Hillbilly at Heart: Austria & Slovakia

I had just dragged myself away from Budapest, where I was tempted to stay for at least another week, and now I was in Austria with an attitude.  I literally checked into the hostel with my iPod headphones in my ears and my money and documents ready in hand; clearly throwing out a “don’t talk to me” vibe...

Christmas Market in Vienna

I used to be really good at this gypsy type of life; moving from place to place, friend to friend, job to job, but lately I’ve noticed a trend. I’ll meet really interesting people in one country, dig into their lives forming a bond and when it's time to move to the next country, I get a little depressed because I have to leave them and there's a possibility that I may never see them again. When I arrive in the new country, I won’t try to meet new people because I don’t want to put my heart out there just to get it broken again. So, I isolate myself and become the lone tourist. I’ll isolate myself so much that by the time I move to the next country, I’m starved for contact and meaningful conversation. It’s a roller coaster of emotions and I have to literally shake myself out of it in order to enjoy my time during the low periods.
 
Why am I telling you this? I’m sharing this tidbit about my travel persona so that you will have some context on my views of Vienna and understand that I probably didn't give the city a fair chance...

My assessment of Vienna: Vienna is likely the most boring, pretentious, plain vanilla on a wafer cone with no toppings city I’ve been to on my journey. Again, this may not be a fair appraisal. Friends of mine love, love, love Vienna and have commented on how much fun it is, how clean it is, and how pretty the city is. I, however, couldn't wait to leave.

Austrian Parliament

Now, I will say that Vienna is pretty and I really felt like I should be interested in all they had to offer.  For example, the Vienna State Opera is world renowned and employs some of the world's best talent. I should be interested in seeing La Boheme; again.  It’s important they tell me.  There was also the Museums Quartier, which is home to a number of really large museums that house some of the world's greatest works. I should be interested in seeing the world's largest private art collections of Baroque art or masterpieces of the Viennese Secessionist movement. It’s important they tell me. Don’t forget their excellent classical music programs, which highlight the works of Mozart, Beethoven and Strauss I and II. Also, there's always the option of learning the Viennese Waltz, in order to attend a ball, or taking traditional riding lessons at the Spanish Riding school for Lipizzan horses! These are all must do, highly cultured, tourist activities in Vienna and they are all important they tell me.

If you are interested in packing each day with this type of fun, then Vienna would be an orgy of entertainment and a cacophony of pleasures for your refined palate. Unfortunately, I can only handle the opera about once a year and although I like music, classical does nothing for me. And another fine art museum... umm... about ten countries ago, I gave up feigning interest in things I really couldn't give a crap about. I know... I think I'm a hillbilly at heart. Whatever the case, I walked around Vienna with my tourist map, visiting key sights, taking note of the silence and at times being really impressed by the architectural features of the buildings, including; the Natural History Museum, Austrian Parliament and Hofburg Palace. Nevertheless, I left Vienna understanding why the Austrians were prominently at the center of both World Wars; boredom.

On to Slovakia, where I was now in the mood for companionship…

Bratislava is only 1 ½ hours away from Vienna, but the change in energy from one city to the next would make you think that they are worlds apart.  It’s possible that they are so different because the history of Slovakia is so intertwined with the Hungarians that many of the cultural and architectural features of the city are similar to Budapest. So I immediately recognized and fell in love with the small village feeling of the city; narrow, cobbled stone walkways leading you along Gothic style buildings and opening up unto medieval squares with massive fountains, cozy boutiques, and people everywhere! People milling along the streets and talking arm in arm; people sitting in coffee shops or eating pizza outdoors; and people wondering in and out of the many Cuban, Jazz, or Blues music venues throughout the city.

The Slovakians, surprisingly, are super serious about their jazz music. If I had been there the week prior or had plans on staying a week later, I would have been there for one of their many jazz festivals. Instead, I opted for staying at a hostel called the Blues Hostel. This place has a stage in the bar area for guests to jam together and it has large pictures of blues and jazz musicians featured throughout the hostel. I couldn’t name most of the musicians pictured, but it’s a kick to see these old, black and white photos of Billie Holliday, Duke Ellington, Fats Waller, and Louie Armstrong; it reminded me of being in my dad’s music room.

