outside Eger to use their free(!) washing machines.

As the gentle reader can appreciate, it is tough to find a reasonably priced way to keep our stylish clothes from smelling *quite* ripe. It's lucky we aren't traveling with a dog, because dog washing machines are even more difficult to find.

Staying in "the dorms" brought back a flood of memories from our undergraduate years - but fortunately without requirements to study any microeconomics, eat the cafeteria's ratatouille, or endure uproarious behavior from current students since they were all gone for the summer.

We tried very hard to get enough Hungarian food, but eventually had to leave anyway -- heading for the hills of yet another country that promises to speak an even more difficult language(!) -- yipe!

Too many consonants in a row

Heading north by bus from the Pleet-veet-che Lakes in Croatia (no idea how to spell this- and the location is a comparatively easy one; pretty much given up trying to spell anything around here... often just too many consonants in a row) we stopped for three hours in Zagreb.

We succeeded at storing our bags after circling the train station twice, and purchased 4 tram tickets (two round trips) to the center. Zagreb town center is pictured on the left with the cute little blue and white trams in the foreground.

The wait for the tram wasn´t bad; about 10 min, but we were heartbroken to discover that the town center was a short stroll from where we started... we didn't need those tram tickets; $2 squandered!  I hope the gentle reader can appreciate how difficult it is for us to cope with the high-stress nature of our existence. We lifted our spirits at a place selling Croatian bean soup, kebap, and local beer.

Two hours later we grabbed seats on the train and zipped up to the capital of Slovenia; Ljubljana (that´s Lube-lee-ahh-na), which is Slackerboy´s favorite town in Central Europe. This low-priced burg is bursting with stylishly dressed locals speaking near-perfect English and a groovy riverside cafe scene.

We bunked in a former communist hotel that had recently undergone an IKEA renovation, located next to (wait for it...) the sweet circa 1950 fitness center! Check out the architectural detail in the four-panel photo of this fine vintage fitness facility. Original wood floors, gobs of space, and lots of natural light.

As expected, it was loaded with very heavy vintage weights and equipment that would make Jack LaLanne proud.  A few ancient "jigglers" and their like also graced the floors of the training facility. Beach Boys songs play on the stereo to make us feel at home, and the television is tuned to exciting episodes of "Xena: Warrior Princess" - what more could you ask for?

To be fair, the place also boasts a large selection of new equipment. If you´re looking for a good workout in Ljubliana, head over to Fitness Tabor and talk with the manager, Zdravko (see photo) -- but think twice before joining him in one of his "lite" workouts.

Three nights at the former communist hotel was delightful, but we promised ourselves at least one farm stay during this trip, so we travelled by bus about an hour southeast of the capital to enjoy the overnight hospitality of a rural Slovenian village and hopefully tuck into some super-premium jota (bean and cabbage soup).

Unsurprisingly, we were confused about what bus stop to get off at, but luckily the bus driver was finishing his shift after we stayed on the bus too long. After a sociable cup of coffee, he took us via his personal car to the door of the farmhouse (!).

The landscape was green, green, green - broken up only by cute little houses and the owner´s stupid dog that followed us everywhere. We fortunately were able to get an up-close view of one of the famous Slovenian hay racks - complete with hay and millet/corn drying on grain racks. It rains a great deal here, so the sheltered hay rack is dominant technology.

Sadly the jota we hoped for was in short supply at the farm we selected, so we spent most of our time navigating through gentle paths that rolled through the neighboring farmlands. It was only through great self-discipline that we were able to resist raiding the bee hives and over-feeding the cute baby goats.

With a memory of the great bowls of cabbage and beans we had in the Slovenian capital, we found the courage to try the bus again, and successfully made it back to Ljubljana and then on to a fast train bound for Vienna.

Vienna; former capital of the Austrian-Hungarian empire and as our guidebook aptly suggests "a head without a body." Palaces, impressive architecture, beautiful pedestrian streets, wienerschnitzel, and of course - Vienna coffee. We searched in vain for the General Foods International brand of "Cafe Vienna" and eventually settled for small cups of unbranded coffee at a local cafe.

Austrians seem to love following rules, so they wait for lights to turn green instead of jaywalking - even at 1 in the morning when there are no cars in sight. Thankfully this habit of following the rules spills over into the trams, subways, and trains running efficiently and on-time. Still, they have a few gum splotches on the streets so when it comes to getting a populace to behave properly I give the nod to Singapore.

If I was living in Vienna, it would be easy for me to get blasé about neoclassical architecture. Neo-roman, neo-greek, neo-versailles... it would all just blend together. Even excellent examples of neo-gothic and art nouveau style abound, not to mention the cute little neolithic artifacts in some of the museums, and photos of Neo from the Matrix hanging in video store windows.

One of the classy highlights of our time in Austria was listening to an impromptu Polish string quartet concert in the courtyard of Hofburg Palace. The musicians were aged 17-18; earning a little traveling money by entertaining strollers on a glorious Sunday afternoon.... fabulous.

