Budapest to Split and Everything in Between

With classes, homework, running, get-togethers, and adventures, it seems as though I only have time to write about my bigger adventures, namely those that involve going away to some other country. This post is no different. This past weekend, for of course it is already almost the next weekend, but this is the first chance I've had to sit down and write (type), I went to Croatia. As I sit here whilst the chili I have been slaving away in the kitchen is bubbling away on the stove, I think back a little bit farther than just this past weekend. Before I came to Budapest, actually to be more specific, before I read a former BSMers blog, Croatia never crossed my mind. Sure I knew it was a country somewhere in or near the former Soviet Union, but other than that, its exact geographical location, and just about everything else about it, never once entered the edges of my mind. In fact, it was so far off my radar that I never thought I'd think about visiting it, let alone spending a weekend there.

But, evidently, Croatia did become known to me and the idea of visiting it was brought to my attention. A group of people were planning to go over our long weekend (this past Friday was a national holiday, thus no classes). When my other plans to travel to Istanbul for the long weekend fell through (only to be reestablished for over Thanksgiving) I hopped on the Croatia train, so to speak. I convinced another friend to come with me for what we both agreed would be a relaxing weekend to let our minds turn to mush after the stress of midterms, and we quickly bought train tickets bound for Split, Croatia.

Split, one of Croatia's major cities, is situated on the Adriatic Sea. From what I had read of the former BSMer's blog, I knew there were excellent beaches in Split. I very much looked forward to laying on the sand and reading as the sun hit my SPF 85 protected face (it's amazing how much my mom's voice plays in my head with regards to sun protection even with half a continent and an ocean between us). Claire and I bought our train tickets several weeks in advance, so for weeks we were fantasizing about a weekend getaway to the beach. Then, finally, the time had come! Midterms were over, or most of them were, I actually had one today, and it was time to head off into the ideal that was Croatia.

The night before we left, Franky decided spur of the moment to come too, so we had a last minute addition. The three of us, we were our own subgroup of the larger group, met at the train station at 5:30 AM, went to the ticket office to get a train ticket for Franky, and then made our way to the right platform. Upon boarding the train we quickly realized that all of the cars were made up of compartments instead of rows of seats. We ambled into one such compartment and soon realized that it was surely the better way to travel. We had our own compartment for almost the entire six hour trip to Zagreb (we got a visitor right at the end). The six hour trip passed as quickly as six hours can. We alternated dozing off, talking, and gaping out the window like children in a candy store. My favorite part of the ride was when we rode along Lake Balaton. The towns that we went through, all with some form of Balaton in their name, looked so serene and quintessential European with their eclectic mix of houses and quiet streets.

After hours of the slow rocking and rumbling of the train punctuated by occasional stops at foreign train stations with almost intelligible names, I began to wonder if we were still in Hungary or if we had slyly crossed the border into Croatia. I got my answer soon enough. We made another stop, which at the time I considered unremarkable. Then a figure appeared at our compartment door in a baby blue uniform. He opened the door and after saying something in some other language, registered our blank faces, and spoke in English. "Border control, passports please." We all quickly bustled around to get our passports to give to him. The baby blue officer was followed by a long slew of officials including Hungary's own border control officer, a customs officer, and a ticket checker. All of these officials went one by one down the train to check everyone. After quite a while, as you can imagine, everyone on the train was apparently clear and we continued on the Croatia leg of the journey.

The rest of the journey passed quickly after that, and we were soon pulling into Zagreb's Glavni Kolodvor train station. We had several hours before our connecting train departed, so we decided to get out and walk around and see what Croatia's capital had to offer. A couple blocks away from the station we found a beautiful park. We walked through it like wide-eyed children and then found a bench to sit on to eat our packed lunch. I have never eaten so much bread and cheese in my life, but it is cheap and one must cut cost where one can. Once we had finished our lunch, we continued to wander around and decided to follow the very helpful brown signs that point towards tourist attractions. After climbing a hill past a large square lined with modern stores we were standing in front of the St. Francis Cathedral, yet another exquisite example of the gorgeous architecture abundant in Europe. After taking a look inside the cathedral, which reminded me very much of the St. Mattias Church in Buda, we continued on in the streets of Zagreb. We ended up in a open air market with vendors selling everything from homemade cheese to fruit to souvenirs. After passing through the market we found ourselves walking down a street lined with cafés. We wandered around a bit more and then found a café to have a beer (coffee for me) in before going back to the train station. All too soon it was time to get back on the train, but we were all excited to reach our final destination.