Taking advantage of the free walking tour, I had the opportunity to explore Bratislava at length. We visited Hlavne namestie (main square) and Hviezdoslav square, named after a famous Slovak poet. We also perused a number of  places including: St. Martin's Cathedral, Church of St. Elisabeth (nicknamed The Blue Church), Slovak National Theatre, and Michael's Gate. We also watched the changing of the guard at the President's office and the tour guide showed us the four most photographed statues in Bratislava. Quirky... The tour was nice, but most of the time, the people you meet while traveling will make or break your trip.

Since it was Thanksgiving and I was alone, I was tremendously grateful to have met a really lively group of people during a Slovakian cooking lesson. I was the only American in the group and when I mentioned that it was Thanksgiving, everyone became really excited. We prepared our meal, chatting happily, singing, and joking and all that was missing was a family fight and it would have been a perfect Thanksgiving. 

Funny enough, once we sat down to eat, everyone around the table started holding hands. Unfortunately, holding hands before eating the Thanksgiving meal is all they really knew about American Thanksgiving traditions. So after sitting there for a minute, someone finally said, “ok. What are we supposed to do now?” I answered that traditionally we either pray or everyone says what they are thankful for. However, considering I was having Thanksgiving dinner with Australians, Brazilians, French men, Brits and Slovenians, a proverbial rainbow coalition of people, I was okay with starting new traditions.  That's when the worm began. Suddenly we were pop locking around the table with our hands locked together like a breakdancing crew - A new tradition! Yes... definitely a hillbilly at heart. This ended in a fit of laughter and I proposed a toast, so we could finally eat. Raising my glass I said, “I’m thankful for meeting new friends in new places and starting new traditions."

Here’s to the worm! Cheers!

Micheal's Gate - It's bad luck to talk while walking through, so it's VERY quiet.

The Blue Church - The interior is blue as well!!

The cannon to the left of the window is courtesy of Napolean.

Occupy Bratislava!

President's Offices

Bratislava Castle

HELLO: Hungary

Meet Bogáti Bogáta… HELLO! I met her while olive picking in Italy and after hearing about my trip she said, “If you are coming to Budapest, then you can stay at my house.” Eager to save a little cash, I answered quickly, “Okay! Send me your information.” Sometimes these types of arrangements don’t work out and you spend most of your time trying to get away from your host. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case here. She’s quirky, easy to talk to, and quick to smile or crack a joke; my type of person! We had a great time hanging out and she showed me modern day Budapest her way.

Bogáta has two little girls, Katerina and Agata… HELLO! They are precocious and sweet.  Agata, the eldest, wants to travel like me someday, so she begs her mom to hurry and teach her English; apparently Italian, Hungarian and German aren’t quite enough for her. The youngest, Katerina, is an absolute clown and loves to get dressed up and star in her sister’s plays. I adore these kids and we spend our time surfing YouTube, going through my coin collection and trying our best to understand one another; I speak in broken Spanish and they try to understand what it means in Italian.

While in Budapest, Bogáta introduces me to her friend, Erika Sólyom… HELLO! Erika is an author and director of The American Corners (AC) program at the Pest Side Campus of Corvinus University. There are American Corners all over the world; nevertheless, AC is an U.S. State Department program that makes correct information about American culture, history, current events, and government readily available in foreign countries. “I am being interviewed by a few exchange students about Hungary and the history of Communism. You should come and sit in on the interview. You will learn quite a bit of information,” she offered after we had coffee one afternoon. Eager to learn, I agreed quickly. While listening to Erika’s interview, I learned about life behind the “iron curtain.” She talked about standing in line for food, about being a “little drummer” and later “a pioneer”. She also discussed the 1956 Hungarian Uprising and how life changed after communism fell.

The next day, I was able to take the Free Budapest Walking tour and connect many of Erika’s stories with actual places. There are two different walking tours in Budapest; one that focuses on faith, terror and communism and another  that focuses on Pest and the basics of Buda; I took the latter, but I wish I hadn’t taken the first. The tours cover the Inner City, Saint Stephen Basilica, the Parliament, sites of the Communist dictatorship and the 1956 revolution, the Danube bank, Chain Bridge, and the Buda Castle with Matthias Church. I’m amazed at how much history is in Budapest. I’m also amazed by the horror that exists in their past.

