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.

Food for thought.

Pec's Szechenyi Ter


My biggest mistake today was not bringing my camera to breakfast.

I was thrilled to find out that there were eggs on the menu and so I ordered scrambled eggs with sausage. What came out looked like an egg pizza pie with thinly sliced hot dogs on top. Strange and unappetizing as it looked, it was pretty tasty. Then I reached inside the bread basket and found cinnamon bread in a Neapolitan swirl of colors: brown, white and pink! Pink bread! It was good, too! If breakfast was this exciting, who knew what the day would hold?

Pecs is a busy, albeit small city. There are tons of people milling around: students with backpacks riding bikes, school children walking in lines, mothers pushing strollers, men and women going to work, couples lounging in coffee shops. The sidewalks are narrow at times and sometimes I felt like I was back in New York City, weaving through the people traffic. My culture shock to Hungary was not as dramatic as it had been between Poland and the Czech Republic, but I can't help but notice that everyone is much friendlier here. People smile at me, offer help, genuinely try to communicate. I feel welcomed.

I mostly ambled about the city, taking in the sights. My favorite spot was the Csontvary Museum, which exhibits the major works of Slovakian-Hungarian artist Tivadar Kosztka Csontvary. I like a small museum like this, focused on one artist, so you can learn his history and visually see the progression of work through the years. While museums like the Met are brilliant, I often walk out over-stimulated. Here, I felt like I learned something and it will stick.

Csontvary, who happened to suffer from schizophrenia, became an artist late in life. He only has about 120 works total. When he didn't get the fame he expected, he delved into a depression and never painted again. Now they have a museum dedicated to him.

His paintings are large and bold landscapes and people painted with the most vivid of colors. I stopped and stared for a long time at "At the Entrance of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem." It was a picture of a crowd, there were so many people I couldn't count them, and yet all of them had such different expressions and colors to their faces. It was amazing.

I ventured across the street to the Dom Ter which is this beautifully ornate cathedral where parts of it date back to the 11^th century. What impressed me most was not the church, but inside the crypt, there were all these art projects created by children of the nativity scene. They were so creative--some were dioramas made of wood and tree cones, others were made out of clay, some were painted. I tried to take pictures of them, but they all looked stupid in pictures. In real life, they were awesome. I used to love doing that kind of stuff when I was a kid.

Dom Ter.

This nativity scene is awesome, I swear!

I must have been in a childish mood because I went into a hip-hop clothing store and bought some round pins that I would have adored when I was 14. I especially like the one with the monkey face and Darth Vader helmet that says "Dark Side." They're even made in Hungary. I have this feeling I might have to give one of them to my sister. But not the "Dark Side" one.

I love these!

My Lonely Plant guide book says that the town can't decide between two bakeries which one sells the better cake. I like solving these types of problems, so I thought I would try both. The first place, Mecsek, smelled absolutely heavenly when I walked though the door. There were so many different cakes to choose from, plus some luscious-looking ice cream, but I finally settled down on a block of crème sandwiched in pastry. It was good, but much too much. I could barely finish the whole thing.

I went to the other place Virag--which was more of a coffee shop than a bakery--at the end of the day. I wasn't really in the mood for a sweet, so I went for the smallest item, a linzer cookie covered in chocolate. I took a bite and it was cold. Cold cookies are bad things. And the rest of the desserts didn't even look that good. The first place wins hands down.

Aren't you glad that I go to these places and test these things out so you all don't have to?

The winner!

Turning lemons into lemonade.

Day-tripper.

Do you ever have one of those days where you get one curve ball after another, and you just spend all your time trying to deflect them? That used to happen to me a lot at work. I would come in, expecting a normal quiet day, and then all of a sudden the phone would start ringing, the emails coming in, everyone by my desk. I didn't have time to stress out, I just reacted and then wondered at the end of the day how it all worked out. Same sort of thing happened today. Today's curve balls included:

Waking up at 4am and not being able to fall back asleep.

Heading to the train station at 5:45am only to find that my train to Budapest was 90 minutes delayed. How do trains get delayed at 5:45 am?

Buying a ticket for the 7:09 am train only to realize that this one is going to Budapest but to the Nyugati train station. My connecting train is at the Keleti station.

Sitting in a hot train car with a woman who will not stop speaking I can't understand what you are saying! And it is 7 in the morning, for Pete's sake!

Arriving in Budapest and trying to figure out how to take the Metro to the other train station. Buy the wrong ticket and have to buy another.

Getting off-balanced with my heavy bag by the crazy, fast-moving escalators.

Dealing with shoulder aches due to my heavy bag. Why is it so much heavier today? Adjusted straps. Felt better.

Trying to explain the Eurail pass to the ticket counter woman. I purchased a pass back in the States to travel by train through Hungary, Austria and Germany. I have to validate it before I use it. They had no idea what I am talking about. Had to find someone who did.

Finding something to eat at the train station that doesn't scare me. Go into a shop with sketchy characters who are going shots of alcohol at 11:30 am. No, thanks. My other choices are gyros or massive football sized sandwiches packed with meat. I go with the gyro.

Getting into Pecs, a small artists town in southern Hungary and rather than walking around, spending my first hour doing all my laundry in the sink because I have no clean clothes.

Going out to dinner where these two men won't stop staring at me. Have you never seen a woman eating alone at a restaurant before? After I paid the waiter, I looked in my book about what to do about tip, and they said that I should give the tip as I am paying, and that Hungarians think leaving tips at the table are stupid and rude. There are no waiters around, the men won't stop staring at me, I am getting nervous, so I left the money on the table and ran out of there. Whatever.

Walking around town around 7 to find everything closed. I came back to my narrow hotel room that smells of cigarettes (not mine) and laundry detergent (all me) and watched bad Euro videos on VH1 because I don't understand anything else.

Say what? And I thought Polish was hard.



Budapest's Keleti train station: filled with a strange assortment of characters and food choices.


My insanely narrow hotel room/laundry room.

Pretty! First impressions of Pecs.