After months of imagining the first draft of my dissertation being completed by the end of September, I finally got down to business planning out how I will, in reality, achieve this. Needless to say, the process of devising my work-plan/strategy for the next nine months lit a small fire under my ass and I have become a well-oiled, disciplined work machine! And it feels GOOD to be reminded how committing to my work in an effective and efficient way is actually a form of self-care. When I work hard within the context of a balanced life, I'm happier, more confident, and optimistic about the future... well not the future for American women (including Melania T) or, like, the health of the planet, or Syria... okay I guess I really just mean MY future.
For me right now, a balanced life is looking like a mix of work, dinners and wine (but not too much!) with new friends, going to open mics (but not too often or too late!), practicing guitar and Hungarian, yoga, reading Hungarian classic literature, a cigarette here and there,Vikings on Netflix, soaking in thermal baths (as much as possible..'doctor's orders), and discovering more beautiful spaces and places in and around Budapest (but only on Saturdays and Sundays!).
And I finally moved into what will be my permanent home here in Budapest for the next year. The following is a little photo tour of what you can get in downtown Budapest, one street up from the Danube for about 750 dollars per month (apologies for the extensive amount of pictures here):
Aaaahhhh to be settling in a bit. Sweet sweet relief.
Another great motivator to get my ass in gear re writing my dissertation is planning weekend excursions outside of Budapest and not having the incapacitating weight of guilt and shame for slacking during the week on your shoulders. It is impossible to enjoy moments in the present when all you can think about is all the work you didn't do in the past and all the work you must do in the future. A-A-U-U-U-M-M-M-M. Write that down.
As part of my next goal, to begin exploring more of this strange little alien nation outside of Budapest, this past weekend I ventured to Eger, a small city of about 55,000 people in the Northeast of Hungary:
One twelve dollar train ticket, one drunk middle-aged couple necking in the seats across from me, a two hour winter-y fast train ride and I was there.
Eger boasts a long history of wine-making and fightin' off the old skool Muslims of the Ottoman empire...both of which are still reflected in the structures of the town. It is also supposed a be a university town but I'll be damned if I sensed, for a moment, an ounce of university night-life vibrancy that usually accompanies mass populations of college-aged kids.
For me right now, a balanced life is looking like a mix of work, dinners and wine (but not too much!) with new friends, going to open mics (but not too often or too late!), practicing guitar and Hungarian, yoga, reading Hungarian classic literature, a cigarette here and there,Vikings on Netflix, soaking in thermal baths (as much as possible..'doctor's orders), and discovering more beautiful spaces and places in and around Budapest (but only on Saturdays and Sundays!).
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| Dear god, make me a bird, so I can fly far, far far away (Buda Castle). |
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| A Sunday excursion to the village of Pannonhalma which hosts this old monastery-cum-boys school...(yes I used the letters c-u-m in the same sentence as 'monastery' and 'boys school'...'cum' on people! It's Latin!) |
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| Timi zee German and me in Pannonhalma....Germans, while sticklers for plans and schedules, can still be surprisingly fun company! |
And I finally moved into what will be my permanent home here in Budapest for the next year. The following is a little photo tour of what you can get in downtown Budapest, one street up from the Danube for about 750 dollars per month (apologies for the extensive amount of pictures here):
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| Streets of my new hood |
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| More streets in my hood |
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| Ferenciek Ter, the site of one of my hood's metro lines |
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| My neighbourhood coffeehouse |
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| My apartment building |
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| My apartment building's courtyard |
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| My front door |
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| Entrance way looking into little kitchen |
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| Kitchen |
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| Laundry room |
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| My clothes dryer, rigged up on a pulley to dry clothes as close to the ceiling as possible where all the hot air hides |
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| Bathroom |
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| Bathrrom |
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| Living room |
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| Living room |
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| Great high and deep Euro windows |
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| My desk |
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| Sleeping quarters |
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| Sleeping quarters |
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| Room for wine and palinka storage |
Aaaahhhh to be settling in a bit. Sweet sweet relief.
Another great motivator to get my ass in gear re writing my dissertation is planning weekend excursions outside of Budapest and not having the incapacitating weight of guilt and shame for slacking during the week on your shoulders. It is impossible to enjoy moments in the present when all you can think about is all the work you didn't do in the past and all the work you must do in the future. A-A-U-U-U-M-M-M-M. Write that down.