Vienna locals encouraged us to attend a press conference with some young, politically minded Europeans. The Austrian gentleman on the left was pumped up with ideas on strengthening US affairs-- see him here outlining his plans for growth and development in the California seaside community of Venice Beach.

Vienna is very civilized, but too expensive for Andrea and her manservant -- so we are heading east now through Bratislava and on to Pest. Or should we stop first in Buda? Another decision to be made?! Mercy... the stress we are under!

Note: Photos not taken by the author or his wife were obtained from simple web searches -- since we receive no compensation for blog posts the images are used via "fair use" policy, so there!

Frolickin´in the Balkans

Traveling in the Balkans -- beauty and sadness side by side. As much as we've been reading about the wars following the breakup of Yugoslavia, I don't think it's possible to really understand. Sarajevo shows off its tolerance with four different places of worship in about one city block that survived through centuries (mosque, synagogue, Catholic cathedral, Orthodox church). So why are there craters in the streets and bullet-pockmarked buildings throughout the city from the 1990s?

Sarajevo in particular went through so much pain -- some people to whom we spoke just wouldn't talk at all about the war. A stirring museum told the stories of survival and resilience and ingenuity through those years, when city dwellers squeezed vegetable gardens into unlikely places and virtually all supplies came via a tunnel from the airport (the tunnel also held the only tele- communication lines out of the city).









But the central city at least has been restored and its cobble- stone streets showcase a lovely cafe-culture atmosphere for walking around.









We made our way to Mostar (in the Herze- govinian south) by an impressive train which cuts straight through the beautiful, very rocky countryside...lots of tunnels! Unfortunately, it was a drizzly day and my dark photos do not show off the green and gorgeous land. (I am sure you are all clamoring to have Marty's mad photo skillz back).







We shared our train compart- ment with a fine young man from Mostar, Ermin, ecstatic about having found a job in Mostar after living in Sarajevo for about a year (the unemployment rate in Bih is somewhere around 40 percent). He was a very young boy during the war years, and his family left Mostar for the relative safety of his father's village. When that seemed just as unsafe, they set off in a group of about 120 people to return to Mostar (through forest, no food, extremely difficult circumstances), but were caught by Serbian forces on the way. Only 8 people out of the group survived, when Ermin's father pushed them into a cave to hide. The suvivors did include Ermin´s nuclear family (parents and sister); a harrowing memory (and story) nonetheless.



Mostar is indeed a sweet little town, most famous for its charming bridge called Stari Most, which was destroyed in 1993 and rebuilt a decade later exactly as before -- same quarry, same design, same building methods (it took longer to build the second time). We saw a heart-tugging video of its history: pre-war, the actual bombing and collapse into the river, rebuilding, grand re-opening (fireworks, symphony, the famous bridge divers). It's also very striking to see Muslim cemetaries where every grave is dated 1993.




And then on to Dubrovnik and Croatian friendliness on the beautiful Dalmatian coast. Our guesthouse host, Pero, poured us two types of grappa to sip as he sketched city highights on a map. One (for Brian) was pure firewater; I got a sweet one, a bit port-like, made by his grandmother out of walnuts. Dubrovnik's city walls are special because you can walk atop them all around the old city, with ever-changing views as you complete your 1.5-mile circuit. The extent of recovery here is really amazing -- the main pedestrian tourist street is paved with marble, and at least in the center, you don't actually see the damage more visible in Sarajevo. But all the orange roofs in this photo are new (sigh); only the few brown ones in the photo escaped destruction.









The next morning, we saw the city walls from a decidedly different vantage point -- a glorious swim in the Adriatic, waving up to the tourists on the walls where we'd been 16 hours before. We got down to the sea via stairs cut into the rocks below the white cafe umbrellas in this photo.











We moved on to the island of Korčula and continued our athletic explor- ations by mountain bike (highest quality bike rentals ever, snazzy red Cannondales with disc brakes!). Our ride was half on-road and half off-road, with a lagoon swimming stop in the middle of the day; just heavenly. And after returning to town, we topped the day off with a Croatian specialty of wine-braised beef with herbs, served on top of gnocchi (Croatia is amazingly close to Italy, really!). And ice cream. ;-)





Despite our biking excursion, we were feeling full of old cities without enough nature, so we linked two of Croatia´s larger cities -- Split and the capital, Zagreb -- with an overnight at Plitvice Lakes National Park. A few hours of hiking among this gorgeous system of terraced lakes set us straight. The 16 lakes range in color from clear to bright blues and greens, formed by natural travertine dams, and feeding each other in cascades via waterfalls or small rushing streams. The park is fabulously organized with boardwalks over the water allowing you to follow the arrangement of lakes, plus shuttle buses and boats going across the large middle lake so you don't have to backtrack. It's really a stunning place, very different from other lake areas I've ever been.




Our few hours in Split included Brian making friends with Gregory of Nin, a 10th-century bishop who introduced Croatian-language services (rather than Latin) into the Catholic church. You can't see it in the photo, but his toe is worn gold and shiny from people rubbing it for good luck. Not Brian's toe, Gregory's.