After another, more uneventful, six hour train ride we finally arrived in Split! The rain that had been pouring down while we were on the train abated momentarily, so we were free to walk out of the train station into the damp night. The sight and smell of the sea immediately hit both my eyes and nose as we walked out of the train station. It never ceases to amaze me how excited I feel when seeing a large body of water. There is something so mysterious and beautiful, not to mention serene and timeless, about the oblivious sway of the sea. Without really any idea at all where to go, we started walking toward what we hoped was old town, where our hostel was located. After being pointed vaguely in the right direction by a cab driver only to still have no idea where we were supposed to go, we bought a map. While pouring over the map a woman asked us if she could help us. She spoke English and gave tours in the Diocletian Palace. She told us where to go and we graciously thanked her. We found ourselves on a wide, well lit promenade along the sea. We turned and headed up a similarly well lit street and then into a maze of tiny, curving streets walled in by tightly packed buildings. While we were standing at an intersection trying to get our bearings, we were asked yet again where we were headed and if we needed help. We actually knew where we were supposed to go, we were just trying to find a street sign to confirm our heading. The woman who asked us persisted and we told her that we were looking for Hostel Nikola to which she responded "oh, that is me." We had unknowingly stumbled across our hostel owner. She took us to our hostel (or more accurately told us the way while walking behind us with her two friends).

The hostel was not what we had expected. As a family owned hostel, it was the first of its kind that I had stayed in. We entered through a gate into what would have been a tiny courtyard that had been transformed into a sort of dining area with most of its space taken up by a large picnic table. Next to the picnic table was a small open kitchen for communal use. We waited around while the hostel owner got our room ready. Once our room was ready, we were directed up stairs around the outside of the building into a very narrow hallway and then up another set of steps, these curving and also exceedingly narrow. At the top was a bathroom, our door, and the door to another room. We entered our door, eager to set our stuff down, and found the room taken up almost completely by three beds. We claimed our beds and settled into our home for the next three days.

Operation: Infiltrate Jewish Cemetary: Part Three of the Prague Chrinicles

As my far too long saga in Prague continues, I will now recount the third and final day of the trip. For those of you who have been dutifully hanging on and continuing to read this ridiculously long post, but would rather be out in the real world doing whatever it is that you do, I will soon release you from your obligation.

On the third day in Prague, our mission was simple, see the Prague Castle. After all the wandering we had done, we still had not climbed up to see one of Prague's most notable landmarks. After getting everyone besides Franky and I checked out (we were staying later than the others), we made our way yet again to the tram. We hopped on a tram that we were pretty sure should take us to the castle. After several stops we were told that we had reached the tram's last stop and we had to disembark. We were still a little ways from the castle with not the best idea of how best to complete the trek to our destination. We began to walk while I tried to simultaneously consult a map continually asking "what street are we on?" only to receive shoulder shrugs and blank stares. As the rain began to descend yet again, I finally got my bearing and discovered a course that would take us to our destination.

As it seems with almost anything that is perched atop a hill, before making the final ascent, you must first descend. This was the case in Prague, but we finally made it to the base of castle hill (not sure if it actually has a name). Once we reached the top, we came to a large gate guarded by two rather comically dressed guards and to our left was a wall that provided spectacular views of the city. Inside the walls of the castle, we discovered that Prague Castle is far more than just one building. It's an entire complex! There are several museums, St. Vitus's Cathedral (the second largest in the world, second only to the Vatican's St. Peter's Basilica), the old Royal Palace, and so much more. It was too bad that we only had a morning to explore. After wandering around and gazing up at the cathedral towering above us, I decided I wanted to get an audio guide and go and tour the cathedral. I was alone in this desire, however. My companions were either not interested or more concerned about finding something to eat before the long train ride later that day. I was not backing down and stubbornly stated that whether or not anyone wanted to join me, I was going to see one of the most important buildings in Prague's history, not to mention one of the most famous. I agreed to do my best to race through the tour of the cathedral and meet them in an hour and then quickly ducked inside to purchase my audio guide before the discussion could start anew.

