The Time I Got Just a Taste of Eastern Europe

Arriving in Sofia, Bulgaria, the Greece-induced illusion of never-ending summer was decidedly shattered. Though the thermometer suggested it was 22 degrees outside, it felt downright chilly under the somber gray skies, the sharp wind easily penetrating my thin hoodie. Everywhere, the signs of fall abounded. Piles of freshly fallen yellow leaves crunched under my feet, and I had to be wary of falling projectiles, not the least of which included spiky-shelled chestnuts.

Because obviously, the logical thing to do is lay down in the leaves.

Arriving at my hostel in the early afternoon, I took my time to shower and plot a route to see the city’s key landmarks before setting off. After having spent the last two weeks in Tania’s company and becoming used to the lilting intonations of Greek, it was strangely isolating to find myself alone in a strange city, where the language, seemingly consonant-heavy fell oddly on my ears. Nevertheless, I found myself enjoying a long walk in a pretty park and pleasantly surprised by what Sofia had to offer in the way of architecture. Otherwise, I have little to say about Sofia. Nice enough, but not overly inspiring. 

Alexander-Newski Cathedral. Quite the sight, both inside and out.

Taking at breather by the Monument to the Soviet Army, which commemorates the Soviets' "liberation" of Bulgaria during WWII... or at least, that's how Russia sees it.

)The next day was to be my single longest travel day; 12 hours on a bus bound for Hungary. By the time you factor in the several hour departure delay and 2 hours of waiting to cross the Hungarian border, it was well after 4 am by the time we pulled up along what appeared to be the side of the road in Budapest. At first I didn't even realize it was my stop, because no one else got up or moved and as the bus pulled away I was exceedingly grateful for google maps and the strangely comforting fact that even though I couldn't understand Hungarian any more than Bulgarian, I could at least recognize all the letters on street signs. The whole bus trip I had depended upon the cues of the people around me, unable to understand a darn thing the bus driver was saying over the speaker system. We had to produce our ID several times, leaving Bulgaria, entering Serbia and again at the Hungarian border, sometimes showing them to officials who boarded the bus and other times, having to get of to walk through customs offices populated by heavily armed military men. In these moments, I felt the privilege of being a blonde-haired, white woman from Canada. My passport received a cursory glance and a quick stamp, while I witnessed several others being subjected to much greater levels of scrutiny. Thumbing through my passport afterwards, it was so nice to see the pages in use. After years of only being used to cross back and forth to the states, it now has fresh stamps from the UK, Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia and Hungary to go along with the Cameroonian visa. Finally, it seems, I’m starting to live up to my grad class’ expectations (“Most Likely to Travel the World”), which is obviously like, the most important determinant of success and stuff ;)

Ignoring the fact that my passport photo looks like the mugshot of a violent criminal... the pages have so many fun new stamps in them.

Budapest is the city version of that really cool stranger you meet on vacation. The one who might be a little crazy for your every day life, but with whom you bond instantly and end up having a great time and leave wishing that you lived close enough to hang out once in a while. Nicknamed the “Pearl of the Danube”, Budapest is actually two separate cities on opposite sides of the river, united for the first time by a bridge in the mid 1800s. Buda is a green, hilly, largely residential area with vibes like Montmartre and the wealth and prestige of West Van. Pest, meanwhile is prairie flat, and generally more modern, urban and commercial... but with a skyline entirely unpunctuated by high rise buildings (by bylaw even). The picturesque Hungarian parliament building and St. Stephen’s Church share the honor of the city’s highest building at 96 meters each, apparently symbolically representing the equal importance of church and state.

Hungarian parliament building, towering over the Danube.

I got to the top of Castle Hill, on the Buda side, just in time to watch the changing of the guard ceremony.

Prompted by a flyer at my hostel, I participated in what would be the first of many “free” walking tours (“free” because you tip them what you think the tour was worth at the end). I found it vastly more interesting to have stories and the city’s history woven in while exploring the landmarks. And, as an added bonus, you end up meeting and talking to other people on the tour, which I imagine goes a long way to reducing or eliminating that sense of isolation I had in Sofia. Here, I was introduced to the European tradition of lucky statues, which in Budapest, has you rubbing various parts on statues around the city—bellies, knees, mustaches and in one case, a horse’s scrotum—in hopes of finding luck in life and love.

Another lucky statue. Go ahead, take a stab at where is the particular area on this statue you are meant to rub for luck.

Unlike many travelers who come to revel in the “ruin bars” and take advantage of the thriving party scene, I stayed in a quiet hostel, where I literally had to go through a wardrobe to get to my room (something I appreciated way more than some people will understand). My 10-bed dorm was economical and pretty private, as it turned out there was only one other occupant. From there it was less than a kilometer’s walk to Hero’s Square and a handful of museums, and a quick jaunt on the oldest metro line in continental Europe got me right down into the thick of things. Of course, a visit to Budapest wouldn't have been complete without a delicious traditional Hungarian goulash, seasoned liberally with paprika.

Hungarian Goulash. YUM!

Bratislava, though, takes the cake for being the least like I anticipated, though I'm really not even sure what I expected. The small Slovakian city, whose self-declared claim to fame is the 200 years spent as the coronation city for the Hungarian empire, has an underdog quality to it (under-appreciated? under-discoverd?) that resonates with me as a Canadian. Their passion for ice hockey does too. With a visual appeal that is unmistakably European but relatively few tourists (and therefore fewer of the tourist traps), Bratislava offers an all-too-rare dose of authenticity. At the same time, it's clear that after centuries of being lumped in with bigger empires and decades under Soviet occupation, Slovakia is really just starting to figure out who it is as an independent nation... and it's pretty cool.

Saint Elizabeth Church, or as it's more commonly known, the Blue Church (for obvious reasons, I guess).

Probably my favorite random thing my walking tour guide shared with us is how on Easter morning, it is their custom for young women to be woken up by their fathers and brothers dumping buckets of water on them. Throughout the day, other young men they know will also douse them with water, and the idea is that this will make them more beautiful and lucky in life. As annoying as that sounds, it's apparently even sadder for the girls who do not get additional buckets heaped on them, because that means they aren't very popular with the boys. Fortunately, I guess, if I had grown up with this custom, I would have had my fair share of built in beauty-and-prosperty-conferring-water tossers.

Because this statue, now one of the most recognizable Bratislavan landmarks, is so low to the ground, he's been hit by cars many times, and even decapitated a couple times.