Dairyland for the Lactose Retarded

My plan for Switzerland had been Geneva, Bern, Zurich.  However, when I sent out my request for a couch in Bern, I got a reply from a couple in the nearby town of Fribourg (pronounced Free-bore).  Lauren had a friends that had visited there and heard it was beautiful.  After a brief google, I quickly accepted.

Xavier and Elise sounded like fun people and I couldn't pass on such a cute little town.  Plus, Bern happened to be situated between Fribourg and Zurich, so I could still make a visit if I wanted.

Xavier was the principle host online, and while they had no hosting references, they had been surfers before.  Plus, with a girl in the household I don't feel near as exposed.

I was so glad I made the exception, because Fribourg was absolutely gorgeous.  It had, what I would consider, extremely hilly streets, which only added to its dynamics.  All the buildings were old and made from stone, with little street lamps hanging above the doors. 

Just a ten minute walk from the station to their flat and I was already in love.

Both Xavier and Elise walked me back to their flat.  By sheer coincidence, Elise had actually been on the same train from Geneva.  While we were just on the edge of the French part of Switzerland, both of them also spoke German in addition to English.

Now as it turns out, I had come at a very important time in Switzerland.  That night was the Swiss hockey championship final game.  Bern vs Zurich.  Elise had to get up early the next day, so when she went to bed, Xavier and I headed across town to watch the game at a pub with his friends.

I had thought that since Fribourg was so close to Bern, that they would side with them.  However, Bern had beat out Fribourg, so everyone was backing Zurich instead. 

By the time we got there, it was the last period.  It was a 1-1 tie game, until Zurich scored two seconds before the buzzer.

Afterwards, we went for a victory beer.  Most of Xavier's friends peeled off to go home, so it ended up just being three of us.  We mostly ended up talking about music. 

He had an interesting taste in a wide variety of music, as I had already heard some samples back at his flat.  He also was a bit of a promoter of music in Fribourg.

Xavier had bought an old public transport bus and turned it into a party bus/business hub/backstage hang out: Le BusPoint.  Some major carpentry work went into this thing, as well as plenty of electrical planning.  He used it to rent out to customers as well as a band interview venue for local festivals.  One of which festivals was actually put together and planned by Xavier and some of his friends.  Kind of amazing really.

The next day, Elise had to work but Xavier only had a short meeting in town, so he offered to show me around a bit.

Fribourg is an absolutely beautiful old city that's partially in a valley next to a river, and the rest of the city was situated above with various hilly streets. 

It was a very long hike up the hill on the other side of the valley, but the view was so worth it.  You could see literally the whole town.  Xavier even pointed out his apartment building from clear across the city. Everything was very green there.  On the way down the hill, we passed a flock of sheep and other various small groups of farm animals, including these adorable baby goats. 

After fully descending (and then scaling the opposite side of the valley), Xavier pointed me down a long street of shops and left for his meeting.  I walked this street pretty much until I started to see more livestock than people. 

I headed back to the flat, as Elise was supposed to be back soon, and that night they were making traditional Swiss fondue for dinner.

Fondue is too good to let something like dairy intolerance stop me from eating it.

My mother makes a cheese fondue for holidays using various cheeses, mostly different types of cheddar I believe, and beer.  The Swiss use two types of cheeses, Gruyere and Emmanthaler, and dry white wine.  It is difficult to make such an authentic fondue in the states because the Gruyere we can buy is almost guaranteed to be pasteurized, as in Switzerland it is not.

We dipped bread into the fondue, and it wasn't impolite to just eat straight of your skewer.  My hosts put a bit of tabasco on their plate to dip their bread in, but Xavier said his father would be appalled if he saw him doing that.  The tabasco was a nice addition.  I also mentioned that in the States, we would dip apples in the cheese to.  They had never tried it, but agreed that it sounded like a pretty tasty idea.

That night we decided to watch a movie.  They asked if I had any suggestions as to an American film they hadn't seen.  I mentioned the movie Crash.  If you have never seen the movie, I highly suggest it.  I'm pretty sure it won several awards.  The film is really five our six stories that are all interconnected, and each story has to do with stereotypes, racism, and religious stigmas.  There's no way to explain the movie, you just have to see it.

Elise and Xavier loved it.

I explained that not everyone acts like they do in the movie, but everyone has at least a hint of each stereotype in the back of their mind.  They may not act based on those stereotypes, but the thoughts are still there.  We can't help it.  The mind creates stereotypes and schemas to process information faster, sometimes they are generalizable, sometimes not.

