Part 2: Bratislava, Brno, Budapest

I met Jamie and Tara in Budapest and together we caught a late train to a former capital of the Hungarian territory...Bratislava. We slept poorly, meandered, and ate perogies.  

                                                                       Train buddies
                                                                      Castle view
                                                                 A hat on a building!

Brno, a name I can not properly pronounce, but was stunning! We explored, and visited one of the most famous prisons in the Hapsburg empire. There I drooled over Handschrift documents on display, and later we popped into the Easter market. All too soon it was time to wait for the train and travel on our separate ways.

Budapest: I finally checked out the shoe memorial along the Danube. The weather was perfect to just chill out on its banks. I also popped into the Easter Market at Vorosmarty ter, and chilled out sipping tea.

"A good man, Edina thought. Question is, what is he good for" p 32

The last two weekends can be summarized in the following words: Margie, Mangaliza and Mariapocs.

The first weekend in February I put on a dress, threw on some make-up, heels and waited to be picked up. Eltelka arrived  and the pair of us drove into the heart of Andrassy ut. We were quite lucky and found a parking place almost directly in front of the Opera house. There we waited to meet with Margie and Hanna, who were also going to the Ballet. Adorned with fabulous paintings and guilt, the interior of the Budapest opera house was almost more amazing than the rendition of Anna Karenina being unfolded on the stage. Hours and coffees later, I stumbled home behind Lauren and Lyla. Saturday I visited, and ran errands with the Csibis. Later I met up with Lauren and Lyla again, and the three of us headed to the second round of Margie's birthday bash. 

Sunday the girls and I met up with Jon and Franny at the Mangaliza festival. Mangalizas are an ancient breed of Hungarian pigs. They are hairy, large, and their meat has the healthy cholesterol. We fought through lines for food, which was delicious. Later I got to pet the babies, as they were driven past in carts. I fulfilled the advertisement's imperative: Pet and Eat.

The next week dragged by, as my bronchial cough developed into a nasty zombie inducing full cold. Feeling better, and armed with a flask of hot tea I boarded a bus for Szolnok at some ridiculous (ie before 7am) hour. This turned out to be the slowest bus in Hungary. Frustrated, flurried and worried messages zipped back and forth between me and Emily. A full twenty odd minutes late, the bus arrived. We got to the train station, bought tickets, jumped aboard the train and we were off.  We were met in Mariapocs' bus station (a little shelter on the side of a highway), by Tara and her school's Director, who drove us the 30-45 minute walk into town. Margie made us pancakes, coffee and a disturbing liver/rice sausage (a gift from a student's grandmother). We sat around, chatted and later prepared ourselves for the ball.

If you ever want to feel like a rock star, and have no musical talent, go to Mariapocs. We walked in, dressed like bombshells, but not to the sparkly nines like some (glitter is an important part of all formal school occasions I've noticed). There we sat at a prime table, littered with alcohol, water and polgacsa all courtesy of the director. We watched adorable children sing, dance and preform. We then gorged ourselves on a fantastic dinner, then danced the night away. Second dinner at midnight, then a raffle, then more dancing, and we were exhausted.

The next morning, we were driven to the train station by the bleary eyed Principal. He had stayed at the party until 6am! The snow had started earlier on Saturday afternoon, and had not stopped when we walked home at 2am. Sani's car got stuck, so bearing our backpacks and purses, Margie, Jamie and I pushed his car out of the snowdrifts. The five of us had to walk along the tracks, as it was the only thing clear of the the foot or so high drifts. Walking along arms out for balance we made it to the platform, to await the slowest train in Hungary. 

In Nyiregyhaza we parted ways. Emily and Jamie caught the first train home. Margie headed to Tescos to pick up supplies, while Tara and I headded into town for coffee. It was lovely to wander through the beautiful streets pock marked with ugly 60s style buildings. All too soon it was 2pm, and Tara's bus left. We made strange faces at one another as we tried to tell stories through the dirty plate glass windows of her bus. She pulled away, and I was left, kicking dirty snow into oily puddles for another hour before my trusted chariot whisked me home. 