Although they promise that with an audio guide you can skip to the front of the line to get into the cathedral, there were lots of fellow listeners, so I had to wait. As I waited, a tumultuous down pour began. Everyone in the line surged forward as the rain pelted us hoping that the door monitors preventing us entrance would have mercy. They didn't. I ended us crowded near the front almost covered by a neighboring couples' umbrella. I didn't really mind getting wet, but I protectively covered my camera. Finally, we were admitted to enter. Once inside, my jaw dropped. It's one thing to claim that a building is the second largest of its type in the world, but it's another story to actually stand beneath towering vaulted ceilings. The cathedral was gorgeous. I meandered through it with my audio guide glued to my ear listening as a Brittish voice clearly enunciated every syllable of each altar's history and purpose. The stained glass lining every wall was absolutely spectacular. They ranged from scenes of the lives of saints to abstract shapes and patterns. One of the most notable features of the cathedral is the tomb of John of Nepomuk, the patron saint of the city. His tomb was the most impressive and excessive display of decorative silver I have ever seen. The other alters are comparatively bleak and simple.

After racing through the Cathedral (I skipped a couple of the altars), I had a few minutes left before having to meet the rest of the crew, so I scurried across the plaza to the Old Royal Palace. Inside, I got a feel for the lives of the building's former inhabitants. My favorite room in the palace was Vadislav Hall, a room with a towering ceiling lined with intertwined curved ribs (I wasn't allowed to take pictures, so you'll have to use your imagination). I made a point to at least see each room of the Old Royal Palace and listen to what I could of the audio guide, but all too soon my time was up.

Back outside, I found the rest of the group and we made our way out of the castle complex and back to the hostel. Once at the hostel, everyone picked up their bags and we all went to the train station. Everyone bought their train tickets and figured out which platform to go to. After making sure to get our train tickets for the following day, Franky and I bid farewell to everyone else and headed back for the city center. My main goal for the final evening in Prague was to see the Jewish Cemetery. Retracing our steps from the past couple of days, Franky and I found ourselves in the Jewish Quarter. With a quick consultation of the map, we quickly found the cemetery. Upon nearing the gate, I saw two people looking at the gate and then back down at something in their hands with confusion on their faces. They walked away as we approached the gate, and only then did I realize the reason for their confusion. On the gate of the cemetery was a sign written in multiple languages that read "Closed due to holiday." I couldn't believe it! The reason I stayed in Prague for an extra night was closed! I was not going to give up. I quickly noticed that the wall surrounding the cemetery had gaps in it, and thus began Operation: Infiltrate Jewish Cemetery. Franky and I walked all the way around the cemetery periodically climbing the wall to peer through and see the cemetery. At places where the gap was too high for me to see through, I held my camera up to it and blindly released the shutter. At one point, I squatted next to the sheet metal wall by the bathrooms to get a good look at the cemetery beyond. All in all, I think I got a pretty good visual of the cemetery, with a great story to go along with it to boot.

After seeing the cemetery, neither Franky or I had anything that we particularly wanted to see. We ended up wandering the streets of Prague. We climbed the tower of one of Prague's many cathedrals, sauntered along Charles Bridge that was teeming with tourists, made our way back up to the castle to see the front gate, and then finally ended up back in Old Town Square it was wonderful to have no agenda and to only have to consult with one other opinion instead of six. Franky wanted to check out the Dalí exhibit at a museum in Old Town Square, so we bought tickets and wandered around the upstairs of the building looking at rather bizarre paintings and sculptures. I found most of the artwork disturbing, but it was nice to wander through the museum with no further agenda. After the museum we found a relatively cheap place to eat, and then headed back to the hostel.

The next morning came all too quickly. We woke before dawn to catch the early train back to Budapest. While waiting for breakfast at the hostel to open, we ran out to a bakery down the street and got some bread for the train ride back. I attempted to put a dent in the remaining crowns I had, but found that a bakery was not the place to do that. Bakeries are incredibly cheap (now that's my kind of place)! After securing rations for our seven hour train ride we went back to the hostel, scarfed down some free muesli, and checked out. Check out took longer than expected and so did the tram, so by the time we got off at the train station we had to run to the platform. I honestly thought we were going to miss our train. We made it on the train with several minutes to spare. As we breathed a sigh of relief, the train began to roll out of the station, leaving Prague behind, Budapest bound.