After the movie (and checking the score of the Chelsea match), we all hit the sac.  The two of them had to work the next day, and I was stopping in Bern on my way to Zurich.

Salut Fribourg
Tegs

Peace, Love, and Large Hadron Colliders

It was good to be back in a French speaking city.  Finally, I could read shop signs and bus ticket machines.  I could guess my way through Italian, but Hungarian, for instance, turned my brain to noodles trying to make sense of it.

I had just one thing I had to see in Geneva, or I wasn't leaving.

CERN

CERN stands for Conseil Européen pour la Recherche Nucléaire.  The name has since been changed to European Organization for Nuclear Research, but they kept the acronym.

CERN contains quite a few different scientific contraptions.  Some work together, others work alone.  All are for a common goal:

To discover the Higgs Boson, and better understand the beginnings of our universe.

In a nutshell, CERN smashed particles together at high speeds and looks at the chunks that fly off.

Specifically, they're looking for the Higgs Boson.

Now I don't pretend to know a lot about this part of physics, I've yet to take any quantum classes at all.  But from what I do understand, the Higgs Boson is a hypothetical particular type of elementary particle.  It has certain properties that, if it were confirmed to exist, would help to explain how other elementary particles have mass.  It would also hopefully help gain evidence for Super Symmetry, a concept I'm not comfortable enough with to explain.

To see an actual out of commission collider and get the full tour, you need to book reservations WAY in advance.  I checked over two months before I left for Europe, and I still could not get a reservation.

Not to be disappointed, there are two other free to the public exhibits.  One was a more interactive physics lesson.  You started with little demonstrations that proved the basics.  Copper coils with magnets, lights shining through holes, gold foil and fake alpha particles etc.  Then it slowly eased you into less tangible concepts until finally you got into the hypothetical.

I really would like to go back for the full tour after I take a few more classes. I learned a lot, but I also think there was a lot that I missed.

The other part of the CERN exhibit was a huge globe that had all these interactive touch spheres that showed you how CERN operated more in depth.  There was also a "movie" that played every fifteen minutes in a different language.  The"movie" played on every surface on the inside of the globe.  It explained why they were smashing particles and what new discoveries could mean.  Each collision produces insane amounts of data that are sent and analyzed by different scientists all over the world.  I thought the collision patterns themselves were kind of pretty looking.  You can google LHC collision images, or there is one you can sort of see an example in one of my pictures.

The only other ambition I had in Geneva was to see the Palace of Nations.

The Palace of Nations was originally built to be the headquarters of the League of Nations, which was formed after WWI by the ideas of Woodrow Wilson.  Speaking of which, as a president we learn so little about (all I knew is he was the only president with a PhD), he is pretty popular in Europe.  At least in Geneva alone, there were several buildings and such named after him.

Anyways, the League of Nations fell apart at the start of WWII (ironic, as preventing war was one of its higher objectives), and after WWII came the modern United Nations.  The Palace of Nations became the Geneva UN headquarters.  Fun fact, it was the Geneva UN headquarters since 1946, but Switzerland did not join the UN until 2002.  Now, while the main headquarters are of course in NYC, certain branches of the UN are actually run from Geneva.  The United Nations Human Rights Council is stationed there.  The other ones I can recall especially also had to do with human rights, some aspects of war, and also genocide.

When you arrive at the palace, you MUST have your passport.  When you enter the grounds, you are actually leaving Switzerland and entering a neutral zone.  I actually arrived just in time, as you must also be with a tour guide, and they only run two sets of tours per day.

The tour mostly consisted of seeing the conference rooms, from both spectator views and member views.  On the floor of the UN, each seat had headphones that they would select to hear one of six channels.  Each channel was one of the six spoken UN languages that six interpreters would be simultaneously translating whoever was speaking on the floor at that time. 

This meant that in order to be a UN representative, you must speak either English, Spanish, French, Mandarin, Arabic, or Russian.  These were not chosen randomly though, they are the six most spoken languages in the world.

One of the more interesting aspects is the UN logo.  It is a globe surrounded by two olive branches symbolizing peace.  The cool thing is, the globe is actually looked at from the north pole, as to symbolize that no country or continent is above another.

We saw two particularly remarkable conference rooms.  One had extremely large sepia murals, by I believe a Spanish artist, representing the succession of humanity.

They. Were. Amazing.

