Budapest Bunnies

We arrived late at night, and the city looked much the same as any other. Then the taxi rounded a corner, and through the rain drops on the windows, I fell in love with Budapest for the first time. The Chain Bridge sparkled, alight with so many bulbs that it looked like a necklace spanning the Danube. Both sides of the river were beautiful that night, the pink and yellow hues of a bustling nightlife splashed against the dark river water, and made the clouds above darkly glow. The rain broke while we were inside our room unpacking, and being starved anyway, we bundled up. I usually hate going out on the first night we travel (because Im anti-social), but this time he didnt even have to bribe me.

Humans are among some of the only species that understand the concept of pointing. Dogs and dolphins get it, too. I point, you look where Ive pointed. Even extremely young children (and puppies) grasp that life is a thing to be shared, and experienced together. The definition of 'share' is to divide, to dole out, and I think thats exactly what we try to do in life. We say, I am happy, please look over here and have some of my happiness. And instead of depleting with use, it multiplies. So we hold hands, eat lemon sorbet, and attempt to make these magic junctures linger.

Easter in Budapest was excellent, even if we did accidentally eat a horse-meat sausage and enjoy it completely (the tarragon chocolate truffles later made up for that mishap). I still have two miniature white chocolate Easter bunnies in my cupboard, because I couldnt bear to eat their tiny cute heads. And I didnt even tell you about riding in a funicular, or about all the beautiful colors of the Easter market stalls full of hot steaming foods, and brightly painted hollow eggs, and piles upon piles of real-fur hats, coats, and scarves. And paprika, lots of paprika! It was just one of those great countries where the variety of souvenirs is endlessly abundant, and inexpensive enough to get a little of each! Its just another reason among many why we love Eastern Europe more than anyplace else, and will miss the heck out of it.

Spoiled Swiss Chocolate

It had all the makings of a magical experience. But mostly it was cold. And grey.

You see, we are spoiled. Jaded. Rotten I tell you! Oh, we're in a European city with narrow cobblestone pathways meandering through cozy eateries smelling of coffee? Been there. What's that? A beautiful clear blue sky soaring over the white ridges of the Swiss Alps while we sit eating cheesy fondue at the base of the Matterhorn? Ok that one was still able to tickle our fancy. We're not total zombies yet. But really, once we had taken the train out of the mountains back into Zurich, it was a total let down. We'd spent the last 72 hours holed up in a teeny cabin watching the snow pile up outside, dreaming of a day when we too could own such a place, hopefully with less of a space heater and more of a wood-burning fireplace. So when we drank the last of the spiced mulled wine, covered every body part in multiple layers of clothing, and hiked to the train station on the hill, I dont know what we were expecting Zurich to offer us after all that. But we lost the snow and gained the rain.

Looking back on our pictures of the city, we were surprised at ourselves for not really enjoying it more. But we get so much grey in Dublin, so much rain, so much darkness even in what is widely referred to here as "summer". I think it doesnt matter where in the world you are, that grey gets into every corner and cranny and transforms what would have been a great place, into just another place. Zurich wasnt immune to the phenomenon. What I saw through a peep-hole in my zipped up, cinched up, double-down coat and hat didnt really ignite my curiosity. I was more interested in "how long till the flight leaves" than "isnt this a good cappuccino". We were desperate to get out of the cold and the rain, and spent two and a half hours trying to make our coffees last just five minutes longer. Im glad we never really run out of things to talk about, and when we do, we end up just talking about what other destinations we dream of traveling to. But if that destination is rainy, so help it!! I believe we've been rained on enough for anyone's lifetime. Theres a reason suicide rates in Ireland are so high. I used to think rain was romantic. Living here has dispelled that for me once and for all. Maybe after we're back in the...whats it called again? Sunlight? Maybe then all this rain will just feel like one long nightmare, and the autumn time will again leave me spellbound.