"Pipe Down Rub-A-Dub.": Part Two of the Prague Chronicles

My plan of keeping my blog relatively up to date is failing miserably. What follows will be the second part of The Prague Chronicles, two weeks after it happened. It has been an absolutely crazy couple of weeks. I have been studying for midterms or working on midterm projects/presentations almost constantly. These past couple of weeks have made me feel like I'm back in Ripon with more homework to do than there are hours in the day. While not having homework constantly is a nice break from the constant worries that come with assignments, I do best when I'm busy, so I was back in my element. The downside to numerous assignments is that it forces me to prioritize, and the first things to go are timely blog recountings. Now, sitting in rainy Croatia, my current adventure, I have a chance to look back on Prague.

After our ridiculous night of being stranded tramless and cold, we finally got into bed and fell fast asleep within seconds. Then next morning I woke up earlier than I would have expected after not going to bed until 2:30 AM. I have realized that whilst traveling, my body wakes me up prematurely. Perhaps it is my body's way of physically expressing my brain's desire to get out there and see the world. I ended up taking a shower before it was clogged with my newly awakened travelmates. Once we were all showered and dressed, we headed down to the free breakfast that the hostel offered (a free meal is always a plus!). The breakfast was pretty measly, just some sandwich makings (American cheese, ham, and white bread) a couple types of cereal (corn flakes and muesli) and coffee and tea, comparable to a hotel continental breakfast. But, I was not going to complain one bit, unlike some members of our group. The fact that it was free, and I had access to an unlimited supply of coffee in the morning, was fantastic.

After breakfast we hurried off to catch the tram to the metro station, and then take the metro to Old Town Square where we were going to participate in a free tour put on by a company called New Europe. We were a little late, as is to be expected when dealing with a larger group of people, so we missed the tour. Luckily, there was another tour later in the afternoon, so, in the mean time, we decided to mill around Old Town Square. The square was bustling with life despite the cold, rainy conditions. Prague, one of the top twenty most visited cities in the world, was full of tourists. In that respect, it wasn't as enjoyable as Budapest. Everywhere I went I heard English, and while it is comforting to hear my native tongue when constantly surrounded by unfamiliar languages, it makes the entire experience feel too commercial. We wandered through the many booths that are set up in the square with Tyn Church and St. Nicholas Church towering above us, listening to the sounds of a band of old men playing encircled by oggling tourists. After a short wait, we made our way through the gradually thickening pack of people standing in front of the Astronomical Clock in preparation for its hourly show. Staring up at the bizarre array of dials, symbols, and figures I tried to fathom what kind of crazy dance they would soon be doing. As the bell tolled and the audience watched in wonder, a small skeleton began ringing a bell, then doors opened and figures of the apostles made their appearance in front of the opening before the doors closed. That was it. I have to say that after all the hype I had heard about the amazing astronomical clock, I was a bit disappointed. Though, I have to give the architects of the clock a little credit. It was originally built in 1410, long before modern technology, and has been added to and repaired numerous times over its centuries of existence.

After watching the clock spectacle, we decided to just wander wherever we felt like. We ended up outside the Spanish Synagogue and then continued on and stumbled upon the Convent of St. Agnes of Bohemia. We were able to go inside and look around. It was beautiful, and like any place of this sort, very quiet. I always feel like I am the loudest person when I am forced to be as silent as possible. The sound of every move I make seems to magnify by ten. After we had had our fill of the convent, our grumbling stomachs dictated our next destination.

Instead of wandering aimlessly trying to find a restaurant that was both cheap and authentic, I turned to Rick Steves' Eastern Europe that I had borrowed from a friend. While other members of the group suggested going to a place we passed that sold wings, I stubbornly insisted on finding a restaurant that served authentic Czech cuisine. Call me a snob, but I didn't come to the Czech Republic to eat wings! There is always Buffalo Wild Wings when I get back to the states. I found a place located nearby that met both of my criteria, Czech and cheap. It was a traditional Czech cafeteria where you get a tray and a slip of paper and make your way through the lines selecting whatever you want. Once you've ordered an item, you hand the slip to the server who proceeds to write down the item and the price of the item you ordered. After you're done eating, you take the slip to the cashier and pay on your way out. I thought it was really cool.