The other conference room that was beautiful had a ceiling designed by Miguel Barcelo.  He used different materials and was advised by many different engineers to get the desired stalactite effect, then followed it up with spray paint.  Apparently the artist's research and brainstorming process was just about as long and as costly as the actual finished project itself.  It was definitely interesting and beautiful, but it makes you think, couldn't that money have been put towards helping people?  They spent tens of millions on this ceiling.  Which sort of leads to a deeper question. 

Developed countries spend millions and millions on art and other types of aesthetics.  Meanwhile, undeveloped countries may not have clean water.  Shouldn't we be forsaking art until the rest of the world reaches a higher standard of living? That isn't necessarily my opinion, as a producer and consumer of art, it would be very difficult for me to see that happen.  But it does make you think...

The day out and about concluded with dining in.  The next day, Gabe would fly to Belgium for a short business trip, and I would also leave for my next city.

If your interested in more Switzerland, or what its like to be an American living in a new culture, Gabe and Lauren also run a blog.

Au revoir Geneva
Tegs

Water Under Bridges

It rained the next day.

In fact it rained the ENTIRE next day.

Sadly, Alison and Julian left early that morning, but us three remaining couch surfers and Alberto were all to go into Venice together.

After the compulsory half an hour bus ride.  We just took of into the city.  Venice is not arranged into any sort of navigable grid.  The lack of right angles and abundance of small allies make using a map sort of pointless.  You would literally have to hold it the whole time.

Once you put it away, you'd be lost again already.

So we just wandered off.

We ended up making what I think was sort of a large figure eight.  It didn't matter where we went.  It was beautiful EVERYWHERE.  Every building was old and gorgeous. Every time we crossed over a canal I could have taken at least six postcard photos.  Vines with flowers grew up the sides of antique door frames.  Even the window frames with their peeling paint and warped panes were worth admiring.

Eventually we started to follow signs that led us to Piazza San Marco (the most famous square in Venice, the one in all the diamond jewelry commercials). 

Now it was raining of course, and despite my very adequate rain coat, Alberto insisted upon holding his umbrella over me.  Which at times was a bit annoying (did I mention my bubble?).  At other times, it was rather hilarious. 

Venice has tons and tons of tourists walking around it's tiny winding alleys. Pair the already cramped space with shop awnings and an over sized umbrella, and you get some rather humorous physical comedy.  Every once on a while, Alberto's umbrella would get caught on something and yank him backwards.

I may or may not have purposely navigated some tight spaces, just to see it happen. (I know you're reading this Alberto, my apologies for being evil, now you know my true nature)

Once we made it to San Marco, I must say I was rather disappointed.  It looked just how I had imagined, plus five hundred tourists with Nikons around their necks.  It wasn't especially beautiful or picturesque anymore.  We quickly moved on to the shore.

We walked around the shore, practically a fourth of the way around Venice, it felt like.

All the while, my feet are positively sloshing inside my boots.

Cobblestones had worn holes in the bottoms, and so there was consistently more water in my boots than there was on the sidewalk at any given moment.  Literally, at times there were bubbles coming out of the toes.

We walked around for four or five hours, then I said I couldn't handle anymore.  My feet stung every time I took a step.  The extra weight of the water had also given me shin splints that only added to the misery.

I tried to keep quiet as long as I could.  I didn't want to ruin Zuzanna and Jacek's visit.  Which brought me to another realization, I much preferred traveling by myself.  I hated constantly thinking about how to see what I wanted to see, while still pleasing the other half of the group.  Being considerate of others
is kind of tiring, being selfish is easy.

When we got back, I found that my feet had been rubbed completely raw.  Every step was like walking on hot coals.  It took a week for them to go back to normal.

After returning and hanging our shoes up on the heater.  We got some pizza from a shop literally ten meters away.  And they were really, really good.  Clearly we aren't doing it right in America.  The one pizza, called "pony", had, guess what kind of meat? If Alberto hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known it was anything different than beef.  All of it was so worth the belly ache I got later from all the cheese.

We followed up dinner with some drinks.  One was awesome, the other was truly terrible.

The first was Alberto's homemade limoncello creme.  And I mean homemade.  Like he grew the lemons.  It was just like traditional limoncello, only thicker with some vanilla flavor to it.

The other drink was Mezzo Mezzo, meaning half and half.  Half being Asian melon liquor, the other half being rhubarb liquor.  Sounds good right? Wrong.  Either they have a different breed of rhubarb over here, or they use the leaves rather than the stalks.  No clue.  But it was bitter, and terrible, and reminded me of that foul black candy they had in Scandinavia.

