I woke up early, as I do, and Sarah presented me with a chocolate croissante. It's hard to think of a better way to minimize the terribleness of waking up early after you've been drinking.
I spent the early part of this morning researching a new possible way for me to make money-- selling plasma. Axel, who shall never be spoken of again after this, told me that it's very easy to sell plasma in Vienna and that you get €25 for every session. That was my kind of gig. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to research it, and this morning I discovered that you have to take a test first to make sure your plasma is disease-free. Which makes sense. But the test results take a week to come back, which also means I wasn't getting any money for plasma.
At around noon a bunch of Mo's friends came over and Mo made a vat of pasta, to which I helped myself, and then I helped Corina with her English homework. She had to write a story about two robots-- it was a pretty bizarre assignment-- and I decided that one should be an abusive alcohol robot and the other should be a fat chick virgin robot. What happened was the fat chick virgin robot was dying for attention-- as fat chick virgins of any species are prone to do-- and so she fell for the abusive alcoholic robot. And then even when he hit her after sex she just thought "oh, I love it rough," but when she got on top for another round she killed him from her weight. But she was pregnant with the love child, although since she was still a fat chick robot no one noticed. And when she gave birth she put the baby in a dumpster. The end.
(Guess who wrote the entire story.)
I meant for this to be my last day in Vienna, and to go to Graz the following morning, so I went out with Niko and Sarah for one final day of seeing the city. My mom wanted me to check out the Hundertwasser Museum, which would incredibly enough have been the first museum of the trip. I'm not too crazy about spending money to go into a museum when I can appreciate a place for free outside, but this place is my mom's favorite museum and she really wanted me to check it out.
So the three of us walked to the museum, where I was dumb-struck by the €9 entrance fee-- no museum would have been worth food for three days, not a chance. But the thing about the Hundertwasser Museum is that it's a place where "I only have €4 but my mom loves this museum and she really wants me to see it" gets you in for €3. Well, so long as you smile. As per usual.
The other thing about the Hundertwasser Museum is that it is absolutely and completely worth €3-- and even worth €9 if that isn't, like I said, food for three days. The first floor is of Hundertwasser's art, which is actually pretty cool-- and paintings don't really do it for me, usually. But the second floor is what really makes the museum worthwhile.
The second floor is partly composed of more paintings and, like I said, they are pretty cool-- google Hundertwasser for a look at them. But the second floor is mostly dedicated to Hundertwasser's belief in the importance of creativity in children's lives. Essentially, he believes that a creative environment promotes and ecourages creativity in children, and the second floor contains his plans, and their results, for re-designing schools, hospitals, etc., into colorful and creative buildings.
I know I can't really describe what it all means, not least of all because at the time I'm writing this I saw the museum over a week ago, but here are some of the quotes that are interspersed amongst the art on the second floor:
- "Our real illiteracy is our inability to create."
- "I am proud of being a beautifyer."
- "A straight line is a dangerous, comfortable fiction."
(In explaining what his building designs are intended to aid against:)
- "Rectilinear, ice-cold repression of the children's soul and suppression of growing creativity."
(The benefits of putting children into new, creative environments:)
- "They will communicate to other people the beauty and harmony they witnessed and spread the message to the world."
Along with the importance of creativity, the second floor also stressed the importance of going back to nature-- one of his designs is for a sort of nature-haven, free from the trappings and negatives of industrialized society. To this end, he says "It helps to bring back to man what he is longing for and what technology cannot do." In addition to this, though, there are trees planted in the museum that grow out of the window. Hundertwasser called them "tree tenants," saying that they pay their rent from the environmental benefits they provide to society. Interesting.
Anyway, I can't do the museum even 1/5 the amount of justice it deserves, so I recommend it to anyone who goes to Vienna. Suffice it to say, I spent nearly two hours in the museum and could/would have spent twice as long were it not for Niko and Sarah waiting for me downstairs.
They were as gracious as could be, despite having waited for me, and we took a walk over to the Prater, a 150 year-old ferris wheel from which you can see the entire city-- a staple to many European cities, but a ridiculously old staple to Vienna. We didn't go on it, of course, but it was a lovely walk, if a bit overcast.
And then, as we kept walking, we came upon an amusement park. I mean, a completely random amusement park in the middle of this beautiful greenness, and Sarah said she wanted to go on a ride. I thought it sounded fun, but Niko absolutely and positively refused. I was going to ask him if he needed a new tampon or had a box of Thin Mints that I could buy, but he said "My stomach is not glad to be on that ride." And how can you make fun of someone who says that?
So Sarah and I went on a ride-- Niko bought my ticket, which was incredible-- and it was one of those things where there are seats on both sides of a long stick, for lack of a better word, and the stick swings around. That's a TERRIBLE description, but it was an amusement park ride and it was brilliant fun. So there.
And that was how we spent the day, just walking around and hanging out and having a great time. Niko, by this point, had pretty much clinched his spot as the nicest person I had met on my trip so far, and Sarah was just a total sweetheart. It was like hanging out with old friends.
Back to the flat, eventually, and Mo had made steak fajitas for dinner-- although I had to supplement them with Ramen noodles, on account of being absolutely famished. After dinner I did the rest of Corina's homework, partly because it was the least I could do to thank Mo for letting me crash at his place-- by doing his friend's homework-- and partly because it was actually pretty fun. Corina had to write a fake application for an Artificial Intelligence program, or something along those lines. The highlights were that she wanted to help develop artificial intelligence because her sisters are naturally retarded, and she wanted to study in the program in Brussels because she could just be a prostitute in Amsterdam if it didn't work out. It was basically like any assignment I ever wrote in five years at the University of Michigan, it really was.
That night I went with Niko and Mo to meet some of their friends in a "typical Viennese cafe," which was mostly just a bar. It was fun and I hung out with Benny, the kid from the first night, again. It was practically like hanging out with the Austrian three stooges: Niko, Benny, and Mo.
When we got back to the flat, I went up to the rooftop terrace with Mo and Corina-- Niko had gone back to Sarah's. Vienna isn't really such an incredible panorama from above, to be honest, but this view had a something that meant a bit more to me than Citadel in Budapest. I think what it was is that, here I was, technically an American tourist in Vienna, yet I was on a rooftop terrace overlooking the entire city. I was on this particular roof in this particular city, and even though I am nowhere close to being Viennese, on this particular night it was almost like Vienna was MY city. That's a feeling I would never have gotten in a hostel, no matter how long I stayed in the city, and I'm pretty sure that even Astrid has never had that experience before.
When I woke up I had meant for this day to be my last, but at this point, and after such a nice day, I knew that wasn't possible. I was staying another day.
**********************************
The most adorable thing about Austrians? They always pronounce the V in English words as a W. Even the ones who speak English nearly fluently, it's still a W. There's nothing better than asking an Austrian who sang "YMCA" and then having him or her respond "the Willage People of course." Gets me every time. Almost as much as when Spanish people laugh like "Ja Ja Ja." Almost.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
21 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
I woke up at around 11:00 and got my stuff together as Astrid looked on. I put my pack on and was about to leave when Riquel came back, opening the door with her key and walking in.
Now, I was ready to leave for a new couch and would have done so this day on my own accord, but Astrid was making me leave while she not only was letting Riquel stay but had given her her own key? Uh...
Anyway, whatever. I had my stuff with me and didn't really feel like walking around with everything all day, so I got some yogurt and bread for a lunch of 87 cents and then went to the library, where I spent most of the afternoon.
Not a whole lot going on.
At around 5:00 or so I headed around town on the metro for a bit, just for the hell of it, and when I got back to the University stop and emerged I asked the first people I saw for a couch-- three dudes, one on a bike.
The dude on the bike left, but one of the other guys said maybe, and let me buy you a drink in the meantime. So the three of us went to a bar, and Niko-- the guy who said maybe about the couch-- called his roommate, who told him I could crash there. So I had a beer and a couch. I was set.
After the drink Niko and I went back to his place-- the other guy was a friendly dude named Benny-- and he asked if I was hungry. I said I was and expected to get a slice of bread or a bowl of pasta or something. Instead, Niko came back with mozzerella cheese and tomatos. Nice move, guy.
Niko's roommate Mo came back a little later with his friend Corina, a pretty cute girl he went to high school with and who goes to University in Graz. What ensued was lots of beer and Jaeger and "cheers" and "prost" and "eggusheggadray," and to put it simply I wrote in my notebook "what fun, one of the all-time couches." Which, to be sure, is the quickest I've ever been inspired to write that.
(Speaking of the notebook, I took it out at one point and Niko, not missing a cue, told me I should write a book about my time in Europe. I told him that if I ever did, at this rate he and Mo and Corina would get their own chapter. Corina said she wanted her own chapter by herself. Don't you know you're going to have to earn it?)
(I should also make note that although I had met Niko, I was actually staying at Mo's place-- or, rather, Mo's father's place. It's the flat that Mo grew up in, and still lives in while he goes to school, and Niko lives there for free because he's been friends with Mo for such a long time. And because it's a palace of a flat, taking up the entire pent-house floor in an apartment building right off Stephansplatz.)
At this point, I should explain that I got a pretty late start for finding a couch because I had been planning on going to this place IDA as a fall-back. On the day I met Ike, some guys I had asked for a couch told me that if I didn't find anything I could crash at IDA, which they said is a culture club. I didn't know that a culture club was anything more than an '80s band, but if it really is a thing I thought it would be a fine place to hang out. They said the place was pay-what-you-want for food and beer, and that was where I figured I'd end up this night if I hadn't met Niko.
Anyway, I mention this only because, when we left the flat, Mo said we were headed to "a place called IDA." The one and only.
This place, which Mo also described as "anti-fascist," was pretty cool, if a bit anarchistic, but boy was it coincidental that I ended up there. And probably moreso because, judging from the crowd, it was almost 95% likely that I would have ended up talking to Niko or Mo or Corina or Niko's girlfriend Sarah anyway.
I had told Shannon that I would meet her at the hostel at 11:00 and when I went to see if she was around Astrid was-- of course!-- sitting at the desk. And she gave me a pretty nasty look like "you're back." Actually, darling, just here to meet a friend. And glad I had left that morning.
Shannon was sitting at the hostel bar, and as I waited for her to finish her beer I was suddenly overcome with this feeling of how much cooler my trip is than hers. This moment in particular, because it was a Tuesday and Shannon was sitting at a hostel bar with a tourist, whereas I was at an anti-fascist party with a bunch of local kids. I waited at the hostel for about half an hour, got bored, and decided to leave.
I went back to the party and hung out with Niko and Sarah, and when they left a bit after midnight Mo and Corina left too so they could catch the last metro. I had given thought to crashing at IDA for the night, since I figured that wouldn't be a problem in any case, but one of the main people there said everyone would be kicked out at 4:00. I was sure they'd make an exception for a traveler, but I was ready to go. Everyone was sitting in circles on bean bags, presumably talking about how to bring down fascism, and though it was a pretty interesting scene it wasn't really an outsider-friendly scene if you aren't an anarchist. Which I'm not.
So I left with the other four, and when I protested to Mo buying me a kebab, he told me that he had won €1,200 playing poker the day before. That, and his dad was loaded. So I consented.
And then we went back to the flat and drank a little more, and I crashed on the pulled-out futon.
**********************************
For this day my notes are broken into two parts: drunken scribbling and the next day. "One of the all-time couches" was written the next day, which makes it much more meaningful, as was this next part: "Niko and Mo just the nicest guys--> genuinely happy to help me out." This was that kind of night and they were that kind of dudes.
Now, I was ready to leave for a new couch and would have done so this day on my own accord, but Astrid was making me leave while she not only was letting Riquel stay but had given her her own key? Uh...
Anyway, whatever. I had my stuff with me and didn't really feel like walking around with everything all day, so I got some yogurt and bread for a lunch of 87 cents and then went to the library, where I spent most of the afternoon.
Not a whole lot going on.
At around 5:00 or so I headed around town on the metro for a bit, just for the hell of it, and when I got back to the University stop and emerged I asked the first people I saw for a couch-- three dudes, one on a bike.
The dude on the bike left, but one of the other guys said maybe, and let me buy you a drink in the meantime. So the three of us went to a bar, and Niko-- the guy who said maybe about the couch-- called his roommate, who told him I could crash there. So I had a beer and a couch. I was set.
After the drink Niko and I went back to his place-- the other guy was a friendly dude named Benny-- and he asked if I was hungry. I said I was and expected to get a slice of bread or a bowl of pasta or something. Instead, Niko came back with mozzerella cheese and tomatos. Nice move, guy.
Niko's roommate Mo came back a little later with his friend Corina, a pretty cute girl he went to high school with and who goes to University in Graz. What ensued was lots of beer and Jaeger and "cheers" and "prost" and "eggusheggadray," and to put it simply I wrote in my notebook "what fun, one of the all-time couches." Which, to be sure, is the quickest I've ever been inspired to write that.
(Speaking of the notebook, I took it out at one point and Niko, not missing a cue, told me I should write a book about my time in Europe. I told him that if I ever did, at this rate he and Mo and Corina would get their own chapter. Corina said she wanted her own chapter by herself. Don't you know you're going to have to earn it?)
(I should also make note that although I had met Niko, I was actually staying at Mo's place-- or, rather, Mo's father's place. It's the flat that Mo grew up in, and still lives in while he goes to school, and Niko lives there for free because he's been friends with Mo for such a long time. And because it's a palace of a flat, taking up the entire pent-house floor in an apartment building right off Stephansplatz.)
At this point, I should explain that I got a pretty late start for finding a couch because I had been planning on going to this place IDA as a fall-back. On the day I met Ike, some guys I had asked for a couch told me that if I didn't find anything I could crash at IDA, which they said is a culture club. I didn't know that a culture club was anything more than an '80s band, but if it really is a thing I thought it would be a fine place to hang out. They said the place was pay-what-you-want for food and beer, and that was where I figured I'd end up this night if I hadn't met Niko.
Anyway, I mention this only because, when we left the flat, Mo said we were headed to "a place called IDA." The one and only.
This place, which Mo also described as "anti-fascist," was pretty cool, if a bit anarchistic, but boy was it coincidental that I ended up there. And probably moreso because, judging from the crowd, it was almost 95% likely that I would have ended up talking to Niko or Mo or Corina or Niko's girlfriend Sarah anyway.
I had told Shannon that I would meet her at the hostel at 11:00 and when I went to see if she was around Astrid was-- of course!-- sitting at the desk. And she gave me a pretty nasty look like "you're back." Actually, darling, just here to meet a friend. And glad I had left that morning.
Shannon was sitting at the hostel bar, and as I waited for her to finish her beer I was suddenly overcome with this feeling of how much cooler my trip is than hers. This moment in particular, because it was a Tuesday and Shannon was sitting at a hostel bar with a tourist, whereas I was at an anti-fascist party with a bunch of local kids. I waited at the hostel for about half an hour, got bored, and decided to leave.
I went back to the party and hung out with Niko and Sarah, and when they left a bit after midnight Mo and Corina left too so they could catch the last metro. I had given thought to crashing at IDA for the night, since I figured that wouldn't be a problem in any case, but one of the main people there said everyone would be kicked out at 4:00. I was sure they'd make an exception for a traveler, but I was ready to go. Everyone was sitting in circles on bean bags, presumably talking about how to bring down fascism, and though it was a pretty interesting scene it wasn't really an outsider-friendly scene if you aren't an anarchist. Which I'm not.
So I left with the other four, and when I protested to Mo buying me a kebab, he told me that he had won €1,200 playing poker the day before. That, and his dad was loaded. So I consented.
And then we went back to the flat and drank a little more, and I crashed on the pulled-out futon.
**********************************
For this day my notes are broken into two parts: drunken scribbling and the next day. "One of the all-time couches" was written the next day, which makes it much more meaningful, as was this next part: "Niko and Mo just the nicest guys--> genuinely happy to help me out." This was that kind of night and they were that kind of dudes.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
20 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
Astrid had said she'd be at the flat at 11:00 and that she would make pancakes, but by 11:30 she still hadn't shown up. I figured she would at the hostel, since where else would she be, but she wasn't. The dude working said she was still at classes-- the third place she spent time, although she hadn't mentioned it in the conversation the previous night-- and so I left a note at the desk saying thanks and that I would see her that night. And that, if she did make pancakes, to leave me a couple.
I headed into town and got myself a chickenburger from McDonald's for lunch. The thing about the chickenburger is that it only costs €1 and is, in all honesty, pretty damn good. Not really enough for a meal by itself, but enough to tide you over. And the thing about McDonald's in general-- we're talking the Vienna McDonald's of course-- is that everyone that eats there is attractive and not fat. I'm talking everyone. It's the most bizarre thing in the world. It's almost like Austrian McDonald's is good for you. At the very least, you don't feel like a fat-ass by eating there. Which, if you've ever been to a McDonald's in the deep south, is EXACTLY how you feel.
I basically spent this day riding around on the metro and getting off whenever I felt like going up for fresh air. By this point I just about had the entire metro system memorized-- which lines went where, which direction was north or south or east or west, how to get to the main places I needed. I may have been getting less exercise because of it, but the Austrian metro is famously free-- I had never seen a single person get checked for a ticket, and no one I had spoken to could remember the last time they saw one, either-- so why not? Plus, walking around is a lovely way to see a city, but when you can navigate the metro system in a city like the back of your hand it makes you feel like you live there. Which, since I probably wouldn't be in Vienna for much more than a week, was about the best I could do.
I had met someone in the hostel the previous night who had gone to the opera and loved it. She said I should check it out, so I bought a thing of yogurt and a piece of bread-- a healthy dinner, just in case Viennese McDonald's actually is as bad for you as American McDonald's-- and I walked to the opera house.
The opera house in Vienna is the foremost opera house in all of Vienna, and tickets go as high as €240. But tickets also go as low as €3 if you stand in the back for the entire show. So it's a good thing I've got legs of steel.
Now, I'm not really the opera type, to be honest, but every once in a while I like to remind myself that I spent five years in the best men's collegiate choir in the world. And so, when I'm trying to get my cultural side going, I just think WWDD. And I'm pretty sure that he would have gone to the opera. So I did too.
(And that really is just how cultured I am. So cultured it's silly.)
I got to the opera house at 5:30 for a 7:00 show, and the line was already around the corner. I bought my ticket and was ushered upstairs to the highest balcony, where I found the standing area. Obviously there are no seats and you just stand where you can, so in a sense it's a free-for-all. But to mark the spot where you are standing, the opera-goer will tie a scarf around his portion of the banister in front of him, and then the ushers will politely tell you the spot is taken if you try to stand there. So while it might be considered a free-for-all, it is without a doubt the daintiest free-for-all you could ever be a part of.
Because I was so far back in line I had to stand in the back row, but the back row is actually the best row to be in because the translation screens are right at eye level. Everyone in the two rows ahead of me had to either tilt their head up a bit to see or look way down to see the screen of the person sitting in front of them. Not me. From MY spot I could see the words-- which were in English on the screen I was looking at-- and see the stage without moving my head at all. Thank you very much.
