D vs Budapest: The down and dirty recap


I departed Madrid with such apprehension. I wanted to stay, but knew it was time to head out and keep traveling.

Budapest was the destination, but I wasn’t too excited, despite the marvelous things I have heard about it. I loved being with my new friends, and heading to Budapest meant a departure from my comfort zone.

Perhaps my frame of mind upon leaving set me up for the numerous bouts I had with the city, or maybe it was just time for me to practice keeping my wits about me.

Either way, Budapest and I went mano y mano and in the end, well, I think it is safe to say I didn’t go down without a fight.

Round 1

I got off the bus and headed to the train to get to the city. Of course, I speak the equivalent of nothing in Hungarian, so when I handed the woman at the ticket counter 1,000 FTs, she told me it wasn’t enough for the train.

I handed her more. Then, I looked at the sign. Clearly, the ticket I wanted was marked as 320, not 1,000.

“Wait,” I stammered. “I gave you 1,000.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Don’t I get change?”

“No.”

I didn’t know how to argue in Hungarian, so I gave in.

Budapest: 1    D: 0

Round 2

After successfully navigating my way to Unity Hostel in Pest, I rang the door bell, thankful to be putting down my pack and looking forward to getting some food.

I buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed.

No answer.

So, I buzzed a different number.

“Hello,” said the voice … in Hungarian.

“Hi, hostel?” I asked.

“No.”

“Let me in?”

“No.” Click.

Well, shit.

I pulled out my cell and called. A Spanish recording came on, explaining something to me (guessing I couldn’t make calls).

I spun around, looking at the buildings around me, seeing if I could just yell up to someone in the hostel to let me in.

Nothing.

Fight or flight, right?

I decided to fight. I walked up to a girl checking her messages on her phone and explained to her my situation and asked if I could use her phone.

I dialed the hostel.

No answer.

Panic began to creep into my mind. My heart began to race.

Shit. I have no place to sleep, no map of the city.

Budapest: 2    D: 0

Round 3

“Do you know where I might be able to find a hostel?” I asked the girl.

“Yes,” she said, beckoning me to follow her down another street. “Go down there to the second main street and there is one across from the post office. You will see a sign.”

Thank god.

After about 25 minutes of wandering through one of Buda’s main streets, I saw the sign for the hostel.

I buzzed.

They let me in.

“Hi,” I said, saying a silent prayer for a room. “I don’t have a reservation.”

“That’s OK,” said the receptionist, sitting down in her chair. “How many nights would you like?”

Budapest: 2    D: 1

Round 4

At Interflat Youth Hostel I met two girls from America and we headed for food. The three of us craved pizza so we did what any Americans craving pizza would do, headed to the nearest Pizza Hut (shhhh, no judging).

Pizza was mouthwateringly perfect.

We got the bill.

Really?

The server had added a 25 percent gratuity.

Budapest: 3    D: 1

Round 5

I hadn’t gone out for a few days and my inner conversations were growing stale. I tried to convince a girl in my dorm to come out with me, but she wanted to stay in.

A bar, Instant, was recommended to me by the hostel, so I decided to take a walk on over there for a drink.

I walked in and it was such a cool bar. A packed, cool bar.

There were no seats, so I did a lap through and decided I wasn’t in the mood to stand in a corner, eyeing people and conversations jealously.

So, I proceeded to another bar, one less crowded and a lot less cool, and grabbed a beer. Then, I headed back to my room to catch up on some writing.

Draw

Round 6

I had been in Budapest two nights and had met no one and decided a change of scenery was necessary.

I made a reservation and headed over to Back Pack, a hostel in Buda packed with hippie flavor and general awesomeness (and recommended by Lonely Planet).

It was a rainy and cold day in Budapest and by the time I arrived to Back Pack, my jeans were soaked through and I was chilled to the bone.

But, I had made it. I was immediately let in to the hostel and given a room with a comfortable bed, unlike the last hostel where I was oh-so Princess and the Pea and could feel every spring in the mattress.

To add to the glee, I hadn’t had to validate either of my travel tickets, so I rode for free on the tram and bus.

Budapest: 3    D:2

Round 7

The rain continued on Monday, but I was determined not to let the water drown out my day.

I stood outside of the hostel, OAR (Of a Revolution) playing on my iPod, and began walking down the stairs.

Then, my foot was slipping and my ass was connecting with the slick stairs and I was sliding down to the bottom.

Pain shot through my entire back and my arm. Tears filled my eyes.

For the first time during my trip, I wanted to go home. To my parents. To sit with my mom and have a good cry.