So yeah. Switzerland was Switzerland. The snowy part was fun, the cabin part was relaxing, the Matterhorn part was excellent. The games of Monopoly played in the loft bed at night, the ones where I beat the crap out of Jon both times, that part was really great. We're spoiled, and the rain is rotting our brains. The grey's got in to our souls a little bit.

I asked Jon today, "Hey whens the weather supposed to get better?" He looked at me.

"In exactly 71 days."

Dining, and Donegal

My hair, unbound, lashed at my face; long tendrils getting stuck in the crease of my mouth. Jon, two steps behind, put a hand to his hat as he looked up at me when I shouted to ask if he'd locked the door to our room. He ran by me jingling the keys in answer, and I followed his lead, the noise of our shoes crunching gravel barely audible over the swirling trees. We reached the steps together and the force of the wind blew us through the massive wooden doors like a couple of forgotten receipts. Our friends already waited in the foyer.

The storm pushed hard at the doors, trying to force its way inside with us, as I finally managed to pull the rusty latch back down into place. Immediately the warm air wrapped around me like an embrace, stinging my frozen cheeks. In the thick quiet, piano keys tinkled somewhere in the next room. A woman's light laughter, hushed conversations, the clinking of glass; all sounds were murmured by the plush carpet under our feet, aging floor boards creaking beneath our weight. We looked around, astonished by the antiquated yet lush interior.

A countless array of ancient family photographs, paintings, and personal paraphernalia hang from nails on the cherry red wallpaper. A large dusty painting holds the suggested lines of castle ruins looming up behind an early morning flight of geese. Below that, a small color photograph of a man and woman catches my eye. He sits on a silver barrel, his bushy brown hair and beard are haphazard, a little wild. His glasses glint in the bright sun. She sits below him on yellowed grass, middle aged, but there is beauty in the shape of her face, and they both hold a glass of something liquid, perhaps from the barrel. Together they give the impression of ambitious confidence gleaned from the fading strength of youth. Maybe they are lovers. What is their story?

I am wondering, lost in thought when a man appears from the kitchen. He is slightly stooped by time, his tweed suit is out of date, his hands are bony, with thick blue veins standing out among the wrinkles. His bushy hair and beard are white now, but the glasses give it away: this is the man in the photograph. When he walks us into the room where the piano man is playing classical music on an upright, I dont know how to ask about the picture. The four of us crowd around a tiny table, our knees touching, the piano much louder now as my back is leaning against it. After hours and hours of driving, we are all hungry for anything, as long as its not more cheese & ham from yet another gas station. Our little B&B for the night is luckily also a restaurant. Beers are passed around. We are happy to wait a little while longer, and we slowly relax into the candle-lit setting.

The waitress thanks the man from the picture, calling him John. So he isnt a ghost. These rooms seem to hold on to frozen time, and deserted secrets. Where is the woman now, I wonder. What is her name? But my meandering thoughts, likely airy from starvation, are brought back and held to the table by good food and even better company. We drink our wine and beer, we eat our fish and beef, we toast to our forever friendship, and laugh and talk long into the night hours about nothing. And that inconsequential nothingness is exactly that which forges us together. Only when the waitress has flipped all the chairs, turned over all the tables for the next morning's breakfast, do we begin to think about calling it. Not wanting it to end just yet, we all brave the still-raging winds outside to get back to one of the rooms, pile onto a bed, and play dice games until we are all too tired and bored to go on.

We woke up that Saturday expecting to have another normal, boring weekend at home. A stroke of genius by the boys made it into a spontaneous over-nighter in beautiful, coastal Donegal. These are the things we moved here to experience. These are the things we'll remember.

We Saw Warsaw

We've only ever seen it snow in the mountains. A snowy day in a city atmosphere seemed a little like movie magic, something that only happens in New York at Christmastime. Our trip to Warsaw, Poland was really quick (early flight in on Friday, early flight out on Sunday), so our time was limited. But after looking up Warsaw "Top 10" lists, I wasnt too worried we'd miss anything. Theres honestly not a whole lot there, but what we did see of the city was enough to fill up what would have otherwise been a boring weekend at home. And having arrived back in Dublin just two days prior from a month-and-a-half holiday vacation to California, heaven forbid we relax a little. Ahh, such is the life.

