Do You Want to Sleep in the Danube?
"Do you want to sleep in the Danube." The Danube is the major river splitting the former cities of Buda and Pest and running briskly through the metropolis currently known as Budapest. You do not want to sleep there.
Eastern Europe. Krakow. Budapest. Head west to Munich. Bad news from yesterday.
I will get to that in a moment. First the good news. When we spoke last yours truly was living the good life in Prague and making plans to head east to Poland. Took the night train into Krakow. Three rowdy Poles accompanied us in our cabinas we took turns sleeping to watch the gear. Backpacker ghost stories of gassed cabins had us restless.
Made itinto the city at 6 am. Cold and damp. No sun yet. The first couple of hours in a new city are always the roughest. All of your shit piled on your back and worn out from the road. The challenge is quite liberating, however. It is frustrating not to speak the language and be forced into the Archetype Asshole American pattern of speaking English and only English to get anything accomplished.
A hostel hustler greeted us at the train station. He arranged a cab to the joint and everything. We found later that this practice was quite common. The hostel was in a building just outside the city center that used to house a KGB interrogation room. The scene there was nice because of the 100,000 university students in the city.
Toured castles -Krakow was not entirely decimated in ww2- so a great deal of Medieval and Neo-Classical landmarks still remain within the city. Second day we went to Auschwicz. Profound. My words do scant justice to what I saw there. Walking into the gas chambers was more difficult than I could have imagined.
Germans have a tough time visiting these places. Israelis have it tougher. Maybe that is why they bring their flag with them. For protection. Hung out with a German busker - term for street musician - and learned quite a bit about mysef from his outlook onlife. His grandfather died in ww2. Grandmother never gave him up for dead, and thus never collected the pension. This personable delightful man was the grandson of a Nazi soldier. He enjoyed being a street musician. Being German, he had health insurance in this profession.
Krakow is a great city. The Poles get a bad rap what with all of the jokes and all. In the end they have the last laugh as the women in Poland are absolutely beautiful. Heard the Friends theme music played in a dance club, kind of offputting, but the girls there seemed to get a kick out of it. If you are interested with this information. "I am not interested with you" means "I don't want to talk to you anymore. Go away you American swine."
Took a train to Budapest from Krakow. Budapest is huge financial center. Grabbed capitalism by the horns and went for the ride. The effects of this economic system on Eastern European countries over the past decade have been amazing. There is a fucking McD and KFC on every other corner. It is almost as if the oily bastards were lined up on the border as the wall came down waiting to pounce. It reminds me of the Jim Crow system employed in the states after the abolition of slavery.
You would not believe the number of Che Guevara t-shirts floating around everywhere. He has become a pop culture icon and little more. Unfortunate. The fashionistas have latched on to one photograph of a man that represents none of his teachings and turned it into a logo. Much like the wings of the victory goddess Nike the image of Ernesto "Che" Guevara has been hijacked by the consumer propaganda mill.
Went to natural spring bath house in Budapest. Like Narnia: truly a hilight of my travels. Natural hot springs the size of Olympic pools. Hot mentholated saunas. Ice cold baths to follow. Stayed in a pretty rowdy hostel on a mattress in the attic. Toured more castles and cathedrals. I have been to so many damn cathedrals they are all starting to run together in my melon. nToured castles -Krakow was notentirely decimated in ww2- so a great deal of Medieval and Neo-Classical landmarks still remain within the city.
Sammy is on some type of search for all women foreign. After a long night of getting pissed at the pub we were walking back to the Travelers Guest House Hostel when we were accosted by an attractive woman in her late thirties. She hustled us into the strip club for a bargain price: five bucks plus one beer. Sold.
The evening proceeds in standard strip club fashion. This visit differs only in that the ladies offer complimentary drinks and lap dances. Maybe it is because we are so handsome and so very foreign. As it was complimentary I accepted.
Cut to five minutes later. We sip on the complimentary Champagne and make small talk with the naked young ladies at our table as we are visited by a tall and burly sort with a goatee who we later find to be of Serbian origin. He presents us with a handwritten check for the equivalent of 150 dollars. This, my friends, was not Score's.
