Boiling Budapest - Hungary

The sunflowers and wind farms saw us safely over another border crossing into Budapest. There is field upon field of turbines here surrounded by their gloriously sunny neighbours who don't seem to mind their drafty environment, nor are they found complaining about the after hours noise. Patrick is internally at war with the Australian Liberal Party and it's lack of love for renewable energy. Already, on seeing the many smart travel options available in Europe, he has penned his thoughts to our local Mayor regarding improvements for Vincent. So I will be interested to see how he tackles this next hurdle.

Daniel meanwhile, content with his last two purchases at his side (Salzberg offered him a cork shooting cross bow), was able leave the cares of the world to his brother and drift off and let the hours of the journey slip away. 

Budapest is full of beautiful architecture. Thousands of years of history in one little spot. However, when travelling with two energetic, action seeking sons who haven't seen an oval, let alone a ball for weeks, it's time for some fun. Sometimes this needs to be cultivated for when your family is your only company, fun isn't always top of the priority list. So with the heat wave in full swing now, we decided had to be wet!

Brothers - chewing the fat...aka gelato

Elizabeth Island sits between the banks of the Danube and was a 15minute walk from our apartment in the hip and happening Pest area of the city. It is a pedestrian only island where the locals and tourists alike come to engage in Tai-Chi, cycling or the driving of funny little electric cars (for a fee!). There is a great fountain that 'goes off' on the hour and is not dissimilar to a fireworks evening. I found myself half expecting to hear the tiresome Australia Day fireworks soundtrack of the last decade and so was relieved to hear the more culturally appropriate numbers. The synchronicity was impressive and we happily cooled our feet and let ourselves be absorbed by the scene.

We were unsure if today's adventure was quite what our family was after, but seeing as it was wet and local, we were determined to make it FUN also. After following our fellow sojourners to what we thought was a public pool, we were excited to see not only that, a wave pool, a whirl pool but also a fab waterslide area.  

After the boys tried Blue (hopeless unless you are 5), Graeme defied gravity in Orange (and came away with G-Force face-ache), we all decided Yellow was good but over pretty FAST. Purple was the definite winner when you're seeking F-U-N. It had single and also tandem tubes to share the ride and although the queue was getting a little lengthy by the end our time there, it was certainly what we were after.

There was a purchase of a skim ball (and a soccer ball but for future use) that took Hungarian pool side bathing to another level. Our kids were the only ones in rashies and playing "King of the Pack". I don't think they really got us Australians that day.

King of the Pack Australians vs Canoodling Hungarians

The wave pool wasn't my idea of fun. It was like a big communal bath full of Europeans who may have obviously never been in the surf as we know it. It's popularity was clear when at certain times of the hour, a bell was heard echoing across the waters, calling those who wanted to hang 10...minus the board of course. It was a frenzy of activity and we became the 'mean parents' who set limits on our charges. Earlier in the day, Daniel had already found himself half submerged, pinned between a pool wall and three big ladies attempting to exit the Whirlpool. Not fabulous so we were on guard.

With the day had cooled and our energy levels depleted it was time to leave the party and head home. There seemed to be a change in the air and we noted an ominous sky heading our way. What was moments earlier the best day ever for our Patrick, was quickly becoming a catastrophe. Although not admitting it at the time, he later revealed he felt we might all die! To be fair, the winds did seem cyclonic in strength and the people huddled in shops and doorways to escape the unfolding drama. Daniel, however, seemed to find great pleasure in the crisis. These innate responses reminded me of when I spun us in the caravan back in 2010

Making for home

Fallen branches and street chaos were not just a figment of his vivid imagination. Why don't we listen to you my boy?

Architecture, as I mentioned, wasn't highly prioritised by our band of merry men. Mathias Church on the high side of the Danube, charged to get in, so we didn't. Perhaps Sunday services are not so well attended? Or perhaps parishioners 'give' at the door, rather than on the plate during the service? Either way, the only architecture we did take some time to get to know was the bronze miniature of the Castle district, including Mathias. Obviously much loved due to the missing patina, it was wonderful to enjoy the tactile nature of sculpture, and there was even a section of braille for the sight deprived.

Another bronze we visited was a tribute to Czech victims of Nazi concentration camps. Daniel asked "Why shoes". Was it to show the very place they were removed from the shore they loved? Shoes are, at their most basic, very personal items. Perhaps it was a representation of everything they lost during their imprisonment, not only freedom and possessions but identity.