On my last bus home, I ran into a pair of students. One in 11d-beginners, and one a 12d German student. We communicated awkwardly. I laughed a little as one of their friends (not someone I teach) got on the bus, and almost sat next to me. Realizing who I was, he jumped back and politely said 'Csokolom Tanarno'. There I was, feeling grubby, with unwashed pigtailed braids, and a slight stiffness from sleeping on some one's floor, having a student treat me with cautious politeness, whilst asking me in the mix of German/English/Hungarian, that has become my daily lexicon, about parties and other teachers. I am glad, and amused that this is my life. I could not ask for much better. 

No more Budapest

My Chariot....



Don't get is wrong, the No loves the captivating capital of the entrancing country in which she resides, but...

Of the last 5 days, the No has been in Budapest every single one, slept only one night in Heves, and managed to make all but two of her classes. How could she pull off the amazing feat of working in one city while being official bum on couch in the fourteenth district of Budapest? Easy, spend lots of money and lots of time on the bus. Between Thursday and Monday the No has spent 15 hours and 35 minutes on the Bus. (and this does not include public transport within Budapest itself....)

Why you may ask would any rational person choose to spend 15 + hours in 5 days on a bus traipsing through rural and into urban Hungary? The answer, simply put is people and panic.

Thursday the No was lured to Thanksgiving dinner, a stupendous blow out with more people than space.

Friday the No had to return home to teach. Alone in her flat, lonely and procrastinating cleaning said flat, she was lured back to the capital by bowling, movies, pancakes and museums. Truth be told, she should have known she was traveling too much, when her bus driver into Budapest (who happened to be the bus driver to Heves at 7 that morning) recognized her, and when she asked for a ticket, he gave her a look which all too clearly asked 'Really?'

Sunday saw the end of the fun, and the now second trip home from Budapest this week.

Monday's round trip was caused by panic. Forgotten by the No, her passport had only two spaces left for stamps. This caused a problem as she intends to visit Minnesota over winter break, but must return. However, the embassy (where they handily can take 10 minutes to sew in new pages), is only open from 1-4 Monday through Friday. Mondays of the B week coincided as the only time in which the No could make the round trip to the embassy and still make all of her classes.

The best parts of the insanity, where the calm and beautiful moments (none of which were on the bus):

The majesty of the parliament in the foggy-drizzly weather

Eating long craved after Mexican

Going to an American embassy, by herself for the first time in her life

Students waving goodbye on the bus

Buying pretty glasses in IKEA, so now the No can drink out of more than just coffee mugs

The new girth of her passport, ready for new stamps and new adventures

Friends with directions, on the phone

No, I am not a late-enrolling Train student: Adventures in Szombathely

The bus ride back to Budapest was full of the chatter of future plans. I happily dozed through last minute planning, as I had already arranged a visit to an old university buddy now teaching in rural Austria. So decamping from the bus, Lauren, Lyla and I smsed the guys, to arrange a last minute dinner party.

Gergo and Andy showed up, and the five of us ate Lauren and Lyla’s amazing dinner until late in the evening. So when it came time to wake up, I decided to take the later train I had found, instead of an earlier one. This turned out to be a mistake.

I arrived at Keleti and was immediately panic set in. There were ticket inspectors all over, and I had forgotten where to buy international tickets. Dazed, sleepy and panicky I bought a ticket to Jennersdorf where I would have to catch a bus to the village. I found the train to Szombathely, hopped aboard, found a seat and settled in.

I got a little suspicious when we passed Tata, and asked the girl sitting across from me if the train was going to Szombathely. She said it was, so I settled down. A few hours passed, and I looked at my diary with the connections written in it. I realized that I was on the wrong train; I had not taken the correct train from Keleti, and would miss my connection to Jennersdorf. In a panic I called Emily and Jamie. Between the two of them they broke the bad news, I would miss the last bus to the village by 10 minutes. So I decided to spend the night in Szombathely, explore a bit, and then head on to Austria. I dialed my friend’s number and got a strange garbled message. So I decided to remove two of the numbers and try again. This time the call went through, but was answered not by my friend, but rather by a harassed sounding Austrian woman. Mostly harassed because I tried twice more, and each time she sounded crankier.

