Birthday, Berlin

From the title of this post, one can imagine what I am going to write about.

My birthday started with a donut cake, then a phone call to Canada (it was still the day before my birthday Canada time), then breakfast in Berlin, Dinner in Budapest. Then morning messages from Canada the day after my EU birthday. It was quite a day (and I think my brain is still processing all of it!).

Well, you guessed it. This weekend was my birthday. and I also went to Berlin. And I also got Monday (my Birthday Proper) off, so a long weekend it was for me.

Before blogging about Berlin (which probably warrants a second entry), I would first like to thank everyone for their Birthday wishes. Literally, they came from every where (by mail, by blog, by phone, in person, on facebook, via email1, via email 2, via text message). Really, it is really nice to hear from everyone-especially since this was my first birthday away from friends and family. Although....the people I have met here have really made bpest fun for me, and are like a little home away from home.

So I thought for this post I'll tell the world what I did for my Birthday in Bpest.

actually, it started in Berlin, and ended in Budapest.

So let me take you back to Monday at 1 am. well, okay, let's start on Sunday.

Max planned to celebrate my bday on the Sunday. He got tickets to go and see a show at the Berlin Philharmonic. (it wasn't the symphony, but it was one of 3 orchestra's that call Berlin their home). It was a mix of the Berlin Orch and a Japanese travelling choir, singling Beethoven's 9th Symphony. The one that 'ode to joy' comes from. The philharmonic was really neat inside, and although was very 1970s inside, it sounded great! I took a photo (without a flash) (but it said not to, so I am not sure if I should post it or not).

The orchestra was really good and that with the choir and the four solo singers (who hit all their notes ... even the soprano).

When the orchestra started to play Ode to Joy (and the choir began to sing in German), I couldn't seem to shut off 'Drink milk love life to all freshness something blah blah driiiink milk" and "Hi I'm Carlos Delgado of the Toronto Blue Jays, Drink Milk!" from my brain. Those Dairy Farmers of Ontario, or the Milk Marketing Whoevers should be very proud! Even after the concert, I wasn't humming about Beethoven, I was humming about milk. I am sure that Max thought I was slightly deranged....as these commercials are obviously an Ontario thing.

After the concert, we went out for dinner to a nice German restaurant. By German I don't mean sauerkraut and sausages (which we did have the night before), I mean German food like roast and potatoes. As i could not get enough sauerkraut this weekend, i had a form of 'kraut anyway----After dinner we peaked at the dessert menu and well nothing really struck my fancy.......except for Basil Ice Cream with Strawberries. I wasn't sure if it was the basil part or the basil and strawberry part made me very intrigued by the whole thing. Although it wasn't birthday cake (which was the plan), we decided to share the Basil Ice Cream. Oh. My. Gosh. It was so good. You could tell it was home made and that they used fresh basil and cream, and man, that paired with the strawberries made the ice cream combo DEVINE and refreshing yet too sweet and ice-creamy!

As we didn't have birthday cake (which was the plan had there been a suitable cake) I challenged Max to find a piece of cake at midnight to ring in my bday.....although hesitant (as well, finding a piece of cake after 9 on a Sunday would have been difficult) he accepted the challenge....

So after my Sunday birthday dinner, we walked around down town Berlin for a while. The restaurant was in the area where there were lots of older buildings and museums and they were all lite up. PLUS Germany had just one their FIFA game so the streets were packed with people all waving German flags. It was pretty cool.

After walking around for a bit, we decided to head back through the city centre to check out the thick of the football celebrations, then we headed back to his house. By then it was nearly mid night. nearly my birthday.

We got back around 11 50, and while max was fiddling around in the kitchen I decided to check out German TV. Now, although German is not English, it is closer to English than Hungarian is, and so there were several words that I could recognise, which was actually quite nice.

then, at midnight max came out of the kitchen with my cake. well, sort of. He had succeeded at finding a Milka packaged donut, and what was some thing similar to a joe louis (what he found at the gas station (the only place open)). Then he stuck a table candle in the hole of the donut and added a poppy seed cake square thing. Although not typical, I thought it was cute (even if donuts really should not be sold prepackaged!). hehe. After we sample the array of gas station cake, I called home (S). Although it wasn't my birthday in Canada, it was in Germany so I thought it counted. Plus this was perhaps the only time where I would be able to call as I do not have a land line outside of my office.

Monday (my birthday proper), I was headed back to Budapest. We stopped at a German department store, KeDeWE, and I bought a birthday present to myself. A cute, little purple purse/shopping bag from Longchamps :). Although plain Jane, it is very pretty and I thought that now was a good time to finally buy it (i have been thinking about buying one since I was in Paris, four years ago). Plus, I qualified for tax-free shopping (so saved 20%). yeah!

When I got back to Budapest, I had enough time to check my email briefly (thanks for all the greetings!), shower, then meet a group of interns for a dual- Canada birthday and Intern Good bye party at this Hungarian buffet Etterium. It was all you can eat (and drink including wine, beer and champagne) for one flat rate (less than the entrance to Mandarin), and you had three hours from the time you arrived at the table), so we took our time, in fact, we took the whole three hours.

It was a really nice atmosphere, and I liked the fact that I could sample lots of little Hungarian dishes (some good, some, well, not really....for my taste buds at least). There was also a very funny pizza man who walked around the restaurant carrying a Pizza Pie, offering slices to everyone. He was very formal about it to, and the first time he showed up at our table I was slightly shocked as I didn't quite understand why a man dressed in white, with a bow tie, was offering me Pizza at a Hungarian buffet.....

