The Flood, II

30 06 2009

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The sun was out this morning at 5:30, and despite the horrible humidity, there was relief in the early warmth.  It also seems like at least here in Budapest, the Danube is gathering back into place, though you can see from these next few pictures that the road is still closed down here.  Further NW of us, the flooding has been a bit more severe.  In Austria, several little towns have had some challenges and in the eastern part of Czech Republic there have even been some deaths associated with the waters.  Here is some video from the BBC from yesterday about the flooding in the region.

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These particular docks, past the Elizabeth Bridge, have been empty all summer.  Mostly I see men fishing from them in the morning, or young couples in the evening sitting there watching the sunset.  To the left is Margit Island, which is built up enough to protect it from these flood waters, and in the distance is the Árpád bridge, the longest bridge in Hungary (2km).  It was named after Árpád, the son of Álmos and second “grand prince” of the Magyars.  But construction was delayed on it because of WWII and when construction finished after the war, the communists were in charge and so for a time, the bridge was known as Sztálin híd.  I probably don’t need to translate that one.

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Suffice it to say that the smaller riverboat cafe/restaurants are not open for business right now.

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Unless you have a kayak.

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Unfortunately for some travellers, some of the larger boats are also hotels.  In those cases it seems like the hotels have built little makeshift planks, which is the only word I can think of these little bridges because they remind me of the bridges we used to construct back in the old days when our summer entertainment was entirely wrapped around building treehouses and bridges made of scrap wood and downed vines to cross the forest creeks.

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Traveling is an adventure, after all.  And probably by this weekend most of the storms will have passed and the rakpart road will re-open.  This time a year, almost nothing can quiet the little jewel of Central Europe.





The Flood

29 06 2009

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On Saturday the Danube finally spilled over the rakpart and inched its way toward the banks of Pest.  By the time we were finished running on Margit Island, the water had fully crested, and though it was still early (6 am), many people were out and armed with their cameras.

The water is no where near as high as it has been in past years, but it’s still quite a sight to see.  And I think, from what I’ve read, it’s still rising since it is still raining in the Alps.

We tried to take some pictures with Barnabás in the water, but I swear, he is the BIGGEST priss when it comes to getting dirty.  Here is the only series I have of him:

um, what's that jes?

um, what's that jes?

oh my god, i'm dying.  take it.  take it.

i'm dying. it's coming for my leg. take the pic. take it.

ahhh, oh god it touched me.  get me out of here.

ahhh, oh god it touched me. get me out of here.

So, we didn’t make him sit there for any longer.

Despite the weather and the storms still coming through the city, the way that the river was rocking at the banks was really peaceful.  I took a 30 second video to show you what it looked like as the waters were breaking.  It’s funny how quiet a big city can seem during these mornings.





The Door

25 06 2009

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Györgyi has suddenly gotten sick, which up until now I didn’t really think was possible.  But since she’s been working like a madwoman all through the winter and spring, it’s no surprise that a cold (and straight-up exhaustion) was looming.  So today instead of writing a good, thoughtful post, or revising my novel again, or submitting poetry manuscripts to contests, I’ve decided to use her illness as an excuse to watch television on the internet and drink five or six diet cokes in the course of the afternoon because she’s sick and can’t stop me.

I’ve taken up a constant monitoring of her, including a fierce insistence that she not check her work emails or phone calls, which is kind of like telling your dog that no, sweetie, you can’t eat that couch-sized ribeye that’s on the floor– just know it’s there and not going anywhere and you’ll get to it on Monday.  Alas, it’s worked so far today, and it’s almost five.

In the meantime, I’ve been reading Szabó Magda’s novel The Door, which I must say is probably the most beautiful and haunting book I have ever read.  EVER.  The nuanced and yet totally terrifying and heartbreaking character development for the main protagonist, Emerence, who is a bizarre, mysterious housekeeper hired by a younger woman (a writer), is, quite frankly, genuis.  I never like to throw the word genius around lightly for works of art because what do I know, and I have maybe once or twice thought something I read was the besssst, but this book absolutely takes the cake.  The translation I’m reading was done recently by Len Rix, and I really recommend it, well, downright insist that YOU read this book.  And if you’re a member of my family, you don’t have a choice, because I’m bringing home copies and will require full reports as soon as I return to Hungary.