After lunch we headed back to Old Town Square to meet up with the other tour. We successfully got assigned to a tour guide and off we went. Our tour guide, Isaac, was an American who had been living in Prague for the past eight years. He was a history buff and gave us very brief, but entertaining history at various sights around Prague. At one point he paused for dramatic effect after confidently assuming that we wanted to hear about the Nazis in Prague's history. To this assumption Franky chimed in "Yeah, do it," in a mock enthusiastic child voice. Our tour guide, slightly thrown off by the addition of Franky's comment, responded "Pipe down Rub-A-Dub," which got laughs all around. He was very funny, if not a little crass. He liked to make fun of different nationalities, which sometimes was a little over the top, but otherwise he made what could have been a boring tour, very entertaining and engaging. At one point he picked me out of the crowd to play the Virgin Mary in a skit about how a severed hand wound up in a church.

Unfortunately, we had to leave the tour early so we could go back to our hostel and change before heading off to a piano concert at the beautiful Rudolfinium. Our tour guide was less than pleased that we were leaving early, but we explained to him that we had plans that required us to bail out before the three hour tour had been completed. He still got a bit pissed off, but after walking away, two of our group returned to tip him and then we traipsed off to our hostel.

After a quick rest for our feet (we had literally been walking or standing all day, including during lunch because there were no booths open) we were soon back on the metro and headed to the Rudolfinium. We walked around the block once because we didn't realize that the building that we had passed on more than one occasion during our trip thus far was the one we wanted. We finally came to the realization that we were fools and had indeed been right in front of the correct building without even noticing it. Upon our realization, we quickly bought cheap tickets and went in. The concert was lovely. I have no knowledge of composers or what pieces go well together, but the music was great. After a day on my feet as the lead navigator it was wonderful to sit back in a beautiful room and listen to the sounds of seasoned fingers stroking the ivory keys of a piano. Half the time I just let the music fill the back of my mind as I let my mind wander to whatever it so pleased. After the pianist was done and had walked on and off the stage countless times (as is apparently customary in these types of performances) and perform two encores the concert was finally over.

Back out on the street (and our feet) we made dinner our next objective. Someone amongst us decided that we should go to a restaurant called The Crazy Cow (a name which is very close to mad cow, and which would have been unsettling if I ate beef). Upon arrival at the restaurant I took a quick look at the menu and realized there weren't many options for a non-mammal eater like myself, and even fewer for a vegetarian. I decided that I'd rather keep looking, but the others were perfectly happy with this selection, so the lone vegetarian in the group and I went off in search of something more appetizing. We found a nice place that had something appetizing to both of us. I ended up getting the cheapest thing on the menu, potato soup in a bread bowl. It was delicious, Czech, and cheap, an unbeatable combination. After dinner Gene and I met back up with the rest of the group and we all headed for our hostel.

That night we made sure we were on the metro before it closed, so we wouldn't have a repeat of the previous night wandering around the streets of Prague looking for the right night tram. After another exhausting day we all fell fast asleep in minutes.

Bratislava? Are We in Slovakia?: Part One of The Praha Chronicles

As the title so subtly suggests, what follows in a chronicle of my recent trip to Praha (Prague for those who may not recognize it by it's true name), Czech Republic. I have been rather busy this week due to various assignments for midterms, ahh!, so I am somewhat behind on my blog. I have decided to take time away from studying and homework to finally put my trip into words.

Last Friday after class, I, and six of my friends, hopped on a train and headed for the Czech Republic. It is about a seven hour train ride from Budapest, which is manageable for a weekend getaway. I enjoy the train. It's lovely to sit and look out of the window as unfamiliar lands whiz by with the knowledge that I am speeding off to an exciting new place. The scenery on this ride was especially spectacular because of the changing foliage. The hills were spotted with blasts of orange, yellow, and red among the blanket of green. It happened to be a good day to be on a train. The sky was overcast and gray, adding to the mystique of an unknown landscape.

As the train glided out of Hungary I resigned myself to split my time between gazing out of the window and reading my fantastic book about famous Hungarian Jews who were forced to flee Budapest after Budapest's Golden Age came to an abrupt end in the 1920's, and changed the world.