As we were gearing up for dessert, the music in the restaurant started to fad, and a very loud 'Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday' English language version of the song came over the loud speaker. I was shocked and slightly confused. When I looked around the table, everyone was smiling and well, I knew that the happy birthday was directed at me.....Then out of the corner of my eye I say what look like a sparkler (my back was to the restaurant, as I was slightly mortified, I didn't really want to turn around, later I found out that the whole restaurant was looking and smiling, so i guess I am glad that I didn't turn around. at least I spared myself the instant flushed red look that would have happened had I turned around....).

Then a cake arrived complete with a MEGA sparkler. In fact, I do believe that the size of the birthday 'candle' would qualify as a firework in Canada. Still it was great and well, really made the night :) Thanks again! (for those interested: it was chocolate :)).

Some of the people took pictures of my shocked face, and when I get a hold of one i will send it along......

After dinner we went out to a pub/club near the Bpest Opera House and met up with some more interns. It was fun and a great way to end a my first Birthday Abroad. But really, it didn't end until this morning, when I woke up (Tuesday) and saw all the wonderful wishes that were sent and blogged to me over Monday night. It literally was the longest bday of my life, and I enjoyed it immensely.

Ireland Part III

vSo to continue on my path of recollection….. I will note: I ran out of time. This blog was long too. Please ignore all references to photos as there is no time for uploading. BUT. I will eventually figure out how piccassa works and upload them there.

Hostel. Belfast. We arrived. We got a map.

Right, so with the map and plan ahead we decided that we needed lunch. Well we didn’t actually decide, our blood sugar levels did…you could feel the tension rising....anyway, as there were five of us, I was worried that the typical low blood sugar-large group of people-can’t decide on a restaurant- would happened, and while it was touch and go for about a block, we all settled on an ‘Italian’ pizza joint.

No one had pizza though. I think we were all just hungry and tired and wanted to sit on a patio, and this was one of the only reasonably priced, patio for 5 places on Botantic Street. The menu was the typical Italian/everyday fair, with pizza, salad, burgers, wraps and the likes (with a slight UK twist with flouring like ‘sweet chili’ , and I think I might have saw bangers and mash as well). I was just happy to be able to read a menu. And ask the waiter questions that are more detailed then “what is this” or “is sonka HHHAAMM”. I settled on a chicken Caesar wrap (romaine lettuce isn’t not exactly prevalent in HU), with chips and a salad. The wrap was a wrap and the chicken was chicken the ‘salad’ was the size of my palm and was that leafy tri coloured mixed stuff (ie: not horrible, but nothing to write home about). But the Chips. The Chips. The Chips. were. So. Good. I had forgotten how good Irish chips were. They were thick cut (but not wedge), deep fried to perfection. They had a slightly crispy on the outer shell, but soft, roast potatoes style consistency on the inside, with a faint taste of malt vinegar, but that was more of an after taste…..and of course salt…..probably enough salt to suffice my sodium intake for a few days-at least. And they were served piping HOT, something that is not prevalent in Hungarian restaurants (regardless of what type of food you have ordered it will always arrive ‘Luke warm’)….Even when they went slightly ‘cold’ they refrained from becoming soggy…and retained their crispy outer and soft potato ness….. They were so good. The thought of leaving my plate empty never crossed my mind. They were just too good to leave there.

After lunch we decided to take a Black Cab tour of West Belfast. This tour was really the only thing that I actually wanted to see in the short time we were there, and every one else seemed up for it, so off we went. We went back to the hostel and ordered the tour from the man at the desk. To give you a background on what this tour actually is, well, it’s a tour for between 3 and 7 people. (I don’t actually know if these are the limits, but its 10 pounds a head, 30 pound minimum and the car that picked us up had 7 seat belts). A guy comes and picks you up and drives you around the area of Belfast that the ‘thick’ of the Irish Troubles took place during the 1980s and 1990s. The car is ‘unmarked’ meaning that while it was pretty obvious that we were tourists, and the car had a business card sized sticker in the window, we were not on a open-air bus that said ‘hop on hop off” youknowwhatamean?

So we were 5. The drivers tailor the tour to what you want and how much each person knows or cares to know about the history of West Belfast.

Our group was mixed so we got the best of both worlds in terms of details. The tour guide also was great as he stopped at all the key places (to photos and explanation of course), and also gave lots of details (if we wanted them), and ALSO said he’d stop if we ever wanted to snap another photo…basically it was a personal tour just for us. The first thing we drove by was a heap of rubbish. When the tour guide began to explain what the rubbish was, saying the word ‘bon fire’ my mind instantly connected the rubbish to ‘marching season’. Sure enough, the pile of garbage was slowly being compiled to create a very good fire, in anticipation for the July Twelve parade commemorating the Battle of the Boyne, where William of Orange (the Protestant) beat King James (the Catholic) in a battle, which ultimately allowed for the prevalence of Protestantism in Ireland. In Northern Ireland, however, the division of Protestant to Catholic is very close, which is not the case in the rest of Ireland (so the tour guide indicated) (I am such a student….I am referencing where I got my information from…… If I could figure out how to foot note, I would, really. That’s just the way I am.)

