Donde Esta La Biblioteca? Otra Vez

Now we are here in Budapest trying to come to terms with the fact that our trip is almost over. We arrived dazed and confused from a sleepless night freezing in one train car only to escape to the sauna car. We must have crossed 20 borders because every time we started to doze there was a new scary man with a gun checking passports.

Prior to visiting Budapest we heard a lot of negative reviews from friends, family, Servas, and other travelers. Maybe it was just because our expectations were so low, but we’ve really enjoyed it here. The people seem nice enough and the city can be a lot of fun.

We’re pretty exhausted from traveling so we’ve slowed down a lot here in Hungary. Yesterday we checked out the Great Market Hall and the Christmas market, saw the Danube and the Chain Bridge, and then soaked the rest of the day away in the thermal waters of Széchenyi Medicinal Bath. Today was a little more intense: Christmas market, Buda Castle, Buda Labyrinth (caves under the Castle – possibly the most interesting place in Budapest,) Matthias Church, and last but not least, the Hungarian National Opera. We went out in style with the tantalizing tale of Elektra.

Budapest has been the perfect city to end with. It’s a handsome city, but not exactly beautiful enough to make us cry over leaving it. After the opera we grabbed a last cup of glühwein and made our way back to the hotel to start packing. I want to eventually offer a final thoughts retrospective on the whole trip and finish the blog with some closure. Right now, however, the hour is late and our flight is early so this will have to do…

USA HERE WE COME!

Slovenians pronounce ‘j’s like ‘y’s so Ljubljana is pronounced ‘Lyew-blee-yana.’

Our host in ‘Lyew-blee-yana’ was veteran Servas member, Boris. Boris is a middle aged Slovenian with a wide array of interests. He’s a pianist whose passion for Baroque is demonstrated by the mountain of Bach music atop his piano. He also enjoys cross-country skiing, traveling around the world following solar eclipses, making harpsichords, and listening to classical tunes out of the 12″ subwoofer in his car. Most importantly, he is the only Servas host who has been to Austin! Austin was Boris’s second favorite American city behind San Francisco.

The first night in Ljubljana Boris scored us tickets to a concert by Ivo Pogorelić. Despite being horrifically underdressed, Lauren and I sat up close and personal with the social elite and Slovenian heads of state. Slovenia is such a small country that apparently its not uncommon to bump into the president at the local market every once and a while. After hearing this we were hoping to pull a ‘Stew,’ but Janez Drnovšek was nowhere to be found.

Ljubljana is another pretty Eastern European town with a hilltop castle and lots of churches. The whole cityscape has been sculpted by early 20th century architect Jože Plečnik (pronounced Plech-neek.) His classical forms marry well with the simple beauty of Slovenia’s capital. For a peak at one of Plečnik’s interiors we had to plech-sneak into the University Library because it’s closed to the public.

One morning after breakfast Boris told us “I am deep throat.” Lauren and I were a little confused. He explained that he was secretly meeting up with a journalist later that day to give her information concerning a dubious Slovenian corporation that shall remain nameless out of respect for Boris’s safety. The whole thing was a pretty cool story.

We left Slovenia on a miserable overnight train towards the last stop on our 4 month adventure through Europe.

Our accommodation turned out to be somewhat inconveniently outside the town itself and up the mountain from Innsbruck. Every cloud has a silver lining, however, and the Innsbruck bobsledding/lugeing/skeleton track was only a stone’s throw from our room so we got to watch the USA youth luge team compete in the Junior World Cup. This was the closest I’ve come to real live luging besides watching the Winter Olympics on TV. It was a thrill to see the action in person (for the .01 seconds they screamed by.)

Aside from the extreme sports, Innsbruck is a very laid back mountain town. We experienced yet another brilliant Christmas market, a funicular up to great views, some award wining ski jump architecture by Iraqi Zaha Hadid, and the charming little town center.

On the bus back from town we witnessed yet another strange European holiday tradition. Five or six giant characters covered head to toe with thick masses of hair were waiting for all the students on our bus at their stop. When they got off the monsters wearing crazy masks and actual animal horns mercilessly whipped them on the ankles with tree branches. They even hit girls who, although they were laughing, didn’t waste any time running away. Proof that this wasn’t just an isolated incident or a glühwein-induced hallucination can be found by checking out our buddy Andrew Vickers’ similar testimony.

Although we could pretty much tell it was a joke or tradition of some kind, it didn’t get Lauren and I too excited about the following 20 minute hike from the last bus stop to our hotel through the pitch black forest with only the light of my cell phone.