I have yet to fully recover from its taste.

That night, with Julian and Alison gone, Zuzanna and Jacek got the upstairs bed.  I told Alberto I would take either the floor or the couch, not the same arrangement as the previous night.  Being a gentleman, he took the floor.

Once again, with the Polish couple upstairs, Alberto tried to convince
me to stay.  I felt a little bad for the guy.  With the way he described Italian women, it didn't seem as if they would have been very compatible.  I said that I could not stay, we left it at that, and went to sleep.

I was abruptly awoken by a cellphone light and someone sitting over me on the couch.  It could have been five minutes later, it could have been fifty minutes later, I have no idea, because I had been sound asleep.

He asked if I would kiss him.

Now when I am woken from a really deep sleep, I'm typically incoherent and have no ambitions to become coherent.  I just want to go back to what I was doing.

I turned my face into the back of the couch, said no, and tried to get back to that REM cycle I was in the middle of.

Imagine trying giving medicine to a four year old.  I'm guessing that's kinda what I looked like turning my head away.

I'm not sure how long he sat there trying to convince me otherwise (incoherent, like I said), but I remained with my head turned until he gave up.

That morning, I had to get up super early to catch my connecting trains to Geneva.  The Polish couple was not awake, but Alberto was.

As I was packing to leave, he asked that I would never forget him.  I said of course I would not (after all this had been a one-of-a-kind surfing experience).  He then gave me his last bottle of limoncello creme, and told me to take it with me, and think of him when I drank it back in Ohio.  I was very honored with his gift, as making the liquor is not a quick process, and also that last bottle was supposed to go to a party he was attending later that evening.

However.

One must understand the sheer weight of a 750mL glass bottle full of dense creme liquor.  I knew when I took it, there was no way I could carry it for seven more weeks.  Even if I had, the chance of it making through customs was risky at best. 

I took it, intending to offer some to my future hosts and share some of the Venice I experienced.

Later, when I asked Alberto if I could write about him in my blog, he said of course.  He said to write whatever I wished, good or bad. He also later apologized for his behavior.  An apology, I told him, wasn't necessary.  It was all part if my experience in Italy, and I wouldn't have had Venice any other way.

Ciao Venezia
Tegs

That's Amore!

Considering that I planned this entire trip from my couch in Ohio, I've had very few problems, I'm proud to say.  But there are some things I definitely would have done differently.

For instance, I would have reversed my city order from Vienna, Bratislava, Budapest to Budapest, Bratislava, Vienna instead.

Because, to go from Budapest to my next city, Venice, meant I had to take a train all the way back to Vienna first.

All in all, Budapest to Venice took two trains, one bus, and eleven hours of my day.

I like long train rides, but I'll admit its poor usage of my limited time here.

On the bus, I meet a Swedish guy named Tuna (sp?), who was studying abroad in Vienna and visiting Venice.  He was kind of clueless where he was supposed to go once he got of the bus (who doesn't bring a map?!).  I offered to let him tag along with me to get directions from my host, Alberto, who was meeting me at the bus stop.

It took us a minute to find Alberto, and once we did he was a little less than enthusiastic about Tuna and his questions.  I could understand why though, we were kind of on a tight schedule.

That night was a dinner for Alberto's local political party, which he was very active in.  I had arrived shortly after six, and the dinner was at eight.

The thing about Venice, is that bit many people actually live in the city.  Unless they are extremely rich, most people live on the mainland (Venice is an island for those of you that didn't know, like me). 

So to get to Alberto's house in Mira, we had to take a 30 minute bus.

We crammed ourselves into an over crowded bus.  My backpack, which sticks out a foot behind me, was making me the least popular passenger, per usual.  Eventually I took it off, and held it between my legs.

About ten minutes in, verbal banter broke out between the driver and the whole front half of the bus.  It sounded intense to me.  I for sure thought the driver was about to go mafia on the one guy.  Apparently, it was mostly about the bus being late, etc.

Everything sounds intense in Italian.

We made it to Alberto's house, and I met his two other couch surfers, Alison and Julian.  They were both studying abroad in Bristol, but Julian was from Canada, and Alison was from Australia.

Native English speakers.  After a while abroad, you miss the little things about native English speakers.  Non-natives tend to overuse words like "exactly"or phrases like "for me, it's okay".  Not that those aren't okay things to say, I can always understand the meaning.  I just have to sort of "digest" non-native English, whereas listening to an American takes no extra effort.