As part of my next goal, to begin exploring more of this strange little alien nation outside of Budapest, this past weekend I ventured to Eger, a small city of about 55,000 people in the Northeast of Hungary:
One twelve dollar train ticket, one drunk middle-aged couple necking in the seats across from me, a two hour winter-y fast train ride and I was there.
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| Wait what? Saskatchewan? What're you doing here???? |
Eger boasts a long history of wine-making and fightin' off the old skool Muslims of the Ottoman empire...both of which are still reflected in the structures of the town. It is also supposed a be a university town but I'll be damned if I sensed, for a moment, an ounce of university night-life vibrancy that usually accompanies mass populations of college-aged kids.
I arrived at around 3 pm on Friday and was going to simply walk to my hotel, only to find it seems the town of Eger does not believe in clearing snow from sidewalks, making rolling luggage impossible while at the same time providing a boon to the taxi industry...even if it is a six minute drive.
Upon arrival at my no-nonsense hotel in the city center that doubles as hospitality training facility, I was greeted by MANY keen 20 year old trainees to the point of over service. I dropped my items and went chasing the last bits of daylight to take some photos and see some of the town while sliding all over the uncleared icy snowy sidewalks.
I managed to stumble upon this very very cool historically significant structure:
This minaret, erected in the 1600s, is both a) the northern most minaret erected within the Ottoman Empire and b) the last standing minaret of the Ottoman Empire (so I was told...but this might be an alternative truth).
On the internet I read that Eger has become a popular tourist destination in recent years. I think they (oh no I just called the internet a 'they') mean in summer. This town was deads-ville even on a Friday night. I even had trouble finding a good place to have dinner. But alas I did and tried a couple different Egri Bikavers (the rich and dry and thick and meaty blend of reds that this area is known for, appropriately translates as "Bull's Blood"), ate some guylas and a beautiful beef dish dressed with a creamy mushroom paprikas sauce:
I slip 'n' slided through the snow and ice back to my hotel for an early bedtime, with big plans for site-seeing the next day.
The next morning, after an early wake up, some hotel room yoga, and an amazing hotel breakfast of bread, salamis, cheeses, sliced peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes and brilliant coffee, I made my way to the Eger castle, a short jaunt from the hotel.
The walk was, again, slippy and slide-y as all hell but it was a beautiful bluebird sunny morning, with a romantic yet chilly ice fog lingering over this sleepy town:
And I wound my way past various defense bastions up the hill atop which the castle sits, overlooking the town:
WARNING!! HISTORY LESSON: Eger castle was the site of a major siege attempt by the Turks in 1552. Prior to this, it had been really just a large house for some aristocrat. Once it became clear that the Turks were settling in in other parts of Hungary and Europe, a massive project commenced to build-up the castle's defenses. On September 11th, 1552 (see America, your 9-11 is not the ONLY 9-11 there ever was or will be), about 40-some thousand Turks set up camp outside the castle and hunkered down for a long siege. But an early winter, starvation, and disease coupled with some explosive pummeling from inside the castle ended the siege only 38-ish days later. The defense of the castle was headed up by the great hero of Eger, Dobo Istvan. This siege story, and that of it's telling in a wonderful, beloved adventure historical fiction written in 1902 by Geza Gardonyi, Eclipse of the Crescent Moon, has allegedly led to a cult-like status for this castle.
Once inside the castle complex, there are a number of different attractions to visit, including the Dobo Istvan Museum (the history of the castle), a museum with exhibits of bronze and iron age artifacts found in archaeological digs from this area and of an amazing collection of old weaponry which,much to my surprise, I enjoyed immensely. And then there's the castle's cellar system that was used for storing weaponry:
But of course the Turks returned in 1592-ish, bringing with them what was likely an overkill amount of 100,000 troops and they finally managed to take hold of the region and remain occupiers until the end of the 1600s.
At the gift shop, I picked up a copy of Geza Gardonyi's epic story of Eger Castle translated into English and headed down (or rather slid down) to Szépasszonyvölgy, or, in English, 'the Valley of Beautiful Women' (so yeah, naturally I fit right in):
Here I rounded up some more fiery, hearty Hungarian food and thick rich Bikaver and dove into my adventure story:
Szépasszonyvölgy is home to a multitude of wine cellars in close proximity making it easy to 'wine cellar crawl'.
I left my cozy, touristy restaurant and began my own solo wine cellar crawl. How to pick from one of 30 or 40 cellars...hmmmm. So I chose this one:
...because it has the same name as the street I live on. Obviously I used a VERY stringent tasting criteria.
