Where Dave Is

Dave and Josh are…

In Budapest.

I woke up too late and ruined our shot at one last breakfast of crossianted heaven but with some bread and cheese to sustain us we set out for the last of our journey’s bizarre adventures. The target was just in the outer hills of Buda: The Children’s Railway.

Its billed as the world’s only full fledged railway run entirely by children. And sure enough the conductors and signalmen (and women) on the 12 km route are all kids ages 10-14. (Though since the engineers are adults the claim seems somewhat disingenuous.)

Josh and I were in large part lured here because we cant fathom why this exists and because we have been arguing about what happens to the kids when they turn fourteen for the last week. The prevailing theory is they either get a pension in candy (if this job is a prestige thing like a magnet school) or funneled right into jobs with the real railroad (if it’s the equivalent of a technical school).

We didn’t get an answer. Our twelve year old looking ticket agent told us (in pretty good English for a little dude) that he had been working here for two years but his answer to my question about school was less intelligible. Perhaps its for the best we don’t understand anything more about this operation.

It was a nice ride though. We bought return tickets and clicked along a scenic wooded route that at times overlooked Budapest and at other times wound around what appeared to be, in all seriousness, an Ewok village.

Compared to that the rest of the day sort of fades away until we went out to watch the first leg of the Man U / Milan Champions League Semi-final. I looked up a sports bar in the area and we walked in to find that despite being near empty, every seat in it was reserved (which makes this place the lamest sports bar of all time) but sitting there watching the Cricket World Cup was none other than the displaced Kiwi I met in Sarajevo, Govind. It’s a small world isn’t it?

So we fell in with him and went to an overly pricey but incredibly empty pizza place that was showing the game and watched a very exciting match while eating some good but very expensive pizza. That marks the conclusion of the Dave/Josh joint adventure. The lesser half of the duo returns tomorrow to the States and real life (i.e. employment). It’s a shame its been a damn good run.

Dave and Josh are…

In Budapest

Despite evading the vampires we felt pretty darn close to undead when we disembarked just after 7am this morning. Crossing the border took forever as we had to show our passport to three sets of officials (no idea who the third group represented) and some other dude kept coming in the compartment to look under some of the seats (but not all) or stand on a small ladder and look at the ceiling (no clue) which all made for a more action filled 3am hour than Josh and I would prefer.

It didn’t help that even after we dropped our stuff off at the hostel we were still over an hour too early for any place to be serving breakfast. In the tourist heart of town, in an area also full of business people there wasn’t a single place to get the most important meal of the day. Even Burger King and Mickey-Ds were closed.

So we sat outside and waited and waited and watched some sort of covert meeting of spies take place behind us and finally we were rewarded with two more of the best croissants ever made. They were so good that the birds couldn’t wait for us to leave before trying to grab the scraps.

The little bastards were gang raping my plate without the slightest acknowledgement of the scowls I was hurling at them. There were five of them at one point! Josh of course was loving it. I think he took more pictures of this than of anything else on the trip.

I finally conceded the battle and we went and checked out the big Jewish synagogue and museum and memorial which gave me the chance to wear that sweet skull cap again.

But things went somewhat awry shortly thereafter as we entered THE LABYRINTH. I was a little worried about this adventure as all I know about labyrinths is that even if you avoid the minotaur at the center, a mulleted David Bowie will steal your little brother. This one proved in many ways as strange as Hoggle though without the redemptive presence of a lithe Jennifer Connelly. Part of the real (at least originally) caves that crisscross the hills of Buda, the Labyrinth consisted of several sections the first of which was full of (very poorly done) fake cave paintings. They would’ve looked better if the rock behind them hadn’t been painted white to bring them out.

Then there was a section with random statues “hewn” out of the “rock” and strange low tribal music that prompted Josh and I to do our best caveman imitations which essentially consisted of saying things like “I’m just an innocent caveman lawyer. I am not used to your ways” between bouts of dancing around in a manner more reminiscent of Indians in spaghetti westerns than true Cro-Magnon.