The funniest thing about the opera is that, in the translation, all the sentences end with exclamation points. It doesn't matter what is being said, the only punctuation to end a sentence-- at least that I noticed-- is an exclamation point. Operas are lovely and wonderful, but I think that perfectly captures the grandiose self-perception of opera singers. "Listen to me!"
The other funny thing is the spattering of cheers throughout the performance. After every song you'll hear a muffled "woo!" throughout the audience, but no one ever really cheers. They just clap. It's like they're too dignified to cheer, and when they start to "woo!" they have to catch themselves before they let out their wild side.
At intermission I went to the refreshment stand and looked longingly at the drinks and snacks for about five uninterrupted minutes. Then I decided to walk around, listening for someone speaking English since I figured only an American would buy a glass of wine or a tart for a scrub like me.
Because I was wearing my hoodie, my dino t-shirt, a pair of jeans and sneakers, and nearly everyone else was in a coat and tie or a dress, or at least something nice. I was a classy dude. But what killed me was that, despite everything that I was wearing, it was my sneakers that were the biggest offense. Every so often I would catch someone studying my sneakers in disgust and then slowly raising his or her head, eyeing my jeans and then my hoodie and then finally looking with contempt upon the proletariat so common that he would actually wear SNEAKERS to the OPERA. Disgusting.
As far as the opera, since that is important I suppose, it was "Faust," about a week or so after it premiered in the opera house. I was somewhat familiar with the story before going in, and was able to follow it actually all the way up until the final five minutes or so. But, for a three-hour show, that's pretty good.
And I thought the opera itself was pretty incredible, not that I really have any frame of reference to know if an opera is not incredible. But the opera was lovely, the singing fantastic, the acting superb-- and that's really all I can say about it. Other than that it was, like I've mentioned, the most cultural thing I'll probably do during this entire adventure of mine.
My favorite part of the opera, though, was when they sang "Gloire Immortelle," which I sang during my first year in the best men's collegiate choir in the world. It was very cool to hear it in such an opera house by such a group of performers, knowing that I sang it in a gymnasium in Wales four years earlier. I'm not going to say who sounded better because I like to practice modesty once in a while, but I will say that these guys definitely were missing that "Glee Club charm."
By the way, I guess the sign that you don't look at your music enough is when you fail to notice the "from 'Faust' " at the top of the first page and are stunned and delighted when you hear it during the opera which it is from.
(My second favorite part of the opera was when the devil took Faust to the witches orgy and all the witches were running around in thongs. That looked like fun.)
When I got back to the hostel I found Astrid at the front desk, of course, talking to who I assumed was the manager. I asked Astrid for the key to her flat and the manager gave a weird look and Astrid looked a bit nervous. I went up, took a shower, and figured this was the end.
And I was right. When I came back down Astrid told me that the manager-- I had been correct-- was less than pleased that I was crashing at her place. I asked her why that mattered if Astrid lived there, and she said that she didn't own the flat. No kidding, but you ARE paying rent, right? She didn't get it, though, and said that this was probably going to be my last night.
When I turned away from Astrid, I had my first real Michigan sighting in Europe-- the first fake one had been a dude wearing a Michigan shirt who didn't respond when I said "Go blue" and who said a friend of his had gotten it for him when the friend was in Michigan a year ago. The Michigan sighting, however, was not just any Michigan sighting. It was none other than my friend Shannon, with whom I had about four classes during my last two years.
Of all the people, for some reason this just felt like it would have happened. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I had unsuccessfully tried to convince Shannon and another mutual friend to come to Mardi Gras with me in the spring. Whatever the reason, it almost seemed natural that she was there in the same hostel that I was not really staying in.
Shannon and her friend-- who I didn't know-- were in the middle of a two-month European adventure, traveling around and spending a few days in each place and staying at hostels. The way I would have done it five years ago. We went to a bar down the street and exchanged stories from our respective adventures, and they too were particularly fond of the Hobo Brawl.
We had gone to this bar to get a drink and something to eat, but getting a drink didn't exactly seem imperative at this point. And, although I was starving, I realized at this point that I had hit a new low in regards to money-consciousness. When looking at the menu, I actually considered the merit of eating something versus just waiting it out until the morning. I mean, I actually thought to myself "is spending €2.50 right now really going to help me out in the grand scheme of hunger?" And I decided it wouldn't, so I didn't get anything.
(Although luckily Shannon couldn't finish what she ordered so I had a little bit of left-over.)
Astrid had told me to be back at 12:00 again, and although it seemed to me like she could be able to make an exception once in a while she was rather grumpy when I left and figured it was best to just go back. I looked around for Marion, who had said she would meet me but wasn't in the bar earlier, and she was still nowhere to be found. Which sadly meant no more free drinks. But she had bought a ticket to the same production of "Faust" that evening for about €25 because she didn't know about the €3 deal and so maybe she just didn't want to hear about how great the standing room was. Who knows.
Either way, this was clearly to be my last night staying with Astrid. And I was fine with that, because I had had enough "hostel" to tide me over for a while.
I headed into town and got myself a chickenburger from McDonald's for lunch. The thing about the chickenburger is that it only costs €1 and is, in all honesty, pretty damn good. Not really enough for a meal by itself, but enough to tide you over. And the thing about McDonald's in general-- we're talking the Vienna McDonald's of course-- is that everyone that eats there is attractive and not fat. I'm talking everyone. It's the most bizarre thing in the world. It's almost like Austrian McDonald's is good for you. At the very least, you don't feel like a fat-ass by eating there. Which, if you've ever been to a McDonald's in the deep south, is EXACTLY how you feel.
I basically spent this day riding around on the metro and getting off whenever I felt like going up for fresh air. By this point I just about had the entire metro system memorized-- which lines went where, which direction was north or south or east or west, how to get to the main places I needed. I may have been getting less exercise because of it, but the Austrian metro is famously free-- I had never seen a single person get checked for a ticket, and no one I had spoken to could remember the last time they saw one, either-- so why not? Plus, walking around is a lovely way to see a city, but when you can navigate the metro system in a city like the back of your hand it makes you feel like you live there. Which, since I probably wouldn't be in Vienna for much more than a week, was about the best I could do.
I had met someone in the hostel the previous night who had gone to the opera and loved it. She said I should check it out, so I bought a thing of yogurt and a piece of bread-- a healthy dinner, just in case Viennese McDonald's actually is as bad for you as American McDonald's-- and I walked to the opera house.
The opera house in Vienna is the foremost opera house in all of Vienna, and tickets go as high as €240. But tickets also go as low as €3 if you stand in the back for the entire show. So it's a good thing I've got legs of steel.
Now, I'm not really the opera type, to be honest, but every once in a while I like to remind myself that I spent five years in the best men's collegiate choir in the world. And so, when I'm trying to get my cultural side going, I just think WWDD. And I'm pretty sure that he would have gone to the opera. So I did too.
(And that really is just how cultured I am. So cultured it's silly.)
I got to the opera house at 5:30 for a 7:00 show, and the line was already around the corner. I bought my ticket and was ushered upstairs to the highest balcony, where I found the standing area. Obviously there are no seats and you just stand where you can, so in a sense it's a free-for-all. But to mark the spot where you are standing, the opera-goer will tie a scarf around his portion of the banister in front of him, and then the ushers will politely tell you the spot is taken if you try to stand there. So while it might be considered a free-for-all, it is without a doubt the daintiest free-for-all you could ever be a part of.
Because I was so far back in line I had to stand in the back row, but the back row is actually the best row to be in because the translation screens are right at eye level. Everyone in the two rows ahead of me had to either tilt their head up a bit to see or look way down to see the screen of the person sitting in front of them. Not me. From MY spot I could see the words-- which were in English on the screen I was looking at-- and see the stage without moving my head at all. Thank you very much.
The funniest thing about the opera is that, in the translation, all the sentences end with exclamation points. It doesn't matter what is being said, the only punctuation to end a sentence-- at least that I noticed-- is an exclamation point. Operas are lovely and wonderful, but I think that perfectly captures the grandiose self-perception of opera singers. "Listen to me!"
The other funny thing is the spattering of cheers throughout the performance. After every song you'll hear a muffled "woo!" throughout the audience, but no one ever really cheers. They just clap. It's like they're too dignified to cheer, and when they start to "woo!" they have to catch themselves before they let out their wild side.
At intermission I went to the refreshment stand and looked longingly at the drinks and snacks for about five uninterrupted minutes. Then I decided to walk around, listening for someone speaking English since I figured only an American would buy a glass of wine or a tart for a scrub like me.
Because I was wearing my hoodie, my dino t-shirt, a pair of jeans and sneakers, and nearly everyone else was in a coat and tie or a dress, or at least something nice. I was a classy dude. But what killed me was that, despite everything that I was wearing, it was my sneakers that were the biggest offense. Every so often I would catch someone studying my sneakers in disgust and then slowly raising his or her head, eyeing my jeans and then my hoodie and then finally looking with contempt upon the proletariat so common that he would actually wear SNEAKERS to the OPERA. Disgusting.
As far as the opera, since that is important I suppose, it was "Faust," about a week or so after it premiered in the opera house. I was somewhat familiar with the story before going in, and was able to follow it actually all the way up until the final five minutes or so. But, for a three-hour show, that's pretty good.
And I thought the opera itself was pretty incredible, not that I really have any frame of reference to know if an opera is not incredible. But the opera was lovely, the singing fantastic, the acting superb-- and that's really all I can say about it. Other than that it was, like I've mentioned, the most cultural thing I'll probably do during this entire adventure of mine.
My favorite part of the opera, though, was when they sang "Gloire Immortelle," which I sang during my first year in the best men's collegiate choir in the world. It was very cool to hear it in such an opera house by such a group of performers, knowing that I sang it in a gymnasium in Wales four years earlier. I'm not going to say who sounded better because I like to practice modesty once in a while, but I will say that these guys definitely were missing that "Glee Club charm."
By the way, I guess the sign that you don't look at your music enough is when you fail to notice the "from 'Faust' " at the top of the first page and are stunned and delighted when you hear it during the opera which it is from.
(My second favorite part of the opera was when the devil took Faust to the witches orgy and all the witches were running around in thongs. That looked like fun.)
When I got back to the hostel I found Astrid at the front desk, of course, talking to who I assumed was the manager. I asked Astrid for the key to her flat and the manager gave a weird look and Astrid looked a bit nervous. I went up, took a shower, and figured this was the end.
And I was right. When I came back down Astrid told me that the manager-- I had been correct-- was less than pleased that I was crashing at her place. I asked her why that mattered if Astrid lived there, and she said that she didn't own the flat. No kidding, but you ARE paying rent, right? She didn't get it, though, and said that this was probably going to be my last night.
When I turned away from Astrid, I had my first real Michigan sighting in Europe-- the first fake one had been a dude wearing a Michigan shirt who didn't respond when I said "Go blue" and who said a friend of his had gotten it for him when the friend was in Michigan a year ago. The Michigan sighting, however, was not just any Michigan sighting. It was none other than my friend Shannon, with whom I had about four classes during my last two years.
Of all the people, for some reason this just felt like it would have happened. I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I had unsuccessfully tried to convince Shannon and another mutual friend to come to Mardi Gras with me in the spring. Whatever the reason, it almost seemed natural that she was there in the same hostel that I was not really staying in.
Shannon and her friend-- who I didn't know-- were in the middle of a two-month European adventure, traveling around and spending a few days in each place and staying at hostels. The way I would have done it five years ago. We went to a bar down the street and exchanged stories from our respective adventures, and they too were particularly fond of the Hobo Brawl.
We had gone to this bar to get a drink and something to eat, but getting a drink didn't exactly seem imperative at this point. And, although I was starving, I realized at this point that I had hit a new low in regards to money-consciousness. When looking at the menu, I actually considered the merit of eating something versus just waiting it out until the morning. I mean, I actually thought to myself "is spending €2.50 right now really going to help me out in the grand scheme of hunger?" And I decided it wouldn't, so I didn't get anything.
(Although luckily Shannon couldn't finish what she ordered so I had a little bit of left-over.)
Astrid had told me to be back at 12:00 again, and although it seemed to me like she could be able to make an exception once in a while she was rather grumpy when I left and figured it was best to just go back. I looked around for Marion, who had said she would meet me but wasn't in the bar earlier, and she was still nowhere to be found. Which sadly meant no more free drinks. But she had bought a ticket to the same production of "Faust" that evening for about €25 because she didn't know about the €3 deal and so maybe she just didn't want to hear about how great the standing room was. Who knows.
Either way, this was clearly to be my last night staying with Astrid. And I was fine with that, because I had had enough "hostel" to tide me over for a while.
19 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
Ike woke me up at 9:00 for the moment I had been dreading for over twelve hours. Except, to my surprise, it was even worse.
He spoke for about 15 minutes, but the only way you can decipher what he says from the stuttering and mumbling mumbo-jumbo is by paying strict attention, and I was much too tired to pay any attention at all. When he finished talking I said something like "I don't want to go to church," and he replied "Not church. The Catholic Charity."
Well, that woke me up. I'm sorry, but going to the Catholic Charity crosses the line, it really does. I told Ike there was no way I was going to the Catholic Charity, and he said "You must go so you can go back to America." I told him for about the tenth time that I am in no rush to go back to America, and he said "But they will buy your plane ticket."
Uh, now I'm listening.
Ike just about picked me up off the bed and made me a bowl of rice, and as I ate he got my things together. I really didn't want to go to the Catholic Charity, for many reasons, but Ike was practically making me. I swear, he literally must have thought I was 13 years old. Just let me make my own choices.
But, of course, he didn't, and so we were on the tram heading for the Catholic Charity. And when we got there, Ike showed me how to ring the bell-- really, Ike?-- then apologized for not repaying me for the cigarettes and left. The end.
Since I was there, and since I figured what the hell, I went to ring the bell. And the second after I did, I noticed the sign above the door-- "Asylum for Refugees."
Ha!
And, wouldn't you know, no one came to the door because the place is closed on Sunday. Unbelievable. The place is freaking closed on Sunday.
Well, I was back on the street. And, additionally, still unemployed. So I went to the main hostel area that I hadn't gone to the previous day. The first place I tried didn't have any job opportunities, but the guy at the desk said I could store my stuff in the luggage room for the day. I accepted the offer.
At the second hostel, the girl at the desk called her manager to ask for me. I spoke to the manager-- a woman from Seattle-- and told her I was looking for hostel work in Vienna. She was as nice as could be, she really was, but she explained that since the summer was over she was actually already beginning to cut her staff, and so hiring a new worker was impossible. She did say that she could use a night porter, but that I would have to speak German so I could deal with the neighbors. Not going to happen.
I asked her, then, if there was even any work that I could do just for a bed to sleep in for the night, and she said she couldn't think of any. I asked if I could clean the coffee cup that was on the table where I was sitting in exchange for a bed, and she laughed and said that she would try to think of something and, if she did, she would call back to the girl at the desk and tell her.
That was that. I didn't have a job or a bed or anything that would help me, but at least the manager had been nice and tried to think of something-- since she said she usually likes to give people work for a bed, if they need it, but just at this point there was nothing.
(Although it was a bit discouraging to hear that she's in fact reducing her staff for the winter. I hope that's not the case everywhere.)
When I hung up, I handed the phone back to the girl, and a guy who had overheard me starting asking about my adventure. I told him that I've been traveling around and looking for work. And I mentioned off-handedly, as I had told the manager, that I would even be willing to work for a bed and nothing else if it was possible, since I needed a place to crash.
The girl at the desk overheard me, I guess, and said that if I needed a place to crash I could just stay at her place. She said she lived next door and was already letting one person from the hostel, whose money had run out, sleep on her floor. So one more wouldn't hurt.
That was good enough for me, and I told her I'd be back at 7:00.
The day was mine. And, as I learned, the thing about Sunday is that it is the best day to be in a city because things are free.
But I didn't learn this immediately. I first went to the Museum Quarter and popped into a couple museums, but they all cost between €6 and €8. I even went to the Spanish Riding School, just to see what on earth was going on there, and considered getting a ticket for Morning Exercise until I realized that it cost €12. Yes, twelve euro to watch horses go through their morning exercises.
(Although, when you consider that the horses lay golden eggs, maybe €12 isn't so much after all.)
I went to one more museum in the Museum Quarter and it, too, was €6, but it was here that the woman at the ticket counter told me about the free museums.
The first one I went to was the Wien Museum, which is the main national museum of Vienna. I don't know what the price would have been normally, but there was a lot of art and some interesting history. A cool place, for sure, although only about one-third of the pieces in the museum had English descriptions to go along with the German ones. So it probably wouldn't have been worth paying to go in if you can't speak German and can't "understand art" without knowing what's going on. And I can't do either.
Then I went to the Beethoven's apartment museum, which is where he lived while in Vienna, and which is really just an apartment with some pictures of Beethoven on the walls and a fake keyboard that has headphones playing his music. That's it. No furniture, no personal items, nothing. I mean, it's listed under "museums," but it really could have been any apartment in the entire world, just if the person who owned it actually lived somewhere else and liked to keep pictures of Beethoven in his empty apartment. It was nothing at all like Beethoven's apartment in "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"-- I don't know why the museum curator decided to change it, but it wasn't anywhere near as authentic as I had expected.
When I left Beethoven's digs most of the museums were about to close and I had to go back and get my stuff, anyway. I found the first hostel pretty easily, but had a bit of a time locating the second. When I did, the girl was forunately still working. And still offered me a couch.
Except it wasn't a couch. And it wasn't, as I had actually expected, just the floor. The girl literally went into one of the closets in the hostel office and came back out with a mattress. I didn't really have any spare hands, and anyway the mattress probably weighed four pounds, so the girl carried it up for me.
When we got up to her flat the other couch-surfer was making dinner. She is a Portuguese girl named Riquel who is studying at the University of Vienna but hasn't found her own flat yet. Although she's been in Vienna for a couple months, so I'm not really sure what the hold-up is. Maybe she's just going to move in.
Anyway, Riquel had made an omelette, sort of, and she gave me half of it and made me a cup of tea, which was lovely of her. She also told me that the hostel girl's name is Astrid, which was good to know. Astrid said I could stay a couple days and that, if I ever needed to find her, she would either be in the flat or at the hostel. One of those two places, and nowhere else. I asked her what she was doing that night, and she said she would be hanging out at the hostel. Because "that's what I always do."
Now, my ideal job on this adventure would be to work in a hostel, I admit that. But I don't think I would like it if hanging out at my workplace was "what I always do," no matter how fun that workplace might be. I asked Astrid if that was really all she ever did, and she said yes; she's literally always around and knows everything that goes on and knows everyone who's staying there and that's one reason why she often lets people crash at her place-- because they always see her around and so they ask her.
And that, my friends, could have been my life if I had gotten a hostel job. But lord I hope not.
After talking for a while Astrid went down to the front desk-- not because she was working, just because she was hanging out-- and I took a shower and then went down myself. I went to the hostel bar and made a joke to the girl next to me, asking her just how bubbly she thought the soda water was-- because it said "VERY bubbly"-- and then asking her if she thought it was so bubbly it would get me drunk, because it was two euro cheaper than the beer. She laughed and bought me a beer. Good going, Zach.
I kept talking to this girl for a while, an English girl named Marion, and we were hitting it off swimmingly although she wasn't really in the least bit cute. But she bought me two beers and then a bottle of wine which we split. So it was all good.
