Rains and Change in Budapest

I'm in Budapest right now, sipping some mint tea and hoping for a room of ten to be a quiet place for a weary traveler. Hah, jokes on me, ms. save-a-buck.

Right now I'm on the must-save-every-cent, as I have zero on the cash scale. Well, that's an exaggeration, I have about 10 dollars in Fint... or huf, or whatever its called. 10 dollars of fint, or huf, or whatever it's called is actually about 5000, numerically... which feels incredibly lavish. Oh, how much is in my wallet, a mere 5000 dollar bill. What??!?

I want to recall all the moments of my journey, but my tired shoulders and blistery feet tell me i should be horizontal and leave this 'chair' business to the man next to me who is actually being paid to sit and type. So, I shall only back up to the morning.

I woke in Paris, too early for my liking with about 6 hours of sleep under my pajama belt. I begrudgedly showered and packed my stuff, mostly. In a whirl of what was less than 3 minutes Anne and Jo were ready and at the door, and I was shoeless and flustered.

We got the car from Jo's parents,' and I felt very lucky to have a brother-in-law (almost) who drives in Paris (and is also an awesome guy). They were tired, the fiance-ed couple and they hauled my quiet and tired petoot to Orly, the airport disconnected from connections to Paris. Well, Orly is actually two airports, South and West... but my ticket did not indicate any difference. So, suffice it to say, I felt like even more of a jerk sister.

They dropped me off in a flurry which felt a little bit like the curtains had been drawn open and light flooded back into their life. I thought I heard a sigh of relief as I shuffled into the EasyJet crowds and they turned back to their life of two. Not two, and a bumbly sister living in the living room and not having her own schedule, but just two. The more time I spend with them, the more I feel like life has a long road for their relationship, and they are all too ready to get on that road, whatever it may bring. Bless his heart, that Jo.

Hunger and cramps ate at me as I waited in line and were easily replaced by the feeling of smugness that I had traveled lightly, ahhhhh... yes one duffel, one 'sac a main.' I gave easyjet my duffel and grabbed a coffee, sweet nectar of life, and proceeded to play "pajama-ification." This is a game where I guess everyone's favorite pajamas and place them into them as they walk by me. Simple, and fun. This is a great way to make the cool kids, well, just kids.

A few aironautical bumps and some unecessary screams from the back row and we'd landed in Budapest. CRAZY TALK. I got off the plane, and that's when it started to rain.

It was bright and sunny, and to stay that way for several more hours. However, the atm machine decided instead to provide some storms. No money for you Christine. How about you remember your pin number? I swear that I do, evil machine, I do, I do, I do!

Thank you foreign money exchange and my good sense not to use up all my money (Annie and Jo must be thanked on this as well). 50 exchanged euros and I bought a train ticket and 30 minutes of gut gnawing concern (and real gnawing, as food was needed). Money, how will I live without you? Cash, the bread and butter of gluten-loving Budapest. Damn!

Country side, lacking country, rolled by as i sat in the ticket checkers booth on the train, which pleased them about as much as my blisters please me. I listened and enjoyed the softness of Hungarian which I thought would have sounded like rice getting stuck in the throat. It was rather pleasant. I would have enjoyed it more had it not been for that dreading "i suck at traveling" feeling which was enhanced by many factors listed so aptly by a man named Maslow.

Some confusion at the train to tram transition and some more on the street of the hostel, and finally, I lugged myself into a cool and calm and ancient building to find my hostel. Big Fish, it's called, and I could kiss this fish.

After a few hours online with ESL and some people who spoke some english, I realized that cash was not coming. I was a fool, and I would pay. No changing that sometimes.

An orange and some peanuts smuggled in from Paris changed at least the hungry part of my hungry foolishness.

My roommates arrived and I immediately was granted the serenity that I can find in well-timed human interaction. Laughing, sharing, all that jazz. Portugese kids on an eastern europeean whirlwind tour. And some overly curious and overly nice Nigerian guy who now resides in Sweeden (he appeared much later).

A not-so-friendly girl from LA asked if I wanted to go to dinner, and I pounced on the idea. This is how I would make my wallent jingle with change. I would buy her dinner on my credit card, she would give me cash. Cha ching!

