Yvonne and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

I came to Innsbruck because I wanted to see the Alps, and I read in Lonely Planet that this was a city surrounded by the mountains. Coming out of the train station, there I saw them, and I couldn't help but snap a picture right there.

This is the picture.

The directions to the hostel were sketchy. They told me arrive between 5 and 7 pm, take the bus and walk uphill for a few houses (when actually it was walk uphill, then turn right and then turn left.) A nice local man helped me find my way, and he was utterly perplexed by my visit to Innsbruck.

"What are you here for?" he asked.

"I just want to see the mountains."

"But these aren't good mountains," he sighed. "And I don't know how you will see them in weather like this." He fretted some more. "I just don't know what you are going to do." He contemplated different places I could go to get a better view, places he could take me. I told him his help in finding me the hostel was good enough, he needn't orchestrate my entire trip. And so we left it at that. I said thanks and good-bye and he scratched his head and pondered my trip some more. I just wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right.

That was before I saw my hostel room. The lady at the front desk told me I would be in a different building, which was in the back of the nice place where I paid my bill. The girls dorm was on the top floor. It had log cabin walls, wooden bunk beds, threadbare sheets, and bare bulbs providing light. It looked like the perfect setting for a horror film.

The bathroom door knob hung limply on the door. When I finally managed to get the door to close, I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to come out again. In the other bathroom was a sink and a bath tub big enough for a baby or perhaps a very miniature person.

Sink and the mini-tub.

This place frightened me. So I went into town. It was already dark. You couldn't see the mountains anymore, except for the snow on top which omitted an eerie glow. The air was fresh and cold on my cheeks. I walked by the river, black fast flowing water, and I imagined this water had trickled its way down the mountains. Runners and bikers passed me by. The town itself was quaint, all the shops displaying ski clothes and equipment in the windows. Perhaps every mountain town is like this, but since I am not a skier, I found it charming. I was smitten.

One of the shop windows.

At the pizza shop where I ate dinner, I met two American women, Lori and Tanya, who worked at Swarovski and were here on business. They invited me out with their co-worker, Dave, to a bar near their hotel. The bar was called 360 and it had a beautiful view of the city. You could see lights from all the houses along the mountainside.

"Does everyone smoke in Austria?" Dave asked. If the bar was any representation of the country, then yes, they do. I especially liked the two Euro men slouched in their seats at the table next to us, wearing slim suits and smoking cigarettes, not talking to each other but just looking cool.

Tanya, Dave and Lori.

Lori and Tanya had us laughing about the mishaps of their trip so far. They were staying in one of the best hotels in town, and they commented on the small beds and even smaller comforters. I didn't have the heart to tell them that my bed back at the hostel was probably infested with bed bugs and looked like it would fall apart if you sat on it.

This morning I woke up (bed remained intact) and contemplated whether I should bathe. I felt dirty, so I went for it, finding myself crouched in that little tub. I couldn't stand because the ceiling, being the roof of the building, was slanted. When I raised the shower hose to my hair, I hit the ceiling. I was waiting for someone to barge in the bathroom and point and laugh and say, "What are you doing? You actually thought we would shower in that Barbie tub?" No such person came by.

I wanted to blow-dry my hair when I realized with great sadness that I lost my beloved converter/adapter. I got the adapter with my cell phone, and it was a really good one. Sometimes when I dried my hair, I would leave it in the bathroom and would have to run back and get it. This time I forgot to run back, and I could imagine the way it looked in the bathroom in the Salzburg hostel.

It was snowing outside, and so with damp hair and no hat, I ventured outside to look for an adapter. The snow created such a fog that there was not a mountain to be seen. I was thankful for taking that one picture by the bus station.

If I thought finding contact solution was hard, finding an adapter is another issue. No one really knew what I was talking about until I showed them my computer plug. The woman at the information office directed me to an electronics store where they had adapters, but not one that fit my computer plug.