I need to interrupt this recounting of my train ride to bring you a breaking news bulletin: I just succeeded in lighting my oven for the first time! I am ecstatic to finally be able to bake! I have been ovenless for the past six weeks because I was unable to figure out how to light my gas oven. My land lady finally showed me how to light it. Previously, all I could get it to do was billow gas into my flat, but I couldn't figure out where exactly I was supposed to stick the flame to get it to ignite. Not wanting to blow up my flat, I abandoned the effort. After being instructed on where to put the flame I discovered that the ridiculous shark lighter that I have doesn't fit, so I've been searching for matches for a couple of weeks now. Oh, how I miss electric ovens! Anyway, back to the train ride...

Many crumbling, neglected buildings lined the railway or were visible from the train car in which I sat. Those buildings, added with the bleak, gray sky and my exposure to the history of communism in Hungary, made me feel as if I had been transported to another time. This may reveal the extent to which I have been "Americanized" because I associate desolation and wreckage with communism, but from what I have learned about Hungarian history during the communist regime, it wasn't a great time in the country's history.

Somewhere in my daydreams of other times, I noticed that the alphabet on signs along the railway had changed. Letters were now adorned with a wide variety of unusual accents and symbols that had no place in Hungarian. My immediate thought, proving my complete geographical ignorance, was that we had crossed the Hungarian border into the Czech Republic. It wasn't until we pulled up in Bratislava (which I knew wasn't in the Czech Republic) that I call out, "Are we in Slovakia?" Everyone else, having even less of a clue about the geography of Eastern Europe than I did, just shrugged. I quickly pulled out a map and discovered that Hungary does NOT border the Czech Republic, and that we had been in Slovakia for quite some time. Oh, the ignorance of youth.

After an uneventful train ride spent alternating between looking out of the window, reading, sleeping, and talking to my companions, we finally arrived in Praha. It took us a ridiculously long time to locate an ATM in the train station so we could get Czech koruna (crowns). I finally found it in the most logical of places, right next to the ticket counters, duh. Oh well, after getting some money we finally managed to get on the metro and take yet another train to our hostel. Our hostel was fabulous. It was called Plus Prague and was fantastically cheap (only $12 a night) with clean rooms, free WiFi, free breakfast, a pool, and keycard access. The only downside was that it was located a little outside of the city center, but it's easy access to a tram stop made getting to it easy. I found the hostel on hostelworld.com which is a great site if you're ever in need of booking a hostel.

Once checked-in and unloaded, we went in search of food to please our growling stomachs. We found a Mexican restaurant just around the corner and happily walked in. It's a good thing it didn't take us the usual five years to make up our minds because when we came in we were told that the kitchen would be closing in five minutes, so we just made the cut. The most remarkable thing at dinner was when we ordered chips and guacamole, we were served guacamole with french fries. Of all places to adopt the Brittish meaning for chips, a Mexican restaurant! When we pointed out the error, we were confused as to why we were receiving french fries, our waitress just said she "you said chips," and left. We never did get real tortilla chips. I guess I'll just have to wait for the real thing when I get home. Los Loros here I come!

After dinner we decided to go down by the river and see Praha at night, big mistake. We got down to the river, which was very beautiful. I was continually impressed by Praha, besides the large number of fellow tourists. Praha's many gorgeous and historic buildings suffered little damage during WWII, unlike Budapest, who's buildings still bear marks of past horrors (i.e. bullet holes). The price for choosing to see this wonderful city at night was that the metro closed during our escapades, which included stumbling upon some animated peeing statues outside of the Franz Kafka Museum. We had a good laugh at those statues with their moving appendages to put it discretely. We ended up walking most of the 4 km back to our hostel on a very chilly night before we finally found the right tram to take us the rest of the way. As self appointed lead navigator, I was exceedingly cranky by the end of the night. At one tram stop, after confirming that it was a stop on the tram line that we wanted, we were passed by the oncoming tram with a small wave from the driver as he passed us without even stopping. They have different stops for different directions of the same tram line. We were at a stop for the tram going the opposite way. We finally found the stop for the tram going in our desired direction several blocks away and had to wait another 15 minutes because the trams only run every half hour after midnight.

