Krakow to Budapest

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**Krakow pictures on the Warsaw blog, for some odd reason.

I think I have mastered the art of surreptitiously taking pictures. Although I agree with the practice of museums and palaces of this region to force visitors to pay an additional fee in order to take pictures on economic principles, it adds to the experience when one has to try and not get caught taking these "illegal" photos. Having experimented with everything from blind behind the back photography to snapping a photo behind a tall man who himself is legally taking a picture, I have managed to hash out the inferior methods. Thus, you all get to experience underground mines and Romanian castles with your own eyes, rather than via my all too abrupt descriptive skills.

Arrived in Krakow on Sunday the 20th from Warsaw around noon completely wiped out. Managed to trudge the mile or two in the pouring rain to Nathan's Villa, a hostel ideally located in between the supposedly artsy and colorful Kazimierz (the old Jewish district) and Old Town Krakow. Every bone in my body wanted to take a nap, but I knew that would screw over my sleeping schedule, so I gave the ladies my laundry and then went back into the rain to see the city. Most of the names of these places are completely jumbled together at this point, but my first stop was to Wawel Castle at the southern end of the old city which stood atop a very medieval style hill, thus allowing for a great view of the surrounding areas. I had forgotten that John Paul II had done so much work in this area, but they sure as hell did not allow this statement to remain at peace in the archives of my memory, for it appeared that every single bloody (not literally, of course...) statue depicted the former Pope. Recently deceased ex-president Lech Kaczinsky and his wife's tomb also sat in the crypts of the castle, so it was quite interesting to join the long queue to see their remains.

Traipsed through the old town a bit more, but since it was raining I stopped into a small (ish) catholic church that looked relatively serene. Upon opening the doors, I was greeted by a mass (this time, literally) of people seated before a slew of priests. After avoiding a few rather hateful glares (at least I think they were angry, but then again no one ever smiles in this part of the world), I snuck into the back to take a glimpse of what I believe to be my first Catholic service.

Lasted 5 minutes. Max. I attribute this to the different language, my lack of religious, especially Catholic, fervor, and the fact that the proceedings in general seemed downright boring. No disrespect to any possibly offended followers, but I find it hard to stymie an hour of new age Protestantism much less the prospect of ten minutes inside a traditional Polish mass. So of course I opted to grab a drink at a pub across the street (someone is probably uttering a tisk tisk) and watch the Italy game. Sat down with a slew of Irish guys who, as I soon found out, were staying in my dorm at the hostel, and we immediately hit it off. Turns out they were going at my venture in reverse, having just come from Budapest. We stumbled back to the "Villa" after the game, only to find that the hostel had a bar in it's basement, so between that and the $3.50US buffet that the place put on for dinner, we eeked out a great night.

Woke up the next morning to the cold splash of water on the face from one of the Irish guys. I will opt at this point not to type out the word's I blurted out, complete with a ridiculous voice crack, as a response, but I am sure you can believe how... surprised I was. Either way I did have to get up to catch the tour bus to Auschwitz-Birkenau and later, the salt mines. Slept the majority of the way, but managed to bond with an American guy in this late 20's over the fact that he spent one year at U of A before transferring to KU. He was in the middle of a much longer trek than myself that was on it's tail end after winding its way mostly through Western Europe.

Auschwitz was an extremely trying experience. Nothing can prepare one for the mind blowing emotional effects that witnessing such a large scale death camp will enact. The tour guide was poised and adequately sensitive with regard to the presented information, and the rooms with the items belonging to the lost Jewish souls were breathtaking. When we moved to Birkenau, the first thing that I noticed was the absurd size of the facility. If that was not enough, the width of the facility, the lesser of the two dimensions, was over one kilometer. At it's peak, the Auschwitz complex held 135,000 prisoners, with Birkenau able to facilitate the "living" of close to 100,000. Thus, when we went up to the high tower to look out at the entirety of the Berkenau portion, it was stated that we should imagine a full camp, and then multiply it by eleven to attain the quantity of Jews, Poles, Hungarians, Gypsies, etc. murdered at Auschwitz during its existence. Then go back and times it by sixty to get the estimated number of Jews killed during the Nazi era. No clever rhetoric can craft a phrase to describe the feeling.

The salt mines were a bit odd to witness after the Auschwitz episode. However, it was fairly neat to be over 100m below the ground and be able to encounter countless statues and churches crafted entirely from salt deposits. The tour guide even showed us an exact engraved replica, entirely composed of salt, of The Last Supper. Went back home and hung out with the Irish guys and a few random Poles that we met at a bar that night. Bit rough to attempt to have fun after the events of the day, but in hindsight I am happy to have gone to the mines, for they served as a good transition, whereas without them I most likely would have opted to crash instead.