There was also the Smells-Like-a-Frat-House-the-Day-After Labyrinth that featured numerous fountains of wine that obviously have been recycled a few too many times but that was still better than the Labyrinth of the Future that showed us what possible fossils people in the future might find and essentially consisted of lame attempts at humor like the fossil of the Zach Morris cell phone.

It really culminated with the double whammy of the Labyrinth of Bravery which was just a dark tunnel not so much fear inspiring as annoying as you tried not to run into the damn wall and the Labyrinth of Commercial Tourism Films played on loop. We didn’t dawdle there though some Asian tourists seemed to really be digging it.

Having made it out without needing to mark our trail with a string we let Buda redeem itself at pretty much the greatest outdoor café of all time.

Set up in an open air colonnade that presented a stunning view of Pest across the river it was complimented by a truly great violinist who not only could play a damn fine fiddle but was also savvy enough to know that we weren’t bothering for tips. We actually ordered a second round of expensive beers just cause the place was that sweet.

Inevitably though our wanderings took us back to our old standby the art house cinema but this time we went for the very untouristy goal of seeing Will Ferrell’s Stranger than Fiction. And it was pretty good. I frequently don’t like this type of strange hipster comedy (see, or rather don’t, Punch Drunk Love) but I had been really intrigued by the movies central conceit (someone narrating your life) and it delivered with some serious laughs and even a plot resolution that didn’t spoil the rest of the film.

After that kind of once in a lifetime experience we were all set to call it a day when Josh finally got a hold of the father of a friend of his who is a curator at a medical museum and who is currently in Budapest leading a group of old fart physicians around to European medical museums. And people say I have strange travel itineraries. So, small world, we went and met up with him, got to drink some free beer in a hotel bar, swipe free candy from the hotel candy dish and I came damn near sneaking a free ride to Vienna with a busload of old doctors which I imagine would’ve made for a pretty entertaining trip.

Dave and Josh are…

In Bran and Rasnov, Romania.

Well though we escaped the human chainsaw our sleep still wasn’t serene as some couple decided they wanted to make out excessively for most the night. It took us a while to figure out what the hell the smacking sound was (I thought Josh was dying of thirst, he was thinking much worse of me.) but while I could tune it out in the top bunk, Josh had to deal with the trauma of them touching him at one point (the bunks were very close together at points).

At least if we aren’t sleeping we can guard against vampires, though at this point we are both a little disappointed that they haven’t tried. I mean even if we aren’t vampire material or our blood is too low class, would it kill them to make a casual attempt? Just for our ego’s sake?

Well we gave them one last chance as today we journeyed to the Transylvanian castles of Rasnov and Bran.

Rasnov was amazing. Perched on a hill overlooking the valley it unironically embodied everything a castle should right down to the chains for hanging enemies out to starve.

And if the castle was a bit rough and unfinished in parts (for a major tourist attraction there was a lot of random trash strewn about) it made up for it with its spectacular views of the valley it commands.

Even better in that valley is what (on closer inspection) appears to be abandoned nuclear power plant. That juxtaposition was awesome though I think Josh and I made a mistake in not trying to get someone to drive us there to explore. Nothing like bringing home some used fuel rods as souvenirs. Or getting the chance to get superpowers.

The second castle, Bran, was shitty in every way that Rasnov was awesome. For starters it bills itself as Dracula’s even though Vlad never had a damn thing to do with it. In fact it wasn’t even a damn castle, it was a chateau. And it was packed with tourists who all seemed to have paid $5 for the right to take pictures in it (Charging for use of cameras in addition to admission is something Romania seems really into.) despite the fact that there isn’t one interesting thing to photograph in the whole place.