But, in the end we finally made it back by 2 a.m. or so, and all fell, totally drained, into bed. The next day would prove far more exhausting.

I Heart Running

Yesterday morning was the Budapest Marathon. I, however, took part in a much smaller event, the minimarathon. I woke up early on race day to drink some coffee, wake up, and relax before the event. I left my flat with plenty of time to get to the race. As I was walking down Andrassy, a street that would soon be part of my running route, I realized that this was the first race I had ever done completely by myself. That's not to say I haven't run races alone before. I ran the Atlanta Thanksgiving Day Half Marathon last year by myself, but I had my family there to take me to the race and to meet me after. The feeling was a bit surprising because I hadn't expected it, but nonetheless it didn't dampen my desire to run the race. After all, I run for myself and no one else.

I got to the park where the race began with about half an hour until the start of my race. I calmly found a spot to stand that was out of the way and watched all the marathoners get situated at the start gate. They were scheduled to start fifteen minutes before me. After the start of the marathon, all the minimarathoners filled in the start lane behind the start line. As I waited among my fellow runners, the doubt that always fills me before a race began to creep in. As the gun went off and the entire body of runners surged forward, I had no choice but to suppress my doubts and go with the flow.

Once we were all out of the starting line and on the open road people spread out more and I was able to fall into a comfortable, if not slightly faster, stride. At the beginning of most races, a lot of people bolt from the starting line in excitement. I have worked hard to ignore this urge, choosing instead to run the pace that I know I can keep. In the first kilometer or two, I felt like I wasn't moving as the throngs of excited novices raced by me. Later in the race, however, I passed those same eager individuals as their legs forced them to pay for their impatient beginning.

This was the kind of run that makes all the pain, all the doubt, and all the half-hearted runs worth it. It felt great! My legs felt like they would carry me for miles. The weather was beautiful with the sun shining and a nice moderate autumn temperature, the traces of the morning cold just beginning to ebb. After the first few kilometers my legs felt good enough that realized that I could quicken my pace. I began to get a little faster after every kilometer. I picked people out in front of me and tried to either stay with them or pass them.

By the time I got to kilometer six, I was still feeling like I had barely done any work, so I picked it up a couple of notches. When I reached the seven kilometer mark with only 500 meters to go, I opened my stride up and let my legs take me. At the 100 meter mark I was in an all out sprint with the finish line in my sights. I haven't had a race like that in a long time. I shattered the time I was tentatively hoping for, and upon finishing I felt like I could have gone on longer. I couldn't have asked for a better sense of self satisfaction.

In a nutshell, this type of run is why I love running. One good day can make every bad day worth it. So, to all those who wonder why it is that I go out every day and run, rain or shine, snow or ice, now you know. After all the work, and all the miles, there isn't a better feeling of euphoria than when the beat of your heart is one with the rhythm of your stride.

Anniversaries, Canadians, and Scottish Dancing

Today is technically my one month anniversary in Budapest. I arrived on September 3 and today is October 3. I feel as if I am in some sort of paradox because it feels as though I have been in Budapest far longer than only slightly over four weeks, but when I look back on my time here, I can't believe that it has been four weeks already. I feel as though this anniversary serves as not only a temporal milestone, but also an emotional one. I have, at times in these first few weeks, felt as if I had really adjusted to living here, but I realize that only now have I truly adjusted. I am comfortable in my surroundings and have no misgivings about how to get around (for the most part). I have created a web of friends and have branched out from my initial "gang". I am now on the verge of leaving the comforts of Budapest to explore Europe as a whole. I even successfully ordered some sajtos posacsak completely in Hungarian with my extensive knowledge of Hungarian numbers and a couple key phrases.

Earlier this afternoon, I walked to Heroes Square down the gorgeous Andrassy Utca to pick up my race packet for the race I am running in tomorrow. Tomorrow is the Budapest Marathon. I, however, am not up to the challenge of running a 26.2 miles (about 42 km), so I will be running a minimarathon at the very comfortable distance of 7.5km (about 4.5 miles). I succeeded in picking up my packet and was headed back the way I came when I was approached by an elderly man. He said something to me to which I stared blankly at him. To tell you the truth, I had no idea what he had said or what language he had said it in. He quickly spoke in English and gestured to the camera in his hand. He wanted me to take a picture of him under the marathon banner. After I took the picture and handed his camera back, he motioned to my t-shirt and said "You're from Canada," more of a statement than a question. At first I was confused by his accusation, but I quickly realized how he had gotten the idea, and instead of correcting him nodded furiously. I was wearing my Oakland, CA (California) joggers and striders t-shirt. I then proceeded to have a short conversation with him, all the while pretending I was a native maple leaf. Oh, how I love people's inability to pinpoint my nationality here.