Then we drove into the catholic neighborhoods, and the famous building murals. I have studied the ‘Irish Troubles’ countless times and it was just so cool to finally be able to see what I’d read and learned about. In terms of peace agreements, the Good Friday accord is one that is studied and used as a comparative model (at least in the liberalism sense). Right, so, the tour also brought us to the wall of murals that are painted by local artists. Some, like the one of Che, Fredrick Douglass, Palestine, etc were easy to recognize, and the others that related directly to the Irish Troubles were explained by the tour guide (points for taking the tour!). He also showed us the newest addition to the blocks of murals. One done my Banksy, an unknown graffiti artist from Bristol England (Max you seem to pop up everywhere!). Banksy has doodled all over Bristol actually (I’ve seen it, so it’s true, for anyone in Bristol or heading there if I am correct there is one just up the hill that is across from the huge church/cathedral in the city centre), but what makes him unique is that he does his art after dark- and well, no one actually Knows who Banksy is. Apparently the painting of the little boy just showed up two weeks ago on the wall. This means that Banksy (or a very good mimic) was in Belfast (or so the tour guide speculated). After touring the Catholic Neighbourhood, and the first blocks of murals, to get there we had to drive through the road block barricades (some of which are closed at night, and other that are only opened during rush hour), and then past the large four story peace wall it was well sort of overwhelming. There, before me were the physical remnants what a ‘peace agreement’ actually manifests itself as- physically, perhaps not mentally, but physically.

The wall was huge (that is the photo up top, I managed to get one in!). There were two guys (who had just turned onto the wall where the street was from the ‘Protestant Side’, the driver immediately commented that, as it was nearing dusk, it wasn’t such a great idea for two twenty-something’s to be walking ‘in these parts’. He assured us that they wouldn’t be killed (which, well I didn’t really know how to respond to that), but didn’t stop himself from saying that there was a chance that they could be ‘ruffed up’. Right then and there I never felt so sheltered and Canadian in my life.

Really, after meeting and speaking to so many people while here, and en route to there, or speaking with locals, or travelers or exchange students, I really have come to realize just how secure Canada really is. By secure I don’t just mean war, tanks, bunkers and ammunition, I also mean the security of everyday life, the security of knowing that I if I get a job, I can save my money and it will be there when I want to buy a house or a car (or pay for my licence for that matter), or know that I can make a decent wage and plan knowing that for the most part our public and social system won’t collapse you know? I’ve never experienced the actual effects of hyper inflation, of government bankruptcy, cronyism, of ‘buying off officials’, of severe inequality, of poverty, of eminent fear of kidnapping, of bombings, or guns, or checkpoints…..it’s a lot to process….Anyway….Like I said the wall was really long, and actually, tall as well. (photo: what?!) After driving about ¾ of the way, the driver stopped the car, and handed us all a black sharpie (he was well prepared!), and then told us that we could go sign the wall if we wanted. We wanted. So we did. I of course could not think of anything to write other than ‘peace’ so that is what I wrote.

While I was writing my name it reminded me of all the places I’ve signed my name, including the Lennon Wall in Prague. Which is a wall in the old part of the city where, during the soviet era, people would go and write the lyrics of Lennon songs on the wall at night. It was also (to my knowledge) one of the only walls that the police did not paint over…. Now for anyone headed in that direction, it that peace wall/elegy to Lennon (the Beatle), is definitely worth while…..

Then we drove over to the head quarters of Sinn Fein, the political wing of the Provisional IRA, and stopped at more murals related commemorating, or in fact glorifying, certain aspects of the Troubles. I believe this is where we became super tourists….because several tours collided on that spot at the same time….and we were armed with cameras. The other group of 8 or so were Irish, so the fact that they were posing meant that I, the Canadian, could too. Then we went past the gates of the peace divider and headed to main protestant area of the city. You would not believe the 180 that you feel when you enter that area. Really it was remarkable how the targets changed, how the different the focus of events were, and of course the differences in the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ of Ulster….it really puts deep seated conflict into perspective (I’m not supporting war here, I’m just highlighting the complicated nature of it war or at least the protracted kind). It was especially poignant when we drove by a memorial to IRA bombing victims….when just a few minutes before the tour guide was explaining the tit or tat style of fighting between the IRA and the British Army… It was nice to have taken the tour because, to be honest, all the murals, memorials and well history of the place are really in residential areas. Plus, there is quite a large geographical distance between everything, and it’s not the sort of place you’d want to be walking around with a tourist map and camera strapped around our neck….

The last real stop on the tour was an area where there are a series of mural painted on normal houses that ‘commemorate’ or actually, I think ‘glorify’ is a better word, well, they glorify Unionist heroes. (I really hope that I have all the details strait…). Anyway, the murals sort of make a circle/square/rectangular/octagon/amoeba shape if one were to draw them on a paper. Really I guess I should say, they are located in a residential neighbourhood, with several streets that all lead to a park-ette open field. If you are standing in the park-ette and slowly turn around in one spot you can have a good glimpse of all of them. When we got out of the car, the tour guide drew our attention to, well, probably the most ‘recognisable’ mural in the area. (see the photo?). (and me?). (it was huge, eh?). When we got out he asked the crowd (the 5 of us), if we knew what was no neat about the painting……I was too distracted by the vividness of the painting (and the details for that matter), as well as the stark contrast between the blue and the objects, that really I hadn’t a clue what was not neat about it.

Then vero said, “it’s the mona lisa”.

I was confused.

How does a eye-brow-less, brown tinted, smaller than you actually think it is, covered in glass, not even if every one else did, you should not ignore the ‘no photographs’ sign at the Louvre, painting, have anything to do with a painting of a paramilitary pointing a shot gun at the me?