The tour de European Christmas markets continued in Vienna. We got into town around dinner time and immediately hit the streets to see what kind of meal we could put together to accompany the obligatory hot wine (or Glühwein as its called in Austria.) We quickly discovered that Austrians can do amazing things with potatoes. The hot wine was especially good as well and this time it was served in an eco-friendly reusable ceramic mug instead of a plastic cup. You pay a €1 deposit, tote the mug around with you until you’ve had enough, and then just return it to one of the many Glühwein stands.

The atmosphere around the Vienna Christmas market was inspiringly simple yet genius. For the month leading up to Christmas the town congregates on the streets to hang out with family and friends for some casual shopping, eating, and drinking. Lauren and I lamented over and over again that something so relaxed and fun could never happen in Austin with all the city’s bureaucratic red tape and our overbearing arch-nemesis of fun – the open container law.

Food and drink aside, there are thousands of cool things to do in Vienna. Lauren hunted down some tickets and got us into the Hofburg Palace Cathedral to witness a Sunday mass featuring the heavenly sounds of the Vienna Boy’s Choir. For the majority of the mass they are perched high out of sight and only their voices radiate through the service at certain times. At the end the youngsters show their faces for one short ballad and all the tourists start flash photographing them to death (Lauren only dealt one blow, but others bombarded them with so many light flashes they looked more like a techno performance than a religious choir.)

Our day of Palace hopping took us over to the Belvedere to see the apple of Vienna’s eye – Gustav Klimt. His work is some of the most valuable in the Art world and fascinating to look at. We came to Vienna expecting to be wow-ed by Klimt’s art, but another wildcard Viennese artist caught us by surprise. Friedensreich Hundertwasser was an intriguing Austrian environmentalist/artist/architect who’s vision of green living came long before sustainability was cool. The museum dedicated to him is in one of his buildings featuring his signature (and controversial) uneven rolling floors.

Vienna’s aesthetic was nearly as stunning that of Prague. Having been the focal point of countless dynasties over the years, Vienna has been pumped full of so much culture that it almost overshadows all of Austria. For a break from the Palace/Museum/Church routine Lauren and I made a quick trip to the lazy Austrian ski town of Innsbruck.

Bratislava is home to 23-year old Eugen Ružický. He was our Servas host and ambassador to Slovakia. Based on the multiple 1,000 word emails and lengthy G-chat sessions leading up to our visit we hypothesized that Eugen was an energetic, passionate, and talkative guy. Our theory was confirmed when we met him at the train station and began our whirlwind Slovakian weekend.

After a couple hours chatting over drinks with Eugen he seemed like an old friend. He had bought us tickets to the fall university “formal,” Beánia, so we put on our nicest garb and left for a grand introduction to a student’s life in Bratislava. Eugen’s university is a very small and close-knit community of outstandingly nice people. The event was organized like a high school dance (gym dance floor with adjoining refreshment stations) but unfolded in true college fashion. The only difference I could detect between a Slovakian college party and the American equivalent was that in Slovakia the outdoor smoking area is almost as populated as the dance floor.

It was an exhausting night of discourse and dance that didn’t end until after a 5 AM food run (which unfortunately didn’t hold a candle to Ken’s-D’s or Kirbs-on-Kirbs.) We reluctantly awoke the next day for a quick tour of Bratislava. Eugen took us to the main square for a look at the adorable little Christmas market. We tried some more hot spiced wine and the local pastry specialty involving a lot of poppy seeds.

Every minute with Eugen was spent either discussing some profound dilemma or sharing viewpoints concerning a wide array of hot topics. Eugen employs the polar opposite of small talk. Within 10 minutes of meeting him we were already deliberating over significant issues. This isn’t to say he isn’t fun. On the way to Beánia he staged a comedy routine about the surrounding graffiti and then buddied up to the stern cab driver the whole way there.

On the last night we got a second wind and went to hang out at Eugen’s friends’ apartment. They all spoke amazing English and made us feel right at home. The hours flew by and before we knew it, it was time for yet another 5 AM food run (Eugen swore that generally most Slovakian nights out ended around 2 or 3 but that was becoming hard to believe.) We learned all sorts of cool things while talking with Eugen’s friends. One particularly enthralling story was the one about a nearby abandoned Soviet missile silo they used to explore at night as kids.