Someone on my trip actually mentioned how a group of exchange students, from all over Europe, could understand each other perfectly in English.  Even though it might be their second or third language, it would be their only common language.  But throw a native English speaker in the group, and I guarantee it will be much harder for them to understand everyone else.

Ironic a bit.

Back to Venice.

After a quick pit stop, the four of us headed to the dinner.  We met a friend of Alberto's down the street, who took us in his car. 

Now when I heard "political dinner", I assumed it would be a sit and tie type affair.  In an effort to be proper, I donned the fanciest thing I had with me (a cotton t-shirt dress...). 

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. 

The dinner was in a small family restaurant, where all the seats were benches, and the toilet was a hole in the floor with a garden hose for sanitation.

I had an awesome time at this dinner.

Our table had the only for people speaking English (between Alison and Julian being Asian, and me being blonde, it wasn't hard to pick out the foreigners.) It was great to have the two of them there with me.  They were both hilarious, I loved hearing their views on living in England.  Plus, it's so much less awkward when there's a group of you that doesn't really know how to act. 

Alberto, having read my profile, brought up Star Trek at some point.  I admitted that I had never seen an episode, simply because I had always felt loyal to Star Wars, and Star Trek seemed like the other woman.  Trying to convince me of Trek's superiority, he cited that Martin Luther King Jr. watched and loved Star Trek.  I said, had he been alive to see it, he would have recognized Star Wars as the bigger genius.

Touché.

Our geek discussion continued quite a bit further, to The Big Bang Theory and beyond.

Dinner consisted of thirteen million different courses. 

There was bread.  Then there was a meat and cheese plate.  Then there was a dish of deli-type salads.  Then there was falafel type things. Then a heavy wild rice dish.  Then, since the main course was taking too long, they brought out the best fries ever, fried in olive oil I believe.

The main course: braised donkey.

When I read the menu online beforehand, it had not occurred to me how closely donkey and horse are related...

Oh, but it was good.

At the dinner there was also a handful of kids that had come with their parents.  One in particular was a seven year old girl named Valentina who had taken a liking to me for some reason. 

Now I've never really been around children, and I'm not a huge fan of them.  Frankly I just don't know how to interact, but I tried my best.

She knew very little English, so Alberto was doing most of the translating.  She asked if I was from England.  When I said no, America, she got kind of excited.  She told me I was very pretty, and that she wanted to come back to America with me.  I joked about shoving her in my suitcase.  She took it rather seriously and yelled to her mom that she was going to America!  I felt a little bad because I think she actually believed it.  I said that I would write to her if she gave me her address.  So she did, and she asked for mine as well.  I also found out that her birthday was coincidentally the same as mine! I think I will send her a birthday card postmarked from the states.

I couldn't understand her fascination with me.  Alberto said that, to them, I seem like a Britney Spears or a Lola Bunny.  Valentina had even referred to me as being like Lola Bunny.  I thought this was hilarious.  Also apparently I wiggle around a lot when I talk and do this thing with my shoulders that is very animated and unusual to them.  I'd never noticed.

Another surprising thing Alberto said, was that while Valentina was a sweet girl now, she would grow up to be a snobby and spoiled typical Italian woman.  Of course I had heard of this stereotype, but I hadn't thought of it as a solid rule.

It has been a common theme among many of my hosts to say that American girls are much more open than girls of their country.  Some have even said cooler and more fun, but I don't mean to brag...  I have also heard the opposite.  That previous Americans my hosts had had were arrogant and boring, and generally acted as if their country and citizens were superior to any other.

By the time the dinner had finished, we were all about to go into a food coma.  Upon returning to Alberto's house, he received a message from two Polish surfers, whose previously arranged host on Venice had flaked on them.

Now as it turned out, Alberto only had one bed and one couch.  Now he had five surfers.  Julian and Alison got the bed upstairs that they had been sleeping on previously.  The Polish couple set up blankets on the floor in the living room and I got the couch.  This left Alberto.

I made a joke (of course I did) that I'd take two couch cushions, and he could have the third.

He took this into serious consideration.

What ended up going down, was we both shared all three cushions, but in opposite directions. 

There were Italian feet directly under my pillow.

It was generally uncomfortable, but I couldn't say anything.  Where else would he have slept?  He promised to be a perfect gentleman, and I trusted him.  Besides, with two other people in the room, I couldn't foresee anything bad happening.

While the Polish couple (Zuzanna and Jacek) were in the upstairs bathroom, Alberto asked me a rather surprising question.