Before communism and the Soviets had their way in Hungary, the Nazis were there. The cruelty that the Hungarian people suffered during both occupations is presented with great detail at the House of Terror museum, which I also visited. This museum is heavy. Walking around actual cells where prisoners were interrogated and beaten and listening to the firsthand accounts of people who were held there is pretty heady stuff. I couldn't help but cry at a few stations and at the end I left that museum gunning it for the nearest “fluff” I could find to balance my emotions; Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1. Please don’t judge me…

While in Budapest, Bogáta wants me to join her for a new class she is really excited about. She is a fan of Afro Beat music and there’s a new African Dance class she wants to go to. African Dance in Hungary? Umm… “Yes, Budapest is a multicultural city. It will be fun. Let’s go!” We go and while there she introduces me to Cheikh Ibrahima Fall… HELLO! Cheikh is the master; the dance and music teacher with many, many, older musicians under his tutelage and he’s only 26 years old. Since this dance class is relatively new and hasn’t been advertised yet, we are the only “dancers” there. As such, the other musician packs up and head home and Cheikh decides to bless us with a personal concert of sorts. Picking up nearly every type of instrument in the room, he proceeds to play song after song and I’m floored by his talent. “Come to the concert tomorrow night,” he says in French. Eager to hear good music, we quickly agree.

The following evening we head to the concert and the place is packed full of people. The musicians (Abdul Azis, Saïd Tichiti, and Cheikh Ibrahima Fall) are on fire and I’m enjoying myself immensely. I don’t recall ever having been to an Afro Beat concert and I’m excited to be experiencing it in Budapest.

Mid-way through the set, the musicians call up Jalalu-Kalvert Nelson (J.K Nelson) to join them on stage. Jalalu is a New Yorker, now living in Switzerland, and he has flown in for the concert. The fact that he’s a New Yorker piques my interest, so after the concert I approach him and say … HELLO! We begin talking and suddenly he stops and says, “Wait. You live in New York now?!”

“Yes,” I answer and he fires back, “So what are you doing in Budapest?”

Taking a deep breath, I go into my spiel – 33 years old, 33 countries, yada yada yada. His eyes light up immediately.

“So how do you know Cheikh,” he continues.

“Well, I met him through my friend, Bogáta. She is Hungarian and she lives here.”

“And where did you meet her,” he asks incredulously.

“Well, I met her while olive picking in Italy,” I simply answer.

Boisterously laughing, nodding his head with approval and slapping me on the back he says, “This is what travel does… It opens you up. You are becoming too big to fit into little boxes now.” Running to his gear, he pulls out a cd with his information on it and handing it to me he says, “Everywhere you go, I want you to take a piece of me with you! I want to hear about all your new experiences.” Taking a deep breath, smiling, and looking me in the eye, he says, “Wow, child, look how many people you’ve met all over the world. See... sometimes all it takes is ‘Hello’.”

Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 2)

(Continued from Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 1))...

See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil

Christian is the easy going, fearless, adventurer in the group. Fishing and surfing on the North Sea is in his blood and he reminds me of Beowulf for some odd reason.  He is the type of guy who can blend into any environment and will strike up a conversation with ANYONE. Of all his traits, his "anything is possible" attitude is what I'm most envious of . He actually caught a local bus to the slums of Jakarta to just “walk around” because he had read so much about the poverty there and he wanted to see it for himself. “Are you nuts?!” I asked. “It’s no problem,” is his typical reply in German accented English. I want to be him one day.

Sailboats? Really? lol

In the meantime, I’m so American to him and it keeps him in stitches. He hasn’t been to the U.S yet and his friends tell him stories of people riding on electrical motor carts in the grocery stores and he can’t believe it! I try to explain that they are for elderly, handicapped or obese people, but obese Americans using electrical carts in grocery stores is beyond ridiculous to him. So, when I’m listening to beach waves on my computer while relaxing in bed under the fan, he can’t help to laugh because I’m a block from the actual beach and I could sleep there in the sand. “It’s WAY too hot today for that and there are mosquitoes everywhere,” I reply. So American… He promises to take me deep sea fishing when I get to Germany and I think I may take him to the grocery store so that he can ride an electrical cart, when he comes to NY.

Deep in thought...