House of Parliament-impressive though not visited

Views from the Fisherman's Bastian

Another Budapest bronze

Our last evening in Budapest was a treat at 'Hungarikum Bistro'. Always fully booked the traditional home cooking style restaurant was a winner from it's waitstaff to it's food and back to it's live Cimbalom playing musician! A 'cimbalom' is a Hungarian instrument that looks like the inside of a piano, sounds like a harp and plays like a xylophone. When maestro began pumping out some more recognisable tunes, a few family members were a touch embarrassed when their mum decided to first hum and then sing along! But as it seemed to put a twinkle in this old man's eye, I paid no heed and believe I may have made his evening. I eventually received his, and the crowd';s, applause, so that made my night!

Interesting presentation - Patrick's platted pork

Playing one night only to a full house

London, Loss and Laments

There are things that I miss about home- my friends, my dog, my community, my Nespresso, but mostly we are complete with our family and our basic necessities such as money, food, clothes and somewhere new to sleep every few days. However, the problem with travel is that if one of these necessities is removed, one's world tends to crumble.

It is true that I have been chasing our tail with this blog, trying to catch up with ourselves on this whirlwind trip, but the truth is, there just isn’t enough time. We are heading home in a few days.  I will continue to write and finish off what I have begun but I won’t be spoon-feeding anyone on Facebook with my dribble. But you can punish yourselves and keep reading along if you wish.

After our wet and mediocre time in London, we were to catch a train into London City Airport (not Heathrow thankfully) to fly EasyJet to Florence. It sounds easy enough? Not when it’s raining solidly on 5 bag-lugging Australian’s who are heading to a station on a Sunday, the only day of the week the station isn’t serviced. There was the issue of insufficient funds, an ATM that wouldn’t work and no large taxis available to carry our large family. So, Bromley residents would have ‘had a laugh’ as they watched us rushing, for over 45 mins in disposable ponchos (!!!), to the other side of town to find a train. Drenched, stressed and physically exhausted, we were glad to reach the airport with enough time to spare for a lengthy check-in process and a snack to use up all those excess UK pounds we’d just had to extract for train fare.

On our tiny aircraft, we dreamed of sunny Italy and all that it was going to offer us poor damp creatures. On arrival though, as the carousel continued to turn, it became clear that we had a small problem on our hands. My bag was a no-show.  Not only that, but the boarding passes (which had the bag tags attached) were sitting somewhere on the plane and so there was no code to register. Agghhhhh! So, we were processed and tried to see the up side; we could now fit in a single taxi! So began our Italian adventure.

Our Florence apartment was in an historic building perched upon the southern bank of River Arno. We were five stories high, which made for excellent views but also many stone steps, inconveniently slanted by the use of generations. We were just up from the Ponte Vecchio and could see the upper half of the much loved dome of the main square’s Duomo. Dream position, cobbled streets, great local pizza and one less suitcase to lug up the 71 steps.

After the compulsory climb of the bell tower the following morning, Annabelle and I set to work to buy some of those 'essentials' missing from my life, namely a change of clothes, bathers and a toothbrush. Not so difficult one would imagine? Perhaps even a bit of fun? Well, after hours of price checking and mental calculations (the airline wasn’t overly generous) change rooms and decision making (not my strong point), we arrived home exhausted and a little emotionally flat. Instead of seeing Florence on our only full day here, we saw the inside of a department store…I didn’t even think Florence would have one! No leather boot buying, no handbag haggling, just Myer equivalent undies shopping.

After an enjoyable afternoon in the Duomo and an evening eating local fare, feeling happy to have lost my bag (of which nobody could seem to locate) and not one of my family members, I set them all up for a photo in the ancient  entrance of our apartment. A thoughtful Pom passing  by read my mind and paused to take a photo, mum included for once. He was animated in stopping the other pedestrians who thought about getting between he and his photographic subjects. It was all quite funny until…well, he was a little too animated and managed to drop my iPhone and smash my newly purchased camera case, a decision I had labored long over in London. No biggie? Well, he was suitably apologetic and walked away embarrassed but in one piece. However, it was enough to tip me over into ‘poor me’ mode and I sat at my little balcony with my perfect view (apart from the water rat that Daniel had pointed out to me only hours before…I HATE rodents) and felt suitably sorry for myself.

