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Published: March 16th 2009
Train Graffiti
Belgrade, SerbiaThe Hungarian man sitting across from me glances up from his crumbling loaf of bread and gives me a sympathetic look as I try in vain to disappear into my coat. I’m already bundled in practically every layer I brought, and it isn’t doing any good inside the frigid train car. We are roughly twenty hours into our trip, tired, jetlagged and numb with cold. Our flight from Seattle to Frankfurt was brisk but bumpy; as if you were thrown into a tin can and shaken…for ten hours. Thankfully, the alcohol was complimentary, and though it had quelled my normal turbulence-induced panic, it certainly hadn’t heightened my mental sharpness.
We changed planes in Germany for a short trip to Budapest, and were greeted by sight of flat, snow-covered fields as we descended. In the small airport, I was incredibly relieved to see that my checked luggage had managed to follow us from Seattle. However, as
soon as I hoisted my faithful blue backpack, which I have carried on every international adventure, the waist-strap broke with a resounding snap. Upon further inspection, it was deemed (at least temporarily) un-reparable, making the large pack nearly impossible to carry for long distances. We soldiered on in search of a taxi…yet having my “lucky” pack break so early on in the trip seemed like a very bad omen…
We traveled by taxi in the direction of Budapest’s Keleti Train Station. The city looked cold and imposing, yet also incredibly timeless and elegant. The weather was absolutely frigid, and we were surprised to see that Keleti was completely open…no cozy waiting rooms to unthaw in. The massive station had towering ceilings, huge cold marble rooms, and pigeons flapping aimlessly over the crowds huddled near the platforms. We bought our tickets from an unsmiling woman in the nearly deserted international ticket lounge and decided to look for a warmer place to pass the hours until our train. We wandered around near the station a bit, dragging the luggage in tow, and marveling at Budapest’s grand architecture. We didn’t make it too far, however, before we ducked into a smoky bar
to escape the cold and tiredly sipped some Hungarian beer.
Budapest looks like a magnificent city, and I am sorry to say that I saw very little of it. I would love to come back someday, preferably in the summer, when the city comes alive with outdoor cafes and buzzing nightlife. Back at Keleti Station, we struggled to find our train, scurrying from platform to platform, pointing to random trains and enquiring, “Kosice? Kosice?” On the positive, we did manage to eventually find the correct train; the bad news was it was over an hour late, leaving us shivering and cursing to wait with the other half-frozen passengers. When we finally managed to clamor on and squeeze into a car with two other gentlemen, it was only to find that the heater in the car was broken, making it roughly the same temperature as outside. Eventually, when the train cleared out on the way to Slovakia, we were able to move into another compartment, which was slightly warmer. I realize the stories of our transportation woes are long and rather tedious, but hopefully I have at least conveyed my point…that traveling through Eastern Europe in the dead of winter
Main Street
Kosice, Slovakia can be fairly miserable.
The journey to Kosice, Slovakia took around four hours, and it was past 10 pm when we staggered off the train. Our goal in coming to Europe was to pick up a short term contract teaching English. One of these teaching contacts we had made was in Eastern Slovakia. The party in question picked us up at the station, looking rather glum and unfriendly. I chalked it up to the late hour, and they drove us to our accommodation…which was located miles outside of the city. Seeing our puzzled faces they assured us that there had been a terrible yet completely unavoidable mix-up when booking the hostel, and all other available hotels in the city were completely full (ironic, for a random weekday in February). Anyway, they ended up dropping us off in the “Auto Camping” ground, near the side of a freeway, in the complete and utter middle of nowhere. The accommodation consisted of several concrete huts, with rickety doors and stained carpet. The proprietor was in a shed nearby, smoking and watching dubbed 80’s movies on an antiquated TV set. I also have to add that after our new employers deposited us at
said establishment, they decided we should pay for the room...which turned out to be about 30 Euro!
I’m no hotel snob…during my travels I have camped out in airports and train stations (and in one case a park bench)…shared dorms with twenty pairs of stinky feet, battled vermin, sweated, frozen, had cockroaches hiding under my pillow, been awakened and harassed by prostitutes over the phone, had a hotel employee actually dig through the trash thinking we had stolen from the mini bar, and faced less than stellar sanitary conditions all around…but for me this was the last straw. Being dumped off at midnight in a dilapidated cell on the edge of the highway was not a great sign for future treatment by this alleged employer. I also felt decidedly uneasy. We later joked that it was the hostel from “Hostel” (and for any of you that have been living under a rock that is the disturbingly gruesome horror film about a bunch of unsuspecting backpackers getting chopped into bits in some sketchy Eastern European hostel). Anyway, long story short, we decided to bail…on the hostel and the job.
We hopped a taxi back to town…though the only hotel
Rathaus
Vienna, Austria we could find was way out of our budget, we bit the bullet and stayed anyway. The next morning we got a chance to briefly explore downtown Kosice. Slovakia has been a member of the European Union since 2004, though only recently changed its currency to the Euro. The outskirts of town still look like a throwback to the Iron Curtain…plenty of ugly, gray Communist block buildings with grimy windows lurk on periphery. The surrounding area is fairly industrial; in fact US Steel has a large factory there. However, the downtown is very beautiful. The main street is dominated by the gorgeous and gothic St. Elisabeth Cathedral, built in the 14th century. We wandered around the cobblestone streets, enjoying the colorful shops and clear winter sky. Eventually, we headed across the park to the monolithic concrete train station, and bought tickets for Vienna. I had just enough time battle my way through the crowded grocery store for some bread and cheese before our train took off.