They Killed Our Queen

24 06 2009

As we neared the end of our tour of the Elisabeth’s summer castle in Gödöllő, we came to the last room, which housed some of her letters and two of the original newspapers from September 1898.  For some reason I couldn’t help thinking about my great-grandparents, whose parents certainly were among the shocked masses of people who picked these papers up on the morning of September 10th to read the headline:

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THEY MURDERED OUR QUEEN

Sisi was actually in Geneva, Switzerland at the time and getting ready to board a ship for Montreux.  It was there, while she was walking along the promenade, that an anarchist Luigi Lucheni approached her and stabbed her in the heart with a file.  She was sixty years old.

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At first it wasn’t apparent how serious the wound was because like most women at the time of a certain class, she was wearing a very tightly pulled corset.  She actually boarded the ship.  It was only when her attendants undid her corset that it was clear how serious the bleeding was.  She died soon after.  Her last words were “What happened to me?”

Even though Elisabeth didn’t play a very significant role in politics, she was a bonafide celebrity in Europe, and because she supported many Hungarian causes (to the dislike of the Hapsburgs) the Hungarian people truly adored her.  She was the Princess Diana of 19th century Hungary (adored by the common people, fought the strains of a loveless marriage bound by tradition, rebelled against the strict rules and forms of the royal class, etc.), and when Sisi was murdered, the country was truly devastated.

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I find myself really drawn into this tale, perhaps because, as is all the rage in cellular biology circles these days, my genes hold a little bit of the memory of that time.  I imagine Sándor and Viktoria as children in the Austro-Hungarian empire, paused in their childhood play when the news came to Budapest about their dead Queen.  It’s not that many years ago, but it seems so far away from my own American experience.  And yet, when I am here among the same streets, or see the same artifacts that they saw, I feel closer than I did before, that, she was my Queen too.





Gödöllő

23 06 2009

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On Saturday, we went to Gödöllő, which is about 20 minutes away from Budapest city center.  Though we went by car, if you’re someone visiting the city or without a car, you can get there via HÉV (which is the train to the Budapest suburbs) and it drops you right off across the street from the palace.

The reason that we went to Gödöllő was to see the Royal Palace.  Technically it was built for Count Antal Grassalkovich I in 1733, who was a prominent member of the Hungarian aristocracy, but by 1867 most of the Grassalkovich’s were dead and it was in turn bought for the Royal family as a “resting” residence.

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Note:  You are not permitted to take photographs in the palace. Gödöllő police, please forward all inquiries to Györgyi.

So, the Royal Palace is more affectionately known as Sisi’s palace, because the Empress Elisabeth (Queen of Hungary) adored Gödöllő and stayed there during the summers, surrounding herself with Hungarian ladies-in-waiting and Hungarian culture.

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Sisi came of age as a royal during a time when the Hungarians were growing a little fed up with the Hapsburgs.  Because of this unrest, the Austro-Hungarian double monarchy was formed in 1867.  Whether it was her true love of Hungary or her spite for her mother-in-law Princess Sophie of Bavaria (who loathed the Hungarians), Elisabeth was a champion of the Hungarian cause.  She wrote and spoke in Hungarian and required all of her servants to do so as well.

Partly because of this and partly because of the reason that even well before her assassination she was a real celebrity in Hungary, the palace at Gödöllő is a famous site.  It remains no only a reminder of Sisi, but also a symbol of Hungarian independence.

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The palace is the largest Baroque palace in Hungary, though it seems to really have a lived-in feel to it, unlike some of the very pristine palaces of Western Hungary and Austria.  I adored the purple chairs, which were the actual chairs Elisabeth used, and the surrounding palace park was very comfortable and peaceful.