Josh and I sped through it as fast as possible, all the while feeling like we were in a line at Disneyworld looking at their elaborate, yet still boring, efforts to make the waiting area look like part of the ride. Outside we took two photos, before wandering off through the tourist trap mess outside. Even there they screwed it up. There was little Dracula merchandise and instead the kind of random tourist crap you could find in any tourist hole. The most vampiric thing we could find was a broken down fake wooden coffin shoved in the back of an open barn. Lame.

Back in Brasov, Josh finally ate something other than vegetarian pizza. Yeah let’s take a minute here. For all the crap I get about lousy eating habits and being picky I am better than vegetarians. Josh has eaten nothing but chocolate sandwiches (pictured above) and pizza the whole time he has been here. I understand that Romania isn’t ready to be vegetarian friendly but nevertheless I look like a worldly cuisine compared to this guy. (But chocolate sandwiches are damn tasty.)

Sadly, our time has wound down in Romania and we had to leave the magical land where werewolves lurked round every corner and every newsagent gave your change in gum (bizarre but cool). We looked desperately around the train station hoping for one last cinematic reunion with Maria but it was not to be. Instead we just got approached by some little dude who looked like a Romanian Pancho Villa and was sketchy in the extreme. At 9pm we boarded the train (thankfully separate from the company of the 150 crazy prepubescent school kids that also got on) and slept as the train lurched out of the land of the undead (and Yugos which are kinda like the undead).

(Editors Note: After promising not to say Casablanca was the best part of the trip thus far, I have let Josh guest blog today’s excitement. After all he came all the way out here to join me, and when a member of the New York Times offers you a free byline how can you say no. Take heed, Barry Locher. Yours isn’t the only media outlet I have connections with. You don’t treat me right and I’ll start offering my powerful public influence to the Gray Lady.)

Dave is…

In Luck.

For the last several days I have been a participant-observer in Dave’s travels across Europe. More or less, I serve as an intern: I do the dirty work – carrying the water bottle, the loaf of bread, the conversation – in exchange for real life experience. He has even agreed to allow me to serve as a guest blogger! And I was blessed with a strange, wonderful day to write about. –Josh

Despite the charms of the citadel in Sightisoara, the story of the day Dave and I spent there is really about the Eastern European bus system, a portly woman named Maria, and an uprising that has come to be known (in small circles, at least) as the Brasov Spring.

I woke up early and, having learned that meals are few and far between when traveling with the ascetic Dave, shot into the kitchen to wrest a few pieces of toast from the chattering, smelly Italians that had occupied it. Dave and I then brushed our teeth, donned our sweatshirts, and headed for the train station. Two and a half hours later we disembarked in Sightisoara.

There is not much to say about the town and the citadel that won’t be better expressed in photographs, but I will say that it was sunny, cool, and quiet (except for the requisite techno music blaring at the pizzeria where we ate lunch, and the honking wedding procession).

We saw the home of Vlad the Impaler, (the inspiration for Dracula),

walked up one hill through a covered wooden tunnel,

and another through fields past giggling Romanian children, who gleefully fulfilled our stereotypes. When we had seen what there was to see, we parked ourselves at the train station bar, drinking beer, chatting with Canadians, and waiting for the 5:36, unaware of the fire brewing the hearts of the Transylvanian transit riders.

A drunken Romanian man with a bump on his head and a bottle of what looked like his own urine in his hand greeted us in Romanian as we sat down on the train. He passed me the bottle. I passed it to Dave, misinterpreting his words to mean, “I have pissed in this bottle. Please throw it out the window for everyone’s sake.” No, he wanted us to drink it! Dave sniffed it and sipped it, and I followed suit. With that, it became clear how our companion had gotten so drunk. I spent the next two hours removing his hand from my knee. When we arrived in Brasov, he shook my wrist and tottered off.

We have a patron saint who hangs out in the train station here. Her name is Maria, and she is a middle aged woman in a leather jacket who emerges from nowhere with some small piece of sage advice every time we end up there. When we first arrived in Brasov, she showed me that I was holding a round trip ticket to Budapest – not a one-way ticket as I thought – and thus saved me the $45 I was prepared to spend to get back. This time, I felt someone trying to open my backpack, turned around, and there she was. Soon we were laughing and buying her chocolate.