I met another girl, an Australian who was staying there, who asked me if I was using CouchSurfing.com when I told her how I'd been travelling. I told her no, that I've been meeting people, and was about to say "using the website is too easy" when she literally beat me to it. I mean, she literally said those exact words and added "the challenge is the fun part." I couldn't believe it, I told her that was EXACTLY what I thought.
So I started telling her some of the stories from my adventures, and she was loving them-- the one about the Hobo Brawl was her favorite, understandably. She said that she had wanted to do her trip on couches but that her friend, whom she was traveling with, had absolutely refused. I told her to meet me in Italy at some point, and she instantly told me it was a plan. But her friend overheard and said it was out of the question. Damn, girl, shush your mouth.
Anyway, the whole thing was really pretty fun, and when the Australian girls left Marion and I went with an Austrian dude to a bar down the street and had another drink-- although I paid for this one. Astrid had told me to be back at the hostel at 12:00 so she could let me into the flat, which was fine by me, and so we went back and I was asleep by 12:30. Again. But at least I was back on track.
********************************
The best part about this night was that I was able to have all the fun of a hostel without any of the commitment. Or the "hosteler" tag. Or the hostelness. Or knowing that I was paying to sleep in a hostel and paying to be a hosteler. I was just hanging out in the hostel and hanging out with kids who were staying in a hostel, but I was still kicking it on the couches and doing it my own way. Which was sweet. And, most importantly, I can't even begin to explain how nice it was to be able to be funny again. Or, at least, to be able to make jokes again, whether or not they were funny. That's the main problem of crashing on couches-- the fact that, other than Tomi or Charles who speak nearly flawless English, the people I've been staying with typically miss subtle jokes and irony. So it was nice to be able to make people laugh again.
He spoke for about 15 minutes, but the only way you can decipher what he says from the stuttering and mumbling mumbo-jumbo is by paying strict attention, and I was much too tired to pay any attention at all. When he finished talking I said something like "I don't want to go to church," and he replied "Not church. The Catholic Charity."
Well, that woke me up. I'm sorry, but going to the Catholic Charity crosses the line, it really does. I told Ike there was no way I was going to the Catholic Charity, and he said "You must go so you can go back to America." I told him for about the tenth time that I am in no rush to go back to America, and he said "But they will buy your plane ticket."
Uh, now I'm listening.
Ike just about picked me up off the bed and made me a bowl of rice, and as I ate he got my things together. I really didn't want to go to the Catholic Charity, for many reasons, but Ike was practically making me. I swear, he literally must have thought I was 13 years old. Just let me make my own choices.
But, of course, he didn't, and so we were on the tram heading for the Catholic Charity. And when we got there, Ike showed me how to ring the bell-- really, Ike?-- then apologized for not repaying me for the cigarettes and left. The end.
Since I was there, and since I figured what the hell, I went to ring the bell. And the second after I did, I noticed the sign above the door-- "Asylum for Refugees."
Ha!
And, wouldn't you know, no one came to the door because the place is closed on Sunday. Unbelievable. The place is freaking closed on Sunday.
Well, I was back on the street. And, additionally, still unemployed. So I went to the main hostel area that I hadn't gone to the previous day. The first place I tried didn't have any job opportunities, but the guy at the desk said I could store my stuff in the luggage room for the day. I accepted the offer.
At the second hostel, the girl at the desk called her manager to ask for me. I spoke to the manager-- a woman from Seattle-- and told her I was looking for hostel work in Vienna. She was as nice as could be, she really was, but she explained that since the summer was over she was actually already beginning to cut her staff, and so hiring a new worker was impossible. She did say that she could use a night porter, but that I would have to speak German so I could deal with the neighbors. Not going to happen.
I asked her, then, if there was even any work that I could do just for a bed to sleep in for the night, and she said she couldn't think of any. I asked if I could clean the coffee cup that was on the table where I was sitting in exchange for a bed, and she laughed and said that she would try to think of something and, if she did, she would call back to the girl at the desk and tell her.
That was that. I didn't have a job or a bed or anything that would help me, but at least the manager had been nice and tried to think of something-- since she said she usually likes to give people work for a bed, if they need it, but just at this point there was nothing.
(Although it was a bit discouraging to hear that she's in fact reducing her staff for the winter. I hope that's not the case everywhere.)
When I hung up, I handed the phone back to the girl, and a guy who had overheard me starting asking about my adventure. I told him that I've been traveling around and looking for work. And I mentioned off-handedly, as I had told the manager, that I would even be willing to work for a bed and nothing else if it was possible, since I needed a place to crash.
The girl at the desk overheard me, I guess, and said that if I needed a place to crash I could just stay at her place. She said she lived next door and was already letting one person from the hostel, whose money had run out, sleep on her floor. So one more wouldn't hurt.
That was good enough for me, and I told her I'd be back at 7:00.
The day was mine. And, as I learned, the thing about Sunday is that it is the best day to be in a city because things are free.
But I didn't learn this immediately. I first went to the Museum Quarter and popped into a couple museums, but they all cost between €6 and €8. I even went to the Spanish Riding School, just to see what on earth was going on there, and considered getting a ticket for Morning Exercise until I realized that it cost €12. Yes, twelve euro to watch horses go through their morning exercises.
(Although, when you consider that the horses lay golden eggs, maybe €12 isn't so much after all.)
I went to one more museum in the Museum Quarter and it, too, was €6, but it was here that the woman at the ticket counter told me about the free museums.
The first one I went to was the Wien Museum, which is the main national museum of Vienna. I don't know what the price would have been normally, but there was a lot of art and some interesting history. A cool place, for sure, although only about one-third of the pieces in the museum had English descriptions to go along with the German ones. So it probably wouldn't have been worth paying to go in if you can't speak German and can't "understand art" without knowing what's going on. And I can't do either.
Then I went to the Beethoven's apartment museum, which is where he lived while in Vienna, and which is really just an apartment with some pictures of Beethoven on the walls and a fake keyboard that has headphones playing his music. That's it. No furniture, no personal items, nothing. I mean, it's listed under "museums," but it really could have been any apartment in the entire world, just if the person who owned it actually lived somewhere else and liked to keep pictures of Beethoven in his empty apartment. It was nothing at all like Beethoven's apartment in "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"-- I don't know why the museum curator decided to change it, but it wasn't anywhere near as authentic as I had expected.
When I left Beethoven's digs most of the museums were about to close and I had to go back and get my stuff, anyway. I found the first hostel pretty easily, but had a bit of a time locating the second. When I did, the girl was forunately still working. And still offered me a couch.
Except it wasn't a couch. And it wasn't, as I had actually expected, just the floor. The girl literally went into one of the closets in the hostel office and came back out with a mattress. I didn't really have any spare hands, and anyway the mattress probably weighed four pounds, so the girl carried it up for me.
When we got up to her flat the other couch-surfer was making dinner. She is a Portuguese girl named Riquel who is studying at the University of Vienna but hasn't found her own flat yet. Although she's been in Vienna for a couple months, so I'm not really sure what the hold-up is. Maybe she's just going to move in.
Anyway, Riquel had made an omelette, sort of, and she gave me half of it and made me a cup of tea, which was lovely of her. She also told me that the hostel girl's name is Astrid, which was good to know. Astrid said I could stay a couple days and that, if I ever needed to find her, she would either be in the flat or at the hostel. One of those two places, and nowhere else. I asked her what she was doing that night, and she said she would be hanging out at the hostel. Because "that's what I always do."
Now, my ideal job on this adventure would be to work in a hostel, I admit that. But I don't think I would like it if hanging out at my workplace was "what I always do," no matter how fun that workplace might be. I asked Astrid if that was really all she ever did, and she said yes; she's literally always around and knows everything that goes on and knows everyone who's staying there and that's one reason why she often lets people crash at her place-- because they always see her around and so they ask her.
And that, my friends, could have been my life if I had gotten a hostel job. But lord I hope not.
After talking for a while Astrid went down to the front desk-- not because she was working, just because she was hanging out-- and I took a shower and then went down myself. I went to the hostel bar and made a joke to the girl next to me, asking her just how bubbly she thought the soda water was-- because it said "VERY bubbly"-- and then asking her if she thought it was so bubbly it would get me drunk, because it was two euro cheaper than the beer. She laughed and bought me a beer. Good going, Zach.
I kept talking to this girl for a while, an English girl named Marion, and we were hitting it off swimmingly although she wasn't really in the least bit cute. But she bought me two beers and then a bottle of wine which we split. So it was all good.
I met another girl, an Australian who was staying there, who asked me if I was using CouchSurfing.com when I told her how I'd been travelling. I told her no, that I've been meeting people, and was about to say "using the website is too easy" when she literally beat me to it. I mean, she literally said those exact words and added "the challenge is the fun part." I couldn't believe it, I told her that was EXACTLY what I thought.
So I started telling her some of the stories from my adventures, and she was loving them-- the one about the Hobo Brawl was her favorite, understandably. She said that she had wanted to do her trip on couches but that her friend, whom she was traveling with, had absolutely refused. I told her to meet me in Italy at some point, and she instantly told me it was a plan. But her friend overheard and said it was out of the question. Damn, girl, shush your mouth.
Anyway, the whole thing was really pretty fun, and when the Australian girls left Marion and I went with an Austrian dude to a bar down the street and had another drink-- although I paid for this one. Astrid had told me to be back at the hostel at 12:00 so she could let me into the flat, which was fine by me, and so we went back and I was asleep by 12:30. Again. But at least I was back on track.
********************************
The best part about this night was that I was able to have all the fun of a hostel without any of the commitment. Or the "hosteler" tag. Or the hostelness. Or knowing that I was paying to sleep in a hostel and paying to be a hosteler. I was just hanging out in the hostel and hanging out with kids who were staying in a hostel, but I was still kicking it on the couches and doing it my own way. Which was sweet. And, most importantly, I can't even begin to explain how nice it was to be able to be funny again. Or, at least, to be able to make jokes again, whether or not they were funny. That's the main problem of crashing on couches-- the fact that, other than Tomi or Charles who speak nearly flawless English, the people I've been staying with typically miss subtle jokes and irony. So it was nice to be able to make people laugh again.
Friday, October 24, 2008
18 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
I had gone to bed at 1:00 and woke up at 10:30, so I was feeling pretty good. Osi and the Nigerian were already awake and I went into the kitchen to find something to eat. The Nigerian came in to assist me and I made some tuna and bread and beans. An interesting combination.
After I ate I started to clean up and the Nigerian came into the kitchen to show me "which sink to use for washing" so I could "get used to the house." This was after he had gone out to buy shampoo since he didn't have any. Considering his initial response to my crashing at his place, he had done a pretty quick turn-around. Maybe I was wrong.
I left the flat after eating to try to do a little job searching but got initially caught up with "GEBT UNS ZURÜCK WAS UNS GEHÖRT MONTEZUMA'S FEDERKRONE." At least, that's what the sign said. I have no idea what it was meant to be, but there were two men, a woman, and a little girl all in full Indian costumes-- three-foot headresses (except for the girl), elaborate boots, grass skirts, fancy shields, and clubs. At first there was a call-and-response with a guy banging a drum and calling and the other men responding by blowing through shells. Then there was either a war dance or a rain dance, which was mostly just twirls and fancy footwork, but which went on for 20 minutes and which the audience loved.
And, of course, there was a chalice in between them all with smoke coming out of it.
These people were obviously not even remotely Native American, but the audience freakin' loved it-- 80% of the people gave money, I would guess, when yet another person in Indian costume came by with a bowl. It was completely bizarre, mostly because I wouldn't pay a cent to people immitating Native Austrian culture. Those silly Austrians.
I went to a few hostels to look for work but hadn't brought any identification with me, which meant it was mostly pointless. So I went back to the University and fiddled around on the computer, waiting for a response from a English or History professor. Which didn't arrive.
After a while I gave up and headed back to the flat. The Nigerian had made rice for dinner, which was something like an African rice with tomatos, onions, chili pepper, fish, and tomato stew. Making it fifteen times more delicious than the rice mess I tend to put together if I'm ever lucky enough to have rice to put together.
While we were eating the Nigerian asked when I wanted to go to church in the morning. I told him I hadn't really been planning on going at all, and he was appalled. He started telling me all the ways that going to church has helped him and all the ways it would help me if I went with him, and I cut him off right there. "OK, fine, I'll go."
After eating we went to buy beer for us and cigarettes for him, and before we left he showed me how to open the door of his flat. For the third time. I get it. I told him I had come home the previous night and gotten in, hadn't I, and he said that his brother had let him in. No, his brother had just happened to arrive right after me, I told him. For the third time. It was unbelievable. Showing me how to wash dishes, how to make tuna and beans and bread, how to open the door, how I should just go back to America, I get it. I don't have a work visa and it's going to be hard, I get it. Just let it go.
When we got to the cigarette machine the Nigerian realized that he didn't have any money with him. I lent him €4, which is fine of course in general, but not for cigarettes. Not really.
We parted ways then and I went to get the beer, and when I came back he was lying in bed with the lights off and talking to his girlfriend. I put the beer in the fridge and went to find a warm place-- a metro station, it turned out to be-- to write.
I returned in about an hour and found him in the same position, still talking on the phone. It was only a one-room flat and it would have been rude to stick around, even though I wouldn't have been able to hear him if I were standing two meters from the guy. So I took a beer from the fridge and went up to the main square.
I walked by a dude who was playing the guitar and singing. Actually, he was playing three chords over and over again and saying things like "Why do I have to pay €5 for a pint" and "Why can't I smoke what I want to when I want to." I thought he was either hilarious or an idiot, or maybe both, and he was speaking English. So I went over and talked to him.
I asked him if he was playing a track off his Greatest Hits compilation and he said "This? No, this is just improv-- just protest music." You don't say, huh? He said he wants to make a record but doesn't "want to be like Mick Jagger, you know, and have all that money." I said I didn't think it was just his forsaking of material possessions that was stopping him from being quite like Mick Jagger. Boy was I on a roll.
This dude was from Michigan and had been in Spain for two years, and he said he was done with America but that if he ever went back he would be a teacher. Gee, where have I heard that before?
I asked him what he's been doing for all that time, and he said he was traveling for a while but after about six months he decided he didn't really want to go back, and he's been playing the guitar on the street to support himself ever since. I found that impossible to imagine but didn't think it would be nice to tell him.
Anyway, he was a pretty decent guy, and I was intrigued by his time-line of giving up on America after six months and still being here a year and a half later. Which gives me about four more months to go in Europe before it becomes eternity.
Before I left I asked him if he had any ideas about how to make some money. He asked if I had a guitar and I said no, and he said that was the best way he could think of. But then he thought a bit more and, when he asked if I could make an investment, said that I should just sell drugs. It would cost a bit at the start but I'd make a killing. So there's my fallback, I guess.
I went back to the flat then and the Nigerian was STILL on the phone. His girlfriend said she wanted to talk to me, and the first thing she said was "So is Ike nice?" And, I'll tell you, I was THIS close to asking who Ike was but thought better of it. So I said "Yes, and he's a good cook." I looked up and Ike, as it turned out, was smiling.
Because, as I'm sure you've noticed, I didn't know his name. I mean, I had no clue what his name was, I really didn't. He had told me a couple times before but each time I didn't understand him, on account of the stutter and the overall near muteness, and after asking him to repeat himself a couple times, both times, I gave up. And it really was too late to ask him again.
(To be honest, I said "Huh, what?" more times to Ike than I had to any Austrian or Hungarian who didn't even speak English as a first language. Which, for those who don't know, Nigerians do. It was unbelievable.)
So now I knew Ike's name. He had said he wanted to go out that night, but when he finally got off the phone past midnight he just sat on the bed in his boxers, watching the television. I asked him if he still wanted to go out and, not surprisingly, he said he didn't.
So now I needed to get a bit more energy before going out, since it would just be me, and I figured I would finally take that hour-long nap from the night before. And, of course, when the alarm went off in an hour I could barely make it to the bed let alone out the door. So I called it a night. Again. A wasted weekend. Again.
And I blame Axel for this particular wasted weekend. Still exhausted from my night in the garage and still mentally exhausted from dealing with it all. And now he took my weekend.
Oh, and my iPod.
********************************
The crazy thing is, after berating Axel for using CouchSurfing.com, I finally had a similar experience. Staying with Ike was literally like staying with a couple grandparents. Maybe because he was-- get this-- actually 36 years old. Oops.
After I ate I started to clean up and the Nigerian came into the kitchen to show me "which sink to use for washing" so I could "get used to the house." This was after he had gone out to buy shampoo since he didn't have any. Considering his initial response to my crashing at his place, he had done a pretty quick turn-around. Maybe I was wrong.
I left the flat after eating to try to do a little job searching but got initially caught up with "GEBT UNS ZURÜCK WAS UNS GEHÖRT MONTEZUMA'S FEDERKRONE." At least, that's what the sign said. I have no idea what it was meant to be, but there were two men, a woman, and a little girl all in full Indian costumes-- three-foot headresses (except for the girl), elaborate boots, grass skirts, fancy shields, and clubs. At first there was a call-and-response with a guy banging a drum and calling and the other men responding by blowing through shells. Then there was either a war dance or a rain dance, which was mostly just twirls and fancy footwork, but which went on for 20 minutes and which the audience loved.
And, of course, there was a chalice in between them all with smoke coming out of it.
These people were obviously not even remotely Native American, but the audience freakin' loved it-- 80% of the people gave money, I would guess, when yet another person in Indian costume came by with a bowl. It was completely bizarre, mostly because I wouldn't pay a cent to people immitating Native Austrian culture. Those silly Austrians.
I went to a few hostels to look for work but hadn't brought any identification with me, which meant it was mostly pointless. So I went back to the University and fiddled around on the computer, waiting for a response from a English or History professor. Which didn't arrive.
After a while I gave up and headed back to the flat. The Nigerian had made rice for dinner, which was something like an African rice with tomatos, onions, chili pepper, fish, and tomato stew. Making it fifteen times more delicious than the rice mess I tend to put together if I'm ever lucky enough to have rice to put together.
While we were eating the Nigerian asked when I wanted to go to church in the morning. I told him I hadn't really been planning on going at all, and he was appalled. He started telling me all the ways that going to church has helped him and all the ways it would help me if I went with him, and I cut him off right there. "OK, fine, I'll go."
After eating we went to buy beer for us and cigarettes for him, and before we left he showed me how to open the door of his flat. For the third time. I get it. I told him I had come home the previous night and gotten in, hadn't I, and he said that his brother had let him in. No, his brother had just happened to arrive right after me, I told him. For the third time. It was unbelievable. Showing me how to wash dishes, how to make tuna and beans and bread, how to open the door, how I should just go back to America, I get it. I don't have a work visa and it's going to be hard, I get it. Just let it go.
When we got to the cigarette machine the Nigerian realized that he didn't have any money with him. I lent him €4, which is fine of course in general, but not for cigarettes. Not really.
We parted ways then and I went to get the beer, and when I came back he was lying in bed with the lights off and talking to his girlfriend. I put the beer in the fridge and went to find a warm place-- a metro station, it turned out to be-- to write.