Budapest: 4     D: 2

Round 8

I stood up, fighting back the urge to burst into hysterics. Then, I looked behind me. Was anyone rushing to make sure I was OK?

NO.

I looked at my back. Soaked. I looked at my arm. Scratched. I looked inside of myself. Bruised, but manageable.

I brushed the dirt off of me, sucked in some fresh Budapest air and headed out the front gate and into the city to explore.

Budapest: 4    D: 3

Round 9

At that point, I decided there was a chance Budapest was going to kick my ass. It was time to get traveling, so I headed to a ticket office to purchase a bus ticket to Brasov, Romania.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, cautiously looking at me and the frustration that was spreading over my face. “There are no buses to Brasov this week.”

“What about a train?”

“I can call and see how much it is,” she offered, and I graciously accepted.

After some back and forth, she gave me directions to another office to go and purchase a train ticket.

An hour later, and a little wetter (it was still raining in Budapest), I held in my hand a second class reserved seat to Brasov, leaving the following evening.

That night, I finally met some people in my hostel, Scott and Heidi, a fabulous Aussie/Kiwi couple and we enjoyed some drinks together.

Finally. My first good night in Budapest was also my last night.

The next night, I boarded my overnight train for Romania for some time out of Schengen Europe. Just in time to start crazy new adventures in Brasov …

Budapest: 4     D: 4

How to be a superfly hostel (The List)

Hostels — love them or hate them — most backpackers have to stay in them.

What makes a superfly hostel, D?

I’m glad you asked.

1. 24 hour reception for people who take the night train and arrive early in the morning … or late at night.

There is nothing worse than arriving to your hostel and finding you can’t even get in the front door until 9 or 10 a.m. That makes 4 a.m. arrivals miserable. And, there is nothing comfortable about sleeping on a front step of a hostel in a new city. For me, a hostel that doesn’t offer 24-hour reception is a deal-breaker. I am fine if I can’t get a bed right away, but at least let me in off the street so I can put my bag down and close my eyes in a safe environment.

2. Common rooms.

Meeting people isn’t too difficult in a hostel, especially if you are sleeping in a dorm … that just breeds conversation. But, a key factor for those not in a dorm, or just not ridiculously chatty is the common room. Most hostels have them. The good ones have them placed strategically near reception allowing new arrivals to peek their heads in and survey the guests. The great hostels not only have centrally located common rooms, but have them stocked with couches, tables, chairs, a TV, speakers, etc. to facilitate a friendly, interactive environment.

3. Kitchen.

Backpackers have a budget (afterall, money spent on beer is a much better investment than on food, right??) so a kitchen is a necessity. Hostel kitchens have the staples — pots, pans, microwaves, stoves, utensils. The really good kitchens will even have salt, pepper and oil (bring your own olive oil, it’s too pricey to give away at most hostels). Hostels with big kitchens score more points for me. Even more points go to hostels with a table in it big enough for more than two people to sit and enjoy their food. And, a note to you backpackers — don’t steal food. It’s bad karma and a travel no-no. Buy your own, cook your own and when you leave, if you have leftovers you can’t take with you, mark it as “communal” so others can enjoy. I repeat — DO NOT STEAL (MY) FOOD.

4. Lounge for parties.

Aside from the common room, there needs to be a room for travelers to enjoy new friends and old in a place that won’t keep the entire hostel up until the wee hours of the morning. I like rooms like this in the basement. Even if a group is loud, it isn’t as bad as having it in an area where you can hear every word while trying to sleep.

5. BBQ for impromptu cook outs.

Cooking pasta day in and day out gets old. When you’ve got a group, a great, tasty and economical option for chowing down is the barbie. In Hvar, the BBQ was perfect — overlooking the Adriatic. Not every hostel has the killer views Green Lizard had, but a BBQ adds a different social element to the mix — cooking and drinking beers and enjoying the outdoors with friends, simultaneously.

6. Free wifi.

Staying in touch (and writing blog posts) is important so if a hostel doesn’t have wifi, it means having to haul your computer to a cafe, or wait for hours for the lone hostel computer to open up. So, free wifi is a must. Bonus points if the wifi is accessible throughout the hostel, it lends to more private Skype conversations and peaceful writing.

7. Free brekkie.

Again, budget-conscious travelers need some incentive to stay at a hostel. Free breakfast, even if it is just toast and jam, or cereal and coffee/tea can help keep the wallet fatter. Hostels, take note: not many of you offer fruit, and damn it, I would LOVE me a banana or orange. Or a hard-boiled egg.

8. Free drinks.

Even if it is only one drink when you check-in, free drinks are great to spark up an evening in the hostel, encourage people to interact and a nice way of saying “thank you for your business.” Bars are good to have, too. Activities, such as quizzes or games, also adds nicely to the mix.