"Can I get one somewhere else?" I asked the boy who worked there. "Is there another electronics store in Innsbruck?"

The boy looked at me with disdain. "No," he said to me, as if this was the only electronics store in all of Austria.

I walked out of the store, and I burst into tears. Suddenly it all seemed doomed. My beloved adapter alone in the bathroom in Salzburg, waiting for me to come back, probably not realizing yet that I never will. For the rest of the trip, I would forever have wet hair. I wouldn't be able to charge my cell phone and worst of all, Polish Ham would be history once my computer battery died.

I pulled myself together and walked into a hotel and asked the receptionist if there was somewhere else I could go, and she pointed me to a hardware store. The place was filled with old ladies creeping around and an old man talking loudly to the owner. I found an adapter--not really a converter--but it fit my computer plug and so I bought it, wiping my tears on my sleeve as I paid. I hoped it would work.

Next step was finding a café with a wireless connection. I found this to be an impossible task. There was a place that looked like the Austrian version of Starbucks. It had all these internet company names of the door, so it looked promising. I ordered my food and then I found out that I couldn't use my computer in there. Turns out the place sold phones, so while I had a coffee and cold muffin, there were people buying cell phones behind me. It was like having breakfast in a Cingular Wireless store. My hair was finally dry, flat against my head. This suddenly felt like the worst day ever.

Me and my bad hair in the cell phone coffee shop.

It went downhill from there. I stepped outside and all of a sudden my toes on my left foot starting hurting. How did this happen? How can your toes hurt? But they did, and I limped along and felt sorry for myself for having no health insurance. And then I imagined how I could explain this toe-hurting situation to a German-speaking doctor. I didn't want to.

I wandered into a mall, where I found a computer to use in a bookstore. The browser was probably from the days of the first computer because it could barely support any of the internet pages. I checked my email and found out from Katrin, who I am visiting on Saturday, that all the German train workers were going on strike from Thursday to Saturday. I was supposed to go to Munich on Thursday.

I walked around and contemplated. I even walked by the train station and considered asking about it. I looked for some signs and then these twelve-year-old girls pushed me out of the way and started laughing and making fun of me in German. I couldn't believe that I was being harassed by pre-teens. Could it get any worse?

So I walked some more. My toes feeling a little better, and I went into the tourist information office where I asked them about the strike.

"Oh yes, I have heard of this," the girl said. She called the train information and they told her that only select trains would run tomorrow, and I should go to the train station for more information. So I went back to the train station.

"I am planning to go to Munich tomorrow, and I heard there is going to be a strike," I told the man behind the counter.

"I know nothing about a strike," he answered me. "Come tomorrow and you will find out."

"So," I stuttered, "you suggest I come back tomorrow and then I will know? What if there are no trains?"

He shrugged.

"If there is a strike, will there be any trains or buses to Munich?"

"No," he answered.

I left the desk and burst into tears for the second time today. I felt like maybe if I had spoken German he would have been more helpful, but I didn't want to be the ugly American and be mean to him, so instead of yelling at him, I just cried.

I walked outside the train station and could barely make out the mountain through the fog. I decided I did not want to be stuck in Innsbruck until Saturday.

I went to the hostel. I packed. I checked out.

"Yes, if you are traveling to Germany, you should go today," said the woman at the hostel. She didn't give me a refund for the second night. At that point, I didn't care.

Took the bus back to the train station. Waited in the cold for my delayed train. Sat in cold train car for two hours, my hands taking an hour to warm up. Arrived to a snowy and blistery Munich in one piece, and the hostel even had a bed for me. Things were looking on the up and up.

But then I checked my email, and Dan is having a bad day, too. Not only did he lose his metro card, but our landlords are raising our rent $200 a month starting in December! Don't these people understand I am unemployed?

There are no tears left. I am getting a drink.

