Baths in Budapest

So...I got to admit, I didn't know much about Budapest before arrival. Just sounded like a cool place...old buildings, quaint streets, nice parks and gardens and less tourists than some other Eastern European cities. The city is broken up into two parts: Buda and Pest (pretty simple), split in two by the Danube river. It is a beautiful city, stunning in the morning and early evening with the river. A mix between old and new, reminding me of Pittsburgh in many ways.

I arrived around sunrise, which is the time when I normally arrive in cities after long 10+hr bus rides. The map I had was much better than the one I had in Venice and it was pretty easy to find the hostel. After dropping off my bags and having a quick walk around the city, I returned to the hostel and met the three other guys in my room: A Frenchman, an Aussie and an Englishman.

The Aussie, Hank, and I hit if off pretty well. He had been traveling for three months, mainly in Norway (so expensive), although he was coming from Macedonia (so cheap)....maybe that's why he was coming from Macedonia. He had a lot of good stories and great, great pictures of the Fjords in Norway. He worked in the movie industry in Australia, helping out with various films and the like.

Hank and I decided that we would hit up the "Baths" tomorrow. Baths? Yeah, baths. Budapest is known for its baths...ornate and beautiful buildings which contain a series of spas for relaxation and cleansing. When in Budapest, you have to go. It's like a water amusement park for adults, with a number of different baths at different temperatures, currents, jets, etc. There were not a lot of kids there, if any...mostly wrinkly, old, leathery men and women laying out and living it up for the day. I felt at times that I was watching the movie "Cocoon".

It was a strange and unique experience to say the least. Why were all of us at these baths? To experience new life, I guess. To have the grime of the city, the exhaustion of daily life or travel, the noise and pollution removed from us. To be made clean, to be purified and made whole again. It is crazy to think of these baths as a god, as a savior, but I think to many people they were, a place to come daily to receive new life.

It is easy to turn to "beautiful spas" after a long day. The spa is not the problem, it's the turning to the spa for help that always let you down. No matter how many times you go, you're always dirty. And yet, we often keep going, every day, scrubbing hard and faster trying to become clean. This is what it means to be addicted, and we have all been there.

I guess that going to the bath reminded me that I always need help...I know that is kinda weird to remember at a bath with a thousand wrinkly, old, leathery men and women, but that is what I was reminded. I need Someone to intervene on my behalf, need Someone to cleanse me for good, to be made whole and pure. I believe that Someone has come, and many of you believe this as well. This is exciting. And remember, next time you are in Budapest, you have to go to the Baths.

The Most Beautiful Bookstore in the World

After Rome, I took a train to Venice. I arrived around twilight; long shadows, sun glimmering off the water, houses lit up in a warm glow...beautiful. It was the weekend and although it was October, it was crowded. With a poor map in hand, I made my way across the first canal toward one of the hostels. After about 30 minutes of walking through the streets, getting lost, listening to a wine glass and water percussion performance, I made it to the hostel. Closed.

It was getting dark so I decided to keep moving to another hostel, located in a former monastery. ..cool huh. The hostel was a bit far away, but I thought I could pull it off. Did I mention I had a bad map? Man, I got lost. I mean I really got lost, would ask for directions and get lost again. After about another hour of walking in the dark, tired, hungry and thirsty, I finally made it to the hostel. Full.

I was at my wits end and not sure where to go. The receptionist at the hostel mentioned that the other hostels in Venice were also full. Bummer. Then she said, "But you might want to check out this bookstore around the corner". "Bookstore?", I said. "Yeah, sometimes the guy "rents" out some space in his bookstore/house" and she wished me well. Without many options, I made my way over to the bookstore.

The bookstore had a huge sign over it that said "The Most Beautiful Bookstore in the World". I was quickly met by the owner who gave me a tour of the bookstore with window view of the canal and a huge gondola filled with books in the middle of the store. It was a great, great shop...a bit chaotic, but beautiful and full of fun things. I asked him if he had any room for the night. He said he did (i gave a shout for joy on the inside) and I was slowly led through the bookstore and across the alley to another room that housed a ton of books and....beds. Eight of them to be exact, crammed together in the midst of all the books.

There were five girls from California crammed on four of the beds and three Polish girls on three of the beds and me. It was crazy. I couldn't believe this place. But, it worked and was cheap. The other travellers who were staying there were in a good mood as well, probably because of the absurdity of the whole thing. I grabbed some wine from the local shop, sold in 1.5L water bottles straight from the vat, went out with the Polish girls and grabbed some dinner. All in all, a great day. Not the day that I expected, but a great day.