9. Tours.

It is a hassle to book tours. Hostels that offer low-cost tours (or just tours in general) score more points with me. Traveling isn’t always easy, so if a hostel has something already on the books and all you need to do is sign-up, then I’m in.

10. Laundry.

Free laundry is even better, but I will settle for cheap laundry service any day. It beats having to haul clothes to the laundromat or re-wear stuff that has no business being worn again.

11. Friendly staff.

Staff can make or break a hostel. The friendlier and more helpful the staff is, the better. Not being fluent in many languages makes it difficult to phone a car hire service or book a stay at another hostel. Staff that can help do this make a world of difference.

12. Deals.

I am partial to the offer of staying extra nights at a discount or for free. In Brasov, I didn’t need to stay five nights, but the fifth was free, which was cheaper than leaving, so why not?

13. Location.

Please, don’t tell me to take one metro, one bus and five trams to get to your hostel. I won’t. Location is key — the closer to the center of town and public transportation, the better. As a rule, if it takes me more than 15 minutes to get to where the action is, I won’t stay there. Unless I want peace and quiet, but that’s a different story.

Special thanks to Kismet Dao Hostel in Brasov, Romania to having every one of these things.

Related note: For more on hostels, head over to Michael Hodon’s site, GoSeeWrite, and read his tips for hostel owners.

What else makes a hostel superfly? Share your comments below!

The upside of traveling solo is the same as the down

I stood, lost in thought at the taco counter in Pest.

“Are you OK?” asked the young man at the counter, in English seeping with a beautiful Hungarian accent.

I jogged back into the moment.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, grabbing my metal tray containing a junior burrito and large beer. “Just thinking.”

And I left it at that.

The truth was, I was OK. But, only kindasortanotreallymaybe.Continue reading “The upside of traveling solo is the same as the down”

Taking it off in Budapest

The thick blanket of clouds hovering overhead in Budapest stood in stark contrast to the sunny blue skies of Madrid.

Was I really only in Spain one day ago?

I stood, alone, at the ticket counter at the Szechenyi baths.

“Just one please,” I told the attendant.

I wish I had company.

She handed me the watch with the microchip, which would serve as my entrance into the baths and the key to my lock, and I walked into the gorgeous bath house.

Outside, three pools of varying temperature were filled with people of all ages, enjoying the sunless day in Budapest.

I headed to the locker room.

Women were disrobing everywhere.

Um, what?

I clung to my bag, which contained my bathing suit.

Nope. There was no way I was going to take it all off right there, in front of strangers. Hell, even if it was people I knew, my outgoing personality was no match for my modest, keep-my-clothes-on-in-public attitude.Continue reading “Taking it off in Budapest”

Decompression numero dos

 

Man, leaving new friends is a bitch.

The second time I had bid farewell (“see you soon”) in three weeks to a group of amazing and beautiful people who became my family in the blink of an eye was no easier than the departure two weeks earlier.

First, it was Valdelavilla. And now, Monfrague. Two completely different programs, two completely different locations. Two completely and breathtakingly different groups of people.

And both forever have special places in my heart.

Leaving the Spaniards is never easy. This time was especially hard because there were a few people on the both the Spanish and English sides (and they know exactly who they are) who immediately captured my love.

I was so reluctant at first to accept this new group of people. It felt a bit like cheating on the original Valdelavilla family. Anthony and I stood in the meeting room of Hospedería Parque de Monfrague, me leaning my head against his shoulder, exhausted from the night we had previously with some of the participants of this program.

I whispered in his ear, “I want to be in Valdelavilla again.”

The group we were surrounded by was new. Different. Overwhelming.

It was about 20 Spaniards compared to about 12 from the last program, as well as about 20 Anglos. We had the bus ride with just the Anglos, and there were a few we spoke with. But all these people? Really? It just tired me to look at their faces.

We did the introductions … “I’m D,” kiss on the cheek, kiss on the other cheek, “nice to meet you.”

And again, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself in to.

But, intense experiences like this bring people together, and this was no exception.

Within three meals I felt something towards every person in our group.

Within three days, I couldn’t imagine my life without having met them.

By the end of the week, I was making plans to see nearly all of them again.

Every meal, every one-on-one, even the cigarette breaks (no, Mom, I did not smoke), were filled with laughter and conversation —  most of the time in English.

There were so many moments during Monfrague when I just wanted to press “pause” and make it last longer.

One moment was during our siesta — about half of us decided to go and explore Monfrague, a stunning national park with a castle perched atop a mountain. I stayed about mid-hike while the others climbed up to the castle with Tina, an Anglo from the UK.