Well, there is one connection. The painting follows you. Well the barrel of the shot gun does. (as do the eyes of the monolisa or la jaconde to refer to it in the cultural haute European way) (see for example, these two pictures). I took them from two different angles, and at both angles the keys and barrel of the shot gun followed…..creepy ….for those interested in seeing a painting such as this in the Ottawa area….got the Laurier House (on Laurier Street and Chapel). I don’t know why I remember this from my grade 6 trip, but I do believe that there is a painting of Lester B. Pearson there, where his eyes are alive, and follow you. (I don’t know why I said Pearson, it actually makes more sense to have said Laurier, but I think that it was actually Laurier … but I don’t think it was Pearson…..that makes NO sense…now that I have thought out loud, I do believe in was Mackenzie King….really, I think it was Mackenzie King….., if someone checks this out, please report back J).

Okay, so after the tour ended the guide asked us what our plan was. We told me we were headed to Bangor, but we had about an hour or so before we wanted to go. Like the hostel concierge had done a several hours before, the driver pondered for about a milla-second before settling on a drop off spot were we could see parts of the city en route to the train station (I really do love the Belfast-e-lites, Belfast-tions? Belfasters? Belfast-e-gins?). Anyway, he dropped at what was essentially the ‘top of the city centre’ and we then walked to the ‘bottom of the city centre’ where the train was. We started at the University of Ulster, walked by St. Anne’s church (it was closed, or else I would have snuck a peak), then we walked around and about, saw the Royal Albert Clock (one of the girls said that perhaps Albert got the clock because he felt left out as everything else that is pretty here is named after Victoria. I tend to agree. ) Anyway, we then stopped at a mall. Why a mall you say? Well because the top level of the mall is a huge open sky light with a panoramic view of the whole city! It was really neat (and free), and why I love to stay at hostels (because this is where they tell you to go).

Then we made our way to the train station, Ms. Google maps got us there with enough time to grab a latte (which tasted very good), and a snack for the concert. At that point it was around 6 and while we had just eaten lunch and well I had eaten a million bazillion of the best fries of my life, I was planning ahead. Really, the concert wasn’t slotted to be over by 11….and well….I didn’t think my blood sugar could last that long with out a little reinforcement…… Then we got to the train station, hoped on a train, rode two stops, got off, and hoped on another train, and then we arrived. In bangor. A small town, partially ready for the 40 000 people that were to ascend into the town by 8. Like any good, mass exodus from a rail station, I find the best approach to finding your way is to follow the crowd. Now, I was always taught to not be a follower, and well sometimes if everyone follows then there is no leader, which is slightly problematic, but there is a time and place for everything and this was a time for a followin’. Or at least I thought it was.

The follow the pack strategy worked until we hit the side walk. Then. The crowd split into two directions. Literally one went left then strait, the other group when right and up a hill. Avoiding the hill (this was actually an unconscious decision, really), we went left. Our decision took us on a slight detour from Ward Park, but did allow us to walk through the town. There were so many people walking towards Ward Park, and the same amount of people picnicking on the side walk or in the parks (watching us, the walkers), I felt like I was in a parade, and that I should be waving. I didn’t wave. I am not that silly. The concert was amazing. That is all I will say. It was amazing and fun and great and well amazing.

It was also cool that Guinness was the sponsor. Only because O am Canadian and normally at concerts its Molson. I relish the novelty of it all.

After the concert we began the great odyssey to my bed…requiring that I wade through 40 000 Irish, in various stages of intoxication, sadly, some had already reached the ‘hang over stage’ and were looking a little worse for wear. Anyway, we got to the train station, and had to wait about 40 minutes for the train to come. There was a very long line, and well, the first one was too full (in fact there was probably about 200 people a head of us).

SO there we waited, for 40 minutes. I was tired of standing. After all, we’d be doing that since 4pm and it was now 12. then I remembered my BUN. Yes. I love when for sight pays on in the hind (sight). So I opened the package and started to eat the plain bun (I didn’t buy a sandwich because sandwiches that are not Pb and J can become disastrous if they fall to the bottom of one’s bag…..anyway, as was munching away at my cracked wheat bun a young lad turned around and said:

‘is thawt just a plain ole’ bap uure eeetine ’?

I looked at him.

And said nothing.

Then said (to myself). “what is a bap”.

Then my brain went into serious thinking mode.

I remember reading the word bap somewhere, but where? (hence the thinking mode). Then I remembered reading the Ryan Air menu and reading something that said ‘breakfest bap’ and it actually being and egg micmuffin, then I thought, I am holding a bun and an egg mcmuffin is essentially breakfast on a bun.

Eureka!

A bap is a bun.

Problem solved.

My response to the Irish lad (who was with a friend by the way).

Yes, it is just plain.

Silence.

Then it was really weird, so I did what any polite Canadian would do. I asked if he wanted some. He laughed and said ‘na’.

Then we (me, vero, him and his best mate), chatted. Well he chatted. To us. In five minutes I knew were he lived, where he worked, that his mother was no longer with us, that he was IN LOVE with Pink, that he’d never been to Canada, that his other friend was waiting for him at another stop, that he really wanted to go to Las Vegas, that he didn’t really know where (or what) central America was, that he had painful veins in his legs, that they were going to be fixed via an operation this week AND that he worked for an oil company in Belfast. He also gave me his business card. It was information overload.

gah. I am running out of time.

so, in one sentence. We got home, talked, went to bed, got up, ate hostel breakfast (home made Irish (real) Irish breakfast complete with beans and tomaaato), walked around Queen's university, then the city centre (again), then i got a Tim Hortons (first one! and while did have a faint taste of Tim Hortons, the was a button involved in acquiring the coffee (like the french vanilla button), and when there is a button involved, well, then one knows it won't actually be real timmy's, but I guess this may be just a 'miss' cup (you know how sometimes Tim Hortons is really good with coffee and other times...not so good). (that was a long sentence).

