Eastern Europe: The First Leg

Traveling, regardless of the specifics of the trip itself, always seems to be characterized by shenanigans of some sort or another. It just does. You could be traveling by car from one state to another to see a concert. Maybe a Megabus ride from Chicago at 4.15 in the morning. Or even a simple trip to the local convenient store to pick up a bag of potato chips (I wrote a short story about that once. I titled it ‘Fiction & Chips’ and still haven’t decided whether or not that was clever.) In my recent case—the inspiration for the creation of this blog—I was traveling from Cleveland, Ohio with the final destination of Wolkersdorf, Austria, from whence I am currently typing this account. Altogether, it wasn’t a horrible trip. It lasted about 25 hours, allowed me to pass through four different countries, and there was little to no delay in the scheduled proceedings. But some silly things did happen; so I figured it was my duty to report them. It was nothing outlandish, outrageous or groundbreaking in the belt notch of American youngsters attempting to backpack Europe via various means, but just some things that struck me as worthwhile to share because of their resounding trueness. No more than a few little experiences and their accompanying ideas—a wayfarer’s murmurings, if you will.

If you haven’t noticed already, you will catch tons of parentheses and dashes in my writing. I write like I talk: with a lot of self-interruptions. So, there’s your fair warning.

So, we—my girlfriend, Lisa, and I—began our journey by flying from Cleveland to Montreal; it was mostly painless. The flight from Montreal to Zurich was a different story, though. First of all, the flight attendant was a heartless sort of person—the kind that makes sure that his/her face, while it may not always exactly appear the same from moment to moment, is always exhibiting some sort of look that makes your heart drop several inches in your chest. You want it to rain when you see her, just for a logical reason to explain your immediate sulking. It’s just how she is. She had trouble wrapping her head around the fact that, during the plane’s descent, headphones which are not plugged into anything do not qualify as an electronic device. The man who owned the headphones in question, however, was pretty interesting. He was a late-twenties, ex-military businessman from Indianapolis moving to London in order to work for Rolls Royce. Not a bad gig, probably. I thought he looked like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, but he definitely didn’t.

The flight to Zurich was a little trying as far as international flights go.  Have you ever sat next to someone before the take-off of an eight hour flight and, the first words that he says to you are, “I am a’terrified of a’flying.” I have now. The man was an Italian (early 30’s?) who had been living in Montreal working as a waiter, acting occasionally in what I can only imagine to be cut-rate stage productions, and apparently reading his poetry on a regular basis at a downtown open-mic night in some bar. By the end of the flight, I decided he would certainly be miserable at all of those things. But, hell. Cheers to him for giving it a whirl, right? He told me at one point that he wanted to travel to NYC to make movies. I wanted him to succeed, too, I really did. Then his elbow came several centimeters from my chin again and I took back the sentiment. At one point, he literally handed me every piece of trash he had accumulated, glanced at the tray-table in front of me riddled with empty microwave meals and near-empty plastic cups of whiskey & Coke (gotta love the Europeans and their free booze on flights…) and asked me to wiggle out into the aisle so that he could head to the bathroom. I ended up with half a can of Coke across my clothes and wound up switching seats with him as per his request. Needless to say, the near-empty whiskey & Coke quickly became very empty…along with a healthy amount of red wine.

From Switzerland, we took a quick flight to Budapest. Our carry-on luggage wouldn’t fit in the overhead compartment, despite our attempts to pack as lightly as possible. We were sort of the American laughing stocks of the plane ride. That was OK, though. I still think we fared better than the girl that had approximately 47% of her butt-crack showing at all times. That’s just me, though.

Once we arrived in Budapest, we raced to get a small amount of cash and took the first bus we could into the city where we could catch a train to Vienna. On that bus, we met one of the nicest men I quite possibly have ever met. His accent and mustache were right on cue with his surroundings—it was brilliant. He was sort of like a cartoon character, but in a way that made you really respect him, ya know? This was after Lisa had been given a free 3-day bus ticket by some guy who was leaving the city and could no longer use it.

Budapest was treating us well, so far.

We then took the underground metro to the Keleti train station in order to catch a train to Vienna. The train station definitely had some cool features, but we were becoming a little travel-weary at that point. Not even the grease-pockets passing for gyros (which were admittedly wonderful) could perk us up fully.

Once the train finally came, we recklessly threw our backpacks in a corner behind some middle-aged women and, quite possibly, might have fallen asleep before we even hit the seats. Before realizing it, we had arrived in Vienna and were on another train that would take us to our final destination: Wolkersdorf.

After some serious self-reflection, I have concluded that Wolkersdorf might be perfect. It is a town of about 6,000 people that is surrounded by massive windmills (many of them actually in the nearby town Obersdorf.) It is quaint; it is clean; its people are active; the dogs are friendly; there are no fast food restaurants; it is surrounded by rolling vineyards; the local gelato store offers a Nutella flavor; also, the slide amidst the playground in the park is pretty freakin’ wild. So it goes with a place like Wolkersdorf. Before this trip, Ballycastle, Northern Ireland was my official dream location where I could imagine myself settling down. Now, Wolkersdorf is giving it some very serious competition. Austrian beer is a little skunky, though, and not quite as refreshing as a freshly poured Smithwick’s (and let’s not forget the Danish fan-favorite: Carlsberg.) But seriously, Wolkersdorf is pretty great. Whether you know me or are simply reading this as an internet passerby, I recommend you stop by if you are ever remotely in the area. It’s worth it.

Many people have heard me refer to my favorite animal—the sloth—by explaining that, as a species, “they just get it.” Well, the people of Wolkersdorf seem to just get it. They really do.

A lot has happened since Sunday afternoon when we arrived in this little village, but I have rambled far too long already. Like I said, it may not have been the most awe-inspiring story in the world. In fact, it may not have been a story at all. Nonetheless it is what happened. Nothing more than a few passing thoughts and a couple silly mental images—a wayfarer’s murmurings amidst the the rest of human existence’s constant humming. More will come in the future and, hopefully, you will read on. They will be more interesting (mainly because of pictures that will most likely be provided.)

For now, it is time to retire and prepare for another day of classroom work. Thanks for reading.

Gute Nacht.