dryden lane

Like Prague, Olomouc’s windy, cobblestone roads are made for aimless wandering. I happened upon this quaint lane of buildings and neighbors greeting one another as they started their days.

Last night, I had Nepalese food and an English cider at an Irish pub in the Czech Republic.

Olomouc’s Upper Square is centered around this massive trinity column, itself a UNESCO world heritage site. You can actually go inside the structure into a teeny-tiny chapel, but mostly locals and tourists just sit around it, eating ice cream and laughing.

I spent the day in Kazimierz, where the Jewish community of Krakow was centered. I visited several old synagogues and the Old and New cemeteries, both of which sustained damage by the Nazis. Fragments of shattered tombstones that were later recovered were pieced together into mosaic walls around the cemeteries.

It was in the back of my mind during the entire trip that I’d be going to Auschwitz toward the end. I was a little apprehensive about going alone, and it was definitely a very intense experience, but I took a lot from it. On a whim, I joined an English tour group because I wasn’t sure how well marked things would be, but ultimately I wished I hadn’t. I don’t like to display much emotion around people, and so it was only at the end of the tour, as I walked around this memorial at Birkenau, that I let myself weep the way I needed to after that day.

On the bus ride back to Krakow, I got to look out at the Polish countryside, which was beautiful and definitely lifted my spirits. When we passed this house, I actually yelled out “Sheep!” and then grabbed my camera. So here’s the brighter side of my June twenty-seventh.

I got into Poland at 5:30, and slept for a couple of hours in the common room at my hostel before walking around the town. That afternoon, after I had finally showered and eaten, I headed up to Wawel castle to look around. I saw some sarcophagi, looked out at the river, and sat in a corner of the castle couryard with all the other weirdos, working on my chakra at what’s supposed to be one of the hotspots for positive energy.

I trekked out to the Valley of the Sirens, a popular winemaking area near Eger where Egri Bikaver (Bull’s Blood) is made. I was too shy to head into any of the wine caves for samples, but I had a yen for wine so I walked back into town and did a wine tasting at a recommended shop. I was presented with six generous glasses of wine and no spit bucket, so I drank as much as I could and stumbled out into the afternoon to catch my train to Krakow.

I arrived in Eger and headed to the Lyceum, where I saw a neat old library and a really cool camera obscura. A Hungarian guide showed me around the town with the camera, all from the ninth floor of the Lyceum. I stepped out onto the terrace afterward to take some photos of Eger.

I did it.

Throughout my life, I’ve been incredibly body-shy. I don’t like changing in public areas, and I don’t particularly like to see other people do so. I avert my eyes during romantic scenes in movies. I was always a little embarrassed while “changing out” for freshman PE class as I retreated to the privacy of a bathroom stall to don more athletic attire, as other girls casually ripped off their clothes with what seemed to me to be reckless abandon, spurred perhaps by confidence in excess. Don’t look at me! I’d think. My issue is not exactly one of poor body image, but just extreme modesty and quite a bit of prudery. I don’t terribly mind being seen in a bathing suit, but I’d hate to be seen without one at all, or even in my skivvies. At summer camp, I loved coming back from dinner on Friday night; the lights could not be turned on lest we break the Sabbath, and so I could change peacefully unnoticed in the dark.

So it was with a good deal of trepidation that I headed to one of Budapest’s famed baths, where I knew I’d feel a bit too patrician springing for a private changing cabin, rather than simply a locker, in a city that was only twenty years ago a Communist one.

I chose a discrete locker in the corner of one of the locker rooms and carefully laid out my bathing suit before glancing around and changing out of my clothes and into my suit. I saw a bit more of others’ t&a’s then I’d have preferred, but all in all it went okay. Hopefully the women of Hungary aren’t too scarred by the sight of my naked bod.

I walked around the Castle Hill. My favorite spot was north of the main attractions, lined with neat old buildings and quaint vistas.

I was super nervous about going to the baths, but definitely determined to experience the quintessential Budapest tradition. I went to the Szechenyi Baths, and had a really great time despite my apprehension.

I did a Jewish history day, touring the massive and very ornate Dohany Synagogue and then visiting the city’s Holocaust Museum. It was a really great exhibit, and ended in a restored synagogue where this display of Hungarian Holocaust victims was set up.