Richard is the Yin to Christian’s Yang and I often wonder how they managed to stay friends for so long. “We balance each other,” Richard tells me. Where Christian is “Drink more, talk less!” (his other favorite saying), Richard is very contemplative and philosophical and we talk a lot. We talk about love, life, culture, and everything in between. His full name is Richard Guerra and when he reminds me that Guerra means "war" in Spanish and I tell him that Richard is synonymous with Dick in the U.S.; he laughs heartily, when I began calling him Dick War. “You’re hanging out with Christian Kruse and Dick War!”

Richard is Latin and passionate and it is reflected in his music. He makes girls swoon all over Bali whenever he decides to randomly serenade people around us with his guitar or hop on stage and join the local band. “I can’t believe I met the lead singer of ChupaCabras, can you sign this,” tourists who recognize his band ask as we travel. A Peruvian, living in Germany for the last 15 years, his fluid switches between Spanish, German and English really takes people for a loop when he’s singing and rapping. His music is wonderful, but more importantly, he is kind and I find myself sighing when he stands and offers his seat to a lady standing on the bus, saying “I cannot watch this.” He promises to take me salsa dancing when I get to Germany and I’m writing this down so that they can remember!

  

Richard signing autographs

Over the next four days, we make our way across Bali shopping, eating and talking. No stone is left unturned and I simply adore these guys. We drive through and stop at temples, stores and beaches in Singaraja, Sembiran, Ahmed, Amlapura all the way to Ubud. With the Adventurer in front with me, we often come across something and I’ll say, “Did you see that?” Christian’s reply often mirrors my enthusiasm, “We have to go do that! Turn around!” Richard, the Philosopher, goes along with our mayhem, but will often show us what we are missing. Hiking towards the highest waterfall in Bali, he says “Look around for a minute. These mountains can make all problems seem small.” He’s right.

 

Ubud is our last stop together as they are headed deeper in Indonesia over the next month and I am headed to India. Once in Ubud, we go to the Monkey Sanctuary. I’m scared of monkeys (period.com), but I go anyway praying that I don’t get scratched; that’s an instant trip to the hospital! The Monkey Sanctuary is packed full of wild monkeys roaming freely around tourist. It's an incredible place to just sit and watch the action or monkey drama.  We have a ball there and start searching for accommodations immedialy afterwards. We settle on a guesthouse that can accommodate the three of us, check in and like every night we head out on the town to listen to music and chill.

Ubud is chocked full of western tourists and is nothing like the authenticity we had encountered earlier in our drive. Also, the city basically shuts down early after dark. I was aware of this as the draw in this town is the artist community that has gathered there, but the guys were pretty disappointed in this part of Bali. Ubud is more like a Banana Republic edition of hippie Berkeley, California. Since our choices for nightlife were limited, we made due in celebration of the end of our road trip by heading to the grocery store for Bingtang like college kids.

 

Drink more, Talk less

Richard who is a vegetarian and doesn’t drink alcohol either, has had to be flexible with his diet in Indonesia since vegetarianism isn’t a major priority everywhere. Since he had already crossed the line a few times, he decided he would drink a Bingtang tonight too. Two beers later and the night was over! A drunken naturalist is the funniest thing you will ever encounter, hands down. Richard was the entertainment for the night and we laughed forever. We went back to the guest house and settled into a bitter sweet routine of getting ready for the next day, our last day.

And this is where things got hectic…

Kiss!

After Christian ran out of the room, I sat up and went outside to try to gauge the situation. Richard wasn’t on the veranda, where he had gone to write earlier, but the night assistant for the inn, a tiny Balinese woman, was standing there. The Guest house is setup like a compound of individual rooms with exterior entrances all facing a courtyard that contains the family temple and a beautiful garden. Christian, who was near the garden looking up at the second floor of rooms, finally turned to the assistant and speaking in English, told her to call the Police. “It’s too early, no one is available. They won’t come,” she replied. Sometimes there’s a point when traveling when you realize that you REALLY are in another country; this was one of those moments. The look on Christian’s face when she said that was the exact sentiment in my head. “TOO EARLY?! THE POLICE?! WTF?!”