Selections from The Sound of Music

I am not a fan of the bus tour. But I received a very strong recommendation from my friend Megan to see The Sound of Music tour when in Salzburg, because this is the location where the movie was filmed.

I even watched the movie before I left on this trip, noting that Maria, played by a zesty Julie Andrews, is a huge fun-pig (don't you remember that the nuns got mad at her because she couldn't help frolicking and singing in the mountains? And she's all like, "I can't help it!") And so why not see everywhere Maria has been within a large, obnoxious bus that has her picture painted on it? Our tour guide was a British woman with an incredibly dry sense of humor that no one understood and a voice similar to a sex phone operator. They played songs from the movie, and she was the only one who sang along. (The tourist group was not in fun-pig mode at all).

It was interesting to see the sights, but afterwards, I decided that what makes The Sound of Music tour fun must be Megan herself. If I ever do it again, I must have her (singing) by my side.


We learned that most Austrians are not fans of the Sound of Music and have not seen the movie. Our tour guide said that our bus riding around the city of Salzburg has given them some indication that something is going on.


The hills are alive...with lots of snow.



One of the buidlings used to portray the von Trapp house in the movie.



The gazebo where Liesl and Rolfe sang "Sixteen going on seventeen."



Nonneburg Abbey, where Maria studied to be a nun.



One of my favorite things? Apple strudel with vanilla creme sauce.



Do-Ri-Me: Yes, I am singing again.

November Surprise!

Woke up this morning to discover...


it's snowing!



The polar express?

Photo Requests

Sorry for my lateness, but I noticed I have gotten a few photo requests in the last few blog posts. Here they are:


Me doing "warrior three" yoga pose in the marshmallow blue jacket in Vienna.



This is the historical district in Split: All those doors you see are stores, the old buildings intact, and store signs are prohibited to keep the appearance.


Ham-eating stray dogs in Trogir. Sorry, Brett, I did not get a picture of them wearing Old West style costumes. Next time...

D-Day (Dan Day)

Day of yuck.


All day Friday I was in a really bad mood. I could not snap out of it.

I think it was a combination of the horrible weather (grey skies, cold rain and wind that turned your umbrella inside out), feeling tired from the night before, and the fact that I had one more day with Dan until he went back home to New York. Not only am I sad about losing Dan, but his leaving--along with the fact that I will be in Germany within a week--signifies something much greater: my trip is on its last leg. I have only five weeks to go.

Despite the weather, Dan kept us busy. Our itinerary seemed to change by the hour, and in my bad mood, the lack of focus got on my nerves. Still we managed to get things done. Dan was great to not let my foul mood ruin his.

For breakfast/lunch, we went to a wurstel stand (supposedly the best in town) where we enjoyed some sausage filled with cheese, alongside some bread and a mustard dip. Any vacation with Dan would not be complete without checking out some record stores. And so in cold, wind, rain, we trekked all over town to visit three of them. All of them were pretty much overpriced (like everything in Vienna so far). Of course, we had to make an obligatory trip to the famous confectionery store called Manner, where we picked up some Mozart chocolate balls and Manner Schnitten wafers filled with hazelnut creme. There is a reason why they are famous. They are good!

For dinner, we dropped into a random pub where I ordered some wiener schnitzel, which I thought was going to be something complicated, but turned out to be just a breaded pork chop. (Dan had actually ordered it the night before and we didn't even realize that he was eating the most famous dinner dish in Austria). The only thing that is unique about it is that the pork is pounded so thin that it takes up the entire plate. It wasn't until we got some cake at bakery-chain Aida that I started to feel better, which made me wonder that maybe the only thing that came between me and a good mood was some sugar.

We met up with Kristina and company again to check out her friend's art exhibit that was debuting in a café. The people there could easily fit in with the Williamsburg crowd, with their artsy vibe, cool clothes, mod haircuts and hand-rolled cigarettes. Again, Dan and I were thrilled at the opportunity to peek into the lives of people residing in Vienna. At the same time, it inspired us to pick up our fashion sense and at least for me--a paint brush.