We were amazed by the people of Bratislava. Everyone we met spoke perfect English. Until mingling with the Slovakian youth, we hadn’t come across so many Europeans who could comfortably speak English to one another if they knew Americans were around. Everyone also seemed extremely well-informed and open minded. Our host Eugen did a great job of welcoming us to his country and showing us an amazing time.

Lauren and I took an overnight train from Krakow and got to Prague bright and early before the stampede of tour groups. Since the Czech Republic entered the EU in 2004 Prague has undergone a massive transformation and became a major European destination overnight. I thought Vienna might take the cake for being the most surreal, movie-set-like city on our trip but Prague blew away the competition. As long as you don’t leave the well-worn tourists’ path, every elaborate detail is carefully fashioned to resemble a fantasy city.

Prague is one big sightseeing extravaganza, so the following is a list of our touring accomplishments almost verbatim from our guidebook:

The magnificent 12th century Charles Bridge leads into the Little Quarter and Kampa Island where we found the eccentric Lennon wall. Up the hill is the one of the largest castles in the world. The Czech government and archbishop still live in this giant compound along with the Czech Republic’s most important church – St. Vitus. Inside is a stained glass masterpiece by Art Nouveau genius Alfons Mucha (pronounced MOO-kah.) We fell in love with Mucha’s work after visiting Prague’s Mucha Museum.

Further up the hill past the Castle Quarter you’ll find the Strahov Monastery. We dove into the monastic brewpub for a break from the cold and a few pints of delicious ale. We were sitting just a couple feet from the fermenting vats so the whole place reeked of heavenly yeast.

On the other side of the river is the Jewish Quarter and New Town. In the Jewish Quarter we visited several old Synagogues and the Jewish Cemetery. For centuries the Jewish population of Prague was walled into a ghetto and this cemetery was the only place they were allowed to bury their dead. The graves were built on top of one another and today the tombstones are high above street level.

Frank Gehry’s Dancing House was only a few minutes walk from our hostel turned luxury apartment (when we checked in they told us we had been upgraded due to renovations, if you’ve seen the picture you can imagine our shock.) There was a Dalí exhibit going on in the main square near the 500 year-old astronomical clock and the Gothic Týn Church.

All in all Prague is a beautiful place with a lot to see and do. We liked what we saw and did as much as we could. Next the train keeps rollin’ east to Bratislava.

Or in German: Auschwitz.

The effect that visiting Auschwitz has on one’s psyche is hard to put into words. Just reflecting on the experience now is enough to make my eyes well up and my stomach cave in. It’s difficult to say what is more atrocious – the amount of human suffering that went on there, or the idea that human beings are capable of such terror. The incredible gloom is just too much to take in at once. I feel like it trickled in as if through an hour glass until by the end of the day Lauren and I were both miserably dejected.

Auschwitz is actually two separate concentration camps; Auschwitz 1 and Birkenau. Auschwitz 1 was a small Polish military base until the Nazis selected it as one of their first “work camps” due to its ideal location. This is where they initially did small-scale experiments with mass murder techniques while forcing the mostly Russian first wave of inmates to work themselves to death. The Nazis put the methods for genocide developed at Auschwitz 1 into wide scale use at the expansion Birkenau.

The museum’s exhibits are on display in the barracks of Auschwitz 1. Lining the halls between exhibit rooms are hundreds of mug shots the Nazis took of the incoming inmates (before they decided photos were too expensive and started tattooing the prisoners.) The most disturbing of these are the pictures of the elderly and children. One group of photos made me want to burst into tears. They were kids who couldn’t have been older than 12. They looked so scared you can’t even imagine and their eyes were obviously pooling up with tears.

The exhibits showcase everything the liberators found when they arrived. There are entire rooms filled with things the Nazis collected from those they killed. There were gigantic piles of innumerable eyeglasses, shoes and prosthetic limbs (the handicapped were among the first to die,) suitcases (the Nazis encouraged Jews to bring their belongings,) human hair (shaved from the dead and used to make German uniforms,) empty cans of Cyclon-B gas (chemical cleaning agent toxic at high doses bought by the ton,) shoes (upon arrival all inmates were given the same wooden clogs,) and pots and pans.

At Birkenau there is nothing on exhibit other than the vast rows of barracks built to house around 100,000 inmates and the remains of 2 gas chamber/crematoriums that killed over a million innocent men, women, and children.

Arriving back in Krakow was unsettling. Suddenly we were back in the real world with lights and shops and music. After merely a few hours at Auschwitz our brains had become so isolated and despondent that being thrown back into regular society was almost a shock. We hadn’t realized how much of an effect Auschwitz had had on us until that strange feeling getting off the bus.