Our flight landed at 10:30am, and lucky us, cheapo Ryan Air had to close its (really far away) airport because of ice, so they apologized & landed us at the (close to town) Warsaw airport. Score: one passengers! Took a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags, and walked right back out into the rainy day. It was more of a drizzle, but it was so cold! I had on every layer I could think of, but since wearing a ski mask & goggles would just be weird, my face and eyes were numb after a couple hours of walking. And it was - hours of walking. My new boots are really very comfortable, but I dont think the makers thought of me having to wear three layers of fleece-lined tights, socks to my knees, and thick jeans altogether under the shoes. My toes fell asleep. Then at 6pm that night, the rest of me fell asleep too.

Did I mention we stayed in a 5-star Radisson Blu? And it was cheaper per night than a lot of hostels we've stayed in! One Polish Zloty is worth .24 Euros, so after conversion, we only spent 40E a night. The bed was soft, the pillows were puffy, the bathroom was gleaming, the hot chocolate was free. It was the best hotel we've stayed in yet. Not because there arent any better, but because we're cheap. But this was one case where it didnt matter! Our giant bed faced our 9th story panoramic window that looked out toward the Warsaw Palace of Culture, which is a gorgeous skyscraper that they light up at night. So on the second morning, we woke up, pushed back the curtain, and that magical thing finally happened to us: city snow!

We excitedly layered up & the front desk gave us umbrellas to borrow. The previous day we pretty much saw everything in Old Town, so we had zero agenda. Which is nice, but its much too easy to get bored if you dont have a direction. But somehow the snow falling around us, and the Christmas trees and decorations still all lit up, made it more fun to walk aimlessly for ages. I looked up a couple cafes beforehand, so we had a couple in mind. But one of our favorite things is to just walk until we get hungry, then just pick any little place to pop in. It almost always ends up being great, and we find the spontaneity exciting.

Well I guess not a lot of tourists pick the first weekend in February to visit a country that has such frigid winters, so we mostly had the cafes to ourselves! Also we usually eat at weird times anyway, so we probably just beat whatever "crowd" there would have been at a more normal hour. We were looking forward to the sausages, but neither of us realized Pierogis were Polish, so it was a happy surprise to recognize the word & order some. I thought a Pierogi was some kind of small sandwich, so the chunky thick-walled dumplings filled with cottage cheese, mushrooms, and/or salmon were a delicious peppery treat! Also Im guessing at the fillings based on tradition, neither of us could tell exactly what they were.

The leafless trees stood stark and black throughout the grey-washed city. Jolly multicolored strings of lights danced in the biting wind. A weathered green spire reflected in a puddle of muddy snow melt, a boot print crunched through the ice at the edges. American golden oldies softly blared from the old boom-box radio behind us as we sat tucked snugly inside the candle-lit cafe. Two mugs of hot honey meade and a shared bowl of chicken noodles fogged up the window as we watched the world go dreamily by, and talked about the future.

Yellow Canaries and Sunsets

This was October. Winter in Dublin had just started making me wish we still lived in California. Losing light fast at a rate of an hour a month, I quickly made plans to fly far away: Spain! Sort of... I just wanted to go somewhere where we could roast our bones, like a last hurrah to the summer we never had. The Canary Islands were calling; the Hawaii of Europe off the coast of Africa, people there live in perpetual spring. The sun had all summer been getting the coastal waters to a tropical warmth just for us, and October was the peak.

Its much easier to pack for a week in a warm climate than a week anywhere else. I happily wadded up my airy sun dresses to cram them in Jons shoes, and managed to get a weeks worth of brightly colored beachwear into my pink camping backpack. Because no matter how much you stuff it, a backpack never gets checked for size if youre flying Ryan Air.