A heated debate ensued between Sammy myself and the giant Serbian. Tempers rose as we ademately claimed that we were being swindled. He claimed he was getting robbed. The naked girls sat there watching the entire thing unfold. Naked. I was wearing a fleece. The Serbian bouncer wore a suit.
A glass was knocked off of the table in the heat of the conversation. I avoid physical confrontation at all cost. One could not avoid sizing up the match up when placed in this situation. Remember the "Fight or Flight" chapter from psychology class.
"Do you know how things are done in Russia?" Asked the Serbian.
"No. I have never been to Russia." Was my response.
"Have you heard of Serbia? That is where I come from."
Silence.
"Do you want to sleep in the Danube tonight?"
I believe that he was threatening to kill us over a nonexistent scam tab. He was becoming less convincing as a gangtster and more convincing as a schmuck.
Sammy and I both threw a little money from our wallets onto the table and brushed past the naked girls towards the bar. Here we are stopped by two men in their late fifties wearing suits with white hankerchiefs in the front pockets. We were asked to follow them into a back room to settle the remainder of the tab: this is the part of the Martin Scorcesse movie where the Do-op blares and the protagonist runs.
We fled like deer. Past the Mafioso types. Past the burly Serbian and past his even burlier henchmen guarding the door - the wrong side of the door I might add - and onto the street. I never liked strip clubs. This was no exception.
I find myself in Munich at the present. Last night I muched on a huge plate of saurbraten with the best sauerkraut and potato salad one could lay taste buds upon. We didn't have accommodations lined up for Munich, so I ended up sleeping on the floor of the train station. Opening weekend of Oktoberfest and rooms are hard to come by. The cops were cool with it, and came by to politely wake you upat 6 am. A nice service they provide.
Now the bad news. My camera was lost last evening with 2 tapes in the bag - including all of my footage from Eastern Europe. Got split up with Sammy, and he has our metro pass. I am stranded and it is really hard not to get down right now. After just over a month on the road I have managed to fumble my camera. When will finally learn. Sorry to end on such a downer. Amazing highs are only enabled by the depths of despair.
Until next time,
AJM.
Eastern Europe. Krakow. Budapest. Head west to Munich. Bad news from yesterday.
I will get to that in a moment. First the good news. When we spoke last yours truly was living the good life in Prague and making plans to head east to Poland. Took the night train into Krakow. Three rowdy Poles accompanied us in our cabinas we took turns sleeping to watch the gear. Backpacker ghost stories of gassed cabins had us restless.
Made itinto the city at 6 am. Cold and damp. No sun yet. The first couple of hours in a new city are always the roughest. All of your shit piled on your back and worn out from the road. The challenge is quite liberating, however. It is frustrating not to speak the language and be forced into the Archetype Asshole American pattern of speaking English and only English to get anything accomplished.
A hostel hustler greeted us at the train station. He arranged a cab to the joint and everything. We found later that this practice was quite common. The hostel was in a building just outside the city center that used to house a KGB interrogation room. The scene there was nice because of the 100,000 university students in the city.
Toured castles -Krakow was not entirely decimated in ww2- so a great deal of Medieval and Neo-Classical landmarks still remain within the city. Second day we went to Auschwicz. Profound. My words do scant justice to what I saw there. Walking into the gas chambers was more difficult than I could have imagined.
Germans have a tough time visiting these places. Israelis have it tougher. Maybe that is why they bring their flag with them. For protection. Hung out with a German busker - term for street musician - and learned quite a bit about mysef from his outlook onlife. His grandfather died in ww2. Grandmother never gave him up for dead, and thus never collected the pension. This personable delightful man was the grandson of a Nazi soldier. He enjoyed being a street musician. Being German, he had health insurance in this profession.
Krakow is a great city. The Poles get a bad rap what with all of the jokes and all. In the end they have the last laugh as the women in Poland are absolutely beautiful. Heard the Friends theme music played in a dance club, kind of offputting, but the girls there seemed to get a kick out of it. If you are interested with this information. "I am not interested with you" means "I don't want to talk to you anymore. Go away you American swine."