Saying good-bye to Dan this morning was no fun. I was sad to lose my travel partner in crime and he was sad to stop traveling and go back to work. I was happy to see that he wanted to stay (and not only because of me). Maybe he will get the travel bug after all.

With another cold and rainy day ahead of me (is the weather like this here every day?? will it be like this for the rest of my trip??), I spent most of my morning in Café Central, a grand coffeehouse and cake shop with a beautiful interior and waiters who don't give a damn. I had to ask for my check twice, waiting 20 minutes for it even though people were huddled through the door. My table had a sign that said "Thank you for not smoking" but the table literally right next to me did not have such a sign. Judging from all the second-hand smoke, my conclusion is that the non-smoking section is not really a non-smoking section.

One of my three pairs of pants ripped to unwearable conditions, and so I attempted to do some shopping to find a new pair with no luck. I found myself gravitating toward all the pretty sweaters and trouser pants that were completely unpractical for this trip, and seeing a skirt and boots made me sigh with nostalgia for clothes that were pretty for pretty's sake.

I decided I had to do something worthwhile today and so I headed to the Albertina museum. The main exhibit was this collection owned by this couple who donated it to the museum and while it was impressive, it basically covered art history for the last 200 years and with so many people milling around, it was hard to enjoy it. The smaller exhibits, Art after 1970 and drawings by American artist Philip Guston, left me cold.

Afterwards, I walked to the café that Dan and I have been visiting everyday to have a drink and check our email, and walking down those now-familiar streets in the dreary rain, I missed holding his hand and hearing his voice.

Breakfast.

Dan at his happiest.

Cakes on the go at Aida.



Lilian with Eva, the artist in red glasses, at her art exhibit.

One smokin' town.

Me, singing an aria in front of the opera house.

We started the day following Lonely Planet's version of Vienna, which can basically be summed up in three words: architecture, museums, and cafes.

I am not an architecture buff, but I can see that this is a well-designed city. Every time we checked out the guide book, the building we'd be looking at represented a masterpiece of some kind of era, be it gothic, renaissance, art nouveau. But it is just not the main sights. We wandered around some of the non-touristy streets and discovered design apparent in neighborhood cafes and restaurants, where someone undoubtedly spent a great deal of time thinking about the look and feel of the place--from the tables and chairs to the light fixtures. All of these places looked uniquely inviting and undeniably hip. The people inside these places, smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, matched the interior, and that was a sight to see in itself.

Vienna has an insane amount of museums. Aside from walking the main pedestrian streets and visiting the famous church Stephansdom, the only sights to see are the museums--the history and decoration of the actual buildings just as impressive as the things inside.

We opted to go to Kunsthistorisches, the museum of fine arts, simply because our book said it was one of the best museums in Europe and "should not be missed." The building itself was quite beautiful and as we were walking through it, I couldn't help but stop and admire the art and detailing on every inch of the walls and high ceilings. Even the museum café was beautiful with a giant dome that loomed overhead.

But when it got to the stuff exhibited in the museum, Dan and I were bored stiff. We walked through rooms and rooms of 16^th and 17^th century paintings, all dark and gloomy, of aristocrats and religious motifs, all looking the same. We breezed through some of the Roman, Greek and Egyptian artifacts having seen similar exhibits in the past. Then there were rooms of ancient coins that we didn't even bother with.

Stephansdom.

Ceiling inside the museum.

If you don't feel like a museum, there is always a cafe. There is one at every corner, most of which sell a wonderful selection of cakes. In the United States and you go to a restaurant, you order food, you eat, you go. Here, people linger over a slice of cake and a coffee for hours and no one will bat an eyelash.