Sometimes my expectations are very different than the reality I experience. Maybe this is true for you as well. This can be tough, adjusting to a new reality that maybe you didn't hope for or want. But I am learning to lean, and maybe not on my own understanding. And, in all my ways I'm trying to acknowledge Him. I've found that He does make paths straight, even paths through the crazy canals of Venice to the Most Beautiful Bookstore in the World.

Road to Rome

So...I spent three days in Barcelona after Paris. Very cool place with Gaudi architecture, great beaches and an awesome view of the city and coast from Montjuic. Plus, got to catch up with a former CMU student, Merry, which was a great bonus. I had been contemplating just doing a 4 month trip around Europe, since I was three weeks into the trip and just in Barcelona (after starting in London). But, pulled the trigger in Barcelona and decided to head around the world as planned. I think it is a good decision. (leave on Nov 10th from Berlin to Thailand...got a cheap first class ticket)

Traveling around the world meant moving on from Barcelona. I bought a 30 day bus pass from Eurolines, much cheaper than train, and got on a bus to Rome. The trip to Rome is about 24 hrs long...beautiful, but brutal for a guy like myself. They dont make buses for big people, at least not 6'5" people (guess that is why it is cheaper). Buses are interesting contraptions, filled with the local crowd no doubt. I sat next to a Sylvester Stallone look like, with diamond studded earing to match. He and I didnt really chat...he just nodded and said hey.

There is a deep curosity within passengers on the bus with what is happening on the road (unlike trains). Cars swerve in and out around the bus, busdrivers get mad, the bus stops at places for passenger to get food or use the restroom, people push and shove to find a seat. It is rather chaotic, and mind you these are first class buses (nothing like those found in central/south america or asia). And the road, the road is bumpy, filled with potholes and all sorts of interesting things.

I kinda like traveling by bus...i can't believe I just said that. It feels more real, more alive. The discomfort, the long, long journey. Life isn't always peaches and cream. Nothing better than a bus, a 24 hr bus to Rome to remind you of that. I think this is good, to be reminded of the thorns and thistles in life, that things are always "easy", that the road ahead is oftentimes filled with potholes and crazy busdrivers. How we function during these times is what matters? Can we still give thanks, even as my knees are in my chest? I don't know, I hope so...that is what I am trying to do.

Nuit Blanche in Paris

Every year, over 500,000 people gather in Paris for an all night party. Its called Nuit Blanche, an outdoor festival of sorts with all kinds of art installations, street acts, performances, etc....and it just so happened that I was in town when it took place this year. The atmosphere is electric with men, women and children lining the streets (eating, drinking, dancing). The many highlights include a hula dance performance (in france), gregorian chant at st. pauls, crazy jugglers, an airplane exhibit and an art installation called Station to Station.

I visited Station to Station around 2am in the morning, and probably stayed until 4am. It was located in a Catholic Church, close to the hostel where I was staying. It was an installation of four or five plasma TVs showing a variety of colors and blocks moving across the screen with various sounds echoing in the background. Funny that you could spend two hours watching colored blocks move across the screen, but it was memorizing.

I was sitting in a chair toward the back, close to an area where candles were being lit and prayers were being said for one of the saints. The church was beautiful and the candlelight gave the installation an interesting, illuminating dimension. I began to think of the irony (or planning) of this art piece in a Catholic Church. Station to Station, with the Catholic emphasis on the 14 stations of the cross, the final hours of Jesus, the passion. What a fitting piece for a fitting place.

I also began to realize the irony of my presence at this Station...a fitting title for a traveler like myself, moving from bus station to train station to airport to taxi to station. I began to ask myself, at what station was I? What station along the way to the cross most closely resembled where I was? I know that I have been crucified with Christ, but was I "falling", "meeting people", "being stripped". How was I dying, so that I might live?

These are questions that come up when you travel...they are questions that come up when you dont, but something about traveling, about being a pilgrim, about being in a church in a foreign land that reminds you of God's grandeur and plan in life...how He travelled from Station to Station for us. What a gift that God traveled so that we might be at home in Him.

Scotland and Ireland Coasts...the good, the bad and the ugly

The Scottish and Irish coasts are amazing...beautiful, picturesque, like something out of a fairy tale. For the past five days or so, I have primarily spent my time in these remote areas, visiting the Isles of Mull and Iona in Scotland and the the Northern coast of Ireland near the Giant's Causeway.