Being confronted with one of the most disgusting things every to have risen from humanity was a terrible experience. It was appropriate, however, after so much time enjoying the benevolence of the world around us. We got a more balanced view of human history, of a side without the fluff of Renaissance art, Baroque churches, monastery beer, and Parisian avenues. The proprietors of the Auschwitz museum want people to visit the grounds to ensure that no one ever forgets what happened there. I know Lauren and I will never loose such a bitter memory.

We celebrated Thanksgiving in beautiful Krakow. Supposedly Krakow is the “next Prague.” At the time that claim was hard to judge because Prague would be our next stop, but now looking back on both cities it makes sense for the most part. While both towns make you feel like you’ve been transported back in time to the middle ages, Krakow is a little more rough around the edges.

There is a church every 50 feet and each one is safeguarded by a giant hilltop fortress named Wawel (pronounced Vavel.) Inside Wawel is one of the 7 Hindu Chakra points of the world where Chakra energy is thought to be highly concentrated. Lauren and I hugged the wall where you are supposed to feel the most juice and were instantly sucked into the fibers of reality weaving themselves towards the ultimate and clandestine truth for all matter. Then we went and bought a mug at the gift shop.

We got more souvenirs from the old cloth market building in the central square. The cloth trade is what put Krakow on the map in the 12th century and paid for all the beautiful facades lining the streets. Our favorite of the many churches was the church of St. Francis – Pope John Paul II’s old stomping grounds. JP2 is a pretty big deal in Krakow. He was born in a nearby town and served as a bishop at St. Francis before getting the call from Rome.

We stumbled upon a vegetarian restaurant and clung to it like a winning lottery ticket. They served deliciously veggified Polish cuisine at fair prices.

Visiting Schindler’s old factory gave us just a taste of the mind-altering experience awaiting us in Auschwitz. On our last day in Krakow we took a day trip to see the most notorious death camp in the world.

Warsaw was cold. The warmest thing about Poland is its people. Between the airport and our Servas host’s apartment we got to know several Poles. The jolly giant working the luggage room at the train station talked our ears off (in Polish.) Him and every other Polish person we flagged down for directions went above and beyond a normal point in the right direction. An older couple made it their mission to get us to the right building when we got lost in a maze of housing blocks. We spoke English to them and they spoke Polish to us and everyone knew no one was understanding anything. We made it after what felt like living through a Seinfeld episode.

Eva and her daughter Paula hosted us in Warsaw. They both speak English very well and are overly hospitable. Paula knew a lot about the US from having done a year exchange program in Michigan. We learned about life in Eastern Europe from talking to them and having read up on a little Polish history on the flight in. To avoid another long-winded history lesson I will just mention that Poland has been dubbed “God’s Playground” for all the blood spilled on Polish soil. It seems, however, that even such a brutal history of conflicts and extreme hardship hasn’t dissuaded the Poles from their upbeat attitude towards life.

With Paula as our guide, we got a nice glimpse of the city. We walked down Warsaw’s version of the Champs Elysées and saw the final resting place of Chopin’s heart at the Church of the Holy Cross. For lunch we insisted on an authentic Polish experience and ate at an old fashioned “milk bar.” Before the fall of the Iron Curtain in 1989, the communists set up these milk bars so that a working family could enjoy a crappy meal out every once and a while. These days the tastiness has increased drastically, but the price hasn’t. All three of our meals were barely a dollar each.

Warsaw’s Old Town was completely destroyed in the war. What you see in our pictures is the restoration work from the ‘50s. Locals complain that it feels fake, but Paula, Lauren, and I agreed that we couldn’t tell a difference. We got a miniature tour of Old Town when Paula eavesdropped on a passing tour group and translated it.

One night for dinner we initiated a food exchange. Lauren and I made an impromptu batch of guacamole and Paula prepared the traditional Eastern European hot (or mulled) wine. For even more diversity we threw in some of the Belgian beer we brought a long. After dinner, Paula helped us stock up on Polish hip-hop and we promised to return the favor with some American music.

Not that we had low expectations of Poland, but Lauren and I were blown away at how much we loved our time in Warsaw. While the city might not have been the most enchanting place we’ve ever seen, it also wasn’t nearly as bleak as most Americans imagine. After seeing so many European cities aiming to charm visitors to death, it was refreshing to visit an environment that doesn’t fret over its cosmetics (at all.) As I’ve repeatedly mentioned, the most interesting part of Warsaw was the agreeable atmosphere created by its inhabitants.