He asked me to stay longer in Venice.

Longer as in forever.

Now I was exhausted at this point, so I hope I'm paraphrasing correctly.  But he basically said that he was sure I was just the girl he had been looking for, and that if I would agree to stay, he would stop accepting couch surfers forever. 

I was most definitely caught off guard.  So what did I do?

I responded with a joke of course.

I said I'd have to wait and see how much I liked Venice tomorrow first.

He said the offer would still stand tomorrow.

Buona Notte Italy
Tegs

An Update in Real Time

Most of my posts in the past have been, well, in the past.  So I thought I would give a brief, current update on my situation.

So far, along with some other cities you have yet to hear about, I've made it to Maastricht.

Some of my belongings have not.

I'd like to dedicate the first half of this entry to my fallen comrades.

Firstly, while it was not quite a death, I'd like to mourn the loss of my khaki green coat.

I managed to turn it purple khaki in Switzerland, when I washed it with my scarf.

A pair of white socks was also caught in the cross fire and turned pink.

The coat never fully recovered after its initial injury.  Later it lost one button in Prague, and another in Maastricht.

It is still in critical condition, but I'm hoping for a full recovery, as both buttons have been kept on ice ever since.

My boots, however, do not share such a happy ending.

I officially laid my two faithful steeds to rest in Prague.

Cobblestones had weakened their immune system and they caught full fledged pneumonia in the Venice rain.

Also in Venice, one boot suffered burn wounds from a heater that was meant to cure the pneumonia.

Both boots were given death masks before their proper funeral.

I am happy to report that that sums up the casualties at this time

Now, as I've been abroad for seven weeks now, I have a pretty solid opinion if the things I miss about the States and the things I do not miss about the States.

Here they are.

Things I Do Not Miss:

Driving a car

Being able to understand small talk going on around me

Walmarts

Seeing people in their pajamas

Seeing obese people in their pajamas

Being able to understand any advertisements at all

Jersey Shore

Hardcore Republicans

Drive-thru's

Being available by phone 24/7

The 12hr clock (24 is so much simpler)

Presidential campaign advertisements

Kim Kardashian

Pick-up trucks and SUV's

Now...
Things I Do Miss:

Towels bigger than napkins

Not having to always carry some sort of bag

Blow dryers and straightening irons

Toenail Polish

Having more than four outfits

Normal usage of the word "exactly"

Not having everything I own rolled in rubber bands or sealed in zip lock baggies

Showers that have curtains

American electrical sockets

Talking fast and using slang

My personal bubble

24 hour stores

People picking up on my sarcasm

Salsa

Eating healthy and regular meals

My awesome queen sized mattress

Lotion

Singing in the car

Jeopardy!

Panera

My current roommates

My new roommate

The awesome people I work with

Friends from back home

Sisters in Columbus

My fam

Good peanut butter

That's probably not quite everything, but you get the idea.

Tegs

Hungarian Horrors

Turns out Alex was unable to get a half day of work, but there was still a glass of fresh orange juice waiting in the kitchen for me.

Next was Budapest, Hungary.  There I had accepted my first American host.  I was very excited to stay with a fellow American that had been living abroad for some years.  All these questions were developing in my head on the train ride over.  He mentioned he had gone to Kent State (graduated?), so I was hoping for some intellectual conversions.

And was I ever disappointed.

Leslie answered the door wearing an oversized long sleeve polo, beach bum sandals, and a skull and cross-bones ski hat.  He had insisted that I find guys apartment instead of meeting me at the train station.

That's fine.  I've never been to Hungary, but I'm a big girl.

It took me a while to sort out the trolleys, but I eventually made it.

He took my backpack, led me into the sitting room, and told me we had to leave.  Another couch surfer, 60 year old Dave from California was on his lap top there.  Leslie said it was a long story, and we had to leave.  Dave agreed it was a long story but made no move to indicate he was leaving too. 

Leslie ushered me out the door saying he was going to take me to this great little tea shop.

In my mind, I'm going over all the valuables in my backpack still at his flat.

I had all my money, credit cards, my Eurail pass, and my passport on my person.  I could make it okay if I had to bolt for some reason.

He went on and on about the reason we had to leave. 

Mostly what I gathered was that Leslie was a spineless wannabe college student and liked to be popular with the drinking crowd my age.

Apparently two guys were coming over to his flat that he just wanted to avoid.  One American guy had stayed with him for two months (this fact was bragged about on his couch surfing profile), and had become a constant moocher.  Somehow a Turkish guy got thrown in there and acted the same way.  The Turkish guy was also a host on couch surfing.