Our bus pulled up and we moved to get on. A quick aside about Eastern European buses: they operate on an inefficient honor system where it’s harder to actually buy a ticket than to skip the fare. You have to buy a ticket that is not available on the bus, and then stamp it on a machine on the bus. There is rumored to be a heavy fine for those who don’t have a properly stamped ticket. But most times, no one checks, and so most times we don’t pay.

But Maria insisted we buy tickets. She grabbed two lei from my hand, bought us a paper ticket, and pushed us in the way of the bus, saying she’d prefer that we bring her tourists the next time, no chocolates. We waved, jumped on the bus, and stamped our ticket – incorrectly, from lack of practice.

Somewhere along the ride, we found ourselves surrounded by a pair of severe women with official hats and badges, demanding to see our tickets. One wore an ominous cast on her hand, and both were clearly holdovers from the days of Nicolae Ceausescu. Our improperly stamped ticket disgusted them, and they closed in around us, insisting that we give them our passports. We protested with shocked looks on our faces, our hands flailing in an attempt to convey innocent ignorance. Violence filled the air.

But we were in luck. The voice of the people rose from the back of the bus. One rider came to our defense. Others followed, and a full-throated shouting match ensued. We couldn’t understand a word, but our hearts glowed with the love of the proletariat. The two policewomen retreated to the front of the bus, screaming in protest, but it was obvious that they would not win. The battle did not end until they had been pushed back onto the street.

One of our saviors smiled and winked. “Guys, make sure to stamp your ticket correctly next time,” she said.

And neither of us ever rode a bus in Romania again.

Ed: It was indeed a tense standoff between the forces of oppression and the unconquerable human spirit with the highest of stakes (a hefty fine for the two of us) and so of course I forgot to take photos of the confrontation. Sorry. My thanks to Josh for overcoming my shoddy photography to bring this site some much needed journalistic credibility.

Dave and Josh are in…

Sinaia Romania.

Unfortunately no vampires came down and feasted on the snoring Italian Stallion but we weren’t the only ones he rendered sleepless, his own traveling companions asked to move rooms so our endearingly speed addicted host asked us if we would like to switch as well.

We then set out for Sightisoara yet through the vaguarities of Romanian intercity transit we ended up hopping a minibus to Sinaia. Luckily the minibuses in Romania are far in advance of Morocco and we didn’t stop once so old ladies could hop out and pick weeds at the side of the road.

Sinaia is not actually in Transylvania; it’s technically in Walachia (I’ve been criticized for playing fast and loose with the facts so I wanted this delineation noted for the record.) and is called the Pearl of the Carpathians. The term pearl seems to be tossed around a lot in Eastern Europe and while I think Dubrovnik better embraced the sobriquet, Sinaia is quite lovely.

We walked through the wooded hills and through the small town, the male population of which appeared to have all turned out for a sidewalk paving party. Like a barn raising party in the American west (think that most masculine of musicals Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, the only musical to endorse kidnapping as a successful courtship technique while simultaneously featuring a fight scene less tough than those of West Side Story) all the able bodied men were lacsidasically putting down stones on one of the towns two streets.

Josh speculated that if he lived here he similarly would do nothing, simply spending his days drinking coffee, being idle and occasionally cementing a stone into the pavement. But he said it quite wistfully.

But the city wasn’t all serene beauty; there was the darker side you’d expect from a town in the throes of vampires. For starters this tiny and rustic village has its own strip club and a number of houses that seem like they might house the undead. We tried to poke around one that looked to have some sort of captured vampire transport parked outside but were quickly stopped by several wild dogs (read: werewolves) whose savage barks called in werewolf reinforcements and we had to abandon the investigation.