I sat here and partook in a bit of reflective writing, drinking my beautiful Bikaver, in utter silence, the cellar seemingly soundproofed by the thick layer of mold that co-exists with the wine as it ages:
After snagging a bottle to go, I went in search of another cellar to try a taste and stumbled upon a cool, yet simple, looking cellar belonging to Csabai Sandor, a Hungarian of Russian descent from a long line of wine-making men:
Here there actually were other people! A really friendly Sandor and a really friendly and kooky family who invited me over to their 'extreme' party kitchen for a little hazi buli (house party) and I keenly accepted:
Dorelli (the daughter) and her boyfriend, Gabor, eventually drove me safe and sound back to my hotel. I ordered a pizza pie and beer and passed out.
Sunday morning, with a bit of a Bikaver hangover, I checked out of my hotel and went to check out the Varos a Varos alatt (the city under the city), an old underground system of wine cellars built in the early 1700s by the Clergy.
It is a massive network of tunnels that is a prime example of the unintended impacts of policy.
AARGH!! MORE HISTORY!!:So the structure was originally made of rhyolite, some sort of soft volcanic stone. Now, as I have talked about before, when wine is stored in the cellars, it co-exists symbiotically with a thick layer of mold that lines the walls and boroughs it's fungal tentacles into the structure, essentially making the material really strong.
Prior to WWII, private storage of wine occurred here. Wine making was nationalised in 1947 by the 'goddamn pinkos' and all the private wine was removed from the cellar. The mold cannot exist without the presence of wine. As it all began to die off the volcanic stone not only became unstable but also could no longer fully absorb the ground water which, prior to, the mold dealt with. Bad things happen when an extensive system of underground tunnels begin to degrade...just ask the city of Paris (albeit they did devise a wonderfully creative solution to their little sink hole problem).
So the tunnels have since mostly been reinforced with concrete and are slowly being converted into a museum.
AND NOW BACK TO ME:The rest of Sunday consisted of hitting up a 'meh' Turkish bath (now I'm Budapest bath-snobby), eating more Hungarian food, and trying to find a coffee shop to sit at for a couple hours to read and write and wait for my train. Nope. No success. No coffee shops open. Just churches.
While it was a really wonderful weekend getaway, I was there about 4 hours too long. I suspect it is much more bumpin' in summer and during wine season but in the humid Hungarian deep-freeze of winter, two days was sufficient to see the important sites.
I was exhausted as I boarded my early Sunday evening train back to Budapest. Settling into my seat, I pulled out my ticket and put it on the table in preparation for the train ticket checker. I had purchased the return ticket online and had printed them out in Budapest before I left (or so I thought). An hour into the trip, in the middle of rural Hungary, the guy comes along and I confidently hand him my ticket to check. He hands it back to me and says stuff to me in Hungarian I don't understand. A nice young man across the aisle begins helping me 'deal'. Apparently I didn't have the right ticket and instead I would have to purchase the ticket on board as well as pay a fine for not having a ticket. I tried to show him the email with the ticket on my phone...but NOPE. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. YOU HAVE TO PRINT IT! I emptied out my wallet of 5600 forints (about 25 dollars). And then, unexpectedly and strangely, I just began to cry. I cried for an hour. I burned through a whole tiny travel package of kleenex. I don't know why. Maybe it was the stress of the idea of being tossed out on some Hungarian village train platform in the middle of winter at night. Or maybe it was just the fatigue and lingering hangover from my Bikaver tasting. Surely it wasn't the financial stress and frustration of being out what amounts to basically the cost of two glasses of wine in a Vancouver restaurant? Maybe it was the shame of still not being able to deal with officious stuff with men in uniforms in the native language. Or maybe, just maybe, for the first time since I arrived, in the stress of the moment, I felt really far from home.
Finally I was back in Budapest, making my way to my NEW home through the bustling streets of downtown, and I was tickled pink to see people out and about in the city and eating in restaurants that were open on a Sunday night....and I smiled and had a good laugh at myself about my explosion of emotion en route from Eger.
**Due to technical issues, I had to change my blog website. If you'd like to read earlier posts from my time here in Europe this past year it's all here: http://blogs.ubc.ca/magyaradventure/
Upon arrival at my no-nonsense hotel in the city center that doubles as hospitality training facility, I was greeted by MANY keen 20 year old trainees to the point of over service. I dropped my items and went chasing the last bits of daylight to take some photos and see some of the town while sliding all over the uncleared icy snowy sidewalks.