On the train to Krakow we sat in a cabin with an Australian named Jaime and yet another friendly Pole. We all got a kick out of her, and every other Polish person’s, desire to chat with us despite the huge language barrier. We got out our Texas ID/passports to show her where we were from and started an ID show-and-tell party like none other. We were all shocked when her ID turned out to be a badge – she was a Policewoman from Krakow. Later she insisted I eat one of her ham sandwiches. I had no idea how to explain vegetarianism and she wasn’t buying that I was full (her law enforcement instincts must have seen through the lie.) Luckily Jaime swooped in and took one for the team. It was a lot of fun.

Amsterdam is a strange place. As any 7th grade delinquent can proudly tell you, lots of interesting things are legal here. The city sits on a half circle of canals radiating out from the central train station. Abundant trams, huge bike lanes, and easy walk-ability render cars useless. There are almost as many enlightening museums as there are glowing red ladies of the night. On your way to pay somber respect to a famous victim of the Holocaust you will inevitably catch a whiff of something that is normally blown your way at a Stubb’s show. It’s hard to acclimate to such widely divergent circumstances, and I came away from Amsterdam not knowing what to think. On one hand it is a stunning, laid back city rich in history, culture, and art. On the other hand parts of it are crawling with unsettling characters attracted by the lure of drugs and sex. Either way, it was fun experiencing such a unique and legendary place.

Speaking of luring characters, guess who joined us in Amsterdam? Yes, this was to be the final episode of the Super Amazing Tricycle Adventure starring Lauren McAuliffe, co-staring Myself, and featuring Andrew Vickers. We’ve had our ups and downs, been together through thick and thin, but Amsterdam was the staging point of our last hoo-rah.

First we got a disconcerting taste of life under Nazi occupation at the Anne Frank House and the Dutch Resistance Museum. Both brought to the foreground what we’ve previously only experienced through textbooks and Hollywood blockbusters. The Anne Frank House is a straightforward museum that doesn’t have to try too hard to really stir your emotions. Dutch Resistance does a good job of illustrating the progression of Nazi rule from the seemingly innocent beginning to joyful end while highlighting everything the Dutch did to defy their invaders. One exhibit I thought was cool was the handmade radios disguised as cigar boxes and match tins illegally made and distributed by an especially crafty Dutchman. Radios were illegal under the Nazis who didn’t want their subordinates listening for broadcasts from British and Allied Forces.

While waiting in line at the Anne Frank House, Andrew was approached by a wandering poet (he attracts these people like flies) who offered his poetic services for a small donation. The first poem was actually pretty good, but the second one Andrew got suckered into was obviously made up on the spot. I don’t think the poet was prepared for some chump to go for a second dose.

The Dutch woman in front of us in line who had shielded her kids away from the Andrew’s sketchy poet friend was nice enough to talk to us after he left. She overheard us speculating as to why there were tons of little kids dressed up as jesters with black faces all over Amsterdam. She explained that in most of Northern Europe the Santa story is a little different.

There’s no Santa Claus as we know him, but instead skinny Saint Nicolas who looks like a pope with a beard. Saint Nicolas has a jester named Black Pete who does all the important work. Black Pete is the one who either throws your gifts down the chimney if you’ve been good, or steals you out of your bed and takes you away to his home in Spain if you’ve been bad (oh no! not Spain!) The important part of Christmas occurs on December 6th, Black Pete’s birthday, instead of the 25th.

We peeked into the genius life of Dutch artist Vincent van Gogh at the Van Gogh Museum. It’s inspiring for anyone who enjoys a good underdog story; van Gogh is like the Rudy of art. Most big shot artists started studying at academies as soon as they could. Picasso was basically painting in the womb. Vince didn’t even touch a brush until after many other failed careers when he was in his late 20s. He ignored the conventions of the self-righteous artists around him and did what ever Vincent wanted to do. Although today no one can deny that his art is outstandingly exquisite, he only found fame after his tragic death.

At night you could find us either eating delicious Indonesian food, chilling at a chill place called Rookies, or walking along the canals on our long but worthwhile trek to our rented “apartment.” The sheer number of diverse components assembled in one place is enough to make Amsterdam one of the more captivating cities we’ve visited. We had a blast checking it out with our partner in crime, Andrew, who has a special talent for ensuring the deficiency of dull moments. Who knows, maybe there will be a Super Amazing Tricycle Adventure reunion…