I returned in about an hour and found him in the same position, still talking on the phone. It was only a one-room flat and it would have been rude to stick around, even though I wouldn't have been able to hear him if I were standing two meters from the guy. So I took a beer from the fridge and went up to the main square.
I walked by a dude who was playing the guitar and singing. Actually, he was playing three chords over and over again and saying things like "Why do I have to pay €5 for a pint" and "Why can't I smoke what I want to when I want to." I thought he was either hilarious or an idiot, or maybe both, and he was speaking English. So I went over and talked to him.
I asked him if he was playing a track off his Greatest Hits compilation and he said "This? No, this is just improv-- just protest music." You don't say, huh? He said he wants to make a record but doesn't "want to be like Mick Jagger, you know, and have all that money." I said I didn't think it was just his forsaking of material possessions that was stopping him from being quite like Mick Jagger. Boy was I on a roll.
This dude was from Michigan and had been in Spain for two years, and he said he was done with America but that if he ever went back he would be a teacher. Gee, where have I heard that before?
I asked him what he's been doing for all that time, and he said he was traveling for a while but after about six months he decided he didn't really want to go back, and he's been playing the guitar on the street to support himself ever since. I found that impossible to imagine but didn't think it would be nice to tell him.
Anyway, he was a pretty decent guy, and I was intrigued by his time-line of giving up on America after six months and still being here a year and a half later. Which gives me about four more months to go in Europe before it becomes eternity.
Before I left I asked him if he had any ideas about how to make some money. He asked if I had a guitar and I said no, and he said that was the best way he could think of. But then he thought a bit more and, when he asked if I could make an investment, said that I should just sell drugs. It would cost a bit at the start but I'd make a killing. So there's my fallback, I guess.
I went back to the flat then and the Nigerian was STILL on the phone. His girlfriend said she wanted to talk to me, and the first thing she said was "So is Ike nice?" And, I'll tell you, I was THIS close to asking who Ike was but thought better of it. So I said "Yes, and he's a good cook." I looked up and Ike, as it turned out, was smiling.
Because, as I'm sure you've noticed, I didn't know his name. I mean, I had no clue what his name was, I really didn't. He had told me a couple times before but each time I didn't understand him, on account of the stutter and the overall near muteness, and after asking him to repeat himself a couple times, both times, I gave up. And it really was too late to ask him again.
(To be honest, I said "Huh, what?" more times to Ike than I had to any Austrian or Hungarian who didn't even speak English as a first language. Which, for those who don't know, Nigerians do. It was unbelievable.)
So now I knew Ike's name. He had said he wanted to go out that night, but when he finally got off the phone past midnight he just sat on the bed in his boxers, watching the television. I asked him if he still wanted to go out and, not surprisingly, he said he didn't.
So now I needed to get a bit more energy before going out, since it would just be me, and I figured I would finally take that hour-long nap from the night before. And, of course, when the alarm went off in an hour I could barely make it to the bed let alone out the door. So I called it a night. Again. A wasted weekend. Again.
And I blame Axel for this particular wasted weekend. Still exhausted from my night in the garage and still mentally exhausted from dealing with it all. And now he took my weekend.
Oh, and my iPod.
********************************
The crazy thing is, after berating Axel for using CouchSurfing.com, I finally had a similar experience. Staying with Ike was literally like staying with a couple grandparents. Maybe because he was-- get this-- actually 36 years old. Oops.
17 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
I slept in the garage for about an hour, maybe, but didn't really get a whole lot of "relaxation" out of it. After a while I just got up and walked to the center of town since I was awake before the metro started running.
I got yogurt and bread for breakfast, at a paltry 52 cents, and then spent a long time in the library warming up and looking for jobs at the University website. As you might have imagined, the yogurt and bread didn't last too long and I had to supplement with chicken tenders and a cheeseburger from McDonald's. €3 for lunch. Easy there, guy.
At this point I decided to start looking for a couch because I needed a nap like something fierce, and so I began my first true search since Charles-- well, since Tomi, but that happened so quickly it didn't really count.
It took a little while, but eventually I asked a dude who said that he couldn't but had a friend who would probably be OK with it. He went into the computer lab and, a few minutes later, came back out with a big Nigerian dude. He asked to see my passport, I guess because I hadn't had to clear customs when I crossed into Austria. Luckily I didn't come up as a fugitive and he said he would hook me up with a couch.
We left pretty soon after that and, on the tram ride back to his place, the dude just kept grilling me about everything. He couldn't believe I left America and couldn't believe I didn't want to "go back tomorrow." I told him I was trying to find work in Europe and he said no one would hire me. And then when I told him I didn't have a work visa, anyway, he said I was a fool to not just go back to America. I mean, maybe, but I'm not really one for pessimism.
And so the whole ride he just kept going on about how he couldn't believe I didn't want to just go back to the States, and when we got off the tram he said something along the lines of "I don't know what I'm going to do now because of you."
(Here is where I should point out that the big Nigerian dude had a terrible stutter and spoke at about the volume of a mouse. I had to ask him to repeat himself nearly every time he spoke, and so a lot of what he had said I missed completely.)
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I didn't really feel like bothering. And it was still early enough that I'd probably be able to find a new couch. I offered to leave and get him off the hook so he could whatever it was he needed to do that night. He said I had nowhere to go, but when I told him I'd find something and he countered that I didn't know anyone, I explained I didn't exactly know him, either.
I said I'd have no problem finding a place to sleep, but I asked why he hadn't said any of this when we met. And when we were still near the University. He said "Africans can't say no." That wasn't good enough, because it really wasn't impossible for me to leave and be fine, but he insisted. Fine.
When we got to his apartment the dude's brother, Osi, was there. The dude left with his girlfriend after a while and I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again no more than fifteen minutes later Osi had put a sandwich and a beer next to me. Nice work, dude.
After a while Osi got ready to leave for the night and I got up to go to Axel's place to see about the iPod. I told Osi the story, and at the end he just laughed and called Axel a "crazy bitch." Then he got serious and said "I'll come with you."
Oh damn.
At least, he offered to come with me. But Axel's place really was quite a trek away and Osi didn't seem too enthusiastic about the journey. I told him he really didn't have to, which he seemed relieved about, but he said he would tell his friend about the situation. And before he left he said "We'll get you're iPod." Oh damn again.
Now, Axel had said he was leaving for the weekend on Saturday and I figured he would be taking all his stuff-- including the iPod-- with him. So I thought I would go to the apartment after he had gone out for the night and then tell his lady that he had my iPod and I needed to pick it up before I left Vienna in the morning. A flawless plan.
Except I hadn't considered who I was dealing with.
Because, you see, my plan was contingent on Axel being out for the night. The problem is that Axel admittedly has "three friends" from his two weeks in Vienna and Marvin had gone home that morning. So when I got to his place at 11:00 and knocked on the door, he answered it dressed like he had just gotten back from a fancy dinner. And, right behind him, his lady was dressed like she too had just gotten back from a fancy dinner. But of course.
So I asked him about the iPod, not really sure what I was hoping for, and he said he had given the iPod to Marvin who had taken it back to Budapest. Which was the end of that.
But I remembered what Osi had said about his friend, and so very casually I said "You gave Marvin my iPod? That was the choice you made? Watch out." And I left, as calm as could be, not really sure what that meant.
(And as I walked away, Axel screamed at me "That's the choice I made, you fucking no-thinker." That's really what he called me-- a fucking no-thinker.)
I was a mess of upset and tired at this point, but I didn't want to waste my first Friday night and risk getting back onto the Budapest track from my first weekend there. The Nigerian had said he was going to be at his girlfriend's place that night, so I figured I would go back and take a nap for an hour and then go out, since it was only midnight.
But the Nigerian was already home and in bed when I got back, and literally only five minutes later Osi came back too. I told Osi what happened and all he could do was laugh about the whole thing. That made me feel a bit better, to be honest, and I didn't really feel like setting my alarm and waking them both up, and I was already half-asleep in bed, so I figured that was the end of the night.
Another waste of a Friday. Sorry nothing else happened.
I got yogurt and bread for breakfast, at a paltry 52 cents, and then spent a long time in the library warming up and looking for jobs at the University website. As you might have imagined, the yogurt and bread didn't last too long and I had to supplement with chicken tenders and a cheeseburger from McDonald's. €3 for lunch. Easy there, guy.
At this point I decided to start looking for a couch because I needed a nap like something fierce, and so I began my first true search since Charles-- well, since Tomi, but that happened so quickly it didn't really count.
It took a little while, but eventually I asked a dude who said that he couldn't but had a friend who would probably be OK with it. He went into the computer lab and, a few minutes later, came back out with a big Nigerian dude. He asked to see my passport, I guess because I hadn't had to clear customs when I crossed into Austria. Luckily I didn't come up as a fugitive and he said he would hook me up with a couch.
We left pretty soon after that and, on the tram ride back to his place, the dude just kept grilling me about everything. He couldn't believe I left America and couldn't believe I didn't want to "go back tomorrow." I told him I was trying to find work in Europe and he said no one would hire me. And then when I told him I didn't have a work visa, anyway, he said I was a fool to not just go back to America. I mean, maybe, but I'm not really one for pessimism.
And so the whole ride he just kept going on about how he couldn't believe I didn't want to just go back to the States, and when we got off the tram he said something along the lines of "I don't know what I'm going to do now because of you."
(Here is where I should point out that the big Nigerian dude had a terrible stutter and spoke at about the volume of a mouse. I had to ask him to repeat himself nearly every time he spoke, and so a lot of what he had said I missed completely.)
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I didn't really feel like bothering. And it was still early enough that I'd probably be able to find a new couch. I offered to leave and get him off the hook so he could whatever it was he needed to do that night. He said I had nowhere to go, but when I told him I'd find something and he countered that I didn't know anyone, I explained I didn't exactly know him, either.
I said I'd have no problem finding a place to sleep, but I asked why he hadn't said any of this when we met. And when we were still near the University. He said "Africans can't say no." That wasn't good enough, because it really wasn't impossible for me to leave and be fine, but he insisted. Fine.
When we got to his apartment the dude's brother, Osi, was there. The dude left with his girlfriend after a while and I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again no more than fifteen minutes later Osi had put a sandwich and a beer next to me. Nice work, dude.
After a while Osi got ready to leave for the night and I got up to go to Axel's place to see about the iPod. I told Osi the story, and at the end he just laughed and called Axel a "crazy bitch." Then he got serious and said "I'll come with you."
Oh damn.
At least, he offered to come with me. But Axel's place really was quite a trek away and Osi didn't seem too enthusiastic about the journey. I told him he really didn't have to, which he seemed relieved about, but he said he would tell his friend about the situation. And before he left he said "We'll get you're iPod." Oh damn again.
Now, Axel had said he was leaving for the weekend on Saturday and I figured he would be taking all his stuff-- including the iPod-- with him. So I thought I would go to the apartment after he had gone out for the night and then tell his lady that he had my iPod and I needed to pick it up before I left Vienna in the morning. A flawless plan.
Except I hadn't considered who I was dealing with.
Because, you see, my plan was contingent on Axel being out for the night. The problem is that Axel admittedly has "three friends" from his two weeks in Vienna and Marvin had gone home that morning. So when I got to his place at 11:00 and knocked on the door, he answered it dressed like he had just gotten back from a fancy dinner. And, right behind him, his lady was dressed like she too had just gotten back from a fancy dinner. But of course.
So I asked him about the iPod, not really sure what I was hoping for, and he said he had given the iPod to Marvin who had taken it back to Budapest. Which was the end of that.
But I remembered what Osi had said about his friend, and so very casually I said "You gave Marvin my iPod? That was the choice you made? Watch out." And I left, as calm as could be, not really sure what that meant.
(And as I walked away, Axel screamed at me "That's the choice I made, you fucking no-thinker." That's really what he called me-- a fucking no-thinker.)
I was a mess of upset and tired at this point, but I didn't want to waste my first Friday night and risk getting back onto the Budapest track from my first weekend there. The Nigerian had said he was going to be at his girlfriend's place that night, so I figured I would go back and take a nap for an hour and then go out, since it was only midnight.
But the Nigerian was already home and in bed when I got back, and literally only five minutes later Osi came back too. I told Osi what happened and all he could do was laugh about the whole thing. That made me feel a bit better, to be honest, and I didn't really feel like setting my alarm and waking them both up, and I was already half-asleep in bed, so I figured that was the end of the night.
Another waste of a Friday. Sorry nothing else happened.
Friday, October 17, 2008
16 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
I woke up at 10:15, which is pretty late by hostel standards, but everyone else in the room was still sleeping. It only means that I was the first of four, but that's a bit more heartening than waking up last on your first day in a new city.
I went next door to talk to the woman who runs the hostel, and who had said we could store our stuff for the day. She said that the free storage was only for people who were coming back for another night. I asked how much a second night would be, and though it only would have been another €11 I was pretty confident I'd be able to find something better. So I talked her down to €3 for the day combined for my stuff and Marvin's and called it a win.
I met Axel at 12:15 to try to find employment at the University of Vienna. A girl he knows, Marie, said to find the "big board" that had listings of students looking for English help, and which she had used for a whole semester to get some extra cash.
Axel said he knew where the big board was, but after walking around for a while I asked him if he was sure. He said he was, the big board was by this one copy shop, but after walking around even longer we had still found nothing. So finally I asked him if he actually knew where the copy shop was, and he looked at a map of the campus and, I'm not kidding, traced his finger around the outline and said "somewhere here." I asked him if he was joking, and he said he had only been there once. Which I guess explained why he had thought he knew where it was.
I could not believe it.
We had literally spent three hours walking around trying to find the big board by the copy shop when Axel had no idea where the board OR the copy shop was located. Finally Axel said he had to go back to his place, and I was too frustrated to continue looking. I asked if I could move the stuff from the hostel to his place, and he agreed. So we walked back to the hostel and transported it all, with Axel carrying Marvin's bag.
Now, here is where I have to clarify about "Axel's place." He moved to Vienna from Germany a couple weeks earlier and has been staying with a woman he found on CouchSurfing.com, otherwise known as ICantDoItMyself.com. The woman, whom Axel calls "my lady," is 45 years old and gets dressed in front of Axel. Axel claims that she is wildly into him but that he isn't interested at all, but he says he "likes to take her out once in a while."
(And also, before I asked about storing our stuff for the night, I asked if Marvin and I could actually just crash at his place. He said there wasn't enough room, which was reasonable since he was, of course, already staying there himself.)
When we got to the apartment building I offered to bring my stuff up to the flat, since otherwise Axel would have had to carry all three things-- Marvin's bag, my pack, and my backpack-- by himself. He refused my offer because "she might be back," even though it was still an hour before he said she usually got home. Seemed a bit fishy, but whatever.
Before I left I asked him if I would be able to run upstairs when Marvin and I returned in order to change clothes before going out, and he handed me a plastic bag and told me "put your clothes in here and I'll bring the bag down when you come." I'm not kidding, this actually happened.
Finally, just trying to see how far he would take this, I asked if Marvin and I could bring some beer to the flat and then drink it in the apartment. Not a chance, he said that we would just drink it in the garage.
I asked him why he was being such a douche about this-- my words, in fact-- and he said that his lady would get mad if he brought people over. And, if she got mad, he wouldn't be able to crash there anymore.
I'll give him that-- she, of course, could kick him out whenever she felt like it-- but the woman is a host on CouchSurfing.com, for God's sake. She is a member of a website whose only purpose is to enable people (her) to help other people (Axel, Marvin, me) find a place to sleep. That's the only purpose for the entire freaking website. SHE LIKES TO MEET TRAVELERS AND HELP THEM OUT! How would this woman not be willing to let me and Marvin relax for a bit and have a beer and take a shower?
Something was VERY fishy.
Anyway, I went back to the University after this but, now that my stuff was stored for the night, I was feeling less of a need to find a couch since I could just find one at the bar. Marvin might be out of luck, since I was pretty confident he lacked the requisite social skills to find a couch himself, but I wasn't too concerned. At least, I was less concerned with that than with my e-mail.
(One of which was to the head-person of the English and History faculties, telling her I was a college graduate looking to spend some time in Vienna and hoping to be able to work as an assistant for a professor. I asked her to forward the e-mail to the English and History professors, so we'll see.)
I met Marvin at 6:00 and we picked up some beer for 64 cents per can and then headed to Axel's place. We were able to find our way pretty close to the flat but didn't know the final directions, so Marvin called to ask. Axel picked up and, according to Marvin, spoke practically in a whisper the entire time. He wouldn't tell Marvin the address but said he would meet us at a street corner near the place. Dodgy?
So we waited in the bus stop at the street corner for no less than half an hour before Axel came down. Carrying, I kid you not, my "changing bag." He actually brought it down, along with Marvin's bag. Just in case he wanted to change too, I guess.
Marvin asked if he could go up to shower and Axel said he couldn't because his lady was getting dressed. Marvin asked if he could shower after she left, and Axel begrudgingly agreed. Which was a bold move, because it meant he was locked in. If she was still there when we went up we would know something bogus was definitely up, although it didn't necessarily mean that she was actually there at the moment.
So Marvin and I waited in the bus stop for another half an hour, during which time we both agreed that Axel was acting incredibly bizarre and that the whole thing was suspicious as hell. Like you didn't realize that.
Finally Axel came down and said we could come up. I told him how absurd he was being, and was actually going off pretty bad because he was being such an idiot, and he said "I don't have to explain myself." Of course you don't, but you ARE being an idiot about it.
When we went upstairs Axel's lady really was gone, which means he at least passed half the test-- although, like I said, maybe she was never even there to begin with. Axel said she would be gone for an hour and Marvin said I could take the first shower, which I guess Axel hadn't been anticipating because he mumbled something under his breath and then said "Don't make me lose my couch." First of all, I don't take hour-long showers, so I didn't forsee it being a problem. But second of all, "if you lose the couch it's your own fault because you should have just told her we were coming up." I couldn't believe this guy.
Not only that, but Axel had said there wasn't any room for me and Marvin to crash. Really? There was not one but TWO couches. In the living room. With enough floor space for the entire hostel from the previous night to sleep there. I hated this guy.
Someway, somehow we managed to leave the apartment before Axel's lady came back and kicked him out-- thank goodness for that-- and we started walking to the bar. Along the way, as per the only thing he does in social situations, Marvin told me to talk to a girl we passed by. I did and got her to come to the bar with us.
Hell, the girl even bought us all a round, no thanks to the other two. Am I good or what?
And so it was me and the girl talking and Marvin and Axel huddled to their side of the table. I swear, these are the two most anti-social people I had ever met. I can't begin to explain it.
After a while I had to go to the bathroom but I couldn't leave the table for fear that Axel and Marvin would cock-block me. Worse than that, I couldn't leave the table for fear that Axel and Marvin would internationally cock-block me.
But I couldn't hold it forever, and when I came back from the bathroom the girl was talking to Marvin and Axel in German. As I feared. I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying, of course, but what I most definitely COULD understand was when she gave me a weird look, wrote down her e-mail address, said goodbye and left. Just like that. I'll never know what they said to her, but I'm guessing it was something like "I hope we can stay out all night but I might need to change my diaper soon. Do you think this place has clean ones somewhere?"