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I had wanted to visit the park earlier in the year, but it was still going through restoration, which is has been going through for the past twenty years.  During communism, the soviets really wrecked the palace, like they did with most beautiful, historical buildings.  They used it for barracks, etc., and leveled the surrounding royal forest to make way for blocks of flats and industrial acreage.

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But much has been saved, and despite the gloomy weather, the palace was a real gem.

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Now, you may be thinking, wait, didn’t you just write “assassination” somewhere up there?  My answer is yes, and I’ll get to that tomorrow.





Hősök tere–Hero’s Square

22 06 2009

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Györgyi, Barnabás and I have really been kicking our running into high gear lately.  Partly it’s just getting healthy for a good summer, but mostly it’s to drop a few pounds before we go to America where I plan on spending 30-85% of my time eating Galley Boys at Swensons and drinking Great Lakes lagers.  And Mexican food.  Oh sweet cilantro, I’ll see you soon darling.

So on Saturday we were up at 5 for a nice long run to Hero’s Square (Hősök tere).  I’ve been there several times now, but on Saturday morning the entire square was empty but for us.

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At the center of Hero’s Square is the Millennium Memorial.  It’s called that because construction on it began in 1896 to celebrate the 1,000th anniversary of the founding of Hungary (though it wasn’t finished until 1929).  The monument has been central to cultural and political life of Hungary but probably one of the most significant events to take place there was in 1989 right after the fall of Communism.  On June 16th of that year, over 250,000 people gathered for the reburial of Imre Nagy, who was executed in 1958 in Moscow for his deviance of the Soviets during the failed revolution of 1956.

On top of the center is a statue of archangel Gabriel who holds in his right hand the crown of St. Steven, the first king of Hungary, and in his left hand the apostolic cross that the Pope gave to St. Steven for converting Hungary to Christianity.  Hungarians are very proud of Steven for this, and he is definitely seen as a real Christian warrior.  There’s even an incredibly popular Hungarian rock opera dedicated to Steven defeating the pagans.  But despite what’s written in the books, King Steven was probably about as genuinely a Christian as Constantine.

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The seven Magyar chieftains who brought the Hungarian people to Hungary, through the mountains and into the Carpathain basin, also adorn the column base.  In the very front is Árpád (Árpi, affectionately), who is known as the founder of the Magyar nation. The other chieftains are Előd, Ond, Huba, Töhötöm Kond, and Tas.

Finally, in the back of the monument, there are two colonnades that hold seven statutes each representing great Hungarians throughout history.  Some notables (and the translation of their plaques) are: Stephen I of HungarySt. Stephen receives the crown from an emissary of the Pope, Coloman of HungaryColoman prohibits the burning of witches (yay!) Béla (I adore this name) IV of Hungary: Béla rebuilds the country after the Mongol invasion, and Lajos KossuthKossuth rallies the peasants of the Great Plain.

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Something interesting that I learned while doing research for this post is that when this part of the monument was being constructed, Hungary was still part of the Austrian Empire, so the last five of the statue spaces were alotted to important ruling Hapsburgs including Maria Theresa and Franz Joseph (husband of Queen Elisabeth—Sisi, the forever sweetheart of Hungary).  Though since the statues were heavily damaged during WWII, during reconstruction the Hapsburgs were replaced by Hungarian figures.

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All in all, it was a beautiful morning and we were able to snap some pics of Barna without any people around.  Probably most tourists won’t follow this advice, but if you want a stunning photograph of some of Budapest’s most famous monuments, especially when the sun lights them on fire and there are no people around to knock away your camera, no one hawking their trinkets or begging for money, nor busses honking around corners and expelling their exhaust into your lungs– start your day at 5:30 or 6am.  Trust me, the pictures and peace will be worth it.  And you can sleep when you go home.





Croatia, Sunday

18 06 2009
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cheeeese!

On Sunday we basically woke up, went to breakfast, sent a few postcards, and went back to Hungary.  Neither Györgyi nor I are big sleepers-iners, using waking up before 6am, so the early breakfast at the Hotel Grabovac suited well our fancy.  As you can see, the dining room was packed:

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Okay, so it was just us and two Brits.  Right before we finished breakfast, the six Norwegian bikers, donning their finest leather chaps, also came into the dining room.  They were very polite and greeted us and all ate hardboiled eggs and drank tea.  Not exactly the imagine of hard-riding Harley bikers you’d expect, but a pleasant suprise none-the-less.

