Budapest, Hungary

And on with our winter travels. From Zdiar we took a train across Slovakia to be able to see some of the countryside. Unfortunately, it was one of the older trains and there seemed to be little or no heat. After six hours we were a bit frozen, especially poor Cheryl who was nursing a cold.

We ended up in the capitol of Bratislava in the southwest corner of the country, and then caught a train to Budapest—luckily a shorter and much warmer ride. Spent the next three days wandering around the beautiful city of Budapest.  Divided between the flat “pest” side and the hilly “buda” side (they were once two different cities) by the Danube River, Budapest is a wonderful city to explore on foot. Every street corner seemed to bring new architectural wonders and the bridges spanning the river gave us some great views of both sides. The weather continued on with its lousy winter weather cycle, but it cleared somewhat on the last day. 

A couple of the highlights of the city for me: The Baths: Budapest is situated over deep underground hot springs, and they have provided the city with hot mineral baths throughout its history. A day at the baths is a fine thing—we chose the old bathhouse in the central park of the city frequented by the locals. Fifteen dollars got us a day long pass to hang out in one of the three outdoor pools or many indoor pools, sauna, etc. Extra money gives you massages, pedicures, various therapies, any spa activity you can think of. But we were content with the pools and spent all of our time in the outdoor pools, going from the slightly cooler one with the very fun whirlpools and the hotter pool where one just floated in the water ad soaked up all that warmth. And indeed it was the local hang out—we saw men standing chest deep in the water engrossed in a chess game set up on the pool’s edge and many families.  And it also seems to be a good place to meet people. I got to talking with one woman around my age from Ireland who had come to Budapest to have dental work done, apparently being of much higher quality than in Ireland.  We had quite the discussion about periodontal disease, implants versus dentures, new state of the art dentures (she thought mine looked great), etc., etc. 

When we finally dragged ourselves out of the baths, I was feeling pretty good in both body and spirit.

House of Terror: This museum, housed in the building that was first the Gestapo headquarters during the Nazi occupation and then the headquarters of the secret police during the communist years, is the most powerful museum I think I have ever been to. Though it wasn’t created for tourists, and few of the signs are in English, there is enough English in the exhibits to understand what they are about and you almost really don’t need it, as you are carried along by the multimedia presentations in every room. Many of the videos of survivors telling their stories were subtitled in English, plus there were English handouts in each room. Perhaps most haunting was the slow descent by elevator to the basement level where the cells and executions were located, watching as you go down to a video of a former guard describing how executions were administered. The final room of the exhibit is a “victimizer” hall, with small photos from that era of many of the administrators of punishment, many of whom are still alive.

I wish I had come to the museum with more energy to stay longer, but I was glad I had made an effort to experience what I did, as this is part of the history of the people in this part of the world.

Holocaust memorial along the banks of the Danube River where Jews were shot and thrown into the river.

House of Terror museum, former home of Gestapo and communist secret police.

The Baths--one of the outside pools.

Inside of an old synagogue.

Looking across the Danube to church high on Buda side.

Looking across Danube to the Pest side.

House of Parliamet on Pest side.

Winter traveling--Zdiar, Slovakia

What a difference a break in routine makes--one of the huge benefits of travel, for those of us who are lucky enough to get to do it. Here I am, a few days back in Crimea after my 2 ½ weeks trip, and I feel so much better about my life here and the upcoming months. Perhaps it won’t last but it feels good to be thinking in more positive ways.

So, a few highlights of my sojourn. My PCV pal Cheryl and I took off on a 25-hour train to Lviv in northwestern Ukraine on a snowy Sunday afternoon. I had woke up that morning feeling pretty sick—wanting to throw up kind of sick—and as the morning went on and it didn’t go away, wondering how exactly I was going to be able to get on a train and travel for 25 hours. But with help from mystery meds provided by Lenura, it eventually went away shortly before I took off and I got on the train with lots of anticipation of our upcoming journey. 

We had a 10-hour layover in Lviv before catching a midnight train to Krakow, Poland. Lviv is a beautiful old historic city that we had both visited before and we were looking forward to seeing more of its lovely buildings, plus hangout with a PCV who lives there. But the weather began its trip-long plague of our plans with an ice storm that made it difficult to walk around and prevented our PCV friend from flying in that day. We did manage to slowly shuffle our way to one museum but then spent the rest of the day hanging out in cafes until time to go to the train station.