We left pretty soon after that because I couldn't believe I was sitting here with this two idiots and we tried to find a new bar. Axel had one particular bar in mind that he liked but forgot where it was so he asked someone, and when she started to tell him he literally took out a map and had her point out the directions. The night just kept getting better and better.
And so we would keep walking and I would keep talking to people and the Two Social Retards would keep waiting to the side for me to finish, and by this point it was almost like a game. And when we finally got the place, called Club Flex, we found a druggie bar with a €7 dance floor. Which, considering neither Axel nor Marvin are druggies or like to dance, indicated we were at not-so-good a place.
I suggested we try somewhere else and Axel got pissed. He said "nothing is good enough for you" and then, I swear to you, asked if I wanted to fuck him up. He actually said this. I said I just wanted to go to another bar. He said he would throw my stuff out when he got back to his place that night and, hopefully, it would still be there in the morning.
Oh?
To be honest, considering how much I disliked the guy this probably wasn't unexpected, but making that threat is inexcusable. He called me out for not finding a couch by that point, but I said that we had been out for all of an hour, had been in a bar for half an hour, and that in that time I had already gotten an e-mail address and talked to about half a dozen people. And he had taken out his map for directions.
I said he was the most anti-social person ever, he said he'd have more fun without me, I said he wouldn't even talk to people, he said he would burn my stuff.
Stop right there.
OK, now it was serious. Now I had to beat him back to his place, absolutely had to. So I got up and thanked Marvin for letting me crash at his place those few nights in Budapest. And here, to my complete surprise, he said that I had been a terrible guest. I asked him why he thought that and he said because I hadn't cleaned up after dinner the first night-- not true-- and I had used his soap in the shower-- guilty as charged. That didn't really seem like such a sin, to be honest, and I asked him what else. He said "That's not enough? You ate my cheese the night after the club, too."
I swear to you, this was what he said.
Now, of course, the whole thing was terribly absurd-- I mean, it had been pretty awkward with him at times but I thought for the most part it was alright for both of us-- but I didn't really have time to argue with him now. I left the bar and asked a girl for directions back to Axel's place, but she said it was a very long walk away and would take well over an hour. I definitely didn't have the time for that, since Axel and Marvin would call a cab. But I also didn't have any money because I had left it all at home in order to not get myself into a financial hole on only the second night.
I told the girl my predicament and, like Helen of Troy herself, gave me €10 for the cab. Wow.
So I beat them home by a decent amount of time and waited around outside for them to show up. After a little while it occured to me to try the door for the garage, and it opened. Then I tried the door for the building, and it too opened.
Now I was in, but I didn't know the apartment number. I was about to knock on what I thought was the right door, then, but at that exact moment I heard the downstairs door open and the sound of Axel and Marvin talking.
They were surprised to see me, that's for sure, but unforunately I hadn't successfully retrieved my stuff. They wouldn't be burning it, of course, but it was in their flat and Axel got it while Marvin blocked the door.
(And seriously, I couldn't believe just how much Marvin had turned on me. It was incomprehensible, it really was.)
Now, it's important to note that I owed Marvin €10 from the security deposit at the hostel. I had had every intention of paying him the money, of course, but when Axel came out with my stuff he said that Marvin owed him €10 and he wanted the money from me instead.
He then said that he had taken "something expensive" from my bag and would only give it back if I gave him the €10.
The thing is, first of all, I was not going to negotiate with this dude. He had literally and actually threatened to destroy everything that I owned, and I figured that since he wasn't able to light my stuff on fire he was just trying to get what he could from me instead. Like €10. I did a quick check of my stuff and found my wallet, my passport and my camera. I don't really have many gadgets, so I called his bluff. And left.
And only when I got outside did I realize I had forgotten about my iPod. I checked for that and realized he had taken it. But by this point it was too late. I went to sleep in the garage.
***********************
There is A LOT about these events.
1) First of all, and this is the thing, even if Axel had ended up being cheated out of €10, he would have deserved everything. Seriously, you don't threaten to SET FIRE to a backpacker's backpack because, guess what, that's my entire livelihood. That's it and that's everything. You don't fucking do that.
2) Axel should know better. I'm not going to call him a backpacker, because he's not anywhere even remotely close to that level, but he is traveling with his things and only has what he has. He should know better.
3) Axel doesn't deserve to be on CouchSurfing.com. I don't care if it is couch surfing for pussies, he needs to have his account deleted. You DON'T do that to a fellow couch-surfer-- especially one who's doing it the hard way.
4) I should have seen this coming. I mean, I really should have. Not because Axel was such a terrible guy during the day, but just because it was obvious every moment that I was with him that he didn't have a clue how to interact with people and would be prone to pull a stunt like this. I should have backed out when I had the chance.
5) I was pretty hurt by the accusations-- by "ungrateful" from Axel and "bad guest" from Marvin. The two often go hand-in-hand, but if I'm a bad guest because I use your soap or eat cheese when we get back from the bar, then you shouldn't have offered me a couch to sleep on. Because, guess what, I need a couch for a reason, and I need to shower as a fact of life. But calling me ungrateful hurt even worse, since that's the thing I try most to avoid. I always make a conscious effort to thank the people that put me up, or that get me food, or that hand me some money, and I do it the point that some of them find it off-putting. But I do everything that I can to make sure people know how grateful I am for their help, and it hurt to be called ungrateful, it really did. Even if I know that he was off-base with the accusation.
6) I have a tendency to be a condescending traveler, as evidenced by ICantDoItMyself.com and the way I always try to do things unconventionally. I'll admit that that isn't such a good thing, since everyone travels their own way, there's no "right" way to travel, and once in a while even I will have to veer from my traveling principals. And, mostly, everyone travels their own way. I need to remember that. The other thing is that I'm an arrogant traveler, but that's a necessity. You have to be arrogant if you're going to travel like I do, otherwise you're going to give up too easily and pay for a hostel at the first sign of difficulties. You have to KNOW you're going to find a couch, otherwise you never will.
7) 95% of couches are brilliant. 5% of couches steal your iPod.
8) Threatening to destroy someone's stuff is unacceptable when they've trusted you enough to leave their stuff at your place. I don't care how bad the person is, you tell them to leave first thing in the morning. Hell, you tell them they have to find somewhere else to sleep that night. But you DON'T threaten to destroy their pack. After all, that's a traveler's entire livelihood.
I went next door to talk to the woman who runs the hostel, and who had said we could store our stuff for the day. She said that the free storage was only for people who were coming back for another night. I asked how much a second night would be, and though it only would have been another €11 I was pretty confident I'd be able to find something better. So I talked her down to €3 for the day combined for my stuff and Marvin's and called it a win.
I met Axel at 12:15 to try to find employment at the University of Vienna. A girl he knows, Marie, said to find the "big board" that had listings of students looking for English help, and which she had used for a whole semester to get some extra cash.
Axel said he knew where the big board was, but after walking around for a while I asked him if he was sure. He said he was, the big board was by this one copy shop, but after walking around even longer we had still found nothing. So finally I asked him if he actually knew where the copy shop was, and he looked at a map of the campus and, I'm not kidding, traced his finger around the outline and said "somewhere here." I asked him if he was joking, and he said he had only been there once. Which I guess explained why he had thought he knew where it was.
I could not believe it.
We had literally spent three hours walking around trying to find the big board by the copy shop when Axel had no idea where the board OR the copy shop was located. Finally Axel said he had to go back to his place, and I was too frustrated to continue looking. I asked if I could move the stuff from the hostel to his place, and he agreed. So we walked back to the hostel and transported it all, with Axel carrying Marvin's bag.
Now, here is where I have to clarify about "Axel's place." He moved to Vienna from Germany a couple weeks earlier and has been staying with a woman he found on CouchSurfing.com, otherwise known as ICantDoItMyself.com. The woman, whom Axel calls "my lady," is 45 years old and gets dressed in front of Axel. Axel claims that she is wildly into him but that he isn't interested at all, but he says he "likes to take her out once in a while."
(And also, before I asked about storing our stuff for the night, I asked if Marvin and I could actually just crash at his place. He said there wasn't enough room, which was reasonable since he was, of course, already staying there himself.)
When we got to the apartment building I offered to bring my stuff up to the flat, since otherwise Axel would have had to carry all three things-- Marvin's bag, my pack, and my backpack-- by himself. He refused my offer because "she might be back," even though it was still an hour before he said she usually got home. Seemed a bit fishy, but whatever.
Before I left I asked him if I would be able to run upstairs when Marvin and I returned in order to change clothes before going out, and he handed me a plastic bag and told me "put your clothes in here and I'll bring the bag down when you come." I'm not kidding, this actually happened.
Finally, just trying to see how far he would take this, I asked if Marvin and I could bring some beer to the flat and then drink it in the apartment. Not a chance, he said that we would just drink it in the garage.
I asked him why he was being such a douche about this-- my words, in fact-- and he said that his lady would get mad if he brought people over. And, if she got mad, he wouldn't be able to crash there anymore.
I'll give him that-- she, of course, could kick him out whenever she felt like it-- but the woman is a host on CouchSurfing.com, for God's sake. She is a member of a website whose only purpose is to enable people (her) to help other people (Axel, Marvin, me) find a place to sleep. That's the only purpose for the entire freaking website. SHE LIKES TO MEET TRAVELERS AND HELP THEM OUT! How would this woman not be willing to let me and Marvin relax for a bit and have a beer and take a shower?
Something was VERY fishy.
Anyway, I went back to the University after this but, now that my stuff was stored for the night, I was feeling less of a need to find a couch since I could just find one at the bar. Marvin might be out of luck, since I was pretty confident he lacked the requisite social skills to find a couch himself, but I wasn't too concerned. At least, I was less concerned with that than with my e-mail.
(One of which was to the head-person of the English and History faculties, telling her I was a college graduate looking to spend some time in Vienna and hoping to be able to work as an assistant for a professor. I asked her to forward the e-mail to the English and History professors, so we'll see.)
I met Marvin at 6:00 and we picked up some beer for 64 cents per can and then headed to Axel's place. We were able to find our way pretty close to the flat but didn't know the final directions, so Marvin called to ask. Axel picked up and, according to Marvin, spoke practically in a whisper the entire time. He wouldn't tell Marvin the address but said he would meet us at a street corner near the place. Dodgy?
So we waited in the bus stop at the street corner for no less than half an hour before Axel came down. Carrying, I kid you not, my "changing bag." He actually brought it down, along with Marvin's bag. Just in case he wanted to change too, I guess.
Marvin asked if he could go up to shower and Axel said he couldn't because his lady was getting dressed. Marvin asked if he could shower after she left, and Axel begrudgingly agreed. Which was a bold move, because it meant he was locked in. If she was still there when we went up we would know something bogus was definitely up, although it didn't necessarily mean that she was actually there at the moment.
So Marvin and I waited in the bus stop for another half an hour, during which time we both agreed that Axel was acting incredibly bizarre and that the whole thing was suspicious as hell. Like you didn't realize that.
Finally Axel came down and said we could come up. I told him how absurd he was being, and was actually going off pretty bad because he was being such an idiot, and he said "I don't have to explain myself." Of course you don't, but you ARE being an idiot about it.
When we went upstairs Axel's lady really was gone, which means he at least passed half the test-- although, like I said, maybe she was never even there to begin with. Axel said she would be gone for an hour and Marvin said I could take the first shower, which I guess Axel hadn't been anticipating because he mumbled something under his breath and then said "Don't make me lose my couch." First of all, I don't take hour-long showers, so I didn't forsee it being a problem. But second of all, "if you lose the couch it's your own fault because you should have just told her we were coming up." I couldn't believe this guy.
Not only that, but Axel had said there wasn't any room for me and Marvin to crash. Really? There was not one but TWO couches. In the living room. With enough floor space for the entire hostel from the previous night to sleep there. I hated this guy.
Someway, somehow we managed to leave the apartment before Axel's lady came back and kicked him out-- thank goodness for that-- and we started walking to the bar. Along the way, as per the only thing he does in social situations, Marvin told me to talk to a girl we passed by. I did and got her to come to the bar with us.
Hell, the girl even bought us all a round, no thanks to the other two. Am I good or what?
And so it was me and the girl talking and Marvin and Axel huddled to their side of the table. I swear, these are the two most anti-social people I had ever met. I can't begin to explain it.
After a while I had to go to the bathroom but I couldn't leave the table for fear that Axel and Marvin would cock-block me. Worse than that, I couldn't leave the table for fear that Axel and Marvin would internationally cock-block me.
But I couldn't hold it forever, and when I came back from the bathroom the girl was talking to Marvin and Axel in German. As I feared. I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying, of course, but what I most definitely COULD understand was when she gave me a weird look, wrote down her e-mail address, said goodbye and left. Just like that. I'll never know what they said to her, but I'm guessing it was something like "I hope we can stay out all night but I might need to change my diaper soon. Do you think this place has clean ones somewhere?"
We left pretty soon after that because I couldn't believe I was sitting here with this two idiots and we tried to find a new bar. Axel had one particular bar in mind that he liked but forgot where it was so he asked someone, and when she started to tell him he literally took out a map and had her point out the directions. The night just kept getting better and better.
And so we would keep walking and I would keep talking to people and the Two Social Retards would keep waiting to the side for me to finish, and by this point it was almost like a game. And when we finally got the place, called Club Flex, we found a druggie bar with a €7 dance floor. Which, considering neither Axel nor Marvin are druggies or like to dance, indicated we were at not-so-good a place.
I suggested we try somewhere else and Axel got pissed. He said "nothing is good enough for you" and then, I swear to you, asked if I wanted to fuck him up. He actually said this. I said I just wanted to go to another bar. He said he would throw my stuff out when he got back to his place that night and, hopefully, it would still be there in the morning.
Oh?
To be honest, considering how much I disliked the guy this probably wasn't unexpected, but making that threat is inexcusable. He called me out for not finding a couch by that point, but I said that we had been out for all of an hour, had been in a bar for half an hour, and that in that time I had already gotten an e-mail address and talked to about half a dozen people. And he had taken out his map for directions.
I said he was the most anti-social person ever, he said he'd have more fun without me, I said he wouldn't even talk to people, he said he would burn my stuff.
Stop right there.
OK, now it was serious. Now I had to beat him back to his place, absolutely had to. So I got up and thanked Marvin for letting me crash at his place those few nights in Budapest. And here, to my complete surprise, he said that I had been a terrible guest. I asked him why he thought that and he said because I hadn't cleaned up after dinner the first night-- not true-- and I had used his soap in the shower-- guilty as charged. That didn't really seem like such a sin, to be honest, and I asked him what else. He said "That's not enough? You ate my cheese the night after the club, too."
I swear to you, this was what he said.
Now, of course, the whole thing was terribly absurd-- I mean, it had been pretty awkward with him at times but I thought for the most part it was alright for both of us-- but I didn't really have time to argue with him now. I left the bar and asked a girl for directions back to Axel's place, but she said it was a very long walk away and would take well over an hour. I definitely didn't have the time for that, since Axel and Marvin would call a cab. But I also didn't have any money because I had left it all at home in order to not get myself into a financial hole on only the second night.
I told the girl my predicament and, like Helen of Troy herself, gave me €10 for the cab. Wow.
So I beat them home by a decent amount of time and waited around outside for them to show up. After a little while it occured to me to try the door for the garage, and it opened. Then I tried the door for the building, and it too opened.
Now I was in, but I didn't know the apartment number. I was about to knock on what I thought was the right door, then, but at that exact moment I heard the downstairs door open and the sound of Axel and Marvin talking.
They were surprised to see me, that's for sure, but unforunately I hadn't successfully retrieved my stuff. They wouldn't be burning it, of course, but it was in their flat and Axel got it while Marvin blocked the door.
(And seriously, I couldn't believe just how much Marvin had turned on me. It was incomprehensible, it really was.)
Now, it's important to note that I owed Marvin €10 from the security deposit at the hostel. I had had every intention of paying him the money, of course, but when Axel came out with my stuff he said that Marvin owed him €10 and he wanted the money from me instead.
He then said that he had taken "something expensive" from my bag and would only give it back if I gave him the €10.
The thing is, first of all, I was not going to negotiate with this dude. He had literally and actually threatened to destroy everything that I owned, and I figured that since he wasn't able to light my stuff on fire he was just trying to get what he could from me instead. Like €10. I did a quick check of my stuff and found my wallet, my passport and my camera. I don't really have many gadgets, so I called his bluff. And left.
And only when I got outside did I realize I had forgotten about my iPod. I checked for that and realized he had taken it. But by this point it was too late. I went to sleep in the garage.
***********************
There is A LOT about these events.
1) First of all, and this is the thing, even if Axel had ended up being cheated out of €10, he would have deserved everything. Seriously, you don't threaten to SET FIRE to a backpacker's backpack because, guess what, that's my entire livelihood. That's it and that's everything. You don't fucking do that.
2) Axel should know better. I'm not going to call him a backpacker, because he's not anywhere even remotely close to that level, but he is traveling with his things and only has what he has. He should know better.
3) Axel doesn't deserve to be on CouchSurfing.com. I don't care if it is couch surfing for pussies, he needs to have his account deleted. You DON'T do that to a fellow couch-surfer-- especially one who's doing it the hard way.
4) I should have seen this coming. I mean, I really should have. Not because Axel was such a terrible guy during the day, but just because it was obvious every moment that I was with him that he didn't have a clue how to interact with people and would be prone to pull a stunt like this. I should have backed out when I had the chance.
5) I was pretty hurt by the accusations-- by "ungrateful" from Axel and "bad guest" from Marvin. The two often go hand-in-hand, but if I'm a bad guest because I use your soap or eat cheese when we get back from the bar, then you shouldn't have offered me a couch to sleep on. Because, guess what, I need a couch for a reason, and I need to shower as a fact of life. But calling me ungrateful hurt even worse, since that's the thing I try most to avoid. I always make a conscious effort to thank the people that put me up, or that get me food, or that hand me some money, and I do it the point that some of them find it off-putting. But I do everything that I can to make sure people know how grateful I am for their help, and it hurt to be called ungrateful, it really did. Even if I know that he was off-base with the accusation.
6) I have a tendency to be a condescending traveler, as evidenced by ICantDoItMyself.com and the way I always try to do things unconventionally. I'll admit that that isn't such a good thing, since everyone travels their own way, there's no "right" way to travel, and once in a while even I will have to veer from my traveling principals. And, mostly, everyone travels their own way. I need to remember that. The other thing is that I'm an arrogant traveler, but that's a necessity. You have to be arrogant if you're going to travel like I do, otherwise you're going to give up too easily and pay for a hostel at the first sign of difficulties. You have to KNOW you're going to find a couch, otherwise you never will.
7) 95% of couches are brilliant. 5% of couches steal your iPod.
8) Threatening to destroy someone's stuff is unacceptable when they've trusted you enough to leave their stuff at your place. I don't care how bad the person is, you tell them to leave first thing in the morning. Hell, you tell them they have to find somewhere else to sleep that night. But you DON'T threaten to destroy their pack. After all, that's a traveler's entire livelihood.
15 October 2008: Vienna, Austria
I slept for a couple hours at Scott's place and then woke up climb Citadel again.