Also, just past this nice little Jesus shrine (note me reverently praying) was a restricted access area guarded by men with machine guns. Josh and I firmly believe that Romania is quietly working here on a program to turn vampires into the next major unconventional weapon, a clear violation of the Geneva Convention that the world is ignoring at their own peril.

Attention from the project is ably diverted by Pele’s Castle which is actually more like a large chateau or summer palace but it’s very pretty and seems to almost grow from the woods around it so we allowed ourselves to be distracted.

We loitered, enjoying the view as well as a beverage but we made quite sure to get back to Brasov before nightfall. Perhaps we need not have hurried as its possible the damage has already been done as at dinner Josh, suddenly strangely powerful, crushed his pint glass with his bare hand at dinner. The robot like reactions of our waitress suggest this isn’t the first time she’s seen that. But we safely made the trip from the restaurant back home without incident despite walking down a desolate and incredibly dark street that we named Vampire Alley, and which frankly screamed imminent death. But the continuation of our evening long argument over defining immortality by your presence on a t-shirt, with Che Guevara as the particular point of contention, seemed to hold them off and we were back in the hostel in time for Josh to watch Casablanca for the first time courtesy of the weird old guy in the hostel who insists on watching Turner Movie Classics at all hours.

Josh is now threatening to declare Casablanca the highlight of the trip thus far which is poor commentary on me and how I have been spending the past 2.5 months. Actually I realized today that yesterday was the halfway point in my trip. I have been abroad 75 days and oddly enough yesterday also found me as far from home as I have ever been, with an eight hour time difference between myself and the log cabin. The longer this goes though the less interested I am in returning, much less resuming real responsibilities. I’d go out and buy a lotto ticket tomorrow but I get the feeling winning the Romanian lotto is like hitting the jackpot at nickel slots, it’s a nice feeling but the money’s gone with the celebratory round.

Dave and Josh are…

In Brasov, Transylvania.

My biggest regret from last night is not taking a picture of Josh. The man passed out face down the instant he stretched out on the train bench (a truly uncomfortable creation). The jetlag was working in his favor as no matter how many times (4) that assholes (customs agents) woke us up in the middle of the night (2-4am) he would instantly fall back asleep. I meanwhile struggled a little more before finally finding some bizarre comfort in lying with my face in the crack where the seat meets the seatback. This is I think my 4^th overnight train this trip and my 9^th all time and each one is a new and uncomfortable experience.

The train didn’t reach Brasov till 11am which was good because we are now in Transylvania, the heart of evil, the home turf of the soulless undead who feed on the blood of the unwary. And who wants to arrive here afterdark with the werewolves bloodthirsty howls carried by the wind and the beat of the vampire bats around your head?

We barely made it off the train before we met Maria. She is not a vampire. (Whew) Maria is apparently something of an institution in Romania and she overwhelmed us in a high speed stream of conscious storm that saw us in a cab to our hostel, with Josh’s return ticket established and us in debt a half a candy bar before we even had a chance to respond to her opening pleasantries. It took us most the cab ride to reconstruct all that just happened. This must be how some people feel meeting me for the first time when I am already worked up and in mid-rant.

We got no respite at the hostel as Maria’s understudy did a decent imitation as she rattled off all the amenities of the place as well as diagramming everything that anyone could possibly do in the town of Brasov. We fear we may have stumbled into a very friendly house full of speed addicts.

Maybe it was a contact high but we soon felt invigorated enough to not only go out and wander the town but in fact hike to the top of the hill behind it. The goal was the Hollywood style “Brasov” sign at the crest.

The hike was excellent; it felt very much like hiking in Colorado. Beautiful green trees, little undergrowth, a great view over the town.

The only downside was the weather had turned so cold there were occasional moments of snowy ice.

That wasn’t problematic till we reached the crest when without the protection of the trees the brief flurries of snow packed more of a punch.

But they came in waves so we could watch the snow come and go which was quite cool against the striking backdrop of the mountains. The view over the valley was even better. It was like looking over Sim City. It was large enough to see all the details of houses, stores, streets etc, and small enough to clearly see it in its entirety and past it to the fields and mountains beyond. Transylvania is simply beautiful from on high.