Train travel in Ukraine is very cheap--$18 for our 25 hour trip from Simferopol to Lviv—but cross border travel gets much more expensive--$60 for our 6 hour trip to Krakow. But the train was much more luxurious with a wash basin in each compartment! Quite amazing. We didn’t get a lot of sleep however, with a 1am border crossing that seemed to go on forever and our forgetting the time change and getting up an hour before we needed to. But we got to Krakow early in the morning and had a whole day to once again explore the city we both had visited on separate trips the previous year. The following day we took two buses across the Polish border to the town of Zdiar in the High Tatras of Slovakia, where we spent the next three days in a hostel called the “Ginger Monkey” (never found out why, I’m sorry to say).

We had come there with the intention of me doing cross country skiing and Cheryl snow shoeing—which were available according to our email correspondence with the owner of the hostel—but he, unfortunately, was gone to Prague during that time and his fill-ins really didn’t have a clue. Mostly people come there to downhill ski, as there are local resorts nearby and larger resorts higher up in the mountains. But we didn’t really care—it was a beautiful little Slovakian village nestled in the mountains and just so peaceful to be there. We spent the first day just walking around, asking at every ski shop we saw about cc skiing and snowshoeing and enjoying the views of the spectacular jagged peaks of the High Tatras--when the weather lifted enough to see them.  Eventually we did find a place that rented snowshoes and made a plan for the next day to hike to the ridge behind us and follow a trail through the forest and down the other side of the mountain. It turned out to be a struggle to get up the ridge on our not great snowshoes with the wind blowing, but the climb was worth it as the tall spruce trees on top of the ridge were covered in a flox of white snow, and the occasional views of the distant peaks magnificent. My snowshoes fell apart on the way down and I had to return using only one snowshoe, but it was worth it.

View of the High Tatras from our hostel

Ginger Monkey hostel. We were in the upstairs right room.

Down hill ski resort in the Tatras.

One of the lodgings there.

The lake where I found some peaceful cross country skiing.

The forest on the ridge behind our hostel.

High up on the ridge.

The following day I was determined to get some cross country skiing in—that being the main reason I wanted to go there in the first place—and Cheryl decided to come along for the ride. We caught an early morning bus that took us to a village higher in the mountains, and then from there an electric train to a downhill ski resort that had advertised cross country skiing. It was a beautiful place, with the jagged snow covered peaks so close, and indeed, they did have cc ski rental and a few trails. So off I took, first on the flat trail around the lake, and then beckoned by a trail that climbed up a hillside. Without a map and no knowledge of the trails, I found myself on a very difficult trail that at home I might not have attempted. I kept asking myself what the hell I was doing, out here on this trail alone, constantly wiping out, and even occasionally taking off my skis to get up a hill. Eventually I did make it back down to the lake, managing not to embarrass myself by falling in front of all the people who were standing around. After that, I spent a peaceful half hour striding around the soft snow of the lake, and enjoying those hills from a distance. Ah, cross country skiing in the Slovakian mountains. I’m sure it has more to offer somewhere!

Some thoughts on this fourth year

Every time I think, “Okay, no more blog writing, who is reading it anyhow?” I come back to it at some point. Maybe it is the fact that I have a fair amount of free time and writing what I have been doing is something I enjoy and gives me a task to fill my time at the library. But maybe it is more than that, a way to not forget my life here, to reason out some of what I am feeling, to put it down on paper and take a look at it in hopes of finding understanding. Whatever the reason, here I am again.

It’s hard to think about how to write about my life of late. This fourth year in Crimea is proving to be by far the hardest of my life here. I would have thought—and indeed anticipated—the opposite. The increased familiarity with my work, language, home life, culture, surroundings –all should have proved to make my life easier,  richer, my work more productive—but, unfortunately, I seem to be experiencing the opposite. For a long time I have thought how impossible it will be to tear myself away from my life once that time comes, but right now, I am almost counting the days, certainly the months, until I am able to leave. 

For sure, much of my disquiet comes from my increasingly stressful home life. I think what I am witnessing is strife families experience the world over as their children become adults and want to spread their wings and fly away and the parents want to hold that child tight in their nest. And that classic family dynamic is overlaid here by the politics of oppressor/oppressed cultures and how the children chafe under those restrictions. Think “Fiddler on the Roof” and you get the picture. 

And for me, I bear witness to all of this and feel I have some understanding of it, but I don’t really. I grew up in a middle class white home in America where I was pushed out the door as soon as I was able to fly and at least in my parents’ eyes, all the world was open to me. Also, my limited language skills mean I experience all of what goes on in a foggy haze. I want to be there for support for who needs it, to be able to challenge abusive behavior, to lend what little advice I might have.  But when this has to take place in Russian, the possibilities for anything meaningful are so greatly diminished, as is my understanding when so much of what is said—especially in anger—goes by me. 