Yes, to climb it for a third time, but as I said before I had already done sunset and mid-day. All I needed was sunrise and I'd have the complete set.
Because the thing is, although watching the sun set from Citadel was probably the most breath-taking experience I had during my time in Budapest, there were three problems with it: 1) The neon-red "Budapest Bank" sign, which is the only physical flaw in the stunningly beautiful panorama. 2) There are blinding flood-lights at eye level from the highest spot, which I guess are for people climbing back down. 3) The sun sets the wrong way, since all the good stuff is to the east. When the sun is completely down it doesn't matter, but for the effect of the actual sunset this is a problem.
To solve the third problem, I decided to climb Citadel on my final morning in Budapest and watch the sunrise-- to watch what might even be the perfect sunrise, when you consider the view, the height, and the fact that you're in freakin' Budapest.
The thing about watching the sunrise from atop Citadel, though, is that in order to do so you need to climb Citadel before the sun rises. And this was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Not because I was scared for my safety, but because you have to cross the Danube River from the commercial side to the artistic side to get there. When you get to the bridge, you're leaving streets of regular-sized buildings, and the lights from the bridge are momentarily blinding. When your eyes adjust, you're not looking at regular-sized buildings anymore, you're looking across the river at a gigantic hill slowly emerging with a dark, ominous statue standing at the top. It's sort of like first seeing the iceberg emerge out of the dark from the deck of the Titanic. Only if the angel of death was standing on top of the iceberg, beckoning to you.
As if that's not bad enough, when you climb the hill and emerge from the trees at the top, you step out and the statue is standing directly overhead not more than 10 meters away. And it's just there, enormous and dark, like it was waiting for you because it knew you were coming. This was THE most terrifying experience of my life, and I'm not even joking.
Think I'm kidding? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberty_Statue_(Budapest)
Anyway, the view was absolutely wonderful, and it was probably the best possible way to say good-bye to Budapest-- and to remind Hungary that I had conquered it. But if you ever go to Budapest, you should make climbing Citadel the FIRST thing you do on your first morning. And, upon climbing Citadel, you should climb onto the railing so that the only thing higher than you in the entire city is the statue itself. I'm not sure there's a better possible way to say Welcome to Budapest.
And, if it's possible, don't even look across the river before the first morning. You can't possibly miss it when you set out to climb it, and then try to tell me you didn't almost come right back down when you emerged from the trees.
After climbing down I went back to my new favorite shop and got 150g of mystery meat and two rolls with my last 150ft-- or, to be exact, with 150 of my last 155ft, leaving a lonely 5ft coin in my pocket-- and then I hopped on a bus to Vienna for 2950ft. Less than $20. Unbelievable.
The curve-ball, however, is that I wasn't alone.
No, I was with Marvin, who wanted to come see the city as well. I had some reservations about this, obviously, since it's against my general principals to arrive at a city with someone else-- since I like to explore it initially on my own. But Marvin said he wouldn't have a reason to go otherwise, and he had certainly been a nice enough host. Plus, he said he would only stay for a couple days, so it wouldn't be terribly long. I thought about it, and I said what the hell.
So it was me and Marvin. And, in a sense, it was my third type of start to a country. Ireland had been just me in a hostel; Hungary had been with a friend, if you want to call David that, in a hotel; and Austria would be with a friend, and I'll call Marvin that, in a hostel. I thought it would be interesting to see how I handled it.
(As for the bus ride itself, it was practically empty so I took the whole back seat to myself. Which meant I paid $20 not merely to get to Vienna but to sleep on a couch on the way to Vienna. Nice.)
My first impression of Vienna, when we got there, was simply WOW. I thought it was the most beautiful city. But unfortunately I couldn't really dwell on that feeling at the time because it was around 8:00 and we needed to find a place to sleep for the night.
And the hostel search couldn't have been more frustrating. We walked all over the city trying to find a cheap hostel but everywhere was around €19 per night. Marvin eventually called his friend, who looked online and found a place with beds for €12, but when we got there it was full. I mean, we literally spent four hours walking around Vienna with our stuff before we found a place for €15. Which was pretty reasonable.
(Along the way we stopped off at the "tourist bar," which doubles as an information point. It wasn't really so helpful, but I asked if they were hiring and they said they weren't. It would have been a good job, as far as being fun and probably paying decently, but I think I would have hated the job, to be honest. At least, the people in it at this time were pretty obnoxious.)
(Also, the fact is that having Marvin probably saved me from going nuts while looking for the hostel, since he obviously speaks German. I really think I might have lost it had I been by myself on this first night, trying to find a cheap place to sleep.)
When we got to the hostel we relaxed for a bit, and as we hadn't eaten since that morning we raided the fridge. Actually, I shouldn't say that-- we simply made good use of "no name is fair game," which is the golden rule of hosteling. So if you're reading this and thinking about backpacking around Europe, that's all you need to know: No name is fair game. So put you're name on your food. At least when I'm around.
Marvin's friend Axel, the one who told us about the one hostel, had met up with us earlier, so the three of us headed to the bars at 1:00. Unfortunately, by the time we got there it was 2:00 and there wasn't much going on. Marvin and Axel wanted to leave, and at first I was going to go with them.
But then Marvin and Axel started making complicated plans about a time and place to meet the next day, and suddenly all the coordination just overwhelmed me-- it just felt that there was too much planning. I couldn't take it.
Because, although Marvin's German had been a big help in the hostel search, after Axel arrived and his hostel didn't work out the two of them became impossible. They couldn't agree on anything, which was bizarre since Axel wasn't even going to be staying at the hostel, and they kept losing track. I was screaming "Let me just pick one for God's sake!" but they kept arguing about it and it was driving me mad. It was just too much.
So I told them I would stick around the bar for a while. And they left and then, about an hour or so after, so did I.
***********************
1) I had stayed at the bar out of principal, which I will readily admit-- just to be back on my own and making my own plans, as I am used to when traveling. But what I'll also admit is that it was simply my own stupid pride that made me do so. Because the fact is that the bar really was pretty lame. I stayed for about an hour, but it was only as a means to reclaim my traveling independence. Which, like I said, is just a matter of my stupid pride. Once in a while I might need to "travel regular," so to speak, and I need to be OK with that. And, with practice, I will be.
2) I found my way home from the bar in the early morning hours, despite being by myself and being a little bit drunk and having never walked it before. Quite the change from Budapest-- hell, or even Pécs-- where I had been so lost trying to find my way around. That's a nice way to introduce yourself to a town.
3) Somewhere along the way I lost "The Adventures of Augie March." I can't begin to tell you how devastating that is. I mean, it's one thing to lose one of your favorite books-- and "Augie" is one of my top 5. But, more importantly, the reason I like the novel so much is not because of the novel itself as much as it is because I can absolutely and completely relate to Augie more than I can relate to any character in any other story. I mean, during this up-coming year, my whole life is going to be an adventure of Augie March. It really is. There's nothing more devastating than losing such a book-- and in such a situation as I am.
4) I recommend reading "The Adventures of Augie March" to anyone and ESPECIALLY to anyone who likes to travel or who has been thinking about traveling or who is restless or who has no idea what on earth they're doing tomorrow. I really, really do. But since I don't have the book anymore-- and it's killing me that I don't-- let me just impart on you all my favorite quote. Even though, as I had circled practically half the book, just one quote completely underscores what the novel means to me. Regardless,
"When do you plan on doing what it is you're going to do?"
"I wish I knew. But it seems to be one of those things you can't rush."
That's it. I mean, at this point in my life and at this point in my adventure, that's it. Anyone else?
Yes, to climb it for a third time, but as I said before I had already done sunset and mid-day. All I needed was sunrise and I'd have the complete set.
Because the thing is, although watching the sun set from Citadel was probably the most breath-taking experience I had during my time in Budapest, there were three problems with it: 1) The neon-red "Budapest Bank" sign, which is the only physical flaw in the stunningly beautiful panorama. 2) There are blinding flood-lights at eye level from the highest spot, which I guess are for people climbing back down. 3) The sun sets the wrong way, since all the good stuff is to the east. When the sun is completely down it doesn't matter, but for the effect of the actual sunset this is a problem.
To solve the third problem, I decided to climb Citadel on my final morning in Budapest and watch the sunrise-- to watch what might even be the perfect sunrise, when you consider the view, the height, and the fact that you're in freakin' Budapest.
The thing about watching the sunrise from atop Citadel, though, is that in order to do so you need to climb Citadel before the sun rises. And this was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Not because I was scared for my safety, but because you have to cross the Danube River from the commercial side to the artistic side to get there. When you get to the bridge, you're leaving streets of regular-sized buildings, and the lights from the bridge are momentarily blinding. When your eyes adjust, you're not looking at regular-sized buildings anymore, you're looking across the river at a gigantic hill slowly emerging with a dark, ominous statue standing at the top. It's sort of like first seeing the iceberg emerge out of the dark from the deck of the Titanic. Only if the angel of death was standing on top of the iceberg, beckoning to you.
As if that's not bad enough, when you climb the hill and emerge from the trees at the top, you step out and the statue is standing directly overhead not more than 10 meters away. And it's just there, enormous and dark, like it was waiting for you because it knew you were coming. This was THE most terrifying experience of my life, and I'm not even joking.
Think I'm kidding? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberty_Statue_(Budapest)
Anyway, the view was absolutely wonderful, and it was probably the best possible way to say good-bye to Budapest-- and to remind Hungary that I had conquered it. But if you ever go to Budapest, you should make climbing Citadel the FIRST thing you do on your first morning. And, upon climbing Citadel, you should climb onto the railing so that the only thing higher than you in the entire city is the statue itself. I'm not sure there's a better possible way to say Welcome to Budapest.
And, if it's possible, don't even look across the river before the first morning. You can't possibly miss it when you set out to climb it, and then try to tell me you didn't almost come right back down when you emerged from the trees.
After climbing down I went back to my new favorite shop and got 150g of mystery meat and two rolls with my last 150ft-- or, to be exact, with 150 of my last 155ft, leaving a lonely 5ft coin in my pocket-- and then I hopped on a bus to Vienna for 2950ft. Less than $20. Unbelievable.
The curve-ball, however, is that I wasn't alone.
No, I was with Marvin, who wanted to come see the city as well. I had some reservations about this, obviously, since it's against my general principals to arrive at a city with someone else-- since I like to explore it initially on my own. But Marvin said he wouldn't have a reason to go otherwise, and he had certainly been a nice enough host. Plus, he said he would only stay for a couple days, so it wouldn't be terribly long. I thought about it, and I said what the hell.
So it was me and Marvin. And, in a sense, it was my third type of start to a country. Ireland had been just me in a hostel; Hungary had been with a friend, if you want to call David that, in a hotel; and Austria would be with a friend, and I'll call Marvin that, in a hostel. I thought it would be interesting to see how I handled it.
(As for the bus ride itself, it was practically empty so I took the whole back seat to myself. Which meant I paid $20 not merely to get to Vienna but to sleep on a couch on the way to Vienna. Nice.)
My first impression of Vienna, when we got there, was simply WOW. I thought it was the most beautiful city. But unfortunately I couldn't really dwell on that feeling at the time because it was around 8:00 and we needed to find a place to sleep for the night.
And the hostel search couldn't have been more frustrating. We walked all over the city trying to find a cheap hostel but everywhere was around €19 per night. Marvin eventually called his friend, who looked online and found a place with beds for €12, but when we got there it was full. I mean, we literally spent four hours walking around Vienna with our stuff before we found a place for €15. Which was pretty reasonable.
(Along the way we stopped off at the "tourist bar," which doubles as an information point. It wasn't really so helpful, but I asked if they were hiring and they said they weren't. It would have been a good job, as far as being fun and probably paying decently, but I think I would have hated the job, to be honest. At least, the people in it at this time were pretty obnoxious.)
(Also, the fact is that having Marvin probably saved me from going nuts while looking for the hostel, since he obviously speaks German. I really think I might have lost it had I been by myself on this first night, trying to find a cheap place to sleep.)
When we got to the hostel we relaxed for a bit, and as we hadn't eaten since that morning we raided the fridge. Actually, I shouldn't say that-- we simply made good use of "no name is fair game," which is the golden rule of hosteling. So if you're reading this and thinking about backpacking around Europe, that's all you need to know: No name is fair game. So put you're name on your food. At least when I'm around.
Marvin's friend Axel, the one who told us about the one hostel, had met up with us earlier, so the three of us headed to the bars at 1:00. Unfortunately, by the time we got there it was 2:00 and there wasn't much going on. Marvin and Axel wanted to leave, and at first I was going to go with them.
But then Marvin and Axel started making complicated plans about a time and place to meet the next day, and suddenly all the coordination just overwhelmed me-- it just felt that there was too much planning. I couldn't take it.
Because, although Marvin's German had been a big help in the hostel search, after Axel arrived and his hostel didn't work out the two of them became impossible. They couldn't agree on anything, which was bizarre since Axel wasn't even going to be staying at the hostel, and they kept losing track. I was screaming "Let me just pick one for God's sake!" but they kept arguing about it and it was driving me mad. It was just too much.
So I told them I would stick around the bar for a while. And they left and then, about an hour or so after, so did I.
***********************
1) I had stayed at the bar out of principal, which I will readily admit-- just to be back on my own and making my own plans, as I am used to when traveling. But what I'll also admit is that it was simply my own stupid pride that made me do so. Because the fact is that the bar really was pretty lame. I stayed for about an hour, but it was only as a means to reclaim my traveling independence. Which, like I said, is just a matter of my stupid pride. Once in a while I might need to "travel regular," so to speak, and I need to be OK with that. And, with practice, I will be.
2) I found my way home from the bar in the early morning hours, despite being by myself and being a little bit drunk and having never walked it before. Quite the change from Budapest-- hell, or even Pécs-- where I had been so lost trying to find my way around. That's a nice way to introduce yourself to a town.
3) Somewhere along the way I lost "The Adventures of Augie March." I can't begin to tell you how devastating that is. I mean, it's one thing to lose one of your favorite books-- and "Augie" is one of my top 5. But, more importantly, the reason I like the novel so much is not because of the novel itself as much as it is because I can absolutely and completely relate to Augie more than I can relate to any character in any other story. I mean, during this up-coming year, my whole life is going to be an adventure of Augie March. It really is. There's nothing more devastating than losing such a book-- and in such a situation as I am.
4) I recommend reading "The Adventures of Augie March" to anyone and ESPECIALLY to anyone who likes to travel or who has been thinking about traveling or who is restless or who has no idea what on earth they're doing tomorrow. I really, really do. But since I don't have the book anymore-- and it's killing me that I don't-- let me just impart on you all my favorite quote. Even though, as I had circled practically half the book, just one quote completely underscores what the novel means to me. Regardless,
"When do you plan on doing what it is you're going to do?"
"I wish I knew. But it seems to be one of those things you can't rush."
That's it. I mean, at this point in my life and at this point in my adventure, that's it. Anyone else?
14 October 2008: Budapest, Hungary
I woke up early and thought I was at Marvin's place-- sorry, Greg's place. Except I didn't remember going back there the night before and, to be honest, had no idea where I was. This was the first time of the entire trip that I woke up and had forgotten where I was. To be honest, I'm surprised it hadn't happened sooner.
Anyway, I went back to sleep and when Juliana woke me up at 9:30 it all came back to me. She asked if I wanted to go with her to her university and I politely declined-- boy, did I ever.
I had run out of ham and cheese packages from Tesco, so for lunch I went to a shop and bought two rolls of bread and 150g of mystery meat for 150ft. And I realized that I had been doing it wrong the entire time-- you don't buy packaged meat, you just go to the deli and buy it there. Price per gram is cheaper that way, and it tastes better too. Even if you are buying mystery meat.
I meant for this to be my last day in Budapest and I had 1,900ft leftover, not including the price for my bus ticket the next day. I figured I could spend it on a final drunken, stupid night. Or I could spend it on gifts. I thought gifts would be a bit more productive.
(And I'm not going to make a generic joke about alcohol right here, since everyone is already thinking of one.)
I had seen some street vendors on the Buda side a day or two earlier and thought that would be a good place to start, although it took me a while to find it. I have to buy gifts for my mom and my two sisters, and while I wasn't going to get all three with 1,900ft-- about $13-- I thought I could get some nice stuff for two of them and it would still be pretty cheap.
I found a nice scarf for my one sister and a nice table cloth for my other sister-- who is married and likes things like table cloths-- but each cost 1,500ft. They were both at different stands, so I tried to haggle each down to 1,000ft, although the math majors out there might tell you that still wouldn't have been enough. Which is irrelevant, since neither seller bought.
At this point I took a walk up to Citadel, because there had been street vendors there too. I expected that the things there would be even more expensive, on account of Citadel being a tourist spot, and they were. But now I had climbed Citadel for the second of three time periods-- sunset and day-light. And sunset wins.
I went back to the first shops and found a different scarf, more like a shawl I guess, for 800ft. It wasn't as nice as the other scarf, but was green, which my sister likes, and is still pretty nice. I got the price down to 600ft, and now we were looking at it costing $4. I figured that would do.
Then I went back for the table cloth, which I really thought was a nice gift, and I paid 1,200ft for it. So I had paid 1,600ft instead of 2,300ft and was walking away with gifts for both of my sisters. Although I might need to add a little something to the shawl.
(When I was at the first shops the first time, I told one of the vendors that I needed a gift "for my sister" but that I didn't have much money. She pointed to some pins and said they were only 500ft. Not really a bargain, considering what I ended up buying, but what got me was that, after I said the gift was for my sister, she pointed almost directly to the pin that said "Angel in the Kitchen, Devil in the Bedroom." Oh hell no.)
I went back to Pest and found the same shop as before, where I bought two rolls and 150g of a new mystery meat for 200ft-- obviously I was splurging on my last day in town. I ate and walked around downtown for a bit. And I decided that, although Budapest in general is prettier at night, downtown Budapest is still nicer during the day. At least, when you're walking around at ground level in downtown Budapest. Just because of all the incredible buildings, since all you need to do is look up and-- like I've said-- you'll be amazed.
I went back to Greg's place and hung out for a bit, and then Greg went to some bar. I told him I would meet him there later but first I wanted to walk around a little more.
Specifically, I meant that I wanted to walk along Andrassy Street. Andrassy Street is the most famous street in all of Budapest and is on the World Heritage list, but I had spent quite some time on it and was completely underwhelmed. I thought I'd give it a shot at night, and so I walked the length of it.
And, well, I'm still completely underwhelmed. I mean, Heroes' Square is pretty cool at night-- it's a square with statues of the founders of the country, and so at night it's pretty creepy/eerie-- but the street itself is really just a street. Not a huge deal.
Anyway, I soon thereafter met up with Greg at a bar. Greg and three other Americans-- one of whom who is from Plymouth, Michigan, and another who goes to Michigan State. I'll tell you, it was the most cordial meeting between a Wolverine and a Spartan in the history of the two universities. Even if he did guarantee a State victory next week.
Now, this bar was pretty cool, but almost the minute that I got there they stood up and we went to Szimpla, where I had spent two nights before-- including the night of the Hobo Brawl-- and which was, besides Morrison's, probably THE erasmus bar.