The Hollywood sign is awesome too. I don’t quite understand why they have one but I’ve grown used to not really understanding Eastern European motivations.

Its ok though cause I’d just make idiot hand gestures anyway.

The trip down involved more slipping than the trip up but more of the high quality of conversation that Josh inevitably brings, ranging from our predictions for the future of Russia’s relations with the West to barrels of snakes in the sky and the to be expected discussion of vampires.

Starving by the time we returned to town we got food at a strange little courtyard restaurant and it was there that again one of those moments that makes you question everything you knew as fact. DID YOU KNOW SCHNITZEL ISNT A SAUSAGE?!?! Are you kidding me??? I’ve never heard of something that sounded more like a sausage as schnitzel. Its like finding out Budweiser is actually a milkshake, or that Betty Crocker is actually malt liquor. Despite my shock and disappointment it was quite good.

So were the beers and therein lay the problem. A full stomach of food and beer after a sleepless night in transit and multi-hour hike hit us hard and somehow our “lets sit down and relax for a little while” turned into a three hour nap and it was all I could do to stagger up for a few hours to watch some atrocious Romanian soccer on TV and silently castigate this group of Italian backpackers in the common room for sucking at life.

I shouldve castigated them more thoroughly as one of those bastards snored louder than any human has ever snored before. He kept Josh from sleeping and me wishing a vampire would come and bite this guy, there is no way the undead would snore like this.

Dave and Josh are…

On the night train to Transylvania.

No sign yet of vampire bats outside the train though trying to sleep on the train makes one feel kind of like the undead.

Today’s theme was travel. First we traveled to the train station to get train tickets (incredibly expensive train tickets in Josh’s case) then we traveled by metro then bus then tram then another bus to the outskirts of Budapest to Statue Park.

After the fall of communism many of the cities monuments to Stalin, Lenin, and the working man were all removed and installed in this park.

Today was cold and gray in sharp contrast to the rest of the week and the park was desolate, the perfect way to enjoy Soviet art. I mean you can’t imagine more communist weather.

And you can’t imagine much more communist art. It was impressive and fairly ridiculous.

I particularly liked the towering monument to the 20^th Communist Congress which depicted a guy running with a towel. (In the background you can see the Death Star that someone appears to be building. Perhaps communism isn’t dead.)

Almost as entertaining was the gift shop which featured coffee mugs with such slogans as “Wake Up! Drink Coffee! Work for the State!” mouse pads featuring “East Park” and communisms greatest music hits (a two cd set!).

Back in the city we explored Hero’s Square and the park, where I got to sit on the lap of soviet Santa. Actually the inscription said anonymous but it sure looks like one of those evil dudes from the first Lord of the Rings.

Despite its reputation as a party city it’s proving hard to find places to get a drink but Josh and I managed to get a beer at an outdoor refreshment stand and we settled down at a table looking over Hero’s Square to wait for Rob. It was there we learned the word Vossbag. Actually, it’s a bit of an overstatement to say we learned it. We heard it, it could mean anything but we’ve decided it’s an insult and have introduced it to the popular lexicon.

Hero’s Square also witnessed the beginning of the great Jaywalking Competition of 2007. Somehow Josh and I got into a pissing contest over who’s the best jaywalker (loosely determined by lack of fear in the face of traffic, refusal to hesitate when stepping off the curb etc) and once joined by Rob and his new friends it escalated.

I personally think that the contest was won decisively by me in its nascent stage when Josh broke into a brief jog to get across a street while I not only refused to break stride but also gave a condescending slow down pat to the angry honking motorist I walked in front of. Its ok, you can hold your applause, I know I’m a badass. (Despite my declaration of victory the competition has only increased.)

