Lessons in language and blending in.

When in Croatia we did fairly well at learning some useful words, but in Hungary, where we said on the train heading into the country, this time we are really making an effort - we sucked. That is one tough language. Slovakian had more in common with Croatian then it did Hungarian, so we did pretty well in Slovakia. We spent two days hiking in the Slovakian Paradise, a gorgeous mountain range where the fall colors are really coming out in force (uh, 'cause it's getting really COLD!). The hikers we encountered were nice, everyone greets everyone with a cheerful Dobry den (that's phonetic, means good day, the actual spelling is quite different). Teach me a phrase, send me up a mountain where I will pass umpteen hikers on a Sunday, and I will use it. Oh yes, I will use it. Dobry den, dobry den! The hills were alive with the sound of me greeting hikers.





We stayed at a nice hotel where there was a wedding going on Saturday evening. The mother of all weddings, I might add. We saw dressed up members of the wedding party at 11 am saturday, and heard drunk singing wedding guests at 4:30 am sunday. The reception started at about 5 pm Sat. We sat in the hotel bar and got to watch and hear the traditional band perform. The guests were in it for the long haul, we could tell by their faces that they knew they were in for at least another ten hours of fun. We walked over the hill to a restaurant at another hotel where, what a surprise, another wedding was going on. We got in some really good people watching that night, even if we didn't get huge amounts of sleep. The small children running up and down the stairs at 2:30 were annoying, but the drunk singing guys in the garden at 4:30 actually sounded really good, according to Rich. I slept through them.

The area of Slovakia we were in is one of the last where you still see people, mostly older women, in traditional dress. The headscarf tied under the chin, the petticoat and skirt, the apron. We got a few photos, without being really obnoxious (I hope), and will post them when we can.



The hiking was wonderful, and the trail building was creative. Where the river had cut a path through the limestone that some would call a cliff, the Slovakians merely attach a few metal platforms and a chain and call it a trail.



So how well do we blend in? What really seems to set up apart and out us as Americans now that we are off the main tourist routes? Well, Rich is taller then most people by about two feet, and taller then almost anyone we saw. Especially in Hungary. There are some teenage boys who look like they may top six foot two given a good diet and lots of sleep, but not yet. The big American with the sunglasses attracts loads of attention from the teen boys. They study his every item of clothing and watch every move. It's quite fun to watch.

Sunglasses. No one seems to wear them except us. It's not like we're kidding ourselves that we blend in, but it is interesting to note the obvious differences. Not many eyeglasses either. We're not sure if the people of Hungary and Slovakia are of superior genetic material and don't need glasses, or they wear contact lenses, or they simply don't get eye tests (which could explain some of the driving we saw), but the trendy Haight Street glasses on Rich are unusual.

My shoes. Now that it's cold I am wearing my Keens exclusively. With Smartwool socks. They are the Keens that are fairly strap intensive, but still partly open, not a total closed shoe, more of a sport utility sandal. I've only seen one other pair so far, in a train station in Poland, on a woman who must have been American. Well, as far as I can tell, the Croatian, Hungarian, and Slovakian women are not very impressed with my footwear. They are a fairly stylish bunch, these women, and these shoes are high in comfort, but perhaps not so high in style. Oh well, they did get me through a six hour hike with no blisters, so no complaining on my part. Well, a little complaining...I am getting sick of them. Again, with the cold weather, it's getting down to about 35 or 40 at night and in the evening, about 55 or 60 during the day, so I'm wearing my one pair of jeans and my one sweater every day. Yup, everyday. Thankfully we have a heated towel rack at this place so I can wash them tonight and hang then over the heated rack to dry, hopefully, by morning. Was that too much detail about my laundry habits? I hope not. I'll take a photo so you can all see what it's like as a light traveler in a cold climate. I've already ditched one skirt and haven't worn the other for two weeks. I'm hanging on to it for India. Bought two t-shirts in Budapest, at a Zara clothing store, which we have one of in SF (ah the virtual downtown...), here in Poland I will buy gloves and a scarf. Oh boy, some new clothing!

Dancing fountains, awesome!

So let me catch up, Budapest for eight days which was very fun. We stayed in an apartment for four days, then a room in the same building, same floor, with a common kitchen. Meet a great Australian couple, Criag and CJ, had dinner with them. It was very nice to talk to them, not that Rich and I get sick of each others company, but....it was nice.



Rich tried out a goate, decided it wasn't for him and shaved it off a few days later.



We went on to Eger, still in Hungary, and did a Servas stay with a family who were wonderful. Wine caves, wine tasting, and three great nights with Attila and Alice, and their two daughters Bogi and Dora.