So I walked into the Tourinform at the spacious and modern train station, where I was informed that it was unlikely that I would be able to find a hostel, because school was in session, but I should try number 23 in the catalogue. Hoping against hope I called. They had a free bed, but I would have to get there within half an hour. So armed with a map, I fought my way through the twists and turns of medieval street planning, and found it.

It wasn’t until I walked in that I realized that the Hostel was actually the MAV dorms. The courtyard had miniature train tracks and MAV paraphernalia. The porter was confused at first as I was obviously not a train-driving student. Later one of the secretaries came in, rapid fire Hungarian and several stamped papers later, and he was ebullient. Speaking slowly, clearly and slightly louder than normal, as if to someone hard of hearing, he walked me to the stairs and handed me the key to my room.

Later I explored the city, and crashed.

Heves – a passionate little town that no one can get to by bus.

I, the No, have a love/hate relationship with the bus. Mostly I hate it, with its sweaty riding, the inability to get up and walk around and go to the bathroom, the gimlet glares if you bring out a roast chicken and palinka (all of which are perfectly acceptable on Hungarian trains). So when I discovered that the train station is way outside and on the other side of town, but the main bus terminal lies tantalizingly just a minute up my street, I thought I would reconsider my old enmity.

So I bleary eyed left for Mariapocs, early one Saturday morning. I’ll admit it; I would not have looked forward to the five-hour journey even on a train. It went smoothly enough, I gracefully switched onto a large comfortable bus in Kalpona. I made it to Nyrighaza and other than an intense need to use the loo the ride had gone well. I met J and T and we wandered through Nyrighaza and later through the beautiful pilgrimage town of Mariapocs. We watched weary pilgrims process past us, and listened to the chanting of the faithful.
But all too soon our weekend was over, and it was time to face the beast…otherwise known as Public Transport in a Foreign Language.

Earlier in the weekend I got the beep beep of a text notifying me that I had less than 300ft on my phone, but had not found a place to recharge it. So, 5 hot and sweaty hours later on the bus, I should have not been surprised by the fact that I missed my stop.

I knew that I was supposed to get off in Gyongyos at 6:23, so at about 6:10 I began to look for a bus terminal. 6:23 came and passed as we stopped at small stops, but I was not too worried, as the bus had been 15 minutes late, and so I gave it a couple extra minutes. Then we passed the TESCOS, and I knew there was trouble. In my previous stay, I had visited Sara in Gyongyos, and we had walked to the outskirts of town and gone to the TESCOS, so when I saw it, I knew we had almost left Gyongyos.
In a panic I turned to the guy behind me and asked where the Bus terminal was. He replied that we would be there in about an hour. “The Gyongyos terminal?” I asked. “No the Budapest one”

Frantically, I texted Emily for help. She saved me on the phone front, which allowed me to call everyone I knew in Budapest asking if they knew if there was a bus back to Heves. No answer, no answer, no answer….until finally a returning teacher, who I had met at orientation answered. He did not have Internet however, and suggested I call Hajni, our amazing program director. She was able to find two buses back to Heves that night.
Later as we got off of the bus, the man who had sat behind me, asked if he could help me find my way. Turns out he was a student returning to Budapest from a weekend at home, and he very kindly found the platform I was to wait at and walked me there.

So after my Budapest adventure, I was a little hesitant when T, was to take the Bus to meet me in Heves. I warned her of the Gyongyos stop, and was assured that she would not be going through Gyongyos, but would be arriving at about 9pm.

At about 8:45pm I got a phone call. “Are you already here?” I asked groggily waking up out of quick nap. “Nooo,” a faint voice called over the phone, “I got off at the stop, to change buses, but my next bus is not on the list at all. Do you know where Dekt is?”

Not having Internet, I could not help much. So as I called Emily, who knows everything, T called J, who had Internet, No longer a tri-fecta, we worked as a quadfecta trying to get our friend out of Dekt.

An hour and a half later of chaos and frantic text messages, our efforts to get her to Heves by Bus had failed. Our program director had found her a place to stay in Eger, and T had new advice for all CETP-ers trying to get to Heves: “never go into Dekt.”