All of sudden it sounded like someone was taking out a wall with a sledge hammer. Christian ran up the stairs and I ran back into the room to put shoes on. I’m not a fighter! I have never been in a fight in my life, but know firsthand how violence can escalate and within a fraction of a second lives can be altered. I was scared out of my mind and worried for these guys, especially since I had no clue what was going on, none us of were in our home country and apparently the police weren’t available. MADNESS! I came barreling out of the room, looked up to the second floor and Christian was holding Richard back and Richard was cursing like crazy. The next voice I heard was female and she was saying in a heavily Asian accented voice, “He’s trying to kill me!”

Richard would never lay a hand on a woman! This didn’t make sense, I thought.

Upon hearing the woman, Richard said in English, “Then leave your husband tonight! This is your life, your health! We will stay so he can’t follow you!”

For me, the context of their conversation clicked immediately...

“I have no money! I cannot leave him,” she shouted back in anguish.

Suddenly a German accented voice in a room that I could not see into said, “She is not my wife!” and then continued shouting in German. I’m not sure what he said, but Richard was trying desperately to get back in that room and holding him back, Christian’s face took on this serious look. Pointing his finger at the man and in a tone I had yet to hear him use, he said something in German so ill that every man up there was suddenly quiet. It was eerie…

Finally, the owner of the building arrived and she headed directly to me. “What is happening? Is it safe for me to go up there?”

“Lady, I have no clue! It’s quiet now, so you should go ask.”

Only Richard and I laughed at this sign; the German didn't get it.

She’s scary like me, so she waited for Christian and Richard to come downstairs to explain what was happening. When they finally came into the room, Richard had blood on his shirt and the look in his eyes broke my heart! Apparently, he had been writing and when he heard the man upstairs beating and kicking a screaming female, he reacted. People had come out of their room, but he was the only one to race upstairs and open the door. When he opened the door there was blood all over the woman and all over the floor. Yelling, Richard pulled the man off of the woman and the man beating her said with a thick German accent that the woman had bit him. Realizing that this man was also German and according to Richard, “should know better than to hit a woman,” Richard began telling him off in German. When the man made an attempt to get the woman again, Richard had had enough.

Men in skirts!!

If still waters run deep, then Richard is the middle of the Atlantic. That sledgehammer sound I heard earlier was Richard opening up a can on that man, right before Christian pulled him off. “I have never seen him like that,” Christian said with a little pride and puffed up chest (Way too much testosterone floating around...). Running to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences is exactly who Richard is; this is his character. Loyally protecting his friends and shutting the whole thing down with scary ass intensity is exactly who Christian is. They fit; the priest and the mob.

The man and the woman were kicked out of the guesthouse and the man went past our room telling Richard and Christian that he would be back for them in the morning. He said this in German and I didn't see them as they passed by, but when Christian told me what he said in English, it was a wrap! I’m ready to go! Now! They looked at me like I was retarded.

“It’s too early and you have a long drive tomorrow by yourself. You need to rest,” Richard said. “We will leave early, but you are safe here,” Christian said as he went to change the locks on the door, “It’s no problem.” Richard changed his clothes, they turned off the lights and they went to bed. Really?? I did not sleep a wink! I am not a fighter!! I sat in bed listening for heavy footsteps, biting my nails and rocking like Miss Sophia. I kept expecting a big, wild looking German man to bust through the doors like Karl in Die Hard. Every time I heard something and got up to check, one or both of them would wake up and say, “Go to sleep. You are safe.” I bet they wished they had never told me what that man said.

Temple entrances are so ornate.

Around 6 am, I figured that the guest house staff was there and I could leave the room and go use the internet to call my husband. I unpacked my laptop, unlocked the door and headed towards the main house where the wifi signal is. It was still dark, but if the staff was there I figured I’d be fine. I turned the corner and at the entrance to the courtyard, standing under a light was the beat up chick! She looked like that movie “Carrie”, with all the dried blood on her face and clothes and she just stood there and then awkwardly said, “Hi." I didn’t even respond! I could have given Usain Bolt a run for his money as I high tailed it back to that room. I busted through the door, re locked it, pulled out every doorstop I packed and slid it under that door! Seriously, I am not a fighter!

The first person to wake up was Richard! “What is going on?”

“The beat up chick just scared me. She’s standing there with luggage,” I said.

