The virtue of a small town.

The platform with the ancient train.

I am definitely a city person, but there is something I really like about a small town.

I am not talking about the suburbs--which can be pretty homogeneous in the United States. I remember once being in the suburbs of Virginia and thinking I could be in New Jersey. That's because every suburban town is starting to look the same, with the same stores, the same restaurants, the same malls. Community is no longer important because everyone would rather stay inside their big houses and big cars than actually talk to someone.

A small town is not like that. It's a place that is completely original, unaffected with corporate retailers and restaurants. It's place where everyone knows each other, where the main street is littered with mom-and-pop shops and restaurants. It's somewhere that seems almost trapped in its own bubble, where outside distractions from advertising and the media are not apparent. I am not sure if these small towns really exist anymore, but I like the idea of them.

I wasn't really thinking about Pecs being a small town, but when I arrived at the train station to head out, I reconsidered. I couldn't find the board where the trains and track numbers were listed. And that is when I saw it: The schedule was posted outside on a small black sign. The train destinations and track numbers were manually tacked on, and the time was noted by a little clock that someone needed to change by moving the hands with their finger. This sign to me was so quaint to me, I felt like I was swept into the small town bubble of Pecs.

The small town train schedule.

I stood on the platform, and in the dark, foggy morning, the air trembled with excitement and mystery. I felt like I was Anna Karenina, only I wasn't in Russia and it wasn't snowing and I wasn't going to throw myself on the tracks. Okay, it was nothing like Anna Karenina, but there was something about that platform that evoked anticipation for the journey that lay ahead.

I stepped on the train which was like walking in a time warp. The train was old and rickety. The seats were benches reminiscent of a 1950's diner, which are stiff and uncomfortable and there was no place to rest your head. There were old pictures of Budapest on the wall, and when the train moved, the lights flickered, the walls rattled. While I was on the train for entire 2-hour duration, the people on the train seemed to be going about their business, hopping on the train for just a few stops and then getting off. While this was a journey for me, this was ordinary life for them.

I got off the train at the border of Hungary and Croatia in a town called Gyekenyes. I had three hours to kill here before catching the international train into Zagreb. That's when I came to my senses. Pecs was not a small town. This was a small town.

The train station--the one little building--confused me. There were all these doors and windows with white lacy curtains on them, I couldn't tell which one was the main entrance. I walked up and down peering into windows and trying to open doors. I finally found what looked like the waiting room, a drafty place with a few benches and a sink in the corner.

I waited for a while and finally a ticket woman came to the counter. I usually pay for my tickets by credit card. Thank goodness I had some cash on me. The woman didn't even have a computer. She took about five minutes to hand-write my ticket and handed it to me. I think maybe three people, including myself, bought tickets the whole time I sat there.

I was starving and hoping to find something to eat. I went to the place that said "buffet" but inside I only found a shop with potato chips and candy. I bought some of both and ate them for lunch. I was still hungry, so I walked outside and found a small convenience store, which seemed to be a hub in town. People convened there, leaning their bicycles against the store, carrying their wooden baskets inside. Some ladies stood in a circle and chatted outside. I bought a banana and an orange. I walked up and down the road and looked at some houses, but I didn't go far because my bags were heavy and it looked like there was no place to go. The woman stared at me. So instead I sat in the station, just me and the ticket counter woman. I watched her shuffle papers. I asked her where the rest room was. It was in one of the random, unmarked doors. There was no toilet paper.

What is it about a small town that appeals to me? It is not that I want to live here, but I like the thought about people living their lives in a genuine way.

When I was in the Czech Republic, I read a magazine article about a guy who gets paid a lot of money to select what kind of music hotels should play in their lobbies. He spends a few days in the hotel and then decides what kind of mood the hotel should have and selects a play list based on this.

It just goes to show that in cities like where I live--nothing is genuine anymore. Not the play list in the hotel, not in the restaurants we eat or the clothes we wear. Everything has been thought-out in advance, everything now having an advertising, media or public relations strategy on the best way to market people and get them to spend money on their products. Sometimes, when I am thinking about buying something that is really hip at the moment, I pause and think, "Do I really like this or am I buying this because everyone else thinks it's cool?" If this thought crosses my mind, I usually don't get it.

It goes beyond just material things. All my life I have heard that "you can be anyone you want to be" and "success equals happiness" and "your career will give you great satisfaction." Are these things really true or just part of the marketing scam known as "the American Dream?"

I picture people in small towns not focused on those kinds of things. It's not about the success, the money, owning the latest thing. If you peel back the layers, It is about family, the company of great friends, enjoying life's simple pleasures.

Maybe my idea of the small town is merely a fantasy, and perhaps the people there are not as unaffected as I imagine them to be. Maybe they spend their lives wishing that they could have more things, money, success.

But what appeals to me is this notion of peeling back the layers and deciding what is really important in your life. Ignore the messages from everyone else, consider what is really important to you and live your life focused on these things. And this goes whether you’re a country bumpkin in a small town or a big city girl like me.

The waiting room with a sink.

My handwritten ticket.

Bikes (big and little) lean against the convenience store.