So right, got Tim Hortons, got on the bus, drove to airport.

Got there way to early. Didn't mind as there was a Boots and a bookstore and well, basically a whole shopping mall (and I could read the signs, prices, discounts). I bought stuff at boots (because I knew what I was buying), bought some Tatyo Cheese and Onion crips (which are rationed), and an Irish Taddler and off I went.

Landed in Bpest. actually found a place open to buy a new bus pass (I was surprised as it was after 9 pm on a Sunday and something actually was open).

Came home.

DONE.

DONE.

I applaud everyone who has gotten this far. You are missed dearly and loved dearly.

Ireland: Part II

I have precisely two days to finish this (as in two days it will be the weekend, my self imposed deadline).

I also would like to point out that Monday I have the day off. And it is my birthday. Normally, I like to celebrate my birthday with something low key-really I don’t even care if it gets hi jacked for something else. As long as there is cake. Chocolate cake. I will be on the hunt for chocolate cake here in Bpest. The back up plan is to buy those ‘gloried cake muffins’ that are sold at the ‘American style’ coffee shops….which are calorie laden cupcakes (really, they are worse for you than a cupcake as these shops add extra things like mix and match chocolate chips, (okay, ‘chunks’, they don’t have c-chips here), scor bits, candies, chocolate, lemon or vanilla pudding, raisons, seeds etc to make them sound more like muffins/donuts, or at least more marketable).

You are probably thinking to yourself, “this girl is crazy, she just posted about the wonders of Budapest bakeries, why is she now saying she hasn’t found chocolate cake”…well, what I mean by chocolate cake is North American Style Chocolate Cake (the moist, dense, cocoa concoction I enjoy immensely, I will also accept that Duncan hanes boxed stuff, so long as it is rainbow (a certain ex-roommate and a certain detailed oriented ‘jess learned to be attentive in the car to give last minute directions to’ friend, will understand J).

This also means, the cake must have chocolate icing not crème or fluff or fondant or sugary/caramel/off white stuff, not wafer-y, not jammy (however, I will accept a good piece of Black Forest Cake if one is able to remove all remnants of cocoanut), not rummy, brand-ish, or any type of what they call ‘punch’ here. This is one case where plane jane is essential. If there are too many flavors and textures in a good birthday you may distract the eater from the more important aspects, such as the abundance of multi-colored sprinkles or gummy worms that must be placed atop the cake.

You see? I am supposed to be posting about the Emerald Island, and got completely and utterly distracted by cake. Really, it’s very problematic. I blame the details; the details make me fly off course….sort of like now.

Okay, for real, where was I?

Dublin. Saturday Morning. We woke up at around 7 30. and had an Irish Breakfast. Literally. My yoghurt said ‘made in Ireland’ and the milk said ‘from Irish dairy cow’ and my chocolate bar said ‘made in Ireland since 1933’. I have seen this extreme form of ‘made in where ever’ phenomenon when I was in Bristol (Marketed as ‘Made in the UK, or more specifically made in the West County), in Wales, and is all over Hungary (it of course says ‘Magyar’). Basically, I think it is a response to marketing local industry and development (as a result of ECC and all) with a slight pinch of nationalism thrown in for good measure. The in-country brands are also a lot prettier to look at, which also makes me want to buy them. (I also had special K (before the chocolate bar, which I actually had on the bus), and well I forgot how yummy non soggy, crispy puffed rice could actually be and will gladly ignore any addictives required to maintain the crispy-ness).

After breakfast we went to meet Vero’s friends and our fellow travel buddies and concert enthusiasts. We walked across the river and met them at a coffee shop en route to the bus station, where we bought our tickets and waited 30 minutes to board the bus to Belfast. There I become the official translator for the trip, as well the Irish accent to someone whose English was their second (and third) language can be slightly daunting….especially when spoken quickly and when the person isn’t actually speaking too you (being able to read their lips and eye contact is very useful you see). An older women came up to us and started saying something. One of the girls I was with looked at me to translate. I smile and nodded at the older women, and said ‘she said something about missing the bus and the toilet’. That is all I understood, which also meant that at times, things got lost in translation……literally…

The bus ride to Belfast was alright. It was a bus after all. We did go through some quite little towns, and drove through parts of the country side. But then we drove on a big highway, which looked like a typical highway (except the cars are smaller and cuter).

We arrived at the train station 2.5 hours later, and when we got off we had two (well 3.5) things in mind. 1) we needed to figure out how we were going to get from Belfast to Bangor (remember, we were headed to the concert that night). 2) we needed to figure out where we were vis-à-vis the rest of Belfast (ie: were we Toronto Style (where the bus station is right down town), or were we Ottawa style (it takes a bit of walking and a cab or bus fare to get to the main Ottawa drags).) and 3) we were Hungary from lunch. (now I have attempted to improve my editing on these blogs posts. Really I have. But this last one, ‘Hungary’ made me laugh. My brain seems to be in serious Hungary overload or something….to correct it now, we were hungry not Hungary for lunch­)

Oh, the .5 is really that everyone was also very thirsty, having sat in the last row of the bus that was 20 degrees….we were all successful in obtaining water at various points of the day. The thirstiness seems to be a very salient memory…I haven’t a clue why).