Took a train to Budapest from Krakow. Budapest is huge financial center. Grabbed capitalism by the horns and went for the ride. The effects of this economic system on Eastern European countries over the past decade have been amazing. There is a fucking McD and KFC on every other corner. It is almost as if the oily bastards were lined up on the border as the wall came down waiting to pounce. It reminds me of the Jim Crow system employed in the states after the abolition of slavery.
You would not believe the number of Che Guevara t-shirts floating around everywhere. He has become a pop culture icon and little more. Unfortunate. The fashionistas have latched on to one photograph of a man that represents none of his teachings and turned it into a logo. Much like the wings of the victory goddess Nike the image of Ernesto "Che" Guevara has been hijacked by the consumer propaganda mill.
Went to natural spring bath house in Budapest. Like Narnia: truly a hilight of my travels. Natural hot springs the size of Olympic pools. Hot mentholated saunas. Ice cold baths to follow. Stayed in a pretty rowdy hostel on a mattress in the attic. Toured more castles and cathedrals. I have been to so many damn cathedrals they are all starting to run together in my melon. nToured castles -Krakow was notentirely decimated in ww2- so a great deal of Medieval and Neo-Classical landmarks still remain within the city.
Sammy is on some type of search for all women foreign. After a long night of getting pissed at the pub we were walking back to the Travelers Guest House Hostel when we were accosted by an attractive woman in her late thirties. She hustled us into the strip club for a bargain price: five bucks plus one beer. Sold.
The evening proceeds in standard strip club fashion. This visit differs only in that the ladies offer complimentary drinks and lap dances. Maybe it is because we are so handsome and so very foreign. As it was complimentary I accepted.
Cut to five minutes later. We sip on the complimentary Champagne and make small talk with the naked young ladies at our table as we are visited by a tall and burly sort with a goatee who we later find to be of Serbian origin. He presents us with a handwritten check for the equivalent of 150 dollars. This, my friends, was not Score's.
A heated debate ensued between Sammy myself and the giant Serbian. Tempers rose as we ademately claimed that we were being swindled. He claimed he was getting robbed. The naked girls sat there watching the entire thing unfold. Naked. I was wearing a fleece. The Serbian bouncer wore a suit.
A glass was knocked off of the table in the heat of the conversation. I avoid physical confrontation at all cost. One could not avoid sizing up the match up when placed in this situation. Remember the "Fight or Flight" chapter from psychology class.
"Do you know how things are done in Russia?" Asked the Serbian.
"No. I have never been to Russia." Was my response.
"Have you heard of Serbia? That is where I come from."
Silence.
"Do you want to sleep in the Danube tonight?"
I believe that he was threatening to kill us over a nonexistent scam tab. He was becoming less convincing as a gangtster and more convincing as a schmuck.
Sammy and I both threw a little money from our wallets onto the table and brushed past the naked girls towards the bar. Here we are stopped by two men in their late fifties wearing suits with white hankerchiefs in the front pockets. We were asked to follow them into a back room to settle the remainder of the tab: this is the part of the Martin Scorcesse movie where the Do-op blares and the protagonist runs.
We fled like deer. Past the Mafioso types. Past the burly Serbian and past his even burlier henchmen guarding the door - the wrong side of the door I might add - and onto the street. I never liked strip clubs. This was no exception.
I find myself in Munich at the present. Last night I muched on a huge plate of saurbraten with the best sauerkraut and potato salad one could lay taste buds upon. We didn't have accommodations lined up for Munich, so I ended up sleeping on the floor of the train station. Opening weekend of Oktoberfest and rooms are hard to come by. The cops were cool with it, and came by to politely wake you upat 6 am. A nice service they provide.
Now the bad news. My camera was lost last evening with 2 tapes in the bag - including all of my footage from Eastern Europe. Got split up with Sammy, and he has our metro pass. I am stranded and it is really hard not to get down right now. After just over a month on the road I have managed to fumble my camera. When will finally learn. Sorry to end on such a downer. Amazing highs are only enabled by the depths of despair.
Until next time,
AJM.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 6:41 PM
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