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| Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Apostle, Eger |
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| St Bernat Roman Catholic Church, Eger |
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| Streets of Eger, with 'just the tips' of the Minorite Church of Eger poking up past the rooftops |
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| Streets of Eger, the Eger Castle in the background |
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| Eger minaret surrounded by an overcompensation of Christian churches... a tall religious structure pissing contest. Boy things sure have changed since the 1500s! |
This minaret, erected in the 1600s, is both a) the northern most minaret erected within the Ottoman Empire and b) the last standing minaret of the Ottoman Empire (so I was told...but this might be an alternative truth).
On the internet I read that Eger has become a popular tourist destination in recent years. I think they (oh no I just called the internet a 'they') mean in summer. This town was deads-ville even on a Friday night. I even had trouble finding a good place to have dinner. But alas I did and tried a couple different Egri Bikavers (the rich and dry and thick and meaty blend of reds that this area is known for, appropriately translates as "Bull's Blood"), ate some guylas and a beautiful beef dish dressed with a creamy mushroom paprikas sauce:
I slip 'n' slided through the snow and ice back to my hotel for an early bedtime, with big plans for site-seeing the next day.
The next morning, after an early wake up, some hotel room yoga, and an amazing hotel breakfast of bread, salamis, cheeses, sliced peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes and brilliant coffee, I made my way to the Eger castle, a short jaunt from the hotel.
The walk was, again, slippy and slide-y as all hell but it was a beautiful bluebird sunny morning, with a romantic yet chilly ice fog lingering over this sleepy town:
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| Sun coming up over Eger creek |
And I wound my way past various defense bastions up the hill atop which the castle sits, overlooking the town:
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| The Minorite Church of Eger seen from the walk up to the castle entrance |
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| One of the castle entrances, overlooking the town |
WARNING!! HISTORY LESSON: Eger castle was the site of a major siege attempt by the Turks in 1552. Prior to this, it had been really just a large house for some aristocrat. Once it became clear that the Turks were settling in in other parts of Hungary and Europe, a massive project commenced to build-up the castle's defenses. On September 11th, 1552 (see America, your 9-11 is not the ONLY 9-11 there ever was or will be), about 40-some thousand Turks set up camp outside the castle and hunkered down for a long siege. But an early winter, starvation, and disease coupled with some explosive pummeling from inside the castle ended the siege only 38-ish days later. The defense of the castle was headed up by the great hero of Eger, Dobo Istvan. This siege story, and that of it's telling in a wonderful, beloved adventure historical fiction written in 1902 by Geza Gardonyi, Eclipse of the Crescent Moon, has allegedly led to a cult-like status for this castle.
Once inside the castle complex, there are a number of different attractions to visit, including the Dobo Istvan Museum (the history of the castle), a museum with exhibits of bronze and iron age artifacts found in archaeological digs from this area and of an amazing collection of old weaponry which,much to my surprise, I enjoyed immensely. And then there's the castle's cellar system that was used for storing weaponry:
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| Entrance to the cellar system of the Eger castle |
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| Inside the cellar system |
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| More cellar system |
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| My cellar tour guide dressed as Dobo Istvan, I believe |
But of course the Turks returned in 1592-ish, bringing with them what was likely an overkill amount of 100,000 troops and they finally managed to take hold of the region and remain occupiers until the end of the 1600s.
At the gift shop, I picked up a copy of Geza Gardonyi's epic story of Eger Castle translated into English and headed down (or rather slid down) to Szépasszonyvölgy, or, in English, 'the Valley of Beautiful Women' (so yeah, naturally I fit right in):
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| The view of the valley of the beautiful women from the road above |
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| The road down to the valley of the beautiful women |
Here I rounded up some more fiery, hearty Hungarian food and thick rich Bikaver and dove into my adventure story:
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| A beautiful glass of Egri Bikaver and a great Hungarian classic adventure tale; castles, sieges, capturing slaves, evil Turkish antagonists poised against Hungarian heroes... May the Christians prevail!!! |
Szépasszonyvölgy is home to a multitude of wine cellars in close proximity making it easy to 'wine cellar crawl'.
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| Row upon row of wine storage cellars ready to host tasters |
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| More cellars |
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| Molnar Pinceszet |
...because it has the same name as the street I live on. Obviously I used a VERY stringent tasting criteria.