So we found the place that sold the train tickets to bangor, but there was a big line. We decided to divide and conquer. Two of us went and found a map of the city, figured out where the hostel was, and figured out where we were. The other three bought the train tickets, and figured out the logistics of when and where we had to be in order to get to the park to see Lisa Hannigan and Snow Patrol (the last two acts). Can you guess what I did? I will give you a hint. My nick name for the weekend was ‘google map’. Yes, I went and found out where we were and where we needed to go to get to the hostel. I volunteered for two reasons. 1) because I don’t like standing in lines. 2)because I hate standing in lines and would rather wander. 3)I really really don’t like standing in lines. Really.

So I didn’t stand in line for the tickets, instead I stood in line at the information desk. (The lines were unavoidable)…..gah…

So with Belfast-bangor-Belfast tickets, and a map of Belfast in our hands, off we went. We decided to go to the hostel first, then get lunch, then tour the city. We found the hostel pretty easily, thanks to the fact that Belfast is very ‘grid’ like. It is small, and there are no streets or squares that are soviet style. There were some fumbles due to lack of proper street signage (but mitigated by the fact that there were 5 brains and 10 eyes able to look for the proper street). We also walked one block too far, but we were distracted by the fact that the Queen’s university Student Ghetto is beautiful.

The hostel we stayed at was called Lagan’s hostel, and for the price (13 pounds a night), it was really nice. Basic. But nice and the guy at the front desk was incredibly nice and friendly. He had a very thick accent, so I was in charge of paying attention to what he was saying (to translate). I didn’t actually mind though (as I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that I could, for the first time in one month, understand what a complete stranger was saying to me, and I could respond with more than one noun). What I like about hostels is that they are well equipped for time constrained travelers, and those travelers with budgetary constraints. And so, after a 5 minute discussion with the hostel concierge, we had mapped out a route of the city that would take us to all the hot spots, avoid all the tourists ‘traps’ and give us cheap and yummy eats.


I will end this now…and continue with Part III….you can take a break from reading too. In fact, while I support all those who read these very long detailed posts (I am a very good procrastinator you see), the only person I really EXPECT to read every word is you Catherine. And perhaps Stef too (I have tried to ensure that all details are presented in such a fashion that there is no room for unfair point scoring due to miscommunications/misrepresentation of details (such as the moon/tide semantic situation)).

A promise delivered on- My weekend in Ireland (the Prologue)

Well folks, here it is. As promised. A fully detailed account of my hours in Ireland.

I will spare all the PAIN staking details, however, details there will be.

The mayhem of the trip to Ireland actually started Thursday Night. Well. Thursday at 3 30, when I was pulled from my desk to help with a cultural event at work. There, I stood amongst 70 Hungarians drinking Canadian wine, and discussing a love story written by a Canadian-Hungarian that was recently translated into Hungarian. (I could smell the Pellier Estates as soon as the bottle was opened….and it was good....) The book is a love story, based on the true lives of two people living in a small town in the Ukraine (right on the border of Hungary) (the town actually used to be IN Hungary (borders have changed a lot in the last century or so)). Both the brothers of the Christian Man and the Jewish women were at the event along with the author of the book and Duna TV. Notice the religious detail of the last sentence. Well, pointing this out is important as we are talking about the beginning of WWII, where this sort of inter-religious relationship was illegal, where the two where separated when the Natzi’s entered there town, where the two re-connected years later…..this is where my knowledge of the story ends…sorry…

There they served Canadian wine and Pogácsa (which is a Hungarian version of a small golf ball sized scone or mini Danish looking things, only extremely salty or extremely sweet. They are all about the extremes). I picked up what I thought was strawberry crème (as it was light pink and had a sort of lattice top on it). I bit into it only to taste some sort of salty muck. A friend confirmed that indeed, I had just taken a bite of what she translated as ‘meat cream’. I think it was some sort of Hungarian spam, pâté stuff. I’ve never had spam (or at least don’t remember having spam, so I was making the spam assumption based on who knows what). However, a lovely Canadian confirmed the spam suspicion, and simply said, ‘just don’t think about it’. It was one of those ‘root beer instead of coke situations’. I am sure it would have been a better experience had I not been preparing for strawberry. On a happier note, I went in for another try, this time a small one that looked plane Jane. It was, and although salty, it was much much better, flakey-er, and removed all spam taste from my mouth. Successful mission.

Back to my actual narrative…So the book launch ended quite late, when I got home I had just enough time to pack a bag for my trip and go to bed. I had to be at work for 8 o’clock SHARP to be the ‘go ahead’ group to help with the logistical organization of a work retreat. This meant I had to get up just after 6….ick… But the retreat was at a vineyard just outside Budapest, and while the venue was cold and musty (being a wine cellar and all), the wine was good and the company was better, including the ‘master wine maker’ who gave us a tour of all the cellars, and explained how their sparking wine (not champagne as it is not made in the champagne region of France, his detail, not mine) was made. We got there earlier and so the 4 of use got to scout of the digs before everyone else. I also got to take some pictures! After the retreat part and tour ended, the sampling came. I was slightly excited about this, because, well, in the past month I’ve had some unsightly distasteful wines….they were cheap, so really I shouldn’t be complaining….but still…. some of the locals have given me a proper price range for wine purchasing. Simply put 600 HUF will get you nothing but slightly moldy tasting grape juice….and well, I can confirm this with hands on experience. Really, how I am supposed to pick a bottle of wine when the English translation on every single bottle says ‘dry red wine’.

Oh well.

