Hungarian Christmas Flickr photo gallery is here.

To Kaposvar, Hungary for Christmas

I wasn’t sure what to expect to expect of her old man. Conservative. Xenophobic. Racist? I had gleaned these descriptors from stories she told me about him before we left. A physics teacher and avid hater of the French, Romanians, and, like all Hungarians, Gypsies. If I wasn’t a white guy she simply wouldn’t take me to her family Christmas in Kaposvar.

They haven’t always gotten on so well after things were a bit rocky and Kata left her home town for Budapest when she was about 20, but it’s gotten better. Mom and Dad got married when they were about 20, but I hadn’t really heard a lot about mom other than that she is a chemistry teacher and, like Kata, is a good cook. They speak no English.

It made for a tenuous mental image of Dad and a slightly eyebrow-raising primer to my first Hungarian Christmas. But, well, it turns out liked Dad a lot and Christmas in the southern Hungarian town of Kaposvar was quite good. This is what Kaposvar looks like during the day:

I actually first met Dad in the middle of nowhere on a pitch-black night under a highway overpass where Kata and I changed cars to get the rest of the way to Kaposvar, where Mom and Dad live. A hand-shake, car ride, and some Hungarian spoken in the front seat later and we were at their second-floor apartment.

Mom and Dad greeted me with warm smiles and Kata offered to show me around the house. Dad had a different idea, though.

We were inside for less than five minutes when Dad ushered us in to the living room and opened a cabinet stocked full of hard alcohol bottles, including several variants of a Hungarian special called Palinka. He took one out, looked at me presenting the bottle, and started talking in Hungarian, which Kata translated.

“This is the best Palinka you can buy in Hungary.” Putting the bottle back and extracting another one that had no label and was full of clear liquid, he continued, “But this one is better. And it’s stronger. You can’t buy it. A friend made it. Want some?”

Yes. It felt like that scene in Pulp Fiction: “But this one… this is the F-ing Madman.”

He got three shot glasses and filled them up. Dad was giving me Hungarian moonshine first thing in his house. Nice.

We smiled broadly as we toasted in Hungarian. I’m not sure how to spell it properly, but saying “Cheers” in Hungarian sounds about like “igga-shigga-dra.” I wasn’t sure if I should sip the white lightning or throw it back, so I waited to see what he did. Sip, savor, and enjoy. So I did. It was strong. Kata confirmed that it was more than 100 proof. With smiles all around, both my body and my expectations for Christmas warmed up right away.

Kata, the Hungarian Dancer

I met Dad’s daughter, Kata, in Budapest. That’s her on the right. She’s fun, outgoing, about my age, works for a big international company doing travel finance, and was a dancer for 20 years. She likes horror movies and her cat, Boris. She’s got trophies and medals hanging in her apartment from dance competitions she’s won over the years. She’s showed me video, too, of some dances and it’s quite impressive. She expertly spins around in sleek and sexy dresses that she sewed and decorated herself. Makes me wish I could dance, but I know I’m forever relagated to being one of the wallflowers when it comes to actual dancing.

We got together a few times in Budapest and she invited me to her family Christmas. “Why not?” I thought, “That sounds cool.” The other less than desirable choices would be either trying to find a train or bus amongst the striking workers and get to Romania before Christmas or spending Christmas alone in the hostel owner’s sister’s apartment because the hostel would be closed for Christmas. Both alternate options sounded frought with suck.

So after spending the weekend together watching horror movies and eating Hungarian food that she cooked, to Christmas we went. We needed to eat something on the morning of Christmas eve before meeting our ride that would take us to Kaposvar. Walking around looking for a restaurant, the only thing that was open was a McDonalds. Ironic. However, the Big Mac value meal was offset by the deliciousness that Mom had prepared later in the night.

Christmas in Kaposvar and Drinking with Dad

The two days and two nights were a lot of fun. I got on well with the family, ate fantastic traditional Hungarian food, and shared in the present-opening. We met her brother and his girlfriend, too. Dad showed me physics tricks at breakfast like balancing a fork and spoon on the tip of of a toothpick. I fielded questions about how we celebrate Christmas in America and showed pictures of my own family.