“You’re safe here. It’s no problem.” was all Christian said in a groggy voice before they both went back to sleep. REALLY?? This is a MF problem!

Here’s the thing, they know how to protect themselves, so when faced with situations like this it doesn’t scare them. I, on the other hand, can only swing wild, uncontrolled, windmill punches, scream like a banshee, and run. I’m scared.

Way too much testosterone floating around!

When morning finally arrived, I made it to the main house and immediately skyped Chad. My husband is fighter too, so he likes Christian and Richard, but as he signed out he said, “You’ll be fine with them. Besides, Indonesia don’t want no real N-words to come over there!” (Way too much testosterone floathing around...) I ended up calling my mom and chatting with my brother on Facebook too! Just in case I came up missing in Indonesia, I needed people to know what happened! I stayed in that house for so long talking to people, that the inn keeper finally came over and said that the gentlemen were waiting on me to have breakfast. I do believe that I’d rather eat out of a garbage can on the other side of town, than stay here even one second longer, but I head back for breakfast anyway.

When I get back to the veranda where breakfast is being served, the guys are more worried about me not sleeping than the potential of a man coming back for them. They actually look so relaxed that I start wondering if I was being uptight. If Richard would run into a room to protect a woman he’s never met, then I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I were in danger.

Over breakfast we begin dissecting the night and I realize three things:

1) Like most men, they left out details that would have saved me from a nightmarish night. For example, I wish they had told me that the man was pobably 5' 2", clearly overweight and ridiculously inebriated.  REALLY?! I was looking for Karl and you guys were beating up Tattoo! I could have slept!

2) These are good guys and I’ve made some lifelong friends

but...

3) I’m definitely too old for their hijinks...

The Sound of Music: Malaysia

I have never gone to a nightclub by myself and danced, but I danced in Malaysia; specifically, I danced in Melaka. I danced in the morning while waking up. I danced throughout the day to the rhythm of the city and I danced well into the night to Pete Rock and CL Smooth throwbacks and Das EFX jams at nightclubs in the city.  I fell in love with Melaka's soul  and what was supposed to be a 5 day trip suddenly became 2 weeks..

A little tune on the corner

The city has a rhythm from the time you wake up, until the time to fall asleep and my hips heard it well before my mind actually put one and one together. It began before the break of dawn; a steady baseline of newspaper bundles hitting the pavement at the local businesses along Jalan Bunga Raya. Lying in bed, not quite awake; but nodding my head to the artificial drumbeats and lending my own scratch or beatbox to make the tune complete.  Eyes open as the sun peeks over the horizon, the storekeepers open their stores to the soft hilt of the call to prayer. The call to prayer reverberates across town from a mosque I have yet to find and this starts a lazy dance of awakening and awareness; stretching and swaying in reverence of a new day.

This is a Cyclo in Melaka!

With the honk of car horns, the day progresses through morning rush hour; time to work. While everyone is working, you would expect a quiet day in this small town, but mid-day is when the beat of the city kicks in. Cyclo drivers besting each other for the attention of tourists¸ ride up and down the streets playing whatever grooves strike their fancy. With Michael Jackson’s “You wanna be starting something” blaring through their speakers at decibels typically reserved for the ghetto, this is that hands in air, “oh, s@#t! That’s my song,” kind of dance, that makes you stop and break out your 80’s moves. The cyclo drivers fluidly move from MJ to Prince to P-Funk, like a radio stuck on the soul station and afternoon in Melaka quickly becomes only for the grown and sexy.

Smooth Operator -  Karokee is super serious! 

The rhythm of the city is carried by the sounds of construction and the five o’clock rush hour and settles into evening, where the neighborhood karaoke clubs compete for air every night. Eyes closed, mellowing out to the crooning of an Asian Sade, Lionel Richie, or some local Malaysian favorite. No one needs a radio or a watch in Melaka; listen to the beat and you know what time it is. Midnight has arrived when the sounds of stores closing barely eclipse those of dogs barking and howling in unison; it’s their turn to sing the night away.

Melaka, Malaysia is music and I fell in love with its soul.


(Highlights from the Ultimate B-Boy Competition in Melaka, Malaysia)

K-POP is huge EVERYWHERE in Asia!

The karokee crowd on Jonkers Walk

The listening room of my little place in Melaka :-)