A pair of lions stands guard over Budapest’s iconic Chain Bridge. I don’t think he looks particularly intimidating.

There’s no need to bother cracking a joke for my sake any longer, readers, for I have surely experienced the most hilarious comic moment of my life this very evening. I day-tripped to Piran, a lovely coastal town on the Adriatic. I returned at about ten o’clock, or 22:00, and headed toward the city center to get a three euro falafel. The sound of music coming from Preseren Square diverted me from my course, and I came upon the most fantastic sight: A dance troupe, hired for the town’s nightly summer events, was performing a series of dances with some kind of intricate plot, involving a large prop diamond, that I arrived too late to follow.

Not to fear, though, for there was an encore. As soon as I heard the opening strains of (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life, I knew I was in for a treat. The number was more than loosely interpreted from that movie of all movies, Dirty Dancing, complete with the dramatic Johnny-Baby lift, and Patrick Swayze’s signature move: hip swing with fists raised to chest level. To top it all of the, the massive crowd of extremely enthusiastic Slovenes were going nuts. They ate that shit up. I felt a little rude laughing through the performance, but I couldn’t help it. Oh! to stay in Slovenia forever.

I loved all of my trip, but Slovenia in particular and especially Piran. Picking one photo for the day has been tough, especially for this day. Here’s Piran’s Tartini Square, named for the composer Guiseppe Tartini. The red building on the left is the Venetian House, built around 1450 by a Venetian merchant for his mistress in Piran. “Let them talk” is written on the building in Italian.

There’s always something going on in Ljubljana. Hundreds of these little clay figurines were set up on a bed of sand across the city’s cobbler’s bridge. I took photos while watching a capoeira demonstration. Two bridges down, a stage was set up for a performance by the Amsterdam symphony. Best of all, everyone eats ice cream cones as they stroll, and there’s a rice cream stand right along the river!

Ljubljana’s architecture is quirky and fun. This building has probably taken over as my favorite in the world. Gorgeous!

In list form, because paying for internet makes words much more valuable:

a. The whole Speedo thing is really disconcerting.

b. I am just now getting the hang of the switched ´y´ and ´z´ on European keyboards. (And just figured out how to make an @ symbol. @@@.)

c. Ljubljana, a city you may never have heard of and probably cannot pronounce (I am still not sure that I have it right) is absolutely amazing. For a country that has only been independent for eighteen years, Slovenia has got it going on.

d. For me, one of the better things about Vienna was passing time in the stellar cafes with the International Herald Tribune. A couple of articles that caught my fancy:

Who is the angriest of all?, Michael Johnson

Over dinner with some French and British friends the other night I accidentally started an argument that made everyone angry.

All I said was that a new survey indicates that the British now have the angriest culture in Europe. “Mon Dieu,” said the Frenchman, “that’s supposed to be our specialty!”

If it were not only a survey of European countries, surely the U.S. would have taken the top listing. (In a similar vein, I expressed my surprise about the teeny-tiny coffees to a new pal in Vienna, and she laughed at me and my American expectations for massive—or should I say Venti?—beverages.

The Joy of Less, Pico Iyer

I had been lucky enough at that point to stumble into the life I might have dreamed of as a boy: a great job writing on world affairs for Time magazine, an apartment (officially at least) on Park Avenue, enough time and money to take vacations in Burma, Morocco, El Salvador. But every time I went to one of those places, I noticed that the people I met there, mired in difficulty and often warfare, seemed to have more energy and even optimism than the friends I’d grown up with in privileged, peaceful Santa Barbara, Calif., many of whom were on their fourth marriages and seeing a therapist every day. Though I knew that poverty certainly didn’t buy happiness, I wasn’t convinced that money did either.

This article gets a little preachy at the end, but it´s still an interesting read.

That´s all, farewell for now!

Trekked up to the top of a mountain to look out over the lake. The trail wasn’t particularly well-marked, and I forgot how scary hiking alone can be, so I was a little rattled by the time I made it to the top. As soon as I saw the view, though, my fears were assuaged and I was delighted. The way down was another story.

Slovenia has my heart, and it took it pretty quickly once I set foot on the shore of Lake Bled. A pretty lake town with a picturesque island (otok) and plenty of baby swans and ducks, I spent three days here hiking and reading and relaxing. It was perfect.