When the retreat ended we headed back to the city, and well, I headed to the airport. One of the people at work told me that I should leave very early to get to the airport because the four lane highway out of Budapest is always very busy, and Friday at rush hour was no exception. Seriously, the only way to the airport is a 4 lane highway. There are city streets in Budapest bigger than that. Thank you communism. Anyway, as the reliability of Budapest transit isn’t the greatest, and well, my ability to understand any form of fumble to do with changed schedules, construction detours, and non-operational lines is null, I left earlier. Plus my work colleague sufficiently frightened me enough to NOT be late for my flight, the last thing I needed was to deal with rescheduling on Ryan Air, the airline notorious for charging for everything from paying for your flight (the ‘admin’ charge), to printing out your boarding passes to their failed attempts at a 'fat tax' and 'bathroom fee'...they are now experimenting with a 'load your own luggage' scheme so they don't have to pay for baggage handlers (on a side note, I am not sure how the 100ml restrictions would jive with this, or what baggage handlers think about this, but it would mean that Ryan air would no longer charge for checking luggage, and the ways of the ONE BAG only would be no longer)...... So I decided to leave my flat around four for an 8ish flight(assuming it would take about an hour and half to get there). It took 35 minutes. When I got there I found out that the flight desk didn’t even open for an hour and a half. I was stuck at an airport smaller than the 6th floor of MRT, for three hours……it was slightly painful. I had toured the whole place in 10 minutes (including the observation deck), and read all the free English ‘about Budapest’ tourist magazines. I had to pack minimally, and well, clothing trumped the book I was going to bring. Ryan air has a strict ONE BAG only policy (and charges an extra 40 euros or something if you surpass this). One bag literally means one bag. A backpack and a purse count as two, and boy did they ever reinforce this. They patrol the lines for one bag only rule breakers. So I was the wanderer…..but finally, finally, the gate opened so I could get my passport checked and go through the security to get to a new area of the airport.

After being frisked (literally), I was allowed to go to the duty free, and then pass border control onward to my flight. I was thirsty, so I went to buy some water. Because there are three types of water here, and three different colours of bottles, with companies choosing to not follow a standardized ‘colour to type of water’ norm, I wasted about 10 minutes trying to find plain, normal water. I failed, and when I opened the bottle it was carbonated….gah…. I really should just one day buy a million different kinds at the same time and figure out what is what…but this is always an afterthought….kind of like now….you are probably thinking ‘why not just learn the words for spring water’. Easier said than done as all the bottles have the same (or very similar words), with slight grammar or spelling changes to the words to indicate ‘spring’, ‘still’ and ‘sparkling’ (or ‘with bubbles, without bubbles’ etc.._ As hard as I try, my brain just can’t get its head around these words…there are just too many ‘eszv’ combinations and permutations for me to process when I am thirsty….. (P.S. Please be advised that I completely made up the whole reference 'grammatical changes in words', who am I kidding, I don't even know personal pronouns yet. (or I do, but I don't know I do as I have been taught 'key phrases' which may posses some personal pronouns...). However, applying my english and french language logic, it makes sense to me.

Anyway, the flight was good, no big problems. We landed, we clapped and cheered (it was a european flight after all), and after going through another border crossing, I was finally in Ireland. Yay! When I got there I don’t know if I was more excited that I was in Ireland, or that I was in a country where I could understand people, announcements, road signs, pamphlets, everything, and well, in a place where people could understand me too (communication is a two way street, after all). It was a very weird. I found the shuttle that I needed to take, asked to buy a ticket to my destination (and remember how useful and informative people could be when I can actually ask a question once and be understood), and then hopped on the bus. I think the bus operator people thought I was a little nuts as it was almost midnight, I was travelling along with a backpack, and well was incessantly asking a million bazillion questions (a theme throughout the whole weekend).

As Vero lives on the other side of the city centre, I got a nice tour of the city centre while on the bus. When we arrived at Trinity College, fond memories of the two week stint I spent there years ago came flooding back. I also instantly had my bearings on the city, was able to figure out where I was, and it felt nice. So we drove past TCD, Oliver Cromwell (all lit up), and the famous Dublin Doors and then it was my stop. The stop was slightly more residential (having left the main drags), and the bus driver asked if I was okay…..I was more than okay, I was giddy, so giddy and excited that I probably should have been more careful…(on a parental note: don’t worry, I scouted my surroundings, realized that yes the street was slightly deserted, but saw that there was a pub and terrace across the street that was mildly populated, and knew that I could go there if I had any problems, and I knew that I could communicate with them, which to be fair improves my perception of security substantially). I didn’t have any problems. Vero came and met me on the street and we walked through her neighborhood towards her lovely little flat in Dublin 4. We had SIX years to catch up on, so we were up a little late that night…….chatting about the time in between Vero in Ottawa to Vero in Argentina to Vero in Dublin, and Jess in Toronto to Jess in Ottawa to Jess in Budapest. It was a lot of chatting, but very nice. There were also some slight Eva updates too (so don’t worry Eva, you were represented to the very best of my abilities and your LONG email which I read just before I left, and will of course respond to in due course).

Then we went to bed. Vero’s roommate was gone for the weekend, so I got a bed to myself. It was my first time since arriving in Budapest that I’d slept on a proper mattress in a proper bed with a proper pillow and although we had a painstakingly early morning…those 5 precious hours on a pillow top mattress were wonderful….

Irish Promises....

Okay.

I promise.

Ireland story to come.

Promise.

Picture while you wait?

Tim Hortons? in Belfast? Really?








How about a flooding DUNA? (notice the water covered street sign?).

