My March of ‘08, Part 1

Decades from now, people will be asking each other, “So, what were you doing when you heard the news about Brett Favre retiring?” As for me, I was enjoying some red Czech wine with breakfast in Prague while reading my email. That particular morning I had about twenty frantic emails from the all over the states, making sure that I was informed of such a monstrous event. My mother emailed from Florida, “I’m sure you’ve heard by now…” Some Door County friends emailed, “We’re taking turns on Biwer suicide watch.” I turned to my American friend and Prague host and told him the news. His reply was, “You mean he was still playing?” American football doesn’t get much attention beyond our borders.

Were I back home I might have taken the news a little harder than I did, but I was back on my favorite side of the world and century-old visual distractions kept me pleasantly preoccupied. Perhaps I should rewind a few days. I had been most graciously granted the month of March off, so I immediately booked a flight back to Krakow. I had been stuck within American borders for two years. I had long been pampered with endless heavenly toilet paper and predictable superior toilet design. It was time to return to Eastern Europe, to the land of impeccable mass transit and diehard cold social behaviors.

I landed in Krakow International Airport and was elated to see my baggage pop out onto the carousel first. Once out the gate, I made a beeline for the ATM. Almost fully anticipated, the machine refused to give me money. Ah, Poland! How I missed thee! Luckily, I had sewn a stack of good ol’ American twenties into my underpants. I hopped on the bus with my baggage and was soon forcibly squished in like a sardine. Ah, Poland! How I missed thee! Once downtown, I carried my baggage into the town square in the pouring rain. There, a grubby looking street beggar immediately latched onto my presence and tried every pitch he knew. Ah, Poland! How I missed thee! Then my friend Dominik finally showed up and took me to his home. A hot dinner, hot shower, and warm bed never felt so good. I finally let out a sigh and relaxed. After two long years I had returned.

After I overslept a few hours, my first morning in Krakow soon became rather hectic. It was a mad rush of running errands. I had to take a bus to a tram to another tram to get back downtown where I instantly mailed a package to Bulgaria. Next order of business was calling my bank back home to straighten out my ATM problem. Then I spent a while in front of the bus and train schedules, jotting down all the departure times to Prague, Dresden, Kroscienko, Zakopane, and Plock. Finally, I was able to stroll over to my favorite American-owned English bookstore. There I opened my rather heavy rucksack and unloaded ten hardcover books which I’ve acquired off of the “free book table” at the Sister Bay library. These free books were traded in for a book I’ve been eyeing up there for years. I finally have in my possession Kosmos, a rather expensive yet fantastic photo documentary of the Russian space program. Back at Dominik’s home, I later found my ATM problem solved and prepared to depart.

My second morning back in Eastern Europe I was on the early train to Prague. My last train experience was Amtrak in Florida last winter, a complete nightmare. How good it felt to be back on a trusty Polish train, reading Chernyshevsky’s What is to be Done? I would take a break now and then to nibble on my obwarzanek (Polish street vendor snack) and watch the Polish countryside pass by. Upon arriving in Prague’s central station, I was met by my old American friend Paul. We trekked to his apartment and chatted into the evening. After dinner at the best Cambodian restaurant Prague has to offer, we walked across town to Klub 007, a basement live-music bar below an ugly old communist block apartment building. A band called the Black Dice from NYC were playing. The beer was reasonable and tasty. The band was absolutely unlistenable. We left and strolled around an old open-air stadium large enough to hold four American football fields. This was where the communists would rally and cheer on their Labor Day parades and other political gatherings. Now it was a graying concrete giant, silent and eerie.

Two mornings later I boarded a bus to Ceske Budejovice. This city in the southern Czech Republic is most known for being the home of Budvar, the original Budweiser (now labeled as “Czechvar” here in the states). There I boarded a smaller bus to the nearby valley town of Cesky Krumlov. If, by chance, you’ve seen the movie The Illusionist, then you’ve seen Cesky Krumlov. This is an absolutely beautiful little medieval town hidden in a valley in the foothills of southern Czech Republic. A river swirls around the quaint old town with the castle and tower looming overhead. I spent a full sunny day walking the entire town and taking hundreds of photos. Cesky Krumlov is my new “most beautiful town in the world,” just barely beating out Romania’s Sighisoara.

My second night there I was leaning out of my room’s window and heard live folk music from nearby. I searched and found its source to be a hidden little bar in a back alley. After entering, I discovered it was a self-proclaimed “gypsy bar.” There was an absolutely amazing band crammed into the corner, playing the most spirited and inspiring music I’ve heard in a long while. This experience was a perfect reason why I enjoy traveling. Later that night I was back in the bar below my room, a rather rough-and-tumble watering hole, and the gypsy band walked in. Before long, the locals showed their dislike of gypsies….with their fists, right in front of me. Being a lone foreign traveler with no real grasp on the Czech language, and grossly outnumbered, what was I to do? My travels usually afford me many interesting experiences, some enjoyable and some rather blunt exhibitions of reality. I did not sleep well that night.