But, you say, 'It’s just a phone case. It’s just a suitcase'. And, you are right of course. By the morning I had come to terms with the little blips and was beyond ready to take my precious family to visit Michelangelo’s David at Il Academia. This was always going to be a quick visit as we were headed to the Cinque Terre coast via Pisa for a visit later that morning…and a photo or 15.

Pisa was really interesting. Unbeknownst to the town planners of the day, Pisa’s bell-tower was built upon an ancient and evaporated inland sea. Not a great place for a tall, heavy, narrow based structure.  Even during the initial building phase subsidence took place. They thought they had it covered and so continued, changing the design to minimize the ‘appearance’ of the tilt. Over the years it has caused the people of Pisa so much trouble and money I am surprised no one pulled it down and started over. However, if they had a tower which did behave, they wouldn’t have the tourism, so perhaps these ancient folk were a people ahead of their time?

Piazza Della Duomo in Pisa also offers a cathedral, a baptistery and a museum. You pay for everything except entrance to the cathedral (and just being in the square for your 'click and tick' but for some reason you still need a physical ticket to get in. There was a 3 hour wait to climb the Tower which was unfortunate but didn’t really matter because all our photos actually included the funny looking tower itself. So with our pictures set up in humorous poses, we walked the market stalls for a time then made our way back to the station.

Had Graeme been anything other than utterly reliable when it comes to departures, timeliness and organisation I may have had pause for concern with the amount of time we were permitted before our return to the station (with a designated one hour to spare included). Perhaps he loves me so much that he doesn’t want to run the risk of me ever living my reoccurring nightmare of unforeseen train travel trauma. On collecting the luggage from the storage area, however, it became apparent that there had been a gross miscalculation.  Our one hour train journey was arriving in Cinque Terre at 1530hrs not departing here…and It was now 1527!hrs!!

That tornado of mere minutes hit me very hard. The running, negotiating flights of stairs with kids and luggage, finding the correct platform, hoping we would make the final train to Cinque Terre but not even aware if it had already left us. As it turned out, Italian trains seem to run to Italian temperament…lazy, so relief and apology was quickly written all over Graeme’s face as he realised we actually had minutes to spare and he knew I had just lived through my reoccurring nightmare. Yet this reprieve was very short lived. 

In the madness, confusion, panic and running, my camera was nowhere to be found. It was either taken or fell from my backpack. My family and close friends will testify to my overuse and appreciation of my DSLR and new compact digital. They allow me to think and be creative.  As the Memory Keeper it is my tool. As the artist it is my brush.  As the author it is my muse. For it to be gone, in such a chaotic and final way, after the events of the last 48 hours, I was completely devastated and furious. Nobody could tell me where my luggage was and now my camera was lost too.

Tears streamed down my face most of the way to our new home in Manarola. The kids were really shaken up at seeing their emotional-but-mostly-together-mum crumble, swear and be non communicative. As the train rattled on they, one by one, came to me, hugged me and consoled me each in their own way. Patrick reminded me of the book of Job and how even when everything is stripped away from us, God is still in control; Annabelle didn’t have to say anything and just hugged me again and Daniel, wet faced, reached into his pocket and offered me his 20 euros that was burning a hole in his pocket.

As I recalled all the shots I had lovingly set up and taken, I lamented my loss. All the memories I had recorded, most backed up thankfully, but some not. I was so very angry at what I had had to endure these past days. The why me? Yet, even as it attempted to take hold, I knew my fury did not belong in my heart.

Along with asking for my camera to be returned to me, I asked the LORD for the ability to let go of my pain. The World doesn’t owe me anything. Possession are just things. Memories are just that. I called upon the prayers of some of my friends (via text) and immediately felt the relief that comes with knowing what I already know and what I had just been reminded of. God is in control of my life. Camera or no camera, clothes or no clothes.

 Jesus says, “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable then they?”

I also thought of some of my dear friends who are currently experiencing very difficult chapters of their lives. What is my small drama compared to these life impacting, soul destroying events? My life is but a moment in time. If I dont have every single one of these moments captured, what does it really change?

My luggage has finally been found, and although not in my care, is being shipped back to Australia without me. Hopefully it will be there to welcome me home and the London-damp, possibly mold riddled clothes, won't cause me any more heart ache.

 

Bertusgaden and Bavarian Brooks

Another very warm day had us up in the mountains of Bavaria (where we were staying) in Bad Richenhall, a German town just across the border from Salzburg Austria, where the CSHS music troop were based. We had decided a change in the countryside would work in our favour after being in the towns and cities this past week. 