As expected, we went to meet with a group of Portuguese and Italians-- which, though better than Americans, still meant there were no Hungarians. After a while everyone left except me, Greg, the other three Americans, and one of the Portuguese guys. And this is where things got messy between Scott the Spartan and the Portuguese guy.
The first argument was about sports. Scott said the greatest athlete of all time was Michael Jordan and the Portuguese guy said the greatest athlete of all time was Maradona. I personally agreed with the Portuguese guy, who said that Maradona was "magical," but Scott countered that MJ won six NBA championships while Maradona only won one World Cup-- and that the lone World Cup, furthermore, was "tainted by the 'Hand of God' goal."
What Scott, who was sort of a pompous asshole, failed to consider is that the NBA championship only involves American basketball teams while the World Cup involves the entire world-- and only occurs once every four years, not annually. I think he was losing the argument. And the Portuguese guy was getting pissed as hell.
(Then the other American-- not from Michigan-- chimed in with "If Pele was strength and Maradona was magical, then in Michael Jordan vs. Magic Johnson, who was strength and who was magic?" I HATED this guy.)
The second argument was about the Beatles. The Portuguese guy-- who claims to know "everything about the Beatles, don't challenge me"-- called Scott out on not knowing which guitarist played on which song. The conversation then turned to favorite song, and Scott said his least favorite was "Imagine" because it talks about forgetting God and "nothing to live for, nothing to die for."
Scott said that life is all about having something to live for and something to die for and that religion creates common bonds between people, which is what society relies on. The other American then said that identity politics and that sort of thing creates "others," which leads to unnecessary conflict. He then referenced Edward Said, whom Scott called "an asshole." And the American, my friends, flipped out.
This is where I completely lost them, since I've read Said but couldn't tell you more than two sentences about what he argues. These dudes were smart as hell-- although Scott had, in my opinion, gotten bitch-slapped in both arguments-- and it occured to me that either 1) I chose the wrong majors, or 2) I just didn't learn as much as I should have in my chosen fields. Sort of upsetting to think that those are the options, to be honest.
When the bar closed I went back to Scott's place, since the night was dead, and that was how I spent my final night in Hungary. I mean, it was a Tuesday-- what were you expecting?
***************************
1) The Portuguese dude was hilarious. At some point the American dude jokingly said he would take his shirt off at a party if the Portuguese guy asked him to-- you need the context for this, I'm sure, but I can't help you with it-- and the Portuguese guy said "I'll ask you when I want everyone to leave." This is only one example, but I just think it's so incredible when people can have such wit in their second language. And brilliant.
2) I didn't have a single forint for beer money, and this wasn't the kind of bar you can swipe a beer at-- least of all on Tuesday. The lesson is, no beer money = no bar fun. Remember that.
3) I wish I had hung out with more Hungarians while I was in Budapest. In Pécs that obviously wasn't a problem, and I had a blast, but the big city would have been more fun if I hadn't been in such a tight erasmus circle. Oh well.
Anyway, I went back to sleep and when Juliana woke me up at 9:30 it all came back to me. She asked if I wanted to go with her to her university and I politely declined-- boy, did I ever.
I had run out of ham and cheese packages from Tesco, so for lunch I went to a shop and bought two rolls of bread and 150g of mystery meat for 150ft. And I realized that I had been doing it wrong the entire time-- you don't buy packaged meat, you just go to the deli and buy it there. Price per gram is cheaper that way, and it tastes better too. Even if you are buying mystery meat.
I meant for this to be my last day in Budapest and I had 1,900ft leftover, not including the price for my bus ticket the next day. I figured I could spend it on a final drunken, stupid night. Or I could spend it on gifts. I thought gifts would be a bit more productive.
(And I'm not going to make a generic joke about alcohol right here, since everyone is already thinking of one.)
I had seen some street vendors on the Buda side a day or two earlier and thought that would be a good place to start, although it took me a while to find it. I have to buy gifts for my mom and my two sisters, and while I wasn't going to get all three with 1,900ft-- about $13-- I thought I could get some nice stuff for two of them and it would still be pretty cheap.
I found a nice scarf for my one sister and a nice table cloth for my other sister-- who is married and likes things like table cloths-- but each cost 1,500ft. They were both at different stands, so I tried to haggle each down to 1,000ft, although the math majors out there might tell you that still wouldn't have been enough. Which is irrelevant, since neither seller bought.
At this point I took a walk up to Citadel, because there had been street vendors there too. I expected that the things there would be even more expensive, on account of Citadel being a tourist spot, and they were. But now I had climbed Citadel for the second of three time periods-- sunset and day-light. And sunset wins.
I went back to the first shops and found a different scarf, more like a shawl I guess, for 800ft. It wasn't as nice as the other scarf, but was green, which my sister likes, and is still pretty nice. I got the price down to 600ft, and now we were looking at it costing $4. I figured that would do.
Then I went back for the table cloth, which I really thought was a nice gift, and I paid 1,200ft for it. So I had paid 1,600ft instead of 2,300ft and was walking away with gifts for both of my sisters. Although I might need to add a little something to the shawl.
(When I was at the first shops the first time, I told one of the vendors that I needed a gift "for my sister" but that I didn't have much money. She pointed to some pins and said they were only 500ft. Not really a bargain, considering what I ended up buying, but what got me was that, after I said the gift was for my sister, she pointed almost directly to the pin that said "Angel in the Kitchen, Devil in the Bedroom." Oh hell no.)
I went back to Pest and found the same shop as before, where I bought two rolls and 150g of a new mystery meat for 200ft-- obviously I was splurging on my last day in town. I ate and walked around downtown for a bit. And I decided that, although Budapest in general is prettier at night, downtown Budapest is still nicer during the day. At least, when you're walking around at ground level in downtown Budapest. Just because of all the incredible buildings, since all you need to do is look up and-- like I've said-- you'll be amazed.
I went back to Greg's place and hung out for a bit, and then Greg went to some bar. I told him I would meet him there later but first I wanted to walk around a little more.
Specifically, I meant that I wanted to walk along Andrassy Street. Andrassy Street is the most famous street in all of Budapest and is on the World Heritage list, but I had spent quite some time on it and was completely underwhelmed. I thought I'd give it a shot at night, and so I walked the length of it.
And, well, I'm still completely underwhelmed. I mean, Heroes' Square is pretty cool at night-- it's a square with statues of the founders of the country, and so at night it's pretty creepy/eerie-- but the street itself is really just a street. Not a huge deal.
Anyway, I soon thereafter met up with Greg at a bar. Greg and three other Americans-- one of whom who is from Plymouth, Michigan, and another who goes to Michigan State. I'll tell you, it was the most cordial meeting between a Wolverine and a Spartan in the history of the two universities. Even if he did guarantee a State victory next week.
Now, this bar was pretty cool, but almost the minute that I got there they stood up and we went to Szimpla, where I had spent two nights before-- including the night of the Hobo Brawl-- and which was, besides Morrison's, probably THE erasmus bar.
As expected, we went to meet with a group of Portuguese and Italians-- which, though better than Americans, still meant there were no Hungarians. After a while everyone left except me, Greg, the other three Americans, and one of the Portuguese guys. And this is where things got messy between Scott the Spartan and the Portuguese guy.
The first argument was about sports. Scott said the greatest athlete of all time was Michael Jordan and the Portuguese guy said the greatest athlete of all time was Maradona. I personally agreed with the Portuguese guy, who said that Maradona was "magical," but Scott countered that MJ won six NBA championships while Maradona only won one World Cup-- and that the lone World Cup, furthermore, was "tainted by the 'Hand of God' goal."
What Scott, who was sort of a pompous asshole, failed to consider is that the NBA championship only involves American basketball teams while the World Cup involves the entire world-- and only occurs once every four years, not annually. I think he was losing the argument. And the Portuguese guy was getting pissed as hell.
(Then the other American-- not from Michigan-- chimed in with "If Pele was strength and Maradona was magical, then in Michael Jordan vs. Magic Johnson, who was strength and who was magic?" I HATED this guy.)
The second argument was about the Beatles. The Portuguese guy-- who claims to know "everything about the Beatles, don't challenge me"-- called Scott out on not knowing which guitarist played on which song. The conversation then turned to favorite song, and Scott said his least favorite was "Imagine" because it talks about forgetting God and "nothing to live for, nothing to die for."
Scott said that life is all about having something to live for and something to die for and that religion creates common bonds between people, which is what society relies on. The other American then said that identity politics and that sort of thing creates "others," which leads to unnecessary conflict. He then referenced Edward Said, whom Scott called "an asshole." And the American, my friends, flipped out.
This is where I completely lost them, since I've read Said but couldn't tell you more than two sentences about what he argues. These dudes were smart as hell-- although Scott had, in my opinion, gotten bitch-slapped in both arguments-- and it occured to me that either 1) I chose the wrong majors, or 2) I just didn't learn as much as I should have in my chosen fields. Sort of upsetting to think that those are the options, to be honest.
When the bar closed I went back to Scott's place, since the night was dead, and that was how I spent my final night in Hungary. I mean, it was a Tuesday-- what were you expecting?
***************************
1) The Portuguese dude was hilarious. At some point the American dude jokingly said he would take his shirt off at a party if the Portuguese guy asked him to-- you need the context for this, I'm sure, but I can't help you with it-- and the Portuguese guy said "I'll ask you when I want everyone to leave." This is only one example, but I just think it's so incredible when people can have such wit in their second language. And brilliant.
2) I didn't have a single forint for beer money, and this wasn't the kind of bar you can swipe a beer at-- least of all on Tuesday. The lesson is, no beer money = no bar fun. Remember that.
3) I wish I had hung out with more Hungarians while I was in Budapest. In Pécs that obviously wasn't a problem, and I had a blast, but the big city would have been more fun if I hadn't been in such a tight erasmus circle. Oh well.
13 October 2008: Budapest, Hungary
After I fled the Hobo Brawl, I walked around for a bit to try to find another metro station. Yet even though they're everywhere in Budapest I couldn't find a single one. Maybe not such a bad thing, all things considered.
So I found a telephone booth. Or, rather, a telephone booth minus the telephone and minus the door-- so, essentially, a three-walled thing. I spent about an hour or so in my booth and may have slept because I was so tired but may have not because it was freezing. I really can't be sure.
The only thing I was sure of was the dirty looks from passers-by as they went by my booth. Now I know how demeaning it feels to be homeless. And when you add this to the terrorist-profiling on the plane, I was really running the gamut of new, minority experiences. Thanks, Europe!
At this first sign of busy life on the streets I left my booth and went to a coffee shop. I found a half-empty cup on one of the tables and sat down in front of it, where I enjoyed a few hours of sleep while "I finished my coffee."
When I went back to Marvin's place Greg had finally returned. Greg, the guy I met in Pécs, who was the only reason I was staying there to begin with. We had a friendly greeting, which I was nervous about since I didn't know if he had really and honestly meant for me to crash at his place. But he was íncredibly nice and seemed genuinely glad that I had found this place even though he wasn't around. Which is all you can ever ask for.
I had bought four rolls for 100ft, and I made myself two paninis-- trying to make another package of meat and cheese last for another day. Then I went with Greg to his university's library for a couple hours to use the free internet.
(By the way, if it seems like there have been a lot of posts recently, it's because I've had a lot of catching up to do. Back when I had been counting on working in the hostel, I had also been counting on 12-hour shifts in which to do all the internet whatevers I needed. So I didn't write any for about a week. Then I went to Pécs, where there was no free internet, and then I had a few day trips, where there was no internet at all. I'm still about a week behind, and though I'm in my new place I feel like I have to keep up with this. Two weeks is more than enough to see a place, so if it seems like I'm inside when I should be outside, I'm OK with that. I'll get around to everything anyway.)
After the library I went back to Marvin's place-- now officially "Greg's place"-- and took a nap for an hour in Greg's bed. Since he, of course, is always the gracious host. And since this was already an exhausted day on account of the phone booth, I wasn't in any rush to make it any more exhausting.
That night I went to karaokoe night at Morrison's with Greg, which he called "an erasmus bar." Erasmus, as I may have already mentioned at one point, is the foreign exchange program for most European universities-- and, as such, "an erasmus" bar is going to full of foreign exchange students. So what does that mean? You guessed it.
I am fully convinced that Morrison's is the most American bar in all of Budapest. At least, all the signs on the wall were in English and all the karaoke songs were American. Every single one.
I felt dumb as hell being there, I really did. That's how obnoxiously American this bar was.
Anyway, as far as the club, it was two rooms: one was a dance floor and one was a bar with karaoke. And the only difference between the two was that one had a karaoke screen. Both were absolutely packed and full of people dancing, and the karaoke music in the karaoke room was the same music heard on the dance floor. I mean, the karaoke room was for all intent and purpose just a glorified dance floor. No one had a mic and there was no stage, it was just people crammed like sardines and dancing and singing. As opposed to the other room, where people were simply crammed like sardines and dancing.
But boy did these erasums kids love their karaoke. No matter the song everyone in the karaoke room would have their eyes glued to the screen to sing, seriously, no matter the song. And the guys would read the words and sing and dance, but what I noticed is that, almost as a rule, girls are just stupid as hell when it comes to karaoke. They just get so stupid and serious about reading the screen and making sure they sing every word correctly-- at the sake of dancing or having fun. It's like they just don't want to miss even a single chance to show off their beautiful, mocking-bird voices. Please. Just smile once in a while.
The biggest hit of the night, though, was "The Final Countdown," for which everyone went bezerk. Of course, everyone also needed to read the screen for the entire song minus "it's the final countdown," and so I was practically a god to these people becuse I knew all the words to this song without even having to look. I was on top of the world.
Now, I met a cute red-headed girl named Juliana pretty early in the night, who was German but who only spoke English to her friends. Of course. We were hitting it off very well, but it was very clearly only along the friendship tip, and so when she left at 1:00 I had a decision to make. On the one hand, I could try to crash at her place, which would probably work but would like mean going home early and going to sleep. Or I could stick around and still probably find a couch and maybe find a little more.
Now, on any day of the week I'm going to choose the second option. But on this particular exception I took the safe route. I mean, for one, I had visions of the homeless guys in my head, and for two, since this was an erasmus bar there weren't any Hungarians at all. And hooking up with an American wasn't exactly going to make or break my time in Budapest.
So I took the safe route and asked Juliana if I could crash at her place. She offered her roommate's bed in a heartbeat, and we walked back. And wouldn't you know, we walked to the very same dorm that I had gone to with Neil and Laura way back during my first stint in Budapest. The very same one. It was fate.
So we went up to her room and I met her other roommate and Juliana gave me some bread and cheese while she went to the bathroom with the roommate. And when Juliana came back I was writing in my notebook, and she flipped out. I mean, flipped the fuck out. She looked at me writing and said "See, see, this is not going to work."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I followed her down to the front desk of the building, where she paid for a room for me to sleep in. I was abnormally confused about what was happening, but when the guy at the desk asked to see my passport I said I didn't have it on me-- a real shocker, I know-- and Juliana audibly gasped.
So I showed him my driver's liscence, which was good enough, and we walked back up towards my new room. And Juliana, who was trying to explain why she had freaked out when she saw me writing in my notebook, said "I mean, you don't even have identification." No, I don't even have my PASSPORT. Because I went to a bar. Scandalous.
Anyway, that was sort of and kind of weird as hell, and I have no idea what on earth triggered her freak out. All I know is that I probably should have stayed at the bar. Oh well, at least I was hobo-free.
And pretty funny that I did in fact end up spending a night at Neil's dorm. Though it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, I may add.
So I found a telephone booth. Or, rather, a telephone booth minus the telephone and minus the door-- so, essentially, a three-walled thing. I spent about an hour or so in my booth and may have slept because I was so tired but may have not because it was freezing. I really can't be sure.
The only thing I was sure of was the dirty looks from passers-by as they went by my booth. Now I know how demeaning it feels to be homeless. And when you add this to the terrorist-profiling on the plane, I was really running the gamut of new, minority experiences. Thanks, Europe!
At this first sign of busy life on the streets I left my booth and went to a coffee shop. I found a half-empty cup on one of the tables and sat down in front of it, where I enjoyed a few hours of sleep while "I finished my coffee."
When I went back to Marvin's place Greg had finally returned. Greg, the guy I met in Pécs, who was the only reason I was staying there to begin with. We had a friendly greeting, which I was nervous about since I didn't know if he had really and honestly meant for me to crash at his place. But he was íncredibly nice and seemed genuinely glad that I had found this place even though he wasn't around. Which is all you can ever ask for.
I had bought four rolls for 100ft, and I made myself two paninis-- trying to make another package of meat and cheese last for another day. Then I went with Greg to his university's library for a couple hours to use the free internet.
(By the way, if it seems like there have been a lot of posts recently, it's because I've had a lot of catching up to do. Back when I had been counting on working in the hostel, I had also been counting on 12-hour shifts in which to do all the internet whatevers I needed. So I didn't write any for about a week. Then I went to Pécs, where there was no free internet, and then I had a few day trips, where there was no internet at all. I'm still about a week behind, and though I'm in my new place I feel like I have to keep up with this. Two weeks is more than enough to see a place, so if it seems like I'm inside when I should be outside, I'm OK with that. I'll get around to everything anyway.)
After the library I went back to Marvin's place-- now officially "Greg's place"-- and took a nap for an hour in Greg's bed. Since he, of course, is always the gracious host. And since this was already an exhausted day on account of the phone booth, I wasn't in any rush to make it any more exhausting.
That night I went to karaokoe night at Morrison's with Greg, which he called "an erasmus bar." Erasmus, as I may have already mentioned at one point, is the foreign exchange program for most European universities-- and, as such, "an erasmus" bar is going to full of foreign exchange students. So what does that mean? You guessed it.
I am fully convinced that Morrison's is the most American bar in all of Budapest. At least, all the signs on the wall were in English and all the karaoke songs were American. Every single one.
I felt dumb as hell being there, I really did. That's how obnoxiously American this bar was.
Anyway, as far as the club, it was two rooms: one was a dance floor and one was a bar with karaoke. And the only difference between the two was that one had a karaoke screen. Both were absolutely packed and full of people dancing, and the karaoke music in the karaoke room was the same music heard on the dance floor. I mean, the karaoke room was for all intent and purpose just a glorified dance floor. No one had a mic and there was no stage, it was just people crammed like sardines and dancing and singing. As opposed to the other room, where people were simply crammed like sardines and dancing.
But boy did these erasums kids love their karaoke. No matter the song everyone in the karaoke room would have their eyes glued to the screen to sing, seriously, no matter the song. And the guys would read the words and sing and dance, but what I noticed is that, almost as a rule, girls are just stupid as hell when it comes to karaoke. They just get so stupid and serious about reading the screen and making sure they sing every word correctly-- at the sake of dancing or having fun. It's like they just don't want to miss even a single chance to show off their beautiful, mocking-bird voices. Please. Just smile once in a while.
The biggest hit of the night, though, was "The Final Countdown," for which everyone went bezerk. Of course, everyone also needed to read the screen for the entire song minus "it's the final countdown," and so I was practically a god to these people becuse I knew all the words to this song without even having to look. I was on top of the world.