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Okay, so Hotel Grabovac isn’t exactly a culinary paradise, nor a stop on the Croatia foodie hot spot tour.  But the food was warm and free so we weren’t complaining.  You can tell which plate belongs to the American and which plate belongs to the European without me even telling you.  (seriously who eats salami at breakfast but a real Hungarian gal?)

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But Györgyi takes foodblogging very seriously and she always tries to get a good pose out of the food anyway.  The upside is that unlike in even Hungarian 5-star hotels that serve powdered orange “juice”, which is like a poorman’s version of Chilly Willie (come on Ohioans, you remember grade school lunch line beverages), Croatia actually served fresh orange juice.  So thank you Croatia.

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On our way out of town we stopped for some fresh cheese a guy was selling on the side of the road.  Every region has their road side vendors, and in this part of Croatia it was fresh cheese.  You can see Györgyi handing him 62 Kune more than he asked for, but only because with his accent she thought he said 80 kuna instead of 18.  But he gave it back, something totally remarkable since who would have thought a whole cheese the size of Barnabas would be 18 kuna = 700 forints = $3.40?

We got back to Budapest in the afternoon, partly due to the light traffic, and other partly due to Zsolt launching his Infinity SUV 200 mph down the fast lane for the last two hours.  I had mixed feelings being back in the city, and maybe it’s because I’m starting to get that European city-dwelling mindset of I should be on holiday right now in the country or at the lake or at the sea.  It’s a great feeling and I’m very lucky.  To have friends like Zsolt and Szilvi who so generously took us on this trip, and to the universe in general that has opened up this whole new world to me.





Plitvice Lakes, Croatia, Saturday

17 06 2009

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Somewhere around ten kilometers from our hotel is the entrance to the Plitvice Lakes National Park.  I’m not sure why I was under the delusion that there wouldn’t be that many people there, but even at 8am, the parking lot at the park and path entrance was filling up with tourists.  It’s a world heritage site after all, and Europeans take their hikes pretty seriously.

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We hopped on the bus at our parking area and were shuttled to the first entrance of the park, just above a series of caves where it seemed we were at the highest point of the park, with the best view to start our hike and look down to the beautiful lakes below.  For those of you who know Györgyi it probably won’t come as a surprise that when I turned around to look for her, she was up at the front of the pack confirming the trip location and drop point and who knows what else with the shuttle driver, and also giving some map advice to some other tourists. But since she did such a good job of keeping us on track during our trek, I’m glad for this character quirk of hers.

firstview

As we looped down through the top part of the path, we came to the first view of the lakes, and I must say it was really spectacular.  I don’t recall ever seeing water that color, and I apologize because my pictures really don’t even do it justice.  But it was azure, like a jewel, and you could see many feet under the surface just by following the clear rays of the sun.

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Gazing down at the people below on the boardwalk, I couldn’t help but think that the scene was reminiscent of one of those fantasy movies with elves, or maybe something out of the jurasic.  Apart from the tourists, it all seemed so untouched and preserved.

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We made it down to the ground level around 9am, and luckily we were able to have the boardwalk and the close view of the smaller falls and shallows mostly to our selves and only a few other visitors.  In just a few short hours, the whole place was swarming with tourists, so much so that it was almost hard to walk on the paths there were so many people.

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The fish didn’t seem at all bothered by the crowds.  Obviously, being that it’s a national park, there was no fishing, so the little trout didn’t seem to care that people were so close, taking pictures, walking above.  I couldn’t believe how many of them there were.  I wanted to pet one, but didn’t.