Iona was incredible; with morning and evening worship services, beautiful white sand beaches and a great eco-friendly hostel right on the water. It was here that St. Columba established an abbey that would soon convert all of pagan Scotland. Remarkable to think about after a visit; so tiny, so obscure and out of place. But this seems to be the way in which God often works...and I like it. It was here in Iona that I first connected with fellow travelers (outside of really helpful guy I met on the bus to Edinburgh). It was nice to feel part of a community, whether the worshipping community at the abbey (google Iona Community) or the hostel community. I arrived in Iona with no money (a little foolish on my part, but needed to make the transportation connections) and was graciously cared for by my fellow travelers with a couple warm meals and great conversation. Things seemed to work out...you know when things fall into line, like it was meant to be, when things make sense and all you can do is give thanks.

The Northern Coast of Ireland was a bit of a different story. I arrived in Glasgow late at night and decided on a whim to chance it and head to Troon (coastal town where I would catch the ferry in the morning). Bad decision. Ended up in Troon, surprisingly a really nice town, but didn't know about the lack of accommodations there. Spent an hour walking around looking for lodging (was going to chance it and crash outside by the church, but decided against it this time). Wound up at an Irish Dancing gathering that was absolutely hilarious...ate there leftover chicken nuggets and was finally directed to a hotel by some rough guys in kilts (the hotel was overpriced, but it worked).

Then took the ferry in the morning (Saturday) to Larne, waited four hours for the bus up toward Portstewart, where I thought I would stay a couple nights. Found out the buses don't run on Sunday (and Portstewart is 15 miles from the Causeway where I wanted to go), so I decided to hop off in Bushmills, only two miles from the Causeway. Unfortunately, the hostel was booked. Walked a couple miles to two B&Bs and they were both booked. Then met a big, burly dude with lots of tattoos that offered to give me a ride to some other B&Bs. Hitched a ride with him to a place that had a vacancy sign on it. When to the door and met this old lady who informed me that the "B&B" was actually her house, and there weren't any vacancies. However, she did offer me a ride across the road and fortunately found a place to put my head for the night.

The trip up the Irish coast was long, frustrating, disappointing...nothing seemed to work out. Quite a contrast to Scotland, where everything was like clockwork. I guess that is how things are...Sometimes things work, sometimes they "don't". A trip like this reminds you of a God who is there in the good and the bad, the times when all your lips can do is give praise and the times when all you want to do is curse. These are good things to learn and relearn. The coasts of Scotland and Ireland have reminded me anew.

People or Places?

I used think there were two routes to travel, one that takes you to beautiful places (mountains, ocean, cities), the other that take you to beautiful people (people you know, trust, love). I would tend to pick people over places any day of the week, visiting places that have people you want to see and develop deeper relationships.

These past couple days, a third route travel route emerged. I was reconnected with my cousin Maureen, his husband Richard and their two great kids Hanna and Chloe. I haven't seen Maureen since my grandfather died a number of years ago. It was beautiful to be with them. To laugh, hear stories of life in England, eat great food they prepared and sleep in a home. Their hospitality was tremendous and I felt so welcomed.

They live in a beautiful town called Melsonby, in the Yorkshire area. From there, we traveled to the Lake District (home of Beatrix Potter tales) and one of the National Parks in the area. Stunning landscape with breathtaking views abound. I was amazed at the great, big fields filled with sheep and the incredible stacked stone fences. The lake was fantastic as we took a tour on of the lake from Bowness. Our day was capped off with an excellent meal at the CB Inn, partaking in the local brew on cask, Black Sheep Bitter. Outstanding.

This part of the trip truly brought together both beautiful people and beautiful places, a third way. And I am thankful.

I Sat Next to William Blake

Yesterday I went to Westminster Abbey's Evensong. Magnificent. Traveling solo has actually not be too rough, but being in a space, a church with a couple hundred people worshipping in unison...well, it lifts the soul. It was also a fitting "end" to the day, making sense of all the things that had taken place up to that time. You know what I mean? When something seems to put everything into perspective, seems to bring to light all the cluster and confusion of the day....like a phone call from a good friend, the smile from a newborn, an embrace.

These events can reach through and, even in the silence (maybe because of the silence), speak the love that we all so long to hear. This is the experience I had at Westminster Abbey. Worship. Communing with God. Hearing God's gentle voice reminded me that He loves me, that He loves you. I hope that you will find a fitting end to your day, that the silence might speak to you, that you might experience a love far greater and more majestic than you can ever imagine. And may you find rest there, true rest in this love.