Budapest itself must believe that I have truly adjusted, for tonight I was mistaken twice within a five minute span of being a native. I was walking to the metro (with my headphones in as usual) and stopped to wait at a crosswalk. As I was standing there, a woman walks up to me a starts talking. With music blaring in my ears I couldn't tell if she was speaking Hungarian or pig Latin. I hurriedly pulled my earphones out and found to my horror that I was being spoken to in rapid Hungarian. I listened for a couple seconds and then found myself faced with a silence, she was waiting for me to respond. I only had one response for her:"I'm sorry, I don't speak Hungarian," to which she waved me off and was left with no choice, but to stand next to me in silence.

Once the light changed I quickly hurried across the street desperately trying to escape the very awkward and embarrassing situation I had just been a party to. In the next block I was again confronted, this time by a man who had pulled up to the side of the street perpendicular to mine. As before, I had to pull out my headphones and have him repeat himself, but to my relief he spoke in English. He asked me where Astoria was. I happen to know where Astoria is, but I have never been there by car, which was his mode of travel. I have only been there by metro. I tried to determine Astoria's location relative to mine and give him at least a direction to travel in. I finally gave him some directions and continued walking. As I walked away I couldn't help but worry that I had given him wrong directions. I again pictured a map in my head and determined that I had actually managed to point him in the right direction! I must say, that pleased me a great deal.

But, the best part of the night was yet to come. I was invited to go to a Scottish Dance with my friend Jenny. I have never in my life been Scottish Dancing, but I thought it'd be a fun new experience, and oh, what an experience it was. After meeting up with Jenny, we hopped on the metro and went a few stops north of where I live. We then wandered down the street until we came to a community center, it's windows ablaze with activity. I was a bit unsure of myself as we walked in, but we were cordially welcomed, and being a bit late, hurriedly took our places.

As it turns out, the dance was really more of an instructional class for beginners that provided both dancing lessons and a social activity. Unfortunately, the social aspect of the evening proved difficult for Jenny and I. As non-Hungarian speakers, we were a bit alienated. It was quite an experience to take dance lessons without understanding a word the instructor was saying. My observational skills were put to the test because that was my only means of figuring out how to do the steps. Jenny Scottish dances at her college in the States, so she was familiar with most of the dances we did. While the instructor was jabbering away in Hungarian I would occasionally look over his shoulder across the circle to Jenny who was making hand gestures to imitate the dance steps. For the most part, though, I was able to pick the steps up quickly, and with no miming needed. By the end of the night I was better than some of the people who were in the class. It must be the Scottish blood in my veins.

The most noteworthy aspect of the evening were my interaction with the other members of the class. Keeping true to the style of dance, we switched partners often. This meant that there was a constant language barrier between my partner and I. I ended up dancing with this very nice man whom I could tell was a bit more advanced. At times he would say things to me, and I just smiled and nodded, too embarrassed to attempt further communication. At one point he turned to me and said "Bezelsz magyarul?" That happens to be one of the few phrases in Hungarian that I know, so I sadly replied "Nem, angolul." After that he helped me by motioning with his hands in an attempt to help me understand the steps the instructor was describing in words.

Despite the language barrier, it was a fabulous evening. I had no idea what Scottish Dancing entailed before I arrived, but now I am considering going to the weekly classes. If you ever consider Scottish Dancing, get ready to polka. I had never polkaed before, and was unprepared for the wild rotating and leaping. I quickly learned to keep my knees out of the way. The polka was used throughout many of the dances we did. I encourage anyone to try Scottish Dancing. Even if you don't get your steps just right, all that matters is that you're in the right place on the down beat. Be forewarned, it is a workout. My feet were aching by the end. What a way to spend my one month anniversary!