Tina and I bonded instantly. We sat together, watching the vultures soar above our heads, sun shining on our faces, and had us some proper girl talk. By that night, she, Anthony and I were our own little club.

Another was when Jose, whose dimples, English phrases (“I can’t beeleeve it!”) and general oozing of happy quickly won me over, and I decided to head into the little town by our hotel for our one-on-one.

Only, we picked up some additional people.

He and I were driving down the road and saw Alfonso, another Spaniard who, along with his sister, Laly, ended up being like siblings to me during the trip, and Kate, an Anglo. So, we kidnapped them and they joined us as we sat outside at a little bar, sipping wine and beer and eating vultures feet (at least that’s what Alfonso wanted me to believe I was eating).

Another late afternoon, Jesus and I had our one-to-one and we took his little “puppito,” Lucky, for a walk around Monfrague. It was fun to watch the pup frolic in the yellow flowers, hopping through the neon green grass. And it was even more fun to talk to Jesus about life in Spain, my plans to live there (and how we are going to work on getting me a job there).

Then, there was the party. And, it was a party. A table covered with drinks and snacks mixed perfectly with the 40 or so of us until the wee hours of the morning.

And, of course, the next morning, Graeme (Anglo), Jose, Hector (Spaniard) and I continued the party at the little bar in town with coffee and brandy. Not my idea, but it worked.

Friday afternoon came and I was dreading it. Absolutely not looking forward to lunch or to leaving.

After lunch, we all congregated outside in the hotel’s driveway, hugging, kissing, promising to “see you soon,” and really meaning it (update: a group of us are having a reunion camping trip in May … looks like I’m headed back to Madrid!!).

As we pulled out of the hotel’s driveway, the Spaniards waved goodbye one last time.

There were a few tears. But, those tears were accompanied by the fact I KNEW the friends I had made would not disappear.

Friday night when we arrived back to Madrid, I was mentally exhausted. The “see you soon’s” of the day had ripped at me. But, I can’t wait to do another one …

Day tripping from Madrid

Madrid is nearly dead smack in the middle of Spain, so naturally, day trips from the capital are easy both in terms of closeness and bus/train schedules.

There are two main options for traveling in Spain — the bus and the train. Recently, a high-speed train was added, and while it gets you places far faster than traditional transport, it is a bit pricey.

The bus was the best option for me — not only was it pretty inexpensive, but it also gave me the opportunity to see the countryside of Spain (the high-speed train is underground, so gazing out the window affords you nothing).

The week between VaughanTown programs, I spent most of my time in Madrid, hanging out in the city with Anthony and Emma. But, two of the days I traded the bustling city and packed Metro for the more peaceful towns of Toledo and Segovia.

I didn’t really plan either trip. I went to the bus station early Tuesday morning (the wrong bus station first, of course), and purchased my ticket (in Spanish, at a kiosk … I was really proud).

The bus from Madrid to Toledo is fairly quick — maybe 90 minutes — and the drive is magnificent.

I sat on the bus — the first seat since that’s where you see everything — and was thrilled when I saw the town crawling up the hillside and the powerful Catedral.

Toldeo, located in the Castilla-La Mancha region, is packed with history. Walking down the winding streets, you can stumble upon ancient synagogues, Roman walls and more.

I got off the bus and looked up, up, up to the buildings rising above my head. I decided to wing it — no map — I could see exactly where I wanted to go way up top the hill, I just needed to get there.

I walked around Toledo for hours, exploring the old narrow streets, wandering into stores, standing at the top of the hill, jaw agape, staring out into the brilliant green plains.

Admitedly, it would have helped if I had a tour guide, but I like to think I saved the tour guide for when it was really necessary — Segovia.

I hadn’t noticed the mountains surrounding Madrid before my adventure to Segovia. I had seen them, but they never seemed quite so picturesque as they did they day I sat on the La Sepulveda bus as it powered down the highway to Segovia.

Out my window, I could see perfectly the snow-capped mountains looming over the city. Then, we were next to the mountains. And then, we were in them.

The sun had disappeared as soon as we hit the mountains. Clouds rolled off the jagged tops and plummeted down the slopes, chilling me inside the warm confines of the bus.

I watched as the outdoor temperature gauge in the bus dropped from 14 to five to four to three and thanked my lucky stars I had placed my fleece next to the heater the night before and had the idea to grab my jacket … just in case.

When I got off the bus a little more than an hour later, I was happy to be at least greeted warmly by JC, a student taught by Jess and Deanna at a previous VaughanTown.

They had e-mailed introductions to us earlier in the week and JC had so kindly volunteered to show me around his home town in Castilla y Lyon.