The city itself was small, cozy, nice, and decorated for the holiday season. Kata’s parents live right in the center of town, so we were able to go on some nice walks right out the front door. I got to see a nice theater, the town Christmas tree, and Kata’s high school.

I hadn’t had a chance to pick up a present for the family before leaving, but realized that a bottle of wine would probably be just what the doctor ordered after meeting Dad. While they went to Grandma’s house on Christmas day, I wandered around until I found a Shell gas station that was open and had a surprisingly good selection of wine.

Dad was constantly offering me alcohol. He likes to have a shot of something hard before each meal because, as he says, “It opens up the stomach.” Right. Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Dad. I think he wanted a partner in crime or something, but I politely turned down shots of straight Bushmills scotch before breakfast.

We couldn’t speak to each other, but he loved to pull out a small atlas and point out where whatever drink he had currently given me was from in Hungary. Here are a few pictures of the goings-on:

Dad’s Shocker Present

The most popular and interesting present was from Kata’s mom to her dad. It’s called the Lanaform Body Stim and is described on the box as an “electro-stimulation appliance.”

There is a large TV remote-sized controller that you put the batteries in with four electrodes connected to it through wires that you stick whereever you need electro-stimulation on your body. There are various stimulation modes with names like, “Hammering,” “Acupuncture,” and “Massage.”

Dad immediately opened the box and set to figuring out how to use it. The LCD screen and all of the controls were in English. He futzed around with it for a while to no avail.

Eventually, he simply took his shirt off, stuck the electrodes on his back, and handed the controller to Kata. She figured it out, cranked up the power, and Dad’s shoulders began to jerk with each shock from the electrode pads. He sat there smiling as his body periodically jerked uncontrollably from the Body Stim while we all laughed.

It was ridiculous and hilarious. We all tried it. I just pulled my shirt up and let them stick the shockers on me when he offered it to me. Both Kata and I hated the thing. Dad must have liked it, though, because he had fallen asleep in his chair with the electrodes stuck on his belly when we came back from an evening walk around the city.

On Being Away from Friends and Family

Overall, it was a really nice Christmas. My Hungarian family was more than generous and welcoming to share their home, food, and celebration with.

Of course, it was strange to not be with my own family and friends. I got a chance to call some people on Christmas day, but that is obviously not the same as being with them. I wasn’t there to hug my mom and sister, play Street Fighter II Turbo with Craig, and high five Andrew and Erin for their Christmas Eve engagement.

That said, I didn’t feel sad like I did at Thanksgiving when I was sitting alone in my apartment in Poland for most of the day. It was great to get out and spend time with some nice people.

I feel fortuante to have been invited and share the time together.

Moving Forward

The damn train strike is still on. They ran the trains for Christmas day, but are now striking again. Seeing as how I’m having a good time here, I’m going to just stick around until after New Years. It sounds like there will be some good parties to go to in the coming days, too.

As per usual, plenty more pictures in the Flickr set.

Plenty o’ pictures in the Flickr set.

My four nights in Budapest have now turned in to ten. Times is good. To the important business first:

Reader Request: Christening The Danube

There comes a time in a man’s life when he grows up. He is less concerned with immature things. His perspective is older and wiser. His decisions are reflective, balanced, and thoughtful. He is not bothered by his friends when they egg him on to do stupid things.

This is not me.

I peed in the Danube river because Brian asked me to in a Reader Request.

It was the middle of the day after a walk to the top of the mountain for a beautiful panoramic view of Budapest. The Danube sparkled back at me. Tempting me. At that moment, I made up my mind and decided I could not let Brian down. I would go forward boldly. I would pee in the Danube.

The problem, however, was actually getting to the Danube within range of micturition. This proved to be more difficult than I expected. I considered one of the bridges for a direct shot, but decided against it. Bad call. Too visible. Peeing in the Danube is one thing, but getting arrested in a foreign country for indecent exposure ain’t worth it.

After about an hour of searching, I eventually found some steps that lead directly down to the river (pictured left) in an only moderately trafficked area with bums hanging out by them. I walked past the bums and made my way to the river under the Chain Bridge. It was rocky, scattered with trash, and had a few clearings where people obviously slept. I doubted the bums would mind. Might even make ‘em feel at home. The people with shoes have come down from top-side to embrace their world.