He liked to choose his surfers based on aesthetics, if you know what I mean.  Leslie maintained that made no difference to him.

We ended up walking for quite awhile.

I tried to calm my worries.  He had many great reviews on couch surfing, including reviews from single traveling females.  Why would he pick a fellow countrywoman to screw over?

We eventually made it to the tea shop.  I'll admit it was pretty cool.  Aztec themed with a basement and an upper deck for hookah.  Leslie mentioned if I was hungry we could get a private tea room for free.

Any appetite I had had previously, left long ago.

No.  No, I definitely was not hungry.

Over tea, he asked me a total of about two questions, one if which was did I like honey in my tea.

No.  No, I don't.

The rest of the time, he spilled his sad life story to me.  His parents were dead. His family was dead. He was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease.

Now, I am not completely unfeeling or insensitive.  A previous host, who will remain anonymous, confided in me his battle with stage 3 melanoma.  But he actually had something to say about the experience.  Leslie said it more to prove how sad his background really was, but that he pulled through just fine.

His parents' Hungarian origins were what led him to Budapest.  He had become a citizen, and spoke a little Hungarian (something he liked to prove whenever he had the chance).  As a Hungarian citizen, he was also receiving money from the government.

Oh yeah, Leslie was unemployed.

Surprise.

As it was only 3 in the afternoon, he offered to show me some of the sights on my list.

We only ended up seeing two of them (one of which was a square we happened to walk through).  I got the feeling he considered all the sites I wanted to see to be mindless tourist things that were beneath him.

He told me about his big plans for a bar crawl website were he would lead visitors through all his favorite bars on Budapest.  He had to show me the pub he planned on starting it at.  It was a cool little hole in the wall. Nothing more.

He bought me a beer while I was in the bathroom.  I didn't take more than three sips.  I didn't trust it.

We eventually ended up in another chill little pub to wait for night fall.

I just HAD to see the city by night.

I'll admit it was beautiful.  I think I would have enjoyed it more had he not insisted I take pictures of what he seemed to think was beautiful.  Even if I didn't want a picture of whatever it was.

By this time it was 9pm.  He had been promising to take me back for almost an hour and a half.

I was exhausted.

Then he decided we wouldn't cook dinner, do we should go get dumplings.

The whole day he had been talking about "when we go out tonight", "when I show you the real Budapest", "when you meet the moochers".

By the time we actually, physically, walked back into his apartment, it was after 10.  It was a three hour train to Budapest, and I'd just been walking for 8 hours.

The last thing I wanted to do now was go out.

I told him this.

Oh no no, its okay. We'll just go out for a bit.

All the while back to his place, he's been on the phone with the moochers saying "I can't make her go out", "She's tired, what do you want me to do", etc.  If there had been a sliver of a chance I wanted to go out before hearing that conversation, it was gone.

I don't like it when someone has a plan for me. A plan for what I'm going to do.  I especially don't appreciate someone talking about it right in front of me.

I make my own plans.

I had said earlier I would need to shower before going out.  It was 10pm, but I was getting my damn shower regardless. 

I said I didn't want to go out at all.

He said a shower would wake me up.

After I showered, I said I still didn't want to go out.

Oh no no, its okay, we'll just go to the pub down the street so you can meet my friends (moochers).

It took everything I had not to tell him where he could shove it.

The small part of my brain that was still rational and not completely pissed off kicked in.  If things got angry and heated, I could lose.

Fine.  I'd go to the pub down the street.

But I'll be damned if I'm putting on makeup or even combing my wet hair.

The Turkish guy would also be bringing his American surfer.

I got the feeling Leslie and the Turkish guy liked to compare their surfers.

I put on the biggest, smelliest shirt I had at the bottom of my back pack.

The American moocher, the Turkish moocher, and the American surfer all meet us at Leslie's place.

Then we walked to the pub.

Leslie asked what I wanted.

I said Fanta.

He bought everyone, including me, a beer and a shot.

And he said everyone mooches off of him.  Really he just liked to buy friends.

I was unimpressed and refused to drink either.

The American girl was nice.  Kind of an idiot, but a sweet heart.  Based on her manner I would have guessed her to be 18 or 19. Ah nope. 23.  Technically older than me.

She was from California, but had been in Amsterdam the past two weeks.  Why? Because she's going to move there.  Oh, job? School? No, she just liked it there.  She'd find a job.  I asked if she knew what it took to get a visa there.  A working visa nonetheless.  Ah, no, she hadn't looked that up yet.  I held my tongue, and just wished her good luck.

