Memory Lane, all covered in snow

Of course now I am all wrapped up in the business of looking at old pictures. Here is a look at how much snow there was on the ground already on this day in Kraków. And in Chicago, nothing more that a few minute-long flurries.

*sigh*

Budapeshhhhht: Many large men in many tiny swimsuits

Budapest is magic. Imagine soaking in outdoor thermal baths under a nearly full moon. Imagine a place that goes from 50 degrees and sunny to blowing snow from one side of a castle to the other. Imagine a golden sunset view of a city sprawling across the rolling hills of the Carpathian basin cut in half by the Danube. Imagining won't get you close to the deliriously delicious chocolate and ice cream. And last but not least, imagine a place where Támas is actually on time to meet you. ;) Such is my impression of Hungary. And until next time, only an impression it must remain. 72 hours is not nearly enough time to sink your teeth into this mysterious, romantic, and deeply historical place.

Never before in my life had I ever considered traveling to Budapest, so here is how the scenario came to be: with the dozens of Hungarians that go to my school here in Kraków, I have made friends with some of them. Of course you from know from previous posts that Tomi and I pretty close, and if anyone could be a walking tourism bureau, it would be him. This guy, the son of a travel agent, is a certified tour guide in Hungary, and he'll never miss an opportunity to invite you to his favorite city. Back in November for my birthday, I was presented with a certificate for a "Free Walking Tour of Budapest, (valid only in March 2008)". So with a few days of Easter vacation (plus one because I am a bad student who never goes to class anymore), and a $20 bus ticket, I headed south.

There was, of course, the pressure to squeeze in such a trip before Tom left for Germany, but there was also another reason that made all the train and bus travel worth it -- ice cream. OK, I am not so shallow as to only be motivated by sweets. Another friend of mine, Péter, was going to be home. The Hungarian countryside was a nice contrast to the hustle and bustle of the city, and time spent with Péter is always time well spent. Getting to him involved me buying my first -and most likely only- ticket in Hungarian. (I may have accidentally bought two, but I can't tell...) I spent the morning in the picturesque town of Kecskemét and, despite the language barrier, a most enjoyable afternoon in Péter's home with his generous and good-natured parents. Now you may be asking, where are the sweets? Péter's family owns an ice cream parlor in a small resort town maybe 100 km from the capitol, hence ice cream. And did I also mention chocolate? ;)

Back to Budapest. The architecture and city planning are at times astounding. It might be the place with the most statues and monuments per capita that I have ever visited. But what really struck me was the contradictions I felt in having to remind myself that I was in still in Europe while surrounded by decidedly non-European language. The city has the look of another Vienna, but it's soul is decidedly its own.

And I suppose I can't finish this post without explaining the allusions to Europeans in Speedos in the title. With the concurrence of Tom's mother, I left their house in the morning with the intention of finishing the day relaxing at the famous Széchenyi Baths. First I needed a suit. Sure you could rent one there, but Tom's mother insisted I check out a cheap clothing store just down the street from their house. There, her and I mixed and matched suits and underwear, bottoms and tops until I found an acceptable combination. She even walked in on me in the dressing room to offer her observations like a true mother. With a bra and little boy's red speedo-like bottom in my bag, I was ready to hit the town.

I am so glad I allowed myself to be convinced to go to the baths. I arrived to observe my favorite time of day, where the sun's waining light cast golden hues on the clouds and on the already yellow building. The warm water outdoors evaporated into visible wisps of steam in the chilly spring air. Jumping from sweltering sauna to a 10º C pool (5oº F) was invigorating. And I felt no trace of self-consciousness with my makeshift bathing suit because, like I said, based on some other choices of swimwear among locals and tourists alike, let's just say that no one was lacking a healthy body image.

Relaxed, well-fed, and blessed via a Good Friday service (my first, and most likely only in Hungarian), I reluctantly headed back to Poland. The Rudniks would be waiting for me! But first I had to pass through the mountainous Slovakian landscape. Contemplating the snowy peaks and the villages below (between catnaps because I was up at 4:45 that morning!) I couldn't help but think again that this trip was pure magic.

Dreaming of a White November

Krakow is one giant snowball. I know it is all fun and beauty now, but check back in a month or so and I'll let you know if I am still in love with this city. (Although, I think all signs look favorable...) Here are some more thoughts on how I am adjusting to the skies being either white with snow and clouds during the day or pitch black thanks to the 3 pm sunset.