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Zsolt had a very high tech underwater camera so that he could get a few shots of the fish.  I’m looking forward to seeing them, because I imagine they didn’t really mind the subaquatic intrusion as they didn’t really scatter away, only just turned over, seemingly, to their more photogenic sides.

spillingfalls

One of the more remarkable things was how the smaller waterfalls and alleys of water just rushed right down on the side of the path.  Water was everywhere.  Even in the more wooded areas you could smell the water and hear it constantly as it scaled down the various slopes.

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The trip wasn’t all directly on the boundary of the lake, either, and in fact the landscape and flora changed a lot throughout the day.  We saw reeds, tall trees, rock caves, in addition to series after series of waterfalls.

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After a few hours, we made it to the ferry boat that took us twenty minutes across the larger lake to the otherwise where we were going to see more woods and more waterfalls.  The boat ride was incredibly peaceful and almost nothing made a sound as we glided through the water.   On the otherside of the lake, the woods were darker, and each bit of water reflected looked like the smoothest surface of marble.

frogs waterfalls

We saw some local animals like frogs and ducks.  There was a huge group of Japanese tourists who I really don’t think ever saw a duck before because they must have cumulatively taken about 500 pictures of it.

For about two hours we circled the opposite side of the trails until finally coming back through a larger set of waterfalls, splashing their mists onto the boardwalks.  Since it was past midday and hot, people crowded to the center to get a coating of the cooling sprays.

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We took the boat back to where we left off the first time, and found a nice table in the shade of the trees to eat lunch.  It seemed like everyone on the picnic grounds was eating the same things:  sandwiches, trail mix, fruit and beer.  And a few ice creams.

After lunch we lumbered back toward our starting point, which happened to be the bottm of the caves.  We climbed up and up and up the steep stairs until we were back at the highest point again of the trail.

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Patiently we waited for the park bus to come and pick us up, and we finished our hike mid afternoon.  It was a long day but a very lovely one.  I don’t know for sure, but I estimate that we hiked around 15 kilometers, perhaps a bit more.  And it wasn’t straight walking either, but rather ascent and descent and rocky terrain.  But it really felt good to be out there, in the fresh air.

I have to say that I was so incredibly impressed by how well maintained this park was, especially for the amount of foot traffic that it seems comes through every year.  The paths were extremely well marked and clean.  The water and woods and other surrounding areas were completely free of any unnatural contaminants.  No trash.  No gum.  It was unspoiled and lovely and I can see why people would go there for an experience away from the city.

By the time we got back, we were so exhausted we ended up taking about a two-hour nap before dinner.  Having some time to reflect back on that day, I would definitely recommend it to anyone visiting the area and in search for a good outdoor experience.  It’s not extreme sports.  It’s not a luxury sea vacation.  But it felt so good to just be somewhere calm and peaceful for the day.  And I’ve never ever been a nature-hike kind of gal, in fact I’ve usually avoided such things, but I will whole heartedly admit to really enjoying this little Croatian treasure.





Croatia. Friday, Day 1.

16 06 2009

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A THOUGHT BEFORE LEAVING

Eighteen years ago, when I was eleven years old and getting ready to start sixth grade, I remember watching the flashes of light from the news coverage of the war in Bosnia.  That was before reporters were embedded with troops, and instead American nightly news showed the comet strokes of bullets and rockets through night view lenses as they soared across the sky.  That was really my generation’s first experience of war (as Americans), if you can even call it an experience.  Later, well into graduate school, I would read Lee Peterson’s brilliant book of poetry: Rooms and Fields.  Dramatic Monologues from the War in Bosnia. “The outside/ can catch you child./ Hurry.”  It wasn’t really until then that this region had a form.

Since moving myself and my writing life to Hungary, I must admit that I haven’t thought much about that war, and I can’t really put my finger on why.  I have been to the boarders and across them.  Even the boundaries of my own ethnic heritage have been skewed.  For example, it turns out that there’s a chance that my mother’s paternal family may be from what today is Serbia.  Should I erase my old language?  Should I answer that uniquely American question about identity with, yes, I’m Scottish and Czech and Serbian, now?  Or does it count that it was Hungary at the time?  What do redrawn maps have to do with ethnicity anyway? I find that these years and the divisions that are tossed through them to be perplexing, and the quest to page through the layers completely unsatisfying recently.  But on such weekends, in such places like Croatia, I can’t help but think of these things.