I had tried to craft a route that would lead me into the mountains of Slovakia for a day or two before heading off to Budapest during my entire stay in Krakow, but at the end the prices for transportation were too high, and I was thus "forced" to take a night train the next day for the Hungarian capital. Having seen the majority of the hot spots of the city the previous two days, I wandered rather aimlessly through Kazimierz, and even spent a fair stint within the Krakow mall searching for random gifts to send out, for my train did not leave until 10 that night (or 22, as I have been scolded into adopting as the proper terminology). It was odd staying in a city for such an extended period of time, as I had become accustomed to moving quickly since Helsinki (albeit only a few days, but I reckon that I like the quick movement, a lot).

The six bed couchette was full of a slew of overly giggly Scottish girls, and one EXTREMELY sunburnt Swedish guy who rather resembled a Caucasian version of Queen Latifah with long blonde hair. I know this description sounds incredibly demeaning, but I would not have said a thing had it not been entirely correct and the fact that this is how HE DESCRIBED HIMSELF UPON INTRODUCTION. Probably the most hilarious hour or so of my life before we all fell asleep -- probably from laughing induced exhaustion. Should have made it to Stockholm with that episode as proof.

Arrived in Budapest early in the morning and immediately savored the faintest inkling of sweat formation (hush), for this was the first time since Moscow that it had been somewhat warm. Having not researched the city at all before arriving, I managed to get lost quite easily, and had to incorporate my now perfected body language skills that I honed in Moscow to sort my sense of direction out. Walked to a hostel somewhat in the center of Pest (the non hilly side of the Danube... Buda is its hilly nemesis) and told them that I had been instructed when I stayed there 3 weeks ago (deceitful yes, but it worked) at the same hostel that if I passed through again I could leave my bags there for the day till I caught my transit out. I probably could have just asked them, because they were really cool and even offered to let me shower and have a free breakfast while I was staying (all without paying a room fee). I passed down the latter two options, but was extremely pleased to have avoided the luggage storage fees at the train station. Plus, I immediately started talking to a Canadian couple who had just arrived and were planning on doing a similar walk through the city. We hit up the Terror Museum, got lunch at the old hangout spot of the Hungarian KGB, and walked across to the Buda hills to see the various castles and snag some cool photos.

Their company was extremely nice, but we parted ways so that I could head for the caving tour I had arranged in the afternoon. As was to be expected, there was a surfeit of English speaking tourists at the meeting spot, but I quickly started talking to a British guy, Matt, who had just graduated from school up in Manchester. He was on a month long trek that had started in Amsterdam and was ending in Athens after a stop in Belgrade. We arrived at the cave expedition... place??... soon thereafter via bus, and then hiked up to the mouth.

There were 8 of us in our group: two from Berkeley, four from Norway (one of which was headed out to Chico for Bible School), Matt and myself. Our guide was the kind of super exteme/ presumably outdoor adventurous type that you would expect upon attempting a caving trip in Hungary. He allowed us to choose the most difficult of the paths, for as he described, "None of you have big butts or wrinkly eyes," and from thence we descended into the ground. I was expecting a rather bland two hour walk through some caverns, but instead we were slipping and sliding through and around rocky walls that at times measured no more than a foot or so wide. The helmet first rule had to be applied on many stretches (thanks Richard Mitchell), one of which was a four meter or so long hole known as the "Wriggly" in which the only way to get through was to turn on your side and shimmy through in a superman pose of sorts while balancing only on your back left foot and your front left elbow. One girl got stuck for about ten minutes -- much to our amusement. Kidding. Kind of.

Every time we could all fit in a cavern together the guide would sit us down and go off on a little anecdote about the cave or his past super extreme adventures. About halfway through we noticed that he had a little twitch when he spoke, so that every time he ended a sentence he made a farting sound with his mouth. Think: "And so contrary to conventional American thought, (he loved to heap opprobrium on Americans for being so nonchalant about everything, in jest of course) you have to train for 3-5 years to become ready for more adventurous caverns... pptthhhh (the farting noise)." Then he'd keep going. It was similar to when you hear people attempt to clarify/question what they just said with a "you know" except it was a blatant repetition of a gaseous excretion. All of us started to mimic this tendency, so that by the time we passed a group walking in at the mouth, we probably sounded like nine gassey hyenas between our paucity of "pthhs and hahas". I did manage to hit it off with the guide, as he knew about ACL back home and was a huuuuge fan of blues guitarists like John Lee Hooker and Eric Johnson. Yet, as has been the motif of sorts of this trip, and my life in general, I have no recollection of what his name was.

Left the caves pretty exhausted after about 2-3 hours, and went with my group to grab dinner back in Pest. After a short stop at the City Park, I hopped on the train to Brasov. Rode about half of the way there with four Hungarians who were taking a week to hike through the Carpathians, which got me excited for the kind of people I was set to meet in Brasov (about 3 hours north of Budapest, in Transylvania).

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