There were so many places to choose from, but we opted to stop in one of the most fancy and well-known cafes called Demel. We tried Vienna's famous cake, the sacher torte, which is essentially a chocolate cake with a chocolate shell crust. Between the cake and the crust is a thin swab of marmalade. The cake was very good, but not my favorite. I will have to test some more to find one I really like (I am happy to handle that challenge).

Me at Demel, enjoying some sacher torte.

After a day of sight-seeing, Dan and I went to visit Kristina, one of the Germans from my Polish language classes, who is going to university in Vienna. I was really excited to see her and also for Dan to have a chance to meet one of the people from my travels that he has heard so much about. And there we had the opportunity to see the city from a person who actually lives there.

Kristina lives in this really awesome apartment, which she rents with a few other students. It is really old, but really large and spacious--her bedroom is probably the size of Dan and apartment in New York City!

She was a little nervous to see us, but we were thrilled at the chance to see her home and enjoy the delicious Middle Eastern spread she made for us. After a few glasses of red wine and her roommate Lilian arriving to join us, she finally relaxed and we had the best time sitting around the kitchen, talking and drinking into the night.

Kristina is socially-minded, and I knew she would have a lot in common with Dan. Lilian turned out to be the same way, so right away, we got into friendly political debates and discussions, plus talks about comparisons between The United States and Europe.

Lilian suggested that we smoke scented tobacco, and I was surprised when they pulled out a giant hookah right there and then. They told us that it is very trendy in Germany right now to own one.

Dan and I looked each other. We have never known anyone to own one.

"We have two of them," Lilian said.

Everyone knows I am not a fan of smoking, but when in Vienna, do as the Germans do. We smoked an apple flavor variety, and while I liked the community aspect of sharing a smoke, the talking and passing the pipe around, I didn't love the actual smoking itself. It was a fun experience at the moment, but don't count on me running out and doing it again anytime soon.

Kristina walked us home, following us on her bike, and I could tell that Dan was just jazzed about meeting her. And I hope that it made him realize that traveling is not just about the places you see, but also the people you meet.

We're hoping that Kristina and Lilian will come visit us in New York. Kristina made a wish of wanting to come to the States to eat marshmallows (this was after more than a few glasses of wine). I think we can certainly arrange that. Our couch (and the marshmallows) are waiting.

Hey mom, don't look!

Lilian, Kristina, me and Dan.

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.

Bye Bye, Budapest... Guten Tag, Wien

Yvonne's lovin' it.

Quick post, since we're at a café, and whoever isn't on the computer has nothing to entertain themselves.

(The café is pretty fresh. Lots of hip furniture, by local designers, all of which is for sale. The place happens to be in the guidebook, but we just stumbled on it after dinner at a fantastic pub where we were the only English speakers. I'm busting out some phrasebook German just because our initial experiences with the Austrians were--like the weather--a tad chilly, and I don't want to start off on the wrong foot.)

Our last half day in Budapest was spent on a trek to the flea market. Nothing terribly interesting, though if I had the space at home, I would have to have some old typewriters and old phonographs.

Also had lunch at McDonald's, near the hotel, the first Mickey D's in the Eastern Bloc. I totally have no qualms with eating at the Arches abroad. How better to understand exported America than to encounter it firsthand? For the record, I had a McRoyal, made to order (sans cheese) -- sorta wish I had the McFarm, a pork sandwich, but it didn't look that great in the picture. The McDonald's there was everything McDonald's tries to be in the commercial: fun, clean as all get out, beautiful inside (upholstered booths, a flat screens playing American music videos), with middle-class diners and groups of teenagers having a grand old time. Impossible to gage how the sentiment runs in Budapest, but certainly nobody at McDonald's seem to have any thoughts of imperialism on their minds, least of all the construction worker lunching on a Big Mac and a McFarm.

First thoughts on Vienna: the maps are virtually indecipherable. We'll see if that improves as the days go on.

A whole world of records that I sadly cannot explore.

This was Burger King, not McDonald's. This, my friends, is a travesty.