Our new accommodation and view!

Coming from a country, which is also a continent, I find the whole ‘cross into another county 20mins drive away’ a little disconcerting. I do appreciate the effort the Europeans have made in simplifying the currency though.  Much easier thank you. What is funny though is how similar people are in their differences. As Australians we love our country and then our State followed promptly by which side of the river we live. Certainly it is true of Sandgropers, aside from a holiday destination, if it’s further than 20mins away, it’s probably too far to bother. This seems true of our European experience (currently Bavarian) in mindset. Each believes their side of the mountain or valley offers the very best to us, it’s visitor, and why did we even bother with the rest. 

Breath holding in tunnels nearly sent Daniel blue

Our first tourist stop was Eagles Nest in the early 1930’s (during his leadership pre-war). It was to be his casual residence where the locals came to see their political leader in an informal setting, allowing him to become known for his love of children and animals. This quickly made him a popular and therefore powerful force in Germany and beyond.  It grew into a centre where much of the Nazi propaganda was touted. 

For us, the experience was exhilarating, not due to the above obviously, but rather the view over Bavaria. It was majestic…at least it was when we finally got there, as there’s a ridiculous system currently in place. Usually, the Germans know how to run things efficiently and effectively. At the very least they manufacture excellent engines, inexpensive beer and great bratwurst. So we cannot understand why you have to queue so much just to be doubly handled…long boring story but suffice to say it was really dumb.

Hitler's shiny brass lift...the only way in

Perhaps I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, as the upside was watching the people in action. They actually dress like this! There are local shops that stock purely Bavarian styles. Apparently the men’s leather trousers help them in tree/maypole climbing (??) and the ladies skirts get shorter the higher the mountains you live. Go figure. Actually, I was tempted as I thought a Bavarian themed 45^th Bday Dress-up might be fun…stay tuned for 2016.

Annabelle was to come here the following day but visiting Eagles Nest with the boys, one in a VERY bad mood, was concerning. There were many areas where a false step could end in disaster, or at the very least, pain.  Like most, our family is multifaceted. We have a fast moving and capable German U Barn driver who gets us where we need to be in more ways than one; a slow moving creative thinking arty-farty type who hates to miss out; a currently absent teenager, often absent minded when present; a cautious, reflective and vocal Q&A enthusiast and finally a courageous and robustly independent mountain goat. And here, on the mountaintop, it was our goat that was in the mood! It was obvious a firm leash was required to survive the morning’s outing.

There were some great photo opportunities, like the rock overhang, the parachutes soaring about like Eagles over the Nest and oh, did I mention the view?

When the busses returned us, we viewed the bunker and history exhibit of Hitler’s reign and the many atrocities it involved. Here, during WWII, an enormous underground system for ‘the who’s who’ of the Nazi party was secretly built. It housed and protected Hitler, his lackeys and their families from the outside world and it’s consequences. However, American intelligence suspected the German’s were creating weapons of mass destruction (sounds familiar), so decided to bomb the area in any case. It was apparently because of this strike that the war finally drew to a close.

One thing I deeply respect about the German people (Eagles Nest debacle aside) is their commitment to truth telling, to living through and accepting ones history, be it victory or defeat, pride or penitence. They teach their children about the Holocaust and regain their honour through accepting responsibility of these atrocities. So, lets all go buy a BMW, Merc or at least some bratwurst!

We occasionally found ourselves across the boarder in Salzburg with the aim of seeing our daughter perform. The only problem was that we had the days wrong and were a day behind…so we missed an afternoon of performances, were headed to the wrong venue in the evening before bumping into a fellow ‘shaddower’ who set us straight. Truth be known, we had had such a difficult day and the evening was set to be a very long event (without Annabelle performing!) we had a quick look in Salzburg’s beautiful theatre ???? before heading off for a feed, the country boarder then bed.  This was a bitter blow and we have our regrets but as grandma Nancy always used to say “Life’s full of disappointments”.

Salzburg, Austria itself had some beautiful buildings and some  very interesting children’s meals. The boys had an excursion to Madame Tussaud’s (or Madam Tuesday’s as Patrick called it) whilst I went to sing my heart out on The Sound of Music Tour.