After two nights in Cesky Krumlov, I had to move on. I caught the early morning train back to Ceske Budejovice. Of course, the small-town train was late so I missed my next train and had to spend an unexpected four hours in Budejovice. I found an “affordable looking” café and had some “affordable” coffee while I read more Chernyshevsky. My next train took me to Linz, Austria, where I caught a train to Vienna, where I caught a train to Budapest, arriving after 9:00 pm. Veronika met me at the Budapest station. Veronika used to work at Sister Bay’s Church Hill Inn. After an entire day on trains, her hot Croatian meal was heaven-sent! She took me to my room across town and I was out in no time.

My next two days were spent fully enjoying the sights of Budapest, my favorites being Hero’s Square and the Vaszarcarnok (a huge indoor market, full of gourmet Hungarian foods). My last night in Budapest I returned to Veronika’s home to prepare a full pasta dinner. Her roommate walked in and I was surprised to see it was Anna, a polish girl who used to work at Wagon Trail and Al Johnson’s back ‘round 2000. In their kitchen, I was comforted by the sight of a Green Bay Packer cup on the shelf next to a bottle of Zubrowka, a fine Polish vodka. Back at my room, sleep came difficult for my next day would find me in a new country, Bulgaria.

In the morning, I was on the train back to Vienna, where I caught a bus out to the airport, where I caught my budget flight to Sofia, Bulgaria. In Sofia, I was to be met at the airport by Mariana, a friend of the Sister Bay Café’s Krasimira. Having never met Mariana, I walked out the gate and sort of made eye contact with those waiting to pick up their arrivals. Soon, they all found those they came to find, and I was left alone in the airport of this new country. The only others left were the taxi drivers trying to solicit my business. I kept turning them down in Polish until they left me alone. Finally, Mariana showed up and wondered why I was at the OLD airport. She had been waiting for me at the NEW airport. Ah, the joys of travel!

My first two days in Bulgaria were spent in Sofia. I reveled in this new land where most signs were in Bulgarian, which uses the Cyrillic alphabet, appearing much like Russian. Mariana showed me all the sights of Sofia, which seem somewhat out of place in such a large dirty international city. We went in search of a monastery up on nearby Mount Vitosha. Each person who gave us directions along the way would say “just another 200 meters up that way.” About two hours and two kilometers later, after the snow had started falling and we were blindly following creeks and footpaths, we found the elusive monastery. Luckily, we ran into a Belgian couple with an SUV who were kind enough to give us a ride back into Sofia.

My third day in Bulgaria, Mariana took me by bus to the city of Plovdiv (where most Door County Bulgarians are from, I’ve learned). Plovdiv is a much more beautiful and historic town than Sofia. In Polish terms, Plovdiv is to Sofia what Krakow is to Warsaw. Amongst Plovdiv’s beautiful old town we shared company with Krasimira’s sister Mariana, and also met up with Alicia and Stoyan of Sister Bay. My vacation was quite full of Door County residents, past and present. That night we took a train back to the quaint small town of Kostenetz to stay with Mariana’s parents.

In the morning, we walked all over Kostenetz. At one point, there was a man walking his goats down the street. The man was Mariana’s old neighbor and she said he it would be OK for me to take photos of his goats. That day we returned to Plovdiv where Mariana’s boyfriend drove us all to the nearby Bachkovo monastery. The monastery was up in the nearby mountains and was simply amazing. However, I made one startling new discovery during that car-ride, BULGARIA HAS THE CRAZIEST AND SCARIEST DRIVERS IN THE WORLD. Seriously, I’ve seen some crazy drivers in my travels, but Bulgaria definitely takes the cake!

That night we returned to Kostenetz. There we heard the news about Mariana’s American friend who mysteriously took photos of the neighbor’s goats! News travels fast in Kostenetz! Mariana’s parents were most generous and gracious, serving us some amazing home-cooked meals, complete with the Bulgarian home-made brandy. I always enjoy the smaller towns when I travel, for they usually offer a more realistic window into each culture. Kostenetz was no exception. I was particularly moved by the stork nest on top of their small church.

My last day in Bulgaria we took the train back to Sofia, where I repacked my rucksack with all the souvenirs from the Czech Republic, Austria, Hungary, and Bulgaria. I bade Mariana farewell and caught a budget flight back to Vienna. I had an 11-hour layover before my connector flight to Krakow on a Sunday night. To my surprise, Vienna International Airport becomes somewhat of a ghost-town on Sunday nights. I sat in a deserted 24-hour cafeteria with a few Gosser tallboys and a hot bowl of goulash, then found an airport bench and slept till the morning airport noise woke me up. It was St. Patrick’s Day and I had to catch my flight to Krakow to meet Dr. Phil. My vacation was now half over.

Before I finish this Part 1, I would like to briefly comment on the current state of our US dollar and its diminishing power overseas. When I left Poland two years ago, the dollar was worth 3.6 zlotys. Now it is worth only 2 zlotys. If I were living there again, I would be more concerned, but I was on vacation this time and tried not to think about it. However, my Prague friend Paul put it best when he said, “For Americans in Eastern Europe, the party’s over!”