I sat here and partook in a bit of reflective writing, drinking my beautiful Bikaver, in utter silence, the cellar seemingly soundproofed by the thick layer of mold that co-exists with the wine as it ages:
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| Enjoying some Molnar Egri Bikaver 2013..mmmm good year. |
After snagging a bottle to go, I went in search of another cellar to try a taste and stumbled upon a cool, yet simple, looking cellar belonging to Csabai Sandor, a Hungarian of Russian descent from a long line of wine-making men:
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| Sandor's cellar |
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| Inside Sandor's cellar...note the essential black organism coating the ceiling and walls. |
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| Extreme kitchen part with the lovely Barta family! |
Dorelli (the daughter) and her boyfriend, Gabor, eventually drove me safe and sound back to my hotel. I ordered a pizza pie and beer and passed out.
Sunday morning, with a bit of a Bikaver hangover, I checked out of my hotel and went to check out the Varos a Varos alatt (the city under the city), an old underground system of wine cellars built in the early 1700s by the Clergy.
 |
| The entrance to the cellar |
It is a massive network of tunnels that is a prime example of the unintended impacts of policy.
AARGH!! MORE HISTORY!!:So the structure was originally made of rhyolite, some sort of soft volcanic stone. Now, as I have talked about before, when wine is stored in the cellars, it co-exists symbiotically with a thick layer of mold that lines the walls and boroughs it's fungal tentacles into the structure, essentially making the material really strong.
Prior to WWII, private storage of wine occurred here. Wine making was nationalised in 1947 by the 'goddamn pinkos' and all the private wine was removed from the cellar. The mold cannot exist without the presence of wine. As it all began to die off the volcanic stone not only became unstable but also could no longer fully absorb the ground water which, prior to, the mold dealt with. Bad things happen when an extensive system of underground tunnels begin to degrade...just ask the city of Paris (albeit they did devise a wonderfully creative solution to their little sink hole problem).
So the tunnels have since mostly been reinforced with concrete and are slowly being converted into a museum.
AND NOW BACK TO ME:The rest of Sunday consisted of hitting up a 'meh' Turkish bath (now I'm Budapest bath-snobby), eating more Hungarian food, and trying to find a coffee shop to sit at for a couple hours to read and write and wait for my train. Nope. No success. No coffee shops open. Just churches.
While it was a really wonderful weekend getaway, I was there about 4 hours too long. I suspect it is much more bumpin' in summer and during wine season but in the humid Hungarian deep-freeze of winter, two days was sufficient to see the important sites.
I was exhausted as I boarded my early Sunday evening train back to Budapest. Settling into my seat, I pulled out my ticket and put it on the table in preparation for the train ticket checker. I had purchased the return ticket online and had printed them out in Budapest before I left (or so I thought). An hour into the trip, in the middle of rural Hungary, the guy comes along and I confidently hand him my ticket to check. He hands it back to me and says stuff to me in Hungarian I don't understand. A nice young man across the aisle begins helping me 'deal'. Apparently I didn't have the right ticket and instead I would have to purchase the ticket on board as well as pay a fine for not having a ticket. I tried to show him the email with the ticket on my phone...but NOPE. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. YOU HAVE TO PRINT IT! I emptied out my wallet of 5600 forints (about 25 dollars). And then, unexpectedly and strangely, I just began to cry. I cried for an hour. I burned through a whole tiny travel package of kleenex. I don't know why. Maybe it was the stress of the idea of being tossed out on some Hungarian village train platform in the middle of winter at night. Or maybe it was just the fatigue and lingering hangover from my Bikaver tasting. Surely it wasn't the financial stress and frustration of being out what amounts to basically the cost of two glasses of wine in a Vancouver restaurant? Maybe it was the shame of still not being able to deal with officious stuff with men in uniforms in the native language. Or maybe, just maybe, for the first time since I arrived, in the stress of the moment, I felt really far from home.
Finally I was back in Budapest, making my way to my NEW home through the bustling streets of downtown, and I was tickled pink to see people out and about in the city and eating in restaurants that were open on a Sunday night....and I smiled and had a good laugh at myself about my explosion of emotion en route from Eger.
**Due to technical issues, I had to change my blog website. If you'd like to read earlier posts from my time here in Europe this past year it's all here: http://blogs.ubc.ca/magyaradventure/
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