The train to Transylvania wasn’t till after 11pm so Josh and I and Rob and two people he met all went out for dinner at some pizza joint. The pizza sucked but in one of those reassess all you hold true in the world the place served Amstel. Not Amstel Light but Amstel, Amstel Bock actually; and it was a pretty dark beer. Next I’ll learn there really are vampires.

But we bid adieu to our companions (Safe travels Rob) made a deli run to get the ingredients for chocolate sandwiches (a Brustein traveling staple) and headed for the station.

Now twice today while waiting for the subway I happened to stand over, or at least partially, over the white warning line a few feet from the edge of the platform. Both times someone came up to me and in a concerned but firm way pulled me back from the edge. We couldn’t help but wonder if there had been some recent tragedy cause I was still well safe from the edge. And these weren’t metro employees (they are all occupied checking that you stamped your ticket a truly inefficient system that aggravates Josh to no end) they were just regular concerned citizens.

So anyway while waiting for the metro to the train station we decided to test it and I stood there for a moment or two and thought I was gonna get away with it when there were a couple messages over the loudspeaker and gestures from a couple people further up the platform indicated they were directed at me. I envision a Hungarian Walter Sobchik, “OVER THE LINE! MARK IT ZERO”. Its nice they care but it was so weird, I mean I know it’s a league game and determines who goes onto the next round robin but still.

Luckily we didn’t share our compartment with any such good Samaritans and I finally got to watch the first episode of the Sopranos final season

while Josh hooked himself up to some strange bone massage machine that in the case looks like a bomb and on his finger makes him look like some sort of hairy primitive robot getting its batteries recharged. So disposed we trundled through the dark towards the home of Dracula.

Dave and Josh are…

In Budapest.

I was joined this morning by the first travel companion in my now 9 month ramble. (I don’t count my Dad whose brief, though enjoyable, companionship was necessitated by illness or Rob who I met on the road.) Comrade Josh Brustein, part time communist, full time Browns apologist and the better half of the Brustein brothers flew out to join me for a week of proletarian adventure in Budapest and Transylvania.

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on the street while being serenaded by a nice little Hungarian two-piece, who broke out a version of Hava Nagila in his honor.

We then returned to explore Buda’s Citadel Hill where we failed to find the Museum of Commerce and Catering (a highly anticipated attraction featuring such great inventions as the “beer warmer”) but did find the excessively strange statue of a man falling, presumably to his death.

Less inexplicable but equally as humorous was this bit of street art.

Then it was time for serious business as we met Rob and went to the Terror Museum, chronicling the terror and horror of the Nazi and Soviet eras in Budapest, housed in the headquarters of the Gestapo and later the Hungarian secret police. The museum was aesthetically, very impressive as it did an incredible job of conveying a sense of terror or least a feeling of unease through dark art, pulsating music etc. Unfortunately it lost most of its dramatic punch because the information sheets in each room had little, and frequently absolutely nothing, to do with what was on display in the room. For example the room that consisted of a maze made out of simulated bars of soap had information on the life of peasants et al. This made for a lack of context or understanding that undercut the power of the audio/visual displays. And all that reading was making Josh fall asleep. In his defense the man was on vacation and jetlagged as hell.

But traveling with a commie means we cant end the day on such a negative depiction of Marxist ideals so after a stopover in a arty hipster movie house/coffee shop where we debated the issues of the day and reclined in beanbags, we headed over to Marxism Pizzeria where the walls are decorated with awesome communist graffiti,

the booths are wrapped in barbed wire, and the menu offers such delicacies as CCCP IZZA, Snow White and the 7 Small Proletars, Red October and pizza licensed by the KGB.

Dave is…

In Szentendre

Josh is still a day away so I figured I’d get out of Buda and or Pest today and on a day trip and see what else Hungary has to offer so I hopped a train to the nearby town of Szentendre, a town well known as one of the best places to see what Hungary of old looks like.