The ride to Vienna took about seven hours, and we got a chance to watch the picturesque, snow-covered countryside roll by. The train cut north towards the mountains (we chatted with one intrepid
Royal Duck
Schonbrunn Palace, Vienna. I loved this duck...I think I have about 10 pictures of him. man from Israel who lived in Kosice and was on his way to hike the High Tatras, cold though it may be) and then on though the capital of Bratislava. We arrived in Vienna around 9 pm, happy to feel soft snow crunching under our shoes.
Vienna is a marvelous city, and winter only seems to accentuate its beauty. We walked absolutely everywhere; past the Museums Quartier to the Hofburg Palace, looking majestic with its empty, snow-covered courtyard. Incidentally, I later read in EasyJet’s in-flight magazine, that Vienna officials have begun giving the horse-drawn carriage drivers breathalyzers, after one of them went on a drunken rampage with some terrified tourists last year. In a city as gorgeous as Vienna, it is hard to go wrong, but for us some notable highlights included Rathaus, the Sigmund Freud Museum, and of course, Schonbrunn Palace. We arrived at Rathaus (the seat of Vienna’s mayor and city council) one evening to find the gothic building lit with colorful lights and buzzing with activity. In front were two colorful skating rinks, linked by a trail of ice. Skaters of all ages whirled by in a flurry of color, and wooden sheds sold hot tea
Snow Crash
Schonbrunn Palace, Vienna with alcohol, spicy frankfurters, and other snacks.
The Sigmund Freud museum turned out to be serendipitously fascinating. I didn’t think I would find much extraordinarily interesting in man I had formerly discarded as a champion of outdated (and sometimes twisted) psychological theories. Thankfully, my ignorance didn’t keep me from visiting the museum, which had been his office until he was forced to flee Austria during WWII. According to a placard in the museum, Freud had three passions: smoking, traveling, and the collecting of various archeological artifacts. It turns out; Freud had been an avid traveler, and brought back art and figurines from all over the world which he kept in his office. I never thought I would have much in common with Sigmund Freud, but I have to hand it to him…the guy was a fantastic decorator. The museum was well laid out and very interesting; bringing a new dimension to the life of a man who so often appears dull and one-dimensional inside the pages of a textbook.
On another day, we took the metro to Schonbrunn Palace, to find the expansive grounds blanketed and snow and looking like something out of Cinderella. There were a handful
Party on the BNR!
Hanging out of the window, somewhere in Serbia. of other tourists, as well as locals out exercising in the gardens, but it wasn’t hard to quickly lose the crowds and become lost in a winter wonderland as we roamed the eerily quiet labyrinths surrounding the palace. It was stunning. Looking at the imposing structure, it wasn’t hard to imagine it hundreds of years ago, when carriages carrying noblemen frequently rolled up to its gates.
A few days later and we find ourselves standing at yet another frigid platform, squinting at what we hope is our train. A burly man with a shaved head rolls down the window, and addresses us in a thick, Eastern European accent, “Hey, where you go?” It is our train, bound for Sofia, Bulgaria. We decide to take the train all the way to Istanbul, where we have another contact for some short-term teaching. The journey by train ironically costs more than a flight on one of Europe’s ridiculously cheap budget airlines, but will allow us to enjoy the scenery along the way. Our chariot, with its fraying tan curtains and antiquated interior is part of the Bulgarian National Railway. We are some of the few people getting on in Vienna, and the
sleeping car is quiet except for our fearless conductor, who wanders up and down the hall singing in Bulgarian and smoking like a chimney despite all the signs forbidding it.
We pass through Hungary overnight, groggily hand our passports over to the Serbian border patrol for a stamp, and wake in Belgrade the next morning, passing over the icy Danube one last time before pulling into the station. Here, bundled passengers scurry between the tracks, and the ground is covered in at least a foot of snow. We look out at frozen, graffiti-covered trains as our own coach is slammed back and forth on the tracks while they try to add more cars. After nearly an hour at the station we are off again, and spend the rest of the day chugging through Serbia. The only thing that generally comes to mind at the mention of Serbia is its tragic and war torn past, but it is a beautiful country. Many of the villages we pass through don’t have running water, and look cold and isolated. It has to be a hard life, but the mountainous scenery in the southern portion of the country is stunning. We spend most
Train Graffiti
Belgrade, Serbia of the ride with the hanging out of the open window in spite of the cold, breathing in the fresh air and marveling. It is a fantastic journey, and I couldn't be happier to be here.
The Serbia-Bulgaria border crossing is taken seriously and a German traveler in the next compartment gets yelled at for taking a photo. We keep rolling, and enter Bulgaria at dusk. Serbia’s beauty has been replaced by smokestacks and giant, crumbling communist factories that look like the set for some sort of horror movie. When we finally arrive in Sofia’s Train Station we find it frigid, daunting, and stark. Many of the crumbling stairs are cordoned off, and it looks abandoned. We race around, trying to find our train, eventually succeed, and then are forced to bribe the conductor. We buy bread, chocolate, some very strong Bulgarian liquor that tastes like paint thinner, and what we think is cheese from one of the snack kiosks, and thankfully return to our coach. Somehow Sofia feels like an alternate universe, and everyone appears uncompromisingly grim. I have heard that Bulgaria really is a beautiful country, so I will try not to judge it too harshly and
Palace Gardens
Schonbrunn Palace, Vienna chalk up my fleeting impression to the horrendously cold weather. Still, when the angry Bulgarian border guard pounds on our door at 2 am and spends ten minutes alternately glowering at me and my passport under a black light, I am happy to leave.
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Diana
non-member comment
Spectacular photographs that capture a corner of the world that is less traveled, along with picturesque descriptions of all things seen. Well done!