Madam Tuesday’s held the attention of some more than others and Patrick looked like a natural posing with Freud and then his all time hero, Albert Einstein. I loved seeing the street Maria ‘Confidently’ danced down towards her new position at the Von Trapp’s chalet, the lake Maria and the children fell into dressed in play clothes, walking the steps of the church Maria and the Baron were wed in and, of course, posing in front of the glass rotunda feeling ‘16 going on 17’. If only they would let me in! Many years ago, an 81year old lady was apparently so excited to be the rotunda, she leapt up and danced around the benches until she toppled off and through the glass, uninjured and probably still euphoric. Since then, it has been unavailable to the public. Thanks very much grandma.

 I always wanted to be Lizel

The lake and rear of the Von Trapp's house

Yes, I really did dance

It seems the only people in the western world who don’t understand 'The Sound of Music' phenomenon are the Austrian’s themselves. Whilst they may know the story of Maria, the girl from the local nunnery who went to work for the Baron Trap and his seven motherless children (because this is all true) they haven’t seen the film, heard the soundtrack or made the pilgrimage, and whilst Edelweiss is their national flower, the famous song is a Hollywood creation.  Interestingly, once there was a question on Austria’s equivalent to “Who Want’s to be a Millionaire?” where they had to name the Austrian flower that has a song written about it. It was for an enormous sum of money, the contestant phoned a friend yet still managed to get the answer wrong.  They really do have no idea yet ‘The Sound of Music’ experience is the main reason, second only to the Austrians high brow offerings of classical recitals and concerts, that tourists flock in the millions to their country.

The main reason I wanted to stay in the Bavarian Alps as opposed to the city was the experience of fresh mountain air on our daily hike beside the multiple and easily discovered streams, no doubt a common site of the area. I think my imagination knows of a different Alps experience. The place  was busier than I expected and the language barrier was a small difficulty.  So to subdue my vocal need for the experience, we took a drive to a superb location.

Königssee, Germany’s deepest and cleanest lake was gloriously mirror like in the still morning reminding me of the kaleidoscopes of childhood. The protection laws governing this lake do not permit privately owned boats or windsurfers but the little vessels we journeyed on (council owned?) looked quaint upon the emerald water and our entertaining crew member even gave a trumpet duet (with himself) as his notes echoed back to us from the mountains. The employees here like collecting their tips, so I gave him one “Be good to your mother”. But really he was very good.

Kaleidoscopes

Graeme and the boys were committed to keeping their matriarch content so worked really hard to see her hiking by the streams of Bavaria. Well, the lake was beautiful, but I did hear there was a waterfall. So on we trekked, through the beautifully shaded tree lined tracks, across the open and dusty fields, along dry rubble strewn river beds, all the time hoping this waterfall would show itself. It was reminiscent of our “Around Australia Adventure in 2011” when little 5 year old Daniel was stomping his little legs through Amelia Gorge, El Questro muttering “This is so, so, SO DUMB!”

So it was with great relief, in the middle of this hot Summer adventure, when we rounded a bend and found our oasis…a trickling brook set amidst moss covered boulders offering the freshest alpine water I have ever filled a canteen with. Heaven! It was so lovely to sit with our feet submerged and let the intensity of the hike in the heat slide away. The quote of the day was made here where Patrick proclaimed "Well, I've never had an experience like this before!" And although the actual waterfall was within sight, it was a longer journey for another day...for another family. This one’s mother was happy.

Leading the horse to water

An added cool down from Dad

We had planned to swim in these waterways but were slightly concerned at the lack of local bathers. You don’t want to be one of those disrespecting tourists…or ones who get bitten by a deadly beastie! Yet on out return, the edge of the lake was dotted with scantily clad individuals cooling themselves in the clean, crisp Köngssee. It really was as good as it looks! Apparently the lake was at it's maximum for Summer thus far but it was still certainly brisk! The boys tried their hand at a spot of fishing, tribal style and we ate our pre-packed lunch in the shade of a local dairy shed (come tavern) where folks sipped beer and ate smoked trout caught from the very same lake we were enjoying.

The next day saw us up amongst the mountains with the assistance of a pre WWII chairlift that Graeme was keen to try. Trusting cables were tried and true we handed ourselves over to the German’s who elevated us to 1600m where we extended this height by 88m on foot. The kids borrowed some hiking poles to assist with the meek journey but they ended up being more of a hindrance than help. Although I searched and searched, the local Edelweiss

proved elusive. Probably just as well because I later discovered it’s an offence pick it. Oops!