Before I headed off though I stopped at St. Stephen’s, the rather large and imposing church near the hostel, to check out his hand. That’s right, St. Stephen’s hand, “miraculously” preserved and intact is on display in the church. Personally I think the hand looks rough and weathered but I also think its bullshit that you have to put in a coin to get the light to turn on so you can see it and I think there are some serious questions as to what this guy did to actually earn sainthood.

But then again the Catholic Church is currently rushing through the process of getting Pope John Paul II canonized, same with Mother Teresa (who did lots of good but definitely had some serious issues everyone glosses over) and even Pope Pius XII, otherwise known as Hitler’s pope and a fairly despicable human being. So in that context any guy who is immortalized in a Grateful Dead song is more than welcome to his sainthood.

St Stephen wasn’t looking out for me though as I got into Szentendre to discover that it was one of those towns where all museums are closed on Mondays and I was pretty much SOL on everything I wanted to see. Specifically the open air museum featuring a large collection of traditional Hungarian homes. With that closed there as little in town to do other than wander through the dense strip of tourist trap shops and linger on the river.

So I did, I dipped my toes in the Danube, had a beer on the street, wandered the churches and back streets of town and listened to Chuck Klosterman read his “Sex, Drugs and Coco-Puffs” thanks to the audio book I stole from Rob. Once again let me point out that while New York was deluged with rain it was a warm sunny low 70s.

The rain though is a mild concern on one score though. Something like 500 flights have been cancelled over the last couple days in NYC and while Josh thinks his flight should be ok there is definitely the possibility of delays.

Back in Budapest there was more bad news as CNN was just breaking the news of the shooting at Virginia Tech. Sitting in the common room of the hostel watching this when they changed the casualties from 2 to 32, I made the comment “That’s fucking terrible”. To which another guy in the room goes, “Depends on your point of view”. Fairly pissed at that statement I inquired what he meant by that and the fucking asshole gave me that bullshit line, “Well thousands die of starvation everyday in Africa”. That led to a somewhat testy exchange which, when I later realized he worked for the hostel, I am glad remained brief.

I left the hostel still feeling a little heated and went and met Rob who just rolled into town and we had an overpriced drink and poorly made donar before calling it a night.

Dave is…

In Budapest.

(Note: My apologies to Bonnie, and to everyone else, for the delay in posting. Internet was inconsistent in Transylvania. Go figure. Also Bonnie, know that I share your profound sorrow, not to mention shock, at the departure of Jason Isbell. I did not see that coming and really think as good as their pedal steel guy is, he hardly replaces what Jason brought to the group. I will miss his guitar, his vocals and the emotion he brought to the show. In November I thought his cover of the Stones’ Moonlight Mile was brilliant and its a damn shame hes gone.)

From what I hear Central Park got something like 7.5 inches of rain today, the second most in a day since 1896. Bet that sucks. I wouldn’t know it was upper 70s and I spent the day laying out in the park, soaking up the sun, reading my book and admiring the ladies in bikinis.

That’s really about all I did today. I wandered around for a while, checking out the monument to Soviet soldiers

and a more appropriate Nagy statue but really most the day was given over to sloth.

There is a beautiful park on an island in the middle of the Danube. So I walked out there and wandered around exploring the ruins, the zoo, the bike paths and ultimately the Sheep’s Meadow esque fields where Budapest was enjoying a lazy Sunday of sunbathing.

All except one group of those weird karate/fitness people who sort of dance around pretending to kick each other. That’s pretty popular in Europe and despite looking pretty damn goofy they drew a decent crowd of spectators.

All my attention was completely captivated by the girl sunbathing near me. She was by far the most beautiful girl I have seen in all of Europe (And no Sharp I regret to say I did not get a picture). She was so beautiful that I actually intended to go and initiate conversation, something I don’t think I have ever done completely cold like that. However while I was screwing up my courage and debating the chances she spoke English, two fucking Hungarians beat me to the punch. (And turns out she did speak English. Damn.)

After such a relaxing afternoon I was ready for an intense evening of watching football, three matches back to back. I mean I really didn’t do a damn thing today and it was pretty great.