I stood there for a good five minutes considering whether or not this was actually a good idea before I finally left my mark on Budapest. Congratulations, Brian. We have brought Nathan Shipley Travels the World to a new level of pensive, respectful travel. I peed in the Danube.

I have video of this as well. In the likely now pointless interest of maintaining some slight degree of respectability, though, it is not publicly available. I’ll be glad to send you a link if you care to see the act; just send me an email and ask! (nshipley at gmail) Sorry, Joey; no nudity included.

The Strike Continues and Christmas is Coming

I’m still in Budapest thanks to the rail worker strike that has now entered it’s seventh day. This is a pretty good place to be stuck, actually. I could probably figure out another way out of the country, but I’m not prioritizing it. I like my hostel, I’m meeting cool people, and I really like the city. The goulash soup is good (pictured right). We just had a gaggle of cool Malaysian med students roll in. Eddie from Wall Street is here. Kata, George, Kinga, the Swedish med students, and a host of others. I’m considering just staying here for Christmas rather than trying to get to Romania in the middle of all of it. A Hungarian Christmas doesn’t sound too bad.

So what have I been up to in the mean time?

A Hungarian Christmas Market Presented by Kinga

I met Kinga at the hostel. She is a tourism student originally from Romania. She, Sab, and I put up Christmas decorations at the hostel then she offered to take me to a Christmas market. Nice. Tourism students generally make great people to walk around a city with — full of fun facts and eager to talk about their city. Kinga is no exception.

After eating liver spread sandwiches that she made at the hostel, Kinga and I set out for the Christmas market. We looked at what was for sale, walked to the Danube (which is quite beautiful at night), drank hot spiced wine, and ate delicious Hungarian grease-covered bread with onions and paprika on top. (Paprika is originally a Hungarian spice. Grease is just universally good.) They have cookies that say “Neked” on ‘em, too. With cold feet and hands, we eventually walked to a mall to warm up and use the massage chairs.

In pictures, it went something like this:

Going Out in Budapest

My two favorite spots in Budapest are Szimpla Kert and Instant. That’s the basement of Instant on the right. Both are labyrinthine, somewhat bohemian joints with a few large rooms and lots of smaller, more intimate rooms connected to them. Good fun and I inevitably meet people in both of them:

Two Americans, Two Germans, one Hungarian at Szmipla:

Annoying Girl, Nathan, Cool Girl at Instant:

I met Eddie at the hostel. That’s him on the right. He was working for Lehman Brothers on Wall Street and is a newly shit-canned and traveling result of the economic crisis. He decided the best thing to do would be to get out of New York and take two months to run around Europe. He’s also making a documentary about how the economic crisis is affecting Europe. Good guy.

Last night at Szimpla, however, we did not get any useful information about the economic crisis. We met a bunch of American high school students on a host-family study abroad program. They were out, they were drinking, and the results were, well, like a bunch of high school students getting drunk. Funny for a little bit, then time to get out of dodge. Eddie’s face describes it well:

We got away from the stumbling high school students and met a group with an American guy (pictured), three Russians, and, of all things, a Peruvian girl (pictured, bundled up in twelve coats) from San Borja in Lima. What are the odds? Good fun.

By and large, I likes me some Budapest. I could do without the racism, but that’s for another entry.

Adios for now, people.

Here’s your Flickr set again.

Flickr set is here.

I’m in Budapest and Budapest is a cool city. This is me at Buda Castle overlooking Pest and the Danube:

Specifically, I’m staying in Pest. Budapest is divided into Buda and Pest by the Danube river and I’ve walked all over the place. After a quick retracing of my path in Google Earth, I figured that I walked at least 7 miles on my first day here and about the same the next day.

Don’t Go at the Station: The Train to Budapest

My trip here started with an enjoyable 9-hour train ride from Krakow, which cost about $30. The time passed quite quickly (almost anything does after a 20+ hour bus ride in Peru). I wandered around, ate the sandwich and cake that my Polish mom was so nice to give me, watched the countryside pass by, read, and had an excellent meal in the dining car.