Segovia is a remarkable city known for three main attractions — El Acueducto, the remains of a Roman aqueduct that cuts right into the heart of town; Alcazar, a gothic castle perched atop a hill that draws comparisons to Cinderella’ castle; and the grandest cathedral in the region, Catedral.

Having JC as my private tour guide and new friend was amazing. He had  taken care of everything — reservations made for lunch, a complimentary entrance to Alcazar, a hike down to the bottom of the town to look up at the castle and even coffee in the afternoon.

Suffice to say, I slept nearly the entire two-hour bus ride home.

The next time I would be on a bus was Sunday en route to Monfrague … enough time for me to get back into Madrid life and then sadly exit it once more.

A love affair with Madrid

 I hadn’t expected to fall in love with Madrid. Many travelers I talked to said Madrid was “just another city” and “not safe.”

Yes, Madrid is “just another city” and, like any city, it isn’t always safe. But, I was fortunate enough to have a different perspective of the city than most travelers. I was able to live and breathe the city like a local.

I hadn’t expected to stay as long as I did in Madrid, but everything happens for a reason. For me, it solidified my desire to live in Spain and be a part of the magnificent and vibrant culture.Continue reading “A love affair with Madrid”

Back to Anglo “reality”

I laid in my bed at Los Amigos Hostel listening to the hum of people outside my balcony on Calle de Arenal in Madrid.

Decompressing is a tough activity following the six days I spent immersed in English … in a way I never thought possible … with people I never expected to fall so deeply in love with.

I found myself craving Vadelavilla. The people. The way my heart smiled during my time there.

On the Metro earlier in the evening, all I could think about were the participants — both the Anglos and Spaniards.

I listened for Jose’s gruff voice … looked for Miguel’s mischievous smile … listened for Anthony’s infectious laugh  and Emma’s sound effects … searched for Silvia’s shoulder to lean my head … and none of them were there.

These people became my life for six intense days. I woke up with them. I ate with them. I laughed (a lot) with them. I even cried (mostly me when I said goodbye) with them.

And then … I was alone. And it felt really uncomfortable and lonely.Continue reading “Back to Anglo “reality””

A BRIEF intermission: One month in

Today is Wednesday, April 7, 2010 and I am officially one month into my travels.

Today marks the longest I have ever been away from America.

And, it feels absolutely AMAZING.

There was a time in my life when no one would have ever imagined my leaving the comfort of my home, my life, and just galavant around the world.

The first time I went backpacking, people I knew — my “friends” — secretly discussed among themselves how they thought I would never last traveling. They decided I would throw in the towel, come home and go back to life without ever looking back. They didn’t think I had it in me.

They were wrong.

One month and one day ago, I had an air of excitement hanging over me, an electricity pulsing through my veins that was indescribable. But, I was also scared about what my future would hold.

One month ago, when I tearfully hugged my parents goodbye at Dulles and kept my eyes locked on theirs as I went down to security on the escalator, it was hard to imagine living anything other than the life I lived.

But, one month ago, I also took the first step to alter the rest of my life. To look the world in it’s eyes and say “My name is D. I want more from this life and I am going to do everything I can to make my reality exactly what I want.”

Looking back on the last month of my life leaves me with such a feeling of satisfaction … of pure bliss. I have experienced things I never thought possible. I have met people who are now important people in my life. I have been a part of change in other people’s lives. I have tried new things (Toad in a Hole, anyone?).

But, most importantly, the past month of my life, I have LIVED. With passion. With love. With pure happiness. I cannot even fathom Month Two and the world of possibilities it possesses.

Cheers. Slainte. Salud.

Opening my ears

“Hi,” I began. “My name is D. I am originally from just outside of Washington, DC. In my former life, I was a publicist. Now, I am traveling and writing about it. If I could be any animal, I would be … a bird.”

I sat down.

I was sitting in one of the back rows in the Valedelavilla meeting room, anxiously surveying the crowd of Anglos and Spaniards (our new classifications) who had all come together in the room following a four-hour bus ride through the mountains near Soria.

Dade, a Brit, served as the MC and ushered us through quick introductions — who we are, where we are from, what we do, and what animal would we be if we could be any animal in the world. He instructed the Spaniards to open their ears to the extensive English being spoken.

I sat and listened as each person stood up and responded to Dade’s request. I tried to open my ears. Damn, it was hard.

After introductions, Dade explained the program: early wake up call for breakfast, followed by four one-on-ones with Anglos, then lunch, then siesta, then more one-on-ones and group activities, then performances, then dinner, then optional drinks at the bar.

What did I get myself into?Continue reading “Opening my ears”