In genius forethought this time I rented a hotel room fitted with a kitchenette and balcony, because a week is a lot of days to have to eat in restaurants. I had dreams of deep glowing sunsets, and wine on our porch listening to the Atlantic swallowing up footprints like candy. It rained our first day. I guess instead of bringing California sun with us wherever we go, Ireland weather now clings to our backsides, following us unasked. But the scorching heat of the sun in the Islands was enough to burn even the Dublin frost away, and I barely wore shoes for the rest of the glorious week.

We swam where dolphins play. We drank banana juice and coconut rum at all hours of the day, because its not a beach vacation till theres rum involved. We threw open the doors and let the tepid winds blow through our hotel room with abandon. We ate foreign fried meats on unseasoned rice, and looked out onto a strange volcanic landscape. We could see the open ocean from our 'beach front' room, all one inch of it. But seeing it from the hotel room wasnt why we were there anyway. The waves beckoned and we answered. Even I, long harboring a true dislike of water, didnt want to get out once I was in. There was something wonderful about being lifted gently by the salty bathwater-warm surf, feeling my skin becoming red and crispy for the first time in years. Jon was done snorkeling the clear blues in search for small fish way before I was. The sky was turning purple, the street lights came on, the attendants were putting away the chairs, and he had to drag me out of the surge.

Fresh off our Spanish holiday the month prior didnt spoil this trip one bit, like we thought it might. Similar food, language, and culture. But we didnt go for tapas even once. We could eat their Iberian ham forever, but cold pink soup just isnt our thing, even though we gave it a princely go before in Seville. We spent a couple nights hand-in-hand (and ice cream in other hand) walking the sandy shores in not much else but flip flops and bathing suits, because not even the thermal air in the Islands wanted to go to bed yet.

We felt as if we should have been celebrating something, because it was such a long holiday, filled every day with heat and love and exotic reaches seldom seen. We decided maybe it was a farewell to the summer gone. And so it was.

No Rain in Spain (or Portugal)

For our 4th wedding anniversary (yay us!) Jon took me on a glorious Spanish getaway, where we spent a week basking in the hot hot southern European sun, trying to remember why we moved to Ireland and not Spain. We were in Faro, Portugal for the first two nights, and then mostly in Seville, Spain after that. There was also a day trip to Ronda (which is a sweet town situated over this incredibly high stone bridge) where we found real Spanish horchata! Did you know Mexican horchata is made from rice, and Spanish horchata is made from a seed thing called tigernut? So its different than the horchata Northern Americans (like us) are used to. It tasted heavier, like a melted milkshake with extra spice! Not cheap either, we paid nearly 3euro for a dixie cup full. Even though it was 100 degrees plus humidity, I took little sips at a time, swirling its cold milky goodness on my tongue before swallowing, willing myself to not suck it down in one satisfying gulp.

But the vacation didnt start with horchata. We got off a plane in Seville, walked to a bus station, and crossed our fingers that the bus tickets I pre-bought online would actually work. Turns out, nobody wants to go to Portugal, but everyone wants to go to Seville! The bus was nicely air-conditioned, and all 7 passengers appreciated it. Jon & I sat in the very front seats, where it seems like youre flying above the road in some sort of bus cloud. For some reason, traveling in a bus makes me feel dreamy, and I spent most of the 3 and a half hours dreaming of California.

The terrain was incredibly like the California I know and love, the freeway center-lines even growing the exact same white, red, and green flowering bushes. The dry fields in the hot afternoon sun stretched out into the slightly rolling distance on either side of us, the orchard farms full of old, bent olive trees reaching with crooked arms towards a sky the color of faded jeans. The road signs were all in Spanish of course, but hey go south enough in California and its no different there either! At one point we passed a four-horse carriage, billowing along on a dusty road next to the freeway. A cart with one horse is like 'oh how quaint', two horses is like 'now theres some power', but four horses and you begin to wonder if they are actually delivering mail.

