Old and cold.

Commie junk.


I hate flea markets. I like the idea of going through old things and finding hidden treasures among piles of junk, but I can't get past the junk. Just the piles of the old, smelly, moldy things makes me want to take out the Windex and start cleaning. What gets me is that all these markets sell the same junk: the oil paintings, the black and white photographs of people you don't know, appliances that are older than your grandma, and things that if you owned before, you never want to own again. The flea market in Budapest is no different. Don't go. There were like ten vinyl records there, so I am not entirely sure why we went either.

Dan tested me today by wanting to arrive at the Budapest train station ten minutes before our train departed. I wouldn't allow such craziness and good thing because we waited over ten minutes just to get our tickets. We also learned that traveling with a backpack is better than going with the wheeled luggage. While I moved through the crowd with ease, Dan lagged behind with his suitcases. Then again, I might have been rushing a bit. We got there just in time, and I wasn't used to having no waiting time.

Vienna is one really cold place. I am thankful for the puffy blue Northface jacket Dan brought me, even though it makes me look like a marshmallow. The winds were so strong, I nearly lost my balance with the backpack (one of its disadvantages). Our hotel is this funny little place right near the train station where we each get our own twin bed. To watch the German television shows, we have to uncomfortably crane our heads.

"Can we move around all the furniture?" Dan asked. I said no, but I think he is still thinking about it.

Dan and some bad vinyl.

"I Love Lucy" beds.