My work life is also proving difficult. At my library everyone is consumed—as they are every year—by some kind of annual report they must present to the Ministry of Culture, entailing their activities of the past year and plans for the future. There are many raised voices, harried discussions and whispered conferences, none of which I understand.  I would like to be of help in some way, to feel useful, but that is, of course, not a reality. As usual, I hover on the edges, only barely understanding or participating in what is going on. My role here is something I have gotten used to and am not much bothered by, as long as I can spend my time working on grants or projects. But with that avenue of activity at least temporarily dried up, I find myself at such loose ends and wondering exactly what I am going to do these next few months. Lately it seems I mostly spend my time haranguing my friends with long emails that they, with their busy lives, have no time to answer. 

But all is not so grim. This past weekend we had a wet snow of several inches, the first of the season. On Sunday, Serdar said, “Let’s go up to the mountain,” meaning the forests and bluffs near our home, something we hadn’t done for a long time. Actually, I had woke up that morning feeling a continuing annoyance with Serdar for some of his behavior of late and wondering what to do about it. So I welcomed this unusual overture from him. Off we trudged in the deep snow, planning only a short hike, but it turned into a 3-hour excursion along the snow covered bluffs with the snow clinging so heavily to the low trees that at times the path was completely obscured. It was magical and unearthly beautiful and in the solitude of that walk, we began to talk about his life and all that has been troubling him—and me—these past few months. High up on the bluffs with the foggy skies obscuring the distant mountains and villages, it felt like it was just us in the world and we were able to talk with a honesty and depth that we seemed to not be able to do at home. Later when Serdar had gone on ahead, I paused in the snow-filled sanctuary and gave thanks for the gift of that afternoon. 

With love from Crimea.

Living with uncertainty

It’s Monday morning, December 24^th, and here I am in my office in the library. I had thought I would be on my way back from my visit with my friend Casey in Istanbul, but, alas, it was not to be. I did get to Kyiv the first part of last week and had kind of a nice time there. It was very cold with a freezing wind, but I had dressed for it, so for the most part, I was okay. The deep snow on the ground was beautiful to see, walking through the botanical gardens on the way to the Peace Corps office. As always in the winters here, the major problem is not the cold, but the snow and subsequent ice that accumulate on the sidewalks, making it so difficult to get around. Luckily, in Kyiv, there is an extensive subway system, so if one can brave the crowds, it is definitely the way to navigate the city, especially in the winter. I am used to the “metro,” as it is called here, and do not find the crowds a problem. And now, thanks to the Euro Cup being held here last summer, all the subway signs are also in English.

Spent my time working on closing grants at the Peace Corps office, going to the dentist for a teeth cleaning, eating falafels at my favorite Middle Eastern café,  visiting the Germany Embassy to inquire for Serdar about studying in Germany (his latest idea), and having a brief meeting at the Netherlands Embassy to pick up books donated to our library. The Netherlands Embassy was quite impressive—a very modern four-floor building with an open atrium and a great espresso machine (so appreciated that cappuccino after waiting out in the cold for the embassy to open).  

On the long overnight train back to Simferopol, I thought of all the great things Casey and I would do in Istanbul, but mostly just the opportunity to spend time with a fellow traveler talking about this life of volunteering overseas, hashing out ideas for “What next?” Got back to town early Wednesday morning, spent the day getting ready for the Istanbul trip, ignoring the sleeting rain hammering on the window. But early next morning when I got up to meet the taxi to the airport, I wondered if I would be going. Out at the airport, the cancellations and delays were happening already. I sat there for three hours in the unheated terminal and watched my flight get delayed and delayed and then cancelled. The flight got re-scheduled to the next day, but the same thing happened again, as the weather only got worse.

So no visit to Istanbul. And another lesson in living with uncertainty, that though we make plans, and wish and hope it will be so, there are no guarantees. I was feeling almost desperate to be out of my environment here, to be with a kindred soul that I could really talk with about all my confused feelings as of late. But, as always, I was able to adjust. Spent Saturday walking around the Simferopol center--going to the art museum which I have been meaning to do for the last year (having never been there), walking along the river, strolling a bit through the park where the Chernobyl monument is located. And then Sunday up into the forests near my home, which were transformed into a winter wonderland by the snow crystals clinging to the branches. And it helped me to remember once again how lucky I am to be living this life.