As soon as the American and Turkish guy realized that I wasn't going to play along and be charming or adorable, they pretty much ignored me.

I was falling asleep in my chair.

It was after midnight.  Leslie had promised we could go back after midnight.  I brought this to his attention.

Okay okay, after he finished the beer I refused to drink, then we could go.

As we walked out, I realized he was substantially drinker than I had thought.  Stumbling and swaying a bit.  I may have had a pen gripped in my fist in my purse.

Its not that I felt particularly threatened.  He just was unpredictable and didn't take anything I said seriously.

On the way back, he went on and on about how drinking tomato juice before bed will cure your hangover.  I assured him it would be impossible for me to have a hangover, as they typically require previous inebriation.

As we are walking into the apartment, I notice he's holding his mouth weird, and he's uncharacteristically silent.  I change in to my pajamas.  When I come out if the bathroom there's a glass of tomato juice waiting for me.

I am 99% sure there was spit in it.

I know what tomato juice looks like.

This had a floater in it.

I said I didn't like tomato juice (lie).

He said it would cure my hangover.

I said I'd take my chances.

I asked where I was going to sleep.  Dave was already passed out on the couch.

Leslie asked if it would be okay if we shared the bed if he put up a "force field".

Fuck no.

So I said, a bit more eloquently.

He pulled of the top part of the mattress onto the floor in the living room.  I got the bottom half in his room.  There was no doors between the two rooms.

I waited till I heard him snoring.

Hungarian Horrors 2: Budapest's Redemption

(continued from above)

Once I was sure Leslie was sleeping, I put leggings and a long sleeve shirt on under my pajamas.  I put everything back into my backpack, and laid my purse and coat together within arms reach of where I was sleeping.

I didn't sleep very well obviously.

Leslie and Dave got up at seven, I had been awake laying there got a half hour already.

Leslie had promised to make me pancakes, so he and Dave were going to run to the market.  I told him not to worry about the pancakes.

They left, and I got moving.  I changed etc. and repacked my bag.  I booked a hostel on my computer, and text the address and name of my host to a friend and my mom, just in case things went badly.

I couldn't just leave, there was no way to lock the door.

So I waited, fully strapped into my bag.

In they walked, finally.

I thanked Leslie for his hospitality but it just wasn't working out.  Leslie had a dumbfounded look on his face.

I ignored it. Shook both their hands, and left.

As I walked 2.3 miles with 20 lbs on my back, I felt so relieved.

I checked into the hostel, and went to see the real Budapest.

And I loved it.

Despite the rocky beginning, I'd put Budapest in my favorites category.

I first climbed the 300 steps to the top of St. Stephen's Basilica and got a beautiful view of all of Budapest.

Budapest is actually two cities.  Buda on the west side if the river, Pest on the east side.

I was in Pest, but could see all of Buda that wasn't behind the giant hill on which Buda Castle sat.

That's the direction I set off towards.

It took almost an hour to get there and climb the hill, but it was worth it.  There I had a great view of Pest and the Parliament building on its bank of the river.

Their parliament building reminded me a lot of the one in London, only fancier.  More elaborate architecture.

The castle wasn't anything particularly breathtaking.  Just a standard fortification.

I Bambi-legged my way down the hill and back across to Pest to find a cafe to rest.  There I looked up a cinema that played subtitled movies instead of dubbed movies in Hungarian.

How perfect would it be to watch the Hunger Games in Hungary?

I found a cinema I knew how to get to.  With still another two hours before showtime, I took a long scenic walk to Hósök Tere.

Hósök Tere is a large open square surrounded by several museums and other picturesque buildings.

One of which was a large castle like building with a very shallow pool surrounding it.  I'm sure people came in the summer to lay out and splash around.  Just opposite the shallow pool was some sort of music conservatory that I imagined played on the terrace in the summer.

It was nice out that day, sunshine and all, but not quite warm.

After admiring the scenery, I hoped on the metro towards the cinema.

The ticket had an assigned seat number on it, but I ignored it.  There was hardly anyone there.  The two guys that bought tickets in front of me were American no less.

I'm not going to go into the movie.  It was awesome, you should see it, I'm going to read the books when I get back.

I returned to the hostel, coordinated a few more hosts for the cities to come, and went to bed.

The next day was an eleven hour train trip to Venice where I'd meet Alberto.