I doubled my 5 dollars, for the price of boring conversation and the refreshing feeling of not being from LA. Oh, you drank too much last night and the night before that and so on and so on.... NOT interesting.

I returned to the hostel, deposited my food and hit out again. I was to stroll before night fell.

I laughed to myself about silly signs and calmed my feet with promises of a hot shower as I walked to the 'second largest' synagogue in Europe. Before that, however, Budapest's big buda belly rumbled with anger. Rain was coming, and I was happy.

It would ruin my walk's length, but not it's quality. I passed many restaurants and funny signs that I wanted to dwell on, pronouning them slowly and giggling in a way that only a foreigner could. It's like the joy that the french get when an american says "do you want fries with that?"

I picked some ginko leaves, and let rain push me back towards a shower, some tea and some blog debriefing. Now, I will read in bed, and awake early in budapest to have some coffee with the big fish and plan my day with the big Buda.

It took just some rain and the realization that I would be fine. After all, a deep breath, some coffee and the ability to ask for what you need from the universe can sometimes really work. If not, there's some free candies at the reception desk, you can live on those.

An Ode to Sonia, Brian, Allison, Margaret, Marsha and the Pet Announcement

So JFK, is now a past thought, as I sip my Americano in a comfortable coffee shop on a day so sunny it makes snow seem like a laughable thought.

If you read my previous entry you would deduct that JFK was a miserable experience, but alas, life changed that emotion. It was miserable to miss my flight, and sleeping on the cold floor was miserable, but enjoyment was also present in what could be recounted over several entries.

To be realistic, I likely will not take the time to detail the two days I spent getting to know the "Gate 16" community (yes, our very own gated community!). But, know that in the face of what could have been a very miserable day there were silver linings.

Often mentioned, the silver lining, became a focus of our bonding. It became how we settled a clearly uncomfortable situation (why do the chairs all have arm rests?) into a place of reason and humor. "What's the silver lining... do you want a cookie?"

It never fails. It never fails to use humor in a situation where you've lost all your 'power.' Okay, you can't make those planes fly, or stop that beautiful snow from falling so heavily, so, we learned at Gate 16 to gripe together, problem solve together, eat tiny bags of airplane food together and, most importantly, laugh together. That might just be the simplest of all the silver linings.

JFK does not stand for John F Kennedy Airport

...but it's inappropriate what I want to call it right now.

The last entry was about fall. And now, I'm sitting in JFK at 4:30, where I've been since 11 am staring at the snow I've longed for for a long time now.

I've been on the road since 5:30am. One 15 dollar veggie burger later, and a lot of whiney people, and I'm still sitting in JFK wishing I didn't wish for snow.

Really, what I need to do is wish for a seat on this fully booked flight... seems like wishing for things out of my control worked for me when I wanted all this white stuff--- which is keeping me from my destination.

And today, the day is about the destination, not the journey. During this journey, a tired version of myself has steered away from chatting up a storm like I would normally do, instead I listened to a lot of whiners, a lot of unhappy people, and even my own wailings about 'unfairness' of flights and snow and blah blah blah.

After listening to a lot of it, it does make me want to just shut them up, shut up myself and then go play in the snow. Snow angels on the runway? Maybe that'll make me not want to call J.F.K. Just F.... nevermind. Fingers crossed. Snow angels in Rochester.

Falling for It

I'd like to Thank the Fall season for always being true to itself and for renewing each year my love for fall, and to echo Elena "making me want to eat pumpkin flavored everything."

It's like a baby. You could see a million babies--- but their little baby feet would still bring wonder, amazement, and the desire to cover them with ink and walk them across oaktag. I've had 25 Fall's, and I still want to smell the smells, taste the tastes and find another way to consume a pumkin.

Attachment and Caring

Caring about something is an interesting, lovely and sometimes slippery slope. Attachment and Caring seem to go hand in hand. A wise being would probably interrupt to inform me, at this moment, that infact Attachement and Caring do not have to go hand in hand. They can walk seperately.

I guess I just wonder if their hands would get cold... and, inevitebly join for warmth.

A Querks and the beginning of the Desert

So. I want to finish blogging about my trip for the single reason that I want to finish some journey here in blog land. I always get distracted, have a poor finish record.