Our next stop was another small town in Hungary where we went to the thermal baths that were partially in caves. Cave baths! Imagine Hugh Hefners grotto, only extensive, and not full of bunnies. The average age was a bit older, about 60 or 70. We spent about three hours lounging around in various temperature pools and drifting through the caves, and getting pounded under more elephant washer jets of water. Once again my bad German came in handy at the Pension, the woman behind the counter spoke Hungarian and a bit more German then me, but we got through it. She and I had a good laugh everytime one of us managed to remember a word.

Now we are in Slovakia, in Kosice, which has a great brewpub, Golem, where Rich and I sat and drank beer and ate beer cheese. Beer cheese is marinated in beer, garlic, and soemthing really stinky. It is served on a plate with raw onions and sprinkled with paprika. Our waiter looked a little dubious that we actually wanted to try it, but we polished off the entire hunk. I think it probably evolved through men trying to get out of arguing with their wives when they stayed out too late at the bar. Before going home they would eat stinky beer cheese and the wife couldn't bear the bad breath and would postpone the arguement. That's my theory.




The dancing fountains are also in Kosice, near the big catherdral. Another Cathedral, yawn. Dancing fountains! Oh boy! We first heard amplified Bee Gees music and then found the park in the middle of the long pedestrian street. The fountains are great, the jets dance with the music, and at night they are lit up with colored lights. Who needs Vegas baby?





Today we are taking a train towards the Slovakian Paradise, up in the mountains. The weather is getting colder and by the time we get to Poland we will have to buy some warmer clothing.

I can't bike...I'm too old!

This post is for all my biking buddies, in honor of all the public meetings we've been to in SF to fight for better biking conditions. At these meetings we frequently hear from a few seniors that it would be unfair or unrealistic to remove a lane of traffic, or remove a few parking spaces, or slow traffic down to make cycling safer and eaiser, because old people can't bike. "It's for younger people, I can't ride a bike." A perfectly healthy senior will say.



Well of course you can't, you got into a car 50 years ago and never got out! That is what we want to avoid by making cycling so safe in SF that I will be biking all the years of my life, like these folks in Verazdin. Verazdin is a lovely town in Croatia, a potential UNESCO world heritage site, where the baroque old town is mostly closed to motor vehicles.

Rich and I sat at a cafe and calculated the average age of the cyclists go about their business, it was over 50 so these photos are not unusual. Maybe these folks were only going from the market to home, a kilometer or two, but they were doing it by bike.





Bike on!



And never stop fighting for better biking wherever you live.

This army runs on its stomach.

I must agree with Napolean, food is important. Since we arrived in Budapest four nights ago we've had Thai, Greek, Mexican, cooked pasta for ourselves, and went to a continential style resturant, the Soul Cafe, for yuppie type food. As much as we loved Croatia we were getting awfully tired of the food. That happened to us in Italy as well. As much as we both love Italian food, our fickle San Franciscan palettes are used to munching our way around the world in the course of a week. Thai, Ethiopian, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, brewpubs, veggie resturants, middle eastern....ok, now I'm making myself miss SF. One more word - burritos. Ummmm....burritos.

The hits so far while traveling:

France, lunch in Samoens with Hannah and Erik. Three of us had a yummy baked cheese dish with ham, pear and bread. Also the tartaflec that Hannah made. We easily could have eatten a dish twice a large, she wisely did not make the large size.

Geneva
Tomato fondue while sitting at a sidewalk table of a little resturant. It was not the right season or weather for fondue, but it was wonderful. The tomatoes turned the fondue a paler shade then tomato soup. There were few tomato chunks, just the taste of cheese and tomatos. While were eating a group of school children walked by with their teacher, their little eyes were table level and the chorus of "Oh, fondue!" rang out, along with many little voices piping up "Bon appetit!" Obviously a hit with the pre teen crowd. While the lunch was fantastic, the prices in Geneva are sky high. We had a starter of assorted chacueterie, the fondue, and a half liter of white wine for lunch for 80 dollars. Good thing we didn't want to do all of our traveling in europe, we would run out of money in a month or two.



Kotor, Montenegro
Grilled local fish at a resturant inside the old city walls. The waiter was one of the more outgoing we had encounted so far, he reeled off the names of hollywood stars when he found out we were from California. He kept pausing, as if expecting us to say, oh yes, we know them well. There is a salad in Croatia and Montenegro, and probaly Bosnia, that I love. It is called chopped salad, shopski, in phonetic Croatian, and it is cucumbers, tomatoes, onions or peppers and cheese all diced up into little cubes. The version in Sarajevo was good, but in Montenegro the local cheese was softer and less salty then the Sarajeven version. It made the salad so perfect. I miss that salad.