It has been lightly snowing everyday for about the last week or more, but near to a foot of snow fell in about 12 hours yesterday. It was the light, fluffy stuff good for making snow angels, but that didn't stop a band of boys from the rival dorm across the street to come over and pelt Piast with a barrage of fluffy snowballs. Retaliation is in the planning stages, but those are the intimidatingly well-built students from the environmental engineering university. I don't think that a bunch of foreigners interested in poli sci and philology have much of a chance. "Hey guys, wait! - that is my good pocket protector! I'm staying out of this. Have I mentioned that I am part Swiss?"


For Luke:
Tom was out with his father, who was visiting Poland, but called me and told me to meet him in the Rynek so we could appreciate the Market Square dressed in its new winter glory. I had a peaceful walk to the tram stop. It was about 10 pm, so there weren't too many people at the stop. The air was all peaceful. However the entire time I had to keep brushing off the snow that stuck to my wool coat and stomping the snow off my boots. Eventually, with the impending arrival of the number 4, the stop attracted a few more people. The tram pulled up, everyone brushed themselves off one more time, and just before stepping into the train the group of guys in front of me took a moment to hit their shoes against the edge of the vehicle to break loose some stubborn snow. I smiled to myself at this because it reminded me of every winter day of my childhood when my father would say to Peter and I, "Click off your shoes to get into the car." I always treated that request as one of my dad's cleanliness-obsessed idiosyncrasies, and I would just roll my eyes when I heard it for the 1000th time. Those Polish guys last night and their snow-removing practicality was a reassuring sight. I felt at home.


For anyone else who is interested:
I can never stop from laughing at the people who use umbrellas for the snow. It's like, "Nice try, people, but snow has a tendency to swirl around and avoid that feeble nylon coverage. And you actually look kind of ridiculous."

I think this will be the fifth year in a row where I am living though in fierce winter weather without having to responsible for shoveling - yesssss. One point for me!

What's one stereotype about how the Slavs get through these subzero months? Of course with a little drink. I guess we officially welcomed in the start of the Polish winter when, while at a friend's dorm in Zaczek, her Russian neighbors came by and hospitably offered us some of their homemade honey lemon vodka. (I didn't think it was so bad, but one of my friends failed to show up at class the following morning as a result.) Having a glass of Russian/Polish moonshine in Krakow? Check. List of lifelong goals now only half as long.

Save the Red Shoes!

I've got a small bit of bad news. I don't think my red Danskos are going to make it through the winter. Over the last few days, with this crappy fall rain, I have been finding myself consistently unable to walk from the tram stop to my school without ending up with two puddles of water instead of feet. I thought Danskos were supposed to be indestructible!

Please feel free to offer any suggestions (aside from the obvious "Duh, buy some new shoes") here.

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Snow. Snow is better than rain for the simple fact that is is less wet. (Maybe I can live with my imperfect red shoes a little bit longer.)



I mention this because today was the first day where we had snow in Kraków that actually stuck to the ground. However, the morning broke with a lot of sunshine. I stepped out into our refrigerator –in reality, a corner of our balcony– for some orange juice for my breakfast, and it was a gorgeous day! I decided in that moment that I would go down for a jog in a nearby park.

Every experience I have had jogging in this part of town has been wonderful. It's like a sight-seeing tour on warp speed. I have stumbled upon a beautiful garden within a park or just spun around the same path a few time to soak in the intense yellow of the trees in their fall brilliance. I can orientate myself a bit better AND I have to do something to counteract all the spoonfuls of Nutella that I eat directly out of the jar...

So this morning, I put on my sweatpants and my super space-age fabric hoodie with thumbholes cut out of the sleeves, and I was ready to go. I got outside and thought, "this isn't so bad." I got as far as the stoplight on my corner when it started to flurry. Still, I thought, "this isn't so bad." The weather still felt warm-ish, and the sun was still shining. There was a little competition for little kids and their toy airplanes on the big green. I made it down the first straightaway of the 3 or 4 K ring around the park, with the Kopiec Kosciuszko at my back, and I no sooner turned the corner than the wind decided to blow completely parallel to the ground and into my face. The snow flurries were now small collections of ice balls. I finally thought, "this is pretty bad. I must be crazy." Still, there was something thrilling about facing those elements and having giant snowflakes land on my tongue as if I were a child trying to excitedly catch them there.

But when all was said and done, I made it back home almost completely dry. I showered, fixed myself a big bowl of tomato soup, and of course now I'm back to eating more Nutella straight out of the jar.