Bangor, Ward Park, County Down, Northern Ireland

That is where my destination was this weekend.

To get there I had to use three different currencies, cross one real border and two cell phone borders (well, I think based incomprehensible Hungarian cell phone company text messages indicating something about the price of using my phone). I had to take a plane, a train, a bus and several automobiles, and change time zones (and then all that on the way back). But I made it and it was awesome.

You're probably wondering what the heck possessed me to go to such great lengths to visit a town, well, a park, in outskirts of Belfast City....well, I went to see Snow Patrol......with a Vero, a friend I met in first year university from Argentina.

I booked a flight to Dublin way back when, and remembered that Vero was in Dublin, and well, that same weekend Snow Patrol was playing in Bangor, and well, when you are hop scotching around Europe with nothing more than a 20litre backpack, this is totally normal, right? Me, Vero, Augustina, Maria and Jimmy did it. (can you tell we are at a concert in Ireland?)

To start the purpose of this post (to tell about my adventures on the Emerald Isle), I first must talk about the concert.

It was AMAZING. Most people know Snow Patrol as the band who sings 'Chasing Cars' made famous by that one Grey's Anatomy episode year back.....but I have their whole album and they are awesome and well when Vero mentioned that they were going to be in Bangor playing an outdoor concert I thought it would be great to go an see them live. Several other NI bands were there too for the festival, including Lisa Hannigan, (who was like a fusion of Serena Ryder and Sarah Maclachlan) and she was amazing too!).

Now Back to Snow Patrol: The band, who met at university, actually hails from Northern Ireland (all I knew is that they were from the UK), the lead singer is actually from Bangor, where the concert was. You could just tell from his utter happiness throughout the concert, his constant smiling and bashful giddiness that he was proud to be home, playing to a sold out crowd, playing for his Parents and his three year old Niece, in an outdoor park, on his home turf. It was the first time I saw a rockstar genuinely smile on stage. You can just see it on his face....he's excited...

Did I mention that this concert was actually the biggest concert in the History of Northern Ireland? yup more than 40 000 strong, with least One Canadian, Two Argentinians and Two Venezuelans were there to hear them ROCK! ( this concert was bigger than U2!). So there we were, singing with Snow Patrol, right up close, and it was great. THere was even fireworks at the end (which I can say, was very unexpected).

There was also a moment that I realized that I was not in Canada any more. Yup, at the end of the concert, I said 'one more song', the crowd said "Play another jig, play another jig!, Play another jig!". The band came out, and played another three :).

(P.S. Entering the land of English speakers was fantastically wonderful too, you would not believe the detailed questions I asked people....just because I could...more about that later...)

It's June---cukrászda time!

SO I am a day late in posting this exciting news, but who cares, It's JUNE. Summer's coming (actually I hear it's arrived in Ontario at least), it's my birthday, its half way to Christmas, its almost through allergy season...its...its...JUNE :)

It's...... also raining here in Budapest. It has been raining for one week, but things are looking up as it promises to be 'partly clear' by Friday.

Hooray!

This afternoon I decided to walk home in the drizzly weather. I felt like I have been stuck inside for so long now, that I just needed some fresh air...however, walking home also makes me walk into temptation. That is right, the wonderful world of cukrászda's. These are pastry and cake shops, and unlike bakery's in centretown and Parkdale,---they sell cakes and Kremes and Meringues and cookies by the slice, piece, portion, and DB (decagram), with each one costing between 50 and 250 HUF. They also have the packaging down to a science, where they have figured out how to package said 'one' piece of cake in such a way that it can safety be taken home to be eaten in it's original form. (it is a plate, cellophane, Subway Sandwich/Harvey's style wrapping technique). Do you like the details?

I was telling my dad (and well, everyone) about the pastry smells in this city (trust me, you can't walk more than about a block without at least passing by a pastry chain called Princess or Fornetti..or a pékség for that matter....it is also impossible to get off a train at metro station and NOT see one (or smell) one at the top of the escalators...they bake them on site....) anyway, my dad reassured me that it is genetic, that my aunt and grandmother both could smell a bakery a mile away. I guess I have inherited this trait. :)


After walking over Margaret Hid, watching constructions going on the bridge, I decided to detour just on the pest side of the bridge. I had always noticed the bustling side streets while riding the tram, and I thought, 'hey, here's my chance'. However, soon enough, my detour found me right smack in front of the Vanillia cukrászda. A cute little pastry shop. I quickly examined the interior, and 'the goods' and the 'patrons'. The goodies looked scrumptious , and there was a good enough amount of locals inside to conclude that the place was good.

I thought about it for a second, thought about my health, my happiness, and the rain, and well, I just couldn't resist the wafting smells of butter, sugar, flour, creme, and yummy-ness. Plus, it was a learning experience, I do have to practice my Hungarian speaking and reading, right?

(On that note, I am getting better at ordering in three words or less, plus while I still understand pretty much nothing, I can now pronounce key pastry ordering syllabus and words such as 'SZ' which is a schhhhh sound, and Egy (like Egg), which means one (for full clarity, I also hold up my thumb, with is the non-verbal way of saying one, holding up 'the pointer' figure will get you two)). Kreme is (well I pronounce it like in french, and well, that seems to work :)). )

At the cukrászda, I couldn't decide between a Fluffy meringue biscotti shapped torta with a layer apricot and a square of chocolate cherry torta with custard, so I got both.

They are sitting in my fridge for dessert.... with noticeable bites marks missing ( Of course, taste testing is a must in these situations)... Perhaps when they reemerge I will take a picture for all interested parties.....