Now, I met a cute red-headed girl named Juliana pretty early in the night, who was German but who only spoke English to her friends. Of course. We were hitting it off very well, but it was very clearly only along the friendship tip, and so when she left at 1:00 I had a decision to make. On the one hand, I could try to crash at her place, which would probably work but would like mean going home early and going to sleep. Or I could stick around and still probably find a couch and maybe find a little more.
Now, on any day of the week I'm going to choose the second option. But on this particular exception I took the safe route. I mean, for one, I had visions of the homeless guys in my head, and for two, since this was an erasmus bar there weren't any Hungarians at all. And hooking up with an American wasn't exactly going to make or break my time in Budapest.
So I took the safe route and asked Juliana if I could crash at her place. She offered her roommate's bed in a heartbeat, and we walked back. And wouldn't you know, we walked to the very same dorm that I had gone to with Neil and Laura way back during my first stint in Budapest. The very same one. It was fate.
So we went up to her room and I met her other roommate and Juliana gave me some bread and cheese while she went to the bathroom with the roommate. And when Juliana came back I was writing in my notebook, and she flipped out. I mean, flipped the fuck out. She looked at me writing and said "See, see, this is not going to work."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I followed her down to the front desk of the building, where she paid for a room for me to sleep in. I was abnormally confused about what was happening, but when the guy at the desk asked to see my passport I said I didn't have it on me-- a real shocker, I know-- and Juliana audibly gasped.
So I showed him my driver's liscence, which was good enough, and we walked back up towards my new room. And Juliana, who was trying to explain why she had freaked out when she saw me writing in my notebook, said "I mean, you don't even have identification." No, I don't even have my PASSPORT. Because I went to a bar. Scandalous.
Anyway, that was sort of and kind of weird as hell, and I have no idea what on earth triggered her freak out. All I know is that I probably should have stayed at the bar. Oh well, at least I was hobo-free.
And pretty funny that I did in fact end up spending a night at Neil's dorm. Though it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, I may add.
12 October 2008: Budapest, Hungary
When I woke up I made two ham and cheese paninis because I had decided to try to do one packet of each per day, rather than per meal. Maybe I've gone soft, who knows. But I thought it was enough to get me through until dinner.
I walked around Buda in the afternoon, which is the more artistic and bohemian side of the Danube while Pest is the more commercial. And, I have to say, I like Buda a lot more. It feels much older, probably by virtue of it not being the commercial side, but it also feels a lot more communisty-- the buildings are taller and the streets are wider and it just feels dark and foreign. I suppose those could also be reasons to like it less, but for me it had the desired effect. In addition, the trams on the Buda side are older and feel more like an Eastern European train, whereas the trams on the Pest side feel like you're on the monorail at Disney World.
When I went back to Marvin's place I asked if I could use his internet for a little while, and he said OK. When I sat down at his desk, though, the internet was open to a porn site. Now, it was just regular porn, so it didn't officially prove or disprove the gay theory, but seriously-- he didn't think about whether or not there was porn on his computer when he told me I could use it? He was in the other room at the time, thank God, because otherwise it would have been incredibly awkward. As it is, though, I decided to go to an internet cafe from that point on.
I had two more paninis for dinner, and asked Marvin if he still wanted to climb Citadel since he had mentioned before that he wanted to. He said he was still drunk, though-- the dude is the biggest light-weight in the world-- and so he passed.
Citadel itself is an old fortress atop a hill on the Buda side of Budapest and when people talk about "climbing Citadel," they mean climbing the hill. I had heard that climbing Citadel was one of the coolest things to do in Budapest, and that sunset is the nicest time to be at the top, so I figured I had to do it.
The walk up Citadel is pretty nice, but it's a mix of path, which I like, and steps, which I don't care so much for. Incredible views all the way up, though, which is always nice.
At the top of the hill is the fortress, which is pretty cool but has been turned into a huge tourist trap-- there are street vendors everywhere and restaurants and bars line the street. Once you get inside the fort, though, it's pretty old and historic and there's a cool exhibit of about eight panels that tell some of the history of Budapest. And they're in English, which means it's the most history I had learned during my entire time in the city.
However, the selling point of Citadel, of course, is the view. And the sunset. Which is absolutely spectacular. When the sun begins to set the view from the top is lovely enough, but at 6:00 the city lights turn on and it is just an incredible moment. And when the sun is finally completely down and it's just the moon and the city lights, it's like the city is practically glowing. It's unbelievable, and maybe the most breath-taking view in all of Europe. Really.
They say that Budapest is the most beautiful capital city in Europe, and while the architecture and buildings are definitely incredible I think that "most beautiful" might be a bit much during the day. But at night, from Citadel, then you really get it. It's the ultimate "wow, I'm in Budapest" moment. You can see Buda Castle, Parliament, St. Stephen's Basilica and the Chain Bridge, and they're all glowing. It's the closest thing to a Disney World fireworks display in all of Hungary-- making it, ahem, magical.
(That's two Disney World references in one post. Never saw that coming, did you?)
When I got back down from Citadel I walked around for three hours. This was my first time really walking around downtown Budapest at night, and boy do I wish I had done so earlier. I'm serious, at night there's no more beautiful place in the world. At least, not that I've been to. The night gives you a whole new appreciation for the city.
(I also tried to talk my way into a Sausage & Palenka Festival. It cost 1500ft and I tried to talk my way into it but failed. It wasn't a language problem, I just wasn't good enough. Go figure.)
I went back to Marvin's place for my final two ham and cheese paninis-- it lasted the whole day, I couldn't believe it-- and found that the Italian roommates had returned. They said that I couldn't sleep there again, which I had expected, but I left my stuff in the apartment for the night. Which, as you all know, is half the battle.
I went back to Szimpla, which is the tourist bar I had gone to during my first week in Budapest, because I figured I'd be able to find a place to crash easily. That was a good call because I was able to talk to just about everyone. But it was a bad call because, since it was a tourist bar, nearly everyone was staying in a hostel. And you can't really crash in someone's hostel.
At one point I started talking to this one Australian girl and I mentioned that I had climbed Citadel for the sunset but wanted to climb it again for the sunrise. Since I had no place to sleep that night I figured it was as good a chance as any to do so, and she said she wanted to come too. In a drunk way, yes, but also in a this-is-my-last-night-in-Budapest-and-that-sounds-nice way, since it was her last night in Budapest. Of course, during the course of the night she went back to the hostel with some Australian guy, and that was the end of that. Unfortunate, except she had the biggest mole you've ever seen on her right cheek. So I guess you have to give her something.
When the bar closed, I had been talking to some English dudes who were in Budapest for their buddy's bachelor party-- a "stag party." There were four of them, and two were really cool and one was lame, and the other really didn't care for me. They said I could crash at their place because they knew about a back door to the hostel that I could sneak into.
Unfortunately, it was a long walk back, which gave the dude who didn't care for me time to go on and on and on and on about "fucking American" and "American asshole" and just really being a dick. And, I mean, I don't really give a damn, I really don't, but he just wouldn't shut up about it. And it was driving me nuts. So finally I say "well, at least I'm not a dumb-shit fucking Brit."
He didn't like this. And neither, it turned out, did the lame friend.
I stopped to pee in an alley at one point because the walk was long as hell, and when I got back to the main road I saw them all running away. Hell no. This was NOT about to happen. So I took off sprinting and overtook them easily because they were rather drunk, and when I did the two who liked me were happy to see me. But the Dumb-Shit Fucking Brit and his lame friend were, well, pissed. So they all got into a cab and sped off.
Now it was 5:00 or so and I was, for all intent and purpose, homeless, since I couldn't go back to Marvin's and all the bars were closed and no one was even on the streets anymore. So what did I do? What all the homeless do-- I went into a metro station.
And wouldn't you know, there were five homeless dudes already there in that metro station. I sat down with them and one of them spoke some English. He asked if I was hungry and he passed me some potatos. A little while after I was holding myself and shivering because it was freezing, and he said he had an extra jacket. I put it on, and now I was fed and warm-ish and still drunk and exhausted, and the homeless guys were talking and I couldn't really understand a word. So I started to drift off to sleep.
And the next thing I know, the homeless guy who spoke English-- and who had been pretty nice and given me potatos and a jacket-- was on his feet and, the next thing I knew after that, he kicked me in the face. I mean, a full, wind-up-and-kick kick to the face. It laid me out and my glasses flew off my face, and I reached to get them and then stood up, and then the homeless dude horse-collared me to the ground.
(A horse-collar tackle is when, in football, a defensive player grabs a dude by the shoulder pads or the back of the collar and pulls him down from behind. I mean, this dude literally pulled me down from behind by my collar.)
(Also, during this time, the two police officers standing at the other end of the station gave me a real frowing look and shook their heads, like what could they do about it. Great.)
This guy, the one who spoke English, had literally been smiling at me a minute before he kicked me. I mean, I never saw it coming. NEVER.
So I booked it out of there. At this point Fight or Flight had taken over, as it does, and quickly thinking I decided that I could have taken the guy who spoke English, and I was pretty sure I could have taken a second one. But there were five of them and I didn't like my chances in a 5-on-1 Hobo Battle Royale. I really didn't.
Once I got outside I was thinking to myself, this dude had just kicked me in the face. I was pissed. So I walked back to the station and, from halfway down the stairs, started yelling out shit to these dudes, you know, "you're fucking homeless, guy!" and "bet you miss communism now!" Just shit, because, again, he had fucking kicked me in the face.
And you know what's funny? What's funny is that, although I had meant to be yelling this at the guy who kicked me, I didn't actually check to see if he was there. If I had, I might have been ready, but I hadn't. And so when he was right behind me and horse-collared me AGAIN, boy, I had no idea. And this time it was just me and him, and he had fallen down too, and looking back I could have given him a wicked shiner. But this time it wasn't even Flight or Flight, it was just get the fuck out of there. And so I did. And I found myself a phone booth and called it a night.
************************
Three points:
1) Remember when I was in Belfast and I told that one girl about how I might die on this adventure, and she kept going on about Americans always thinking they're going to die? Well, here I was, two inches from a kick to the face shattering my glasses and one false step from a fucking 5-on-1 Hobo Brawl. THAT is how I might die in Europe.
2) Let's be real here. I was homeless for the night, I was, but I don't look homeless. Of course not, I look like a pretty affluent dude. But the fact is, I had nowhere to sleep that night and needed a warm place to be just like the homeless dudes. The problem, though, is that when you can't explain yourself in this situation, the homeless dudes don't realize that you need a place to be, just like them, they just think you're a jerk who's hanging out because he has nothing better to do. That's the risk you run when you're homeless in a foreign country.
3) Don't eat someone's food if they're probably hungrier than you. It doesn't matter how hungry you might be, just don't do it. End of story.
I walked around Buda in the afternoon, which is the more artistic and bohemian side of the Danube while Pest is the more commercial. And, I have to say, I like Buda a lot more. It feels much older, probably by virtue of it not being the commercial side, but it also feels a lot more communisty-- the buildings are taller and the streets are wider and it just feels dark and foreign. I suppose those could also be reasons to like it less, but for me it had the desired effect. In addition, the trams on the Buda side are older and feel more like an Eastern European train, whereas the trams on the Pest side feel like you're on the monorail at Disney World.
When I went back to Marvin's place I asked if I could use his internet for a little while, and he said OK. When I sat down at his desk, though, the internet was open to a porn site. Now, it was just regular porn, so it didn't officially prove or disprove the gay theory, but seriously-- he didn't think about whether or not there was porn on his computer when he told me I could use it? He was in the other room at the time, thank God, because otherwise it would have been incredibly awkward. As it is, though, I decided to go to an internet cafe from that point on.
I had two more paninis for dinner, and asked Marvin if he still wanted to climb Citadel since he had mentioned before that he wanted to. He said he was still drunk, though-- the dude is the biggest light-weight in the world-- and so he passed.
Citadel itself is an old fortress atop a hill on the Buda side of Budapest and when people talk about "climbing Citadel," they mean climbing the hill. I had heard that climbing Citadel was one of the coolest things to do in Budapest, and that sunset is the nicest time to be at the top, so I figured I had to do it.
The walk up Citadel is pretty nice, but it's a mix of path, which I like, and steps, which I don't care so much for. Incredible views all the way up, though, which is always nice.
At the top of the hill is the fortress, which is pretty cool but has been turned into a huge tourist trap-- there are street vendors everywhere and restaurants and bars line the street. Once you get inside the fort, though, it's pretty old and historic and there's a cool exhibit of about eight panels that tell some of the history of Budapest. And they're in English, which means it's the most history I had learned during my entire time in the city.
However, the selling point of Citadel, of course, is the view. And the sunset. Which is absolutely spectacular. When the sun begins to set the view from the top is lovely enough, but at 6:00 the city lights turn on and it is just an incredible moment. And when the sun is finally completely down and it's just the moon and the city lights, it's like the city is practically glowing. It's unbelievable, and maybe the most breath-taking view in all of Europe. Really.
They say that Budapest is the most beautiful capital city in Europe, and while the architecture and buildings are definitely incredible I think that "most beautiful" might be a bit much during the day. But at night, from Citadel, then you really get it. It's the ultimate "wow, I'm in Budapest" moment. You can see Buda Castle, Parliament, St. Stephen's Basilica and the Chain Bridge, and they're all glowing. It's the closest thing to a Disney World fireworks display in all of Hungary-- making it, ahem, magical.
(That's two Disney World references in one post. Never saw that coming, did you?)
When I got back down from Citadel I walked around for three hours. This was my first time really walking around downtown Budapest at night, and boy do I wish I had done so earlier. I'm serious, at night there's no more beautiful place in the world. At least, not that I've been to. The night gives you a whole new appreciation for the city.
(I also tried to talk my way into a Sausage & Palenka Festival. It cost 1500ft and I tried to talk my way into it but failed. It wasn't a language problem, I just wasn't good enough. Go figure.)
I went back to Marvin's place for my final two ham and cheese paninis-- it lasted the whole day, I couldn't believe it-- and found that the Italian roommates had returned. They said that I couldn't sleep there again, which I had expected, but I left my stuff in the apartment for the night. Which, as you all know, is half the battle.
I went back to Szimpla, which is the tourist bar I had gone to during my first week in Budapest, because I figured I'd be able to find a place to crash easily. That was a good call because I was able to talk to just about everyone. But it was a bad call because, since it was a tourist bar, nearly everyone was staying in a hostel. And you can't really crash in someone's hostel.
At one point I started talking to this one Australian girl and I mentioned that I had climbed Citadel for the sunset but wanted to climb it again for the sunrise. Since I had no place to sleep that night I figured it was as good a chance as any to do so, and she said she wanted to come too. In a drunk way, yes, but also in a this-is-my-last-night-in-Budapest-and-that-sounds-nice way, since it was her last night in Budapest. Of course, during the course of the night she went back to the hostel with some Australian guy, and that was the end of that. Unfortunate, except she had the biggest mole you've ever seen on her right cheek. So I guess you have to give her something.
When the bar closed, I had been talking to some English dudes who were in Budapest for their buddy's bachelor party-- a "stag party." There were four of them, and two were really cool and one was lame, and the other really didn't care for me. They said I could crash at their place because they knew about a back door to the hostel that I could sneak into.
Unfortunately, it was a long walk back, which gave the dude who didn't care for me time to go on and on and on and on about "fucking American" and "American asshole" and just really being a dick. And, I mean, I don't really give a damn, I really don't, but he just wouldn't shut up about it. And it was driving me nuts. So finally I say "well, at least I'm not a dumb-shit fucking Brit."
He didn't like this. And neither, it turned out, did the lame friend.
I stopped to pee in an alley at one point because the walk was long as hell, and when I got back to the main road I saw them all running away. Hell no. This was NOT about to happen. So I took off sprinting and overtook them easily because they were rather drunk, and when I did the two who liked me were happy to see me. But the Dumb-Shit Fucking Brit and his lame friend were, well, pissed. So they all got into a cab and sped off.
Now it was 5:00 or so and I was, for all intent and purpose, homeless, since I couldn't go back to Marvin's and all the bars were closed and no one was even on the streets anymore. So what did I do? What all the homeless do-- I went into a metro station.
And wouldn't you know, there were five homeless dudes already there in that metro station. I sat down with them and one of them spoke some English. He asked if I was hungry and he passed me some potatos. A little while after I was holding myself and shivering because it was freezing, and he said he had an extra jacket. I put it on, and now I was fed and warm-ish and still drunk and exhausted, and the homeless guys were talking and I couldn't really understand a word. So I started to drift off to sleep.
And the next thing I know, the homeless guy who spoke English-- and who had been pretty nice and given me potatos and a jacket-- was on his feet and, the next thing I knew after that, he kicked me in the face. I mean, a full, wind-up-and-kick kick to the face. It laid me out and my glasses flew off my face, and I reached to get them and then stood up, and then the homeless dude horse-collared me to the ground.
(A horse-collar tackle is when, in football, a defensive player grabs a dude by the shoulder pads or the back of the collar and pulls him down from behind. I mean, this dude literally pulled me down from behind by my collar.)
(Also, during this time, the two police officers standing at the other end of the station gave me a real frowing look and shook their heads, like what could they do about it. Great.)
This guy, the one who spoke English, had literally been smiling at me a minute before he kicked me. I mean, I never saw it coming. NEVER.
So I booked it out of there. At this point Fight or Flight had taken over, as it does, and quickly thinking I decided that I could have taken the guy who spoke English, and I was pretty sure I could have taken a second one. But there were five of them and I didn't like my chances in a 5-on-1 Hobo Battle Royale. I really didn't.
Once I got outside I was thinking to myself, this dude had just kicked me in the face. I was pissed. So I walked back to the station and, from halfway down the stairs, started yelling out shit to these dudes, you know, "you're fucking homeless, guy!" and "bet you miss communism now!" Just shit, because, again, he had fucking kicked me in the face.
And you know what's funny? What's funny is that, although I had meant to be yelling this at the guy who kicked me, I didn't actually check to see if he was there. If I had, I might have been ready, but I hadn't. And so when he was right behind me and horse-collared me AGAIN, boy, I had no idea. And this time it was just me and him, and he had fallen down too, and looking back I could have given him a wicked shiner. But this time it wasn't even Flight or Flight, it was just get the fuck out of there. And so I did. And I found myself a phone booth and called it a night.
************************
Three points:
1) Remember when I was in Belfast and I told that one girl about how I might die on this adventure, and she kept going on about Americans always thinking they're going to die? Well, here I was, two inches from a kick to the face shattering my glasses and one false step from a fucking 5-on-1 Hobo Brawl. THAT is how I might die in Europe.
2) Let's be real here. I was homeless for the night, I was, but I don't look homeless. Of course not, I look like a pretty affluent dude. But the fact is, I had nowhere to sleep that night and needed a warm place to be just like the homeless dudes. The problem, though, is that when you can't explain yourself in this situation, the homeless dudes don't realize that you need a place to be, just like them, they just think you're a jerk who's hanging out because he has nothing better to do. That's the risk you run when you're homeless in a foreign country.
3) Don't eat someone's food if they're probably hungrier than you. It doesn't matter how hungry you might be, just don't do it. End of story.
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