But as we crossed the Spain/Portugal border, and got closer to our destination, it didnt look like home anymore. Faro is basically a fishing village that grew an airport at some point. From what I read, people dont really visit Faro to visit Faro, they go there to catch a plane, or land there on their way to somewhere else. People on the travel tips websites said it was a ghost town, people said it was boring and not worth an hour let alone two days. But Jon & I have developed a pretty good sense of what we like in a vacation, and we like ghost towns that nobody goes to. We like when the Top 10 Thing To Do of a place includes suggestions to 'walk around'. We often ask each other if we are boring. The answer is probably yes to most people, but I think we just know what we like! So in Faro, we spent time poking around the local marina housing photogenic broken canoes, and watched hundreds of tiny rock crabs clacking their tiny claws on the algae-rich rocks. We ambled up and down uneven cobblestone streets for hours, taking pictures of each other in the romantic half-light glinting off the tiled walls. We bought a big red umbrella and read books under it while listening to the Atlantic make love to the sandy shore. And we ate Italian food instead of the local fish-heavy cuisine, because thats what we like.

Remember how I said everyone wants to go TO Spain? Well the bus ride back in was something of an uncomfortable disaster because of it. I was in charge of buying the bus tickets. I bought them to Faro at 2:45, and from Faro at 1:45. What I forgot was that in Europe, they use a 24 hr clock, so while the 2:45 bus was thankfully somehow pm, my 1:45 was in fact am... I had booked us an overnight bus. Oops. And we thought the overnight train in Norway was bad. Also the bus (supposed to arrive at 1:45am) didnt show up at 1:45...or 2...and then we were getting really worried by 2:15 and no bus. Luckily, a group of four French girls also trying to get the same bus were sitting there with us, so we knew at least we were in the right place. Even more luckily, one of them spoke Spanish fluently enough to use Jons phone & call the bus service, who told us its normal that the bus is late, and it should get us in probably no later than an hour. Fun times man, fun times. So in the end our 12 bleary eyes and 6 heavy heads finally got on the bus to Seville and filled the exactly 6 randomly spaced leftover seats that no one else wanted, but miraculously me & Jon even got to sit together! In the VERY VERY back, crammed in by the cold window, under some lights, next to some guy with his headphone music up way too loud, to arrive back in Seville at 5:45am. The sun didnt rise until 8am, and we couldnt check into our hotel until 9am. So we sat under a blue street light on a deserted park bench, delirious with sleep deprivation, talking about who knows what, until Starbucks finally opened. Its times like these that take the charm out of travel, really.

But when we woke up from a much needed nap, we were ready to take in beautiful Seville! It was all hand crafted tiled walls, pastel stucco buildings, and lacy-looking iron wrought balconies. Siestas are a real thing, and shops really closed down in the mid-afternoon to get away from the heat. The only other people out around that time were probably tourists like us, not willing to miss even a second of the day. Until later in the week, when we too retreated indoors for a few hours before heading back out for dinner. We felt obligated to do Spanish things, like see a bullfight and watch Flamenco dancers. The bullfight was voted against, and we took a tour of the ring (sans fight) instead, and learned the bloody history of the 'sport' without having to actually see a cuddly cow be gutted in front of us. We kept telling ourselves we would go to a Flamenco show, and every night we decided to do something else instead. Dancing just has never been interesting to either of us. Going to bed early just sounded better. See, we really are pretty boring.

One night instead of the dancing, we went to a Turkish bath house. Wow, it was so amazing! For 35euro a person, we got a 15 minute full-body massage, plus unlimited time in the whole bath house. Unlimited! There was a warm bath, hot bath, and cold bath in one room, and you go from the warm to the hot to the icy cold one! You do it over & over, and your body gets into a state of deep relaxation after a few times. The other rooms included a warm salt water bath (this room looked like a tunnel carved into a mountain), mineral bath with a waterfall (didnt spend too much time here, some annoying guy was getting splashy), and a peppermint-flavored sauna room (yes flavored, the steam was so intense you almost couldnt breathe, and your nostrils and lips tasted a little like Christmas). This place was like relaxation heaven. Low instrumental music wafted thru the air like incense, the walls were two stories high and painted rose red, and crowned with carved wooden panels. The candle-lit lanterns hung low, nearly touching the water, the flickering flames making the baths glow. THIS is what we like.