Eighteen years ago, in March, Croatian special police who were lightly armed and charged with organizing the new Croatian army for the new, independent Republic of Croatia, clashed with heavily armed Serbs who were backed by Belgrade.  They met at the Plitvice Lakes on the same grounds we toured last weekend, the same lakes that are now a symbol of Croatian independence and also a UNESCO World Heritage site.  That wasn’t that long ago, yet there was no sign of those conflicts this weekend, nor the dialogue of memory for them.  I can’t help be reminded of the end of Wislawa Szymborska’s poem, The End and the Beginning (trans. from the Polish by amazing Kent State Professor Joanna Trzeciak):

Those who knew
what was going on here
must give way to
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass which has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out,
blade of grass in his mouth,
gazing at the clouds.

THE ROAD

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This past weekend was officially the beginning of the summer season.  Central Europeans spill out of their home countries and big cities en route for Croatia and its beautiful Adriatic coast.  Despite the report that nearly 13,000 cars crossed the boarder, by the time that we crossed around 3pm on Friday afternoon, there was almost no one on the road.  Now, remember that Croatia is not a member of the European Union, therefore the boarder crossing requires a stop, a passport check, and a quick car check, though it’s all a formality.  Still, I got another much desired passport stamp, something I rarely get these days since we are always traveling through the EU and passports aren’t required.

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Just across the boarder, Croatia looked a lot like Hungary.  Rows of endless late afternoon sunshine, rising crops, little farmhouses and fields dotted with both modern tractors and horse drawn plows.  We went through a few toll booths and waited in a bit of traffic there, but otherwise the trip was quick and effortless (especially because the three of us girls were dozing on and off while Zsolt drove the whole way!)  The closer that we got to our destination, the more mountainous the terrain became.  Houses were carved into the hillsides and the overall scene was quaint and simple in the best way.

GRABOVAC AND THE FISH PLATES

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We arrived to Grabovac, the little town ten kilometers from the park and lakes, and tossed our things into our rooms in Hotel Grabovac.  It was a really cute hotel.  A reviewer on one of the travel sites said that he would compare it to a Motel 6, but I think that while similar in terms of amenities, there was a uniquely small European town charm-iness to the place.  We received big brass keys, which we left with the receptionist (just one) when we departed the hotel for dinner or whatever and who remembered our room numbers when we returned.  And there was only one floor.  Also, until Saturday when we saw about six Norwegian bikers come booming into the parking lot, I don’t think there were more than ten other guests staying in the hotel the whole weekend.

fish karlovacko

For dinner we walked down the street to the Turist Grabovac Restoran.  We ordered two fish plates (with whole trout, squid, a local fried fish, potatoes, swiss chard, lemon and tarter sauce) and finally settled into the peaceful weekend.  The squid was really amazing.  I could have eaten two buckets of them, to tell the truth, though the meat-and-potatoes Györgyi had a harder time with it.  Also, I love to see a whole fish on the plate.  It’s a little more honest eating, I would say, when the animal is staring at you eyeball to grilled eyeball.

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Zsolt and Szilvi sipped their Karlovačko Croatia beers as the evening and its pink sun relaxed around us and the outside tables filled with other travelers. Though because we had a long day ahead of us, Györgyi and I soon went back to our little room and fell asleep around ten with the windows upon to the green mountains in the darkening distance.





Plitvice Lakes National Park

15 06 2009

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Our weekend in Plitvice Lakes National Park was absolutely lovely.  Actually we felt a little melancholy to be back in the urban jungle last night.  I have about 300 pictures to sort through and notes to review before posting a day-by-day, but I thought I would put up one picture for good measure.  These little trout were everywhere in the shallows (& I’m assuming this pic may inspire my fly-fishing brother).

Even though we just spent a small amount of time there and only saw a small slice of the country, I thought that Croatia, and the people we met (not the tourists) were entirely charming.  So with that, I’m off to organize and write.  More in the days to come…








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