The bathroom is quite direct in it’s excrement disposal. Press a lever with your foot on the floor and the stainless steel trap door at the bottom of the toilet opens to reveal a hole that passes directly to the tracks passing below. Best to go when the train is on the move.

Upon arrival in Budapest, I walked from the train station directly to my hostel without having to ask for any directions. The trick seems to be to study the satellite images on Google Earth, write down any pertinent street names and cardinal directions, and start walking. It’s a nice feeling to arrive in a city I’ve never been to before and know where I’m going.

Some other train pictures:

Transportation workers on strike!

Good thing I like this place. This is Budapest’s Keleti Station with almost no people in it on a Monday.

I had originally planned to be here for four or five days before continuing on - I’m on my fourth day right now. That is now up in the air due to a strike by Hungarian rail workers that started on Sunday night. From Reuters:

The strike, which initially caused only minor disruptions on national rail services, brought almost all trains to a halt on Monday, MAV said.

“Domestic express and intercity rail traffic has practically ceased, and international trains are not leaving for Hungary,” MAV communications director Imre Kavalecz said in a statement.

As encouraged by Brian on Facebook, I walked to the station today to check out any protests that might be accompanying the strike. However, I was disappointed to not find a single protester. No one even seemed angry. The only out of place elements were the fact that the normally crowded station was quite dead and that the arrival/departure board was blank.

There is also a strike at the airport. Chalk another one up for planlessness and last-minute ticket buying! I feel no anxiety about missing any sort of reservation. I can just stay longer and enjoy the city! Sounds good to me.

Sab’s Hostel Horror Stories: Sex, Drugs, and Poop

I’ve had an 8-person dorm room all to myself for three nights until a French guy and two South Korean chicks came in. It’s nice, if a little lower key than the average hostel. Sab, the jovial Hungarian owner of the hostel pictured to the right, tells me that it’s full to the gills in the summer time. I got a chance to sit down and talk with him on Friday night before heading out for the evening.

Ask a hostel owner, “So do you like owning this hostel?” and you usually get some fairly interesting and revealing answers. They do, the money is pretty good, most people are nice, but it’s a lot of work and there are some assholes who want the Hilton for hostel prices.

Then, with or without any prompting, the stories usually start. Throw a bunch of backpackers in a building together, add some alcohol, and see what happens. Sab regaled me with at least six different tales from the two years he’s owned the hostel, recounted in short form and the same order he told them here:

The Canadian Courtyard Chicken Choker

He started with a small story, the crux of which is basically explained in the title. Sab’s wife woke him at 2:30 in the morning, alarmed. (That’s how all the stories start — somebody wakes him up between 2 and 5 in the morning. They tend to end with him ejecting someone the next morning.) As Sab put it, “She told me, ‘Sab! Sab! Look at the window. There is a man jerking it in courtyard!’ And he was. [Sab makes the international masturbation gesture with his right hand.] So I go outside and say to this guy, ‘What are you doing? You can not do this here! We have a bathroom! Go use the fucking bathroom!’ He tried to tell me, ‘This never happened. This never happened,’ but I was mad. I can not have this! There are old people that live here and they will call the police and the whole hostel will be gone! I made him leave the next morning.”

The Loose-Boweled Canadian

Three girls woke Sab up at 2:30 in the morning, yelling at him. “Sab! Sab! You have to do something. It smells terrible in our dorm room.” Initially annoyed, Sab went in to the dorm room to take a look. As he put it, “The smell was awful. It was shit. So I look at the bed of this guy who had been drinking wine for hours all night long. He was there. There was shit. He was sleeping in it. I pushed him to wake up him up, ‘Hey, buddy! Wake up! You shit in the bed.’ He rolled over and pulled the blanket right through everything. I said, ‘No! Not the blanket!’ but it was too late. I kicked him out the next morning and had to throw away all of the bed. He tried to tell me that I was the jerk!”

The Polish Girl and the Three Spaniards

“One time we had 17 Spanish guys staying in the hostel and one Polish girl. Sometime late in the night, they woke me up with sex noises. I asked them, ‘Who is in this room?’ and they told me that the Polish girl went in there with three Spanish guys. I thought, ‘Okay. That’s a new one. They should be done soon, I hope.’ But, no. Three hours later they are still going. I finally went home in the morning when the guy that works for me got