The whole week was like one big simmering bubble of love and ease, plus tapas. Which we now know isnt in our top 5 fave foods. Cold pink soup and leggy shrimps just dont equal a choice meal to us. This trip was our longest yet, and we only got bored on one of the days! And then we stopped being bored and were awesome instead! But really, the whole thing was amazing. All of it. And I cant think of a witty way to end this one, because it was so cool it wasnt even funny.

USA! USA!

For two weeks I sat at home watching the world's top athletes compete in some pretty incredible feats of the human body, expelling immense amounts of energy, looking absolutely gorgeous while doing it. I was eating pizza. Then I felt lazy, so I brushed my cat. For like seven minutes. There was definitely a slight condensation on my upper lip after that one.

In 2008, Jon & I went on a trip (in a group with a ton of other awesome people) to China. That year, Beijing was the Olympic host city. While there, we got to see the now-famous stadiums like the Bird's Nest and Water Cube, and their giant countdown clock. We of course also bought tons of Olympic paraphernalia! Beijing 2008 t-shirts all around! It helped that even at a young age with like 100 dollars to spend, it was nearly impossible to spend it all! The money there isnt worth very much in USD, so everyone felt like the rich tourist for sure. That was such a fun trip, we all have very very fond memories of being together in China in 2008! King's Cup in the hotel rooms after the adults were asleep anyone?

So last year when I had a friend selling a couple extra London 2012 Olympic tickets, I called dibs as fast as I could! Being in the host country during the year of the Olympics is epic on its own, but this was an opportunity to actually SEE an Olympic event! In real life! Im not much of a sports person, and never watched a whole lot of the Games before. But Im a HUGE fan of historical events. This is how I try to approach opportunities: Will this make a cool photo album? Will this make a cool story? Will this opportunity come up again? If those boxes are appropriately ticked, I jump. I didnt even care how much the tickets were going to cost, since a flight to London from Dublin is always super cheap, generally well under 50 Euro a person.

London turned out to be much more expensive of a trip that Beijing. First of all, Mom & Dad didnt pay for this one. Second of all, Jon & I previously swore off going to any more UK countries, simply because unlike in China, in the UK we are poor tourists. Not rich ones. The Great Britain Pound is worth too much for our blood. BUT again, this trip ticked the right boxes, so we had to suck it up and go anyway. Yay for plastic money! Hey after awhile, you get so accustomed to that swiping motion, its like they're giving you stuff for free! I want this hot dog and all you want from me is a lift of the arm? Sure! Buy all the hot dogs!

But seriously. Being in that Olympic Park was such an emotional high. There was a LOT of red, white, and blue! But of the Union Jack variety. Very nearly every person was representing their country with face paint, silly hats, and colorful tights. Jon bought a US flag and wore it like a beautiful scarf. And sometimes like a cape. Best decision ever! It was so cool to represent our favorite country in the world! There was an overwhelming feeling of general excitement from everyone. No matter where you were in the Park, nobody was a stranger. The favored question was, "What are you seeing?" to start a conversation. Even the cops and army people guarding the place were extremely open & friendly to all the tourists!

Our generation hasnt experienced very many nation-wide outbreaks of pure Patriotism. I can think of one, born out of fire & rubble. Remember how literally every car had minimum one flag per window in that time? And how everyone walked around, super proud just to be living in the USA? Country music probably experienced an all-time listener high. Being in the Olympic Park this year made me feel like that again. Proud to be an American, wearing the TRUE Red, White & Blue! When we came across other people wearing our great nation's flag, we led them in a rousing chant of, "USA! USA!" Later in the day we all ran around in a pack, preying on the smaller countries with lesser flag-presence.

Joking, most of that didnt happen. What DID happen was a great photo album, an epic story, and a once in a lifetime experience. Just another weekend, really.