Thursday.

I hiked in Black Kettle National Grasslands and at the sight of a Native American slaughter by we friendly whites back in the times of covered wagons and 'rights to land' we thought we had. I cried and walked through amazing grasslands at the exact place of the murder of so many innocent native americans and 200 ponies.

After that walk, I walked in the bright sun on a trail in the Grasslands were I scared pheasants (?) and collected burrs on my shoes and sun on my skin. Lovely warm breeze, hot sun... great walk.

I found Celeste easily in Albuquerqe, we had a brief chat before she left for her class. I spilled my bear story and chatted with the flair of a twelve year old girl who had been grounded. She left for class, I showered, (amazing!) and settled on watching New Moon, the second of this crazy vampire story that has taken the 10-20 year olds by storm the past several years. Angrily, I did some sit ups as I watched an insufficient female star lack personality, remaining, however as the woman everyone loved and fought for. Also, my closing comment on the matter is this: it is not necessary to have the main character hit her head so often and have a man run to her side each time. Get up, girl, and make your own path in life from time to time.

Celeste returned much later than planned, and we went out with her friend Jamie to a local pub. Pub faire did not treat me well. I foolishly ordered a blue cheese dip, served with brown Irish bread and Irish potato chips. This can be boiled down, or fried down, into a simple description: cheesy fat. It hurt my heart to eat, but through alternating with Celeste’s nacho’s and Jamie’s green chile cheese fries, my heart went from hurting to pumping slowly past closing arteries. The conversation was delightful, as well as the beer and the surroundings. You win some, you lose some, and some leave you on the toilet.

The next morning I took a 20 minute jog, hoping to dislodge some of the cheese and grease. Short, but successful, through the warming streets of Albuquerqe, I was so glad to work up a sweat and be moving, not sitting. There was a breeze in the air, and I greeted pancake cacti and prickly pears as I jogged to the grocery store, made stock of the flower choices, and then jogged back and forth again to make my sweaty purchases. I should have run longer, that’s clear, but that I got my butt in gear is something notable, I’d say.

I left the Querk (as I’d like it to be called) and took off for the petrified forest. As I drove I created a new goal: take petrified photos in the petrified forest. I enjoyed my coffee and scones as the mid day southwest lay out before me along I-40.

Vistas. This began a whole new land of vistas, a whole newly designed horizon, like the Midwest and the southwest decided to etch out something unique, in order to be unique. Dry and flat, with tufts of tough green shrubbery and the occasional tumble weed (I kid you not). The mesas in the distance, flat tables of earth, were so different than everything I new mountains to be. I’d seen these before, and I was no stranger to the horizons of the southwest, but, even so, I was impressed. Being easily impressed is a great personality trait, I’ve decided.

I met a NY couple who huffed and puffed quickly with me on the many short hikes, trying to beat the sun and the clock and the ranger that threatetened to kick us out when the sun dissappeared.

Petrified, and a camera filled with petrifed photos, missing the big horn sheep (?), I left to the unknown yet familiar Flagstaff.

I Know I Overreacted

I'll be the first to tell you. The first. I. Over.Re.Act.Ed.

Ozarks were wet, green and foggy but wet wet wet. Up the mountain, 15 miles away from any human and I met a bear on a lovely trail. A mountain side rim trail. Blues babies in the moring, bears in the evening... oh yeah, lots of driving in between. AND. Here is where Bill Bryson comes into play.

In the third chapter, maybe, of Bill Bryson's 'A Walk in the Woods' he discusses his fear and factoids about bear attacks. This goes on for about 5 minutes in the Hoda Fit as I ascend White Rock Mountain in the fog, rain and mud of the Ozarks.

This was a poor choice, you see, when, 45 minutes later, I met a bear on the trail. We could have high fived really, the bear and I.

Let's just say when I sing "Singing in the Rain" I will fondly remember this moment... jacket over my head, shouting the chorus over and over again... no, not the chorus, the one line I know... because it seemed appropiriate to not getting eaten by a bear while alone on a mountain rim in the rain and fog.

Now we can go back to that earlier post that describes my fitful sleep on the lonely mountain. This is where stories join and the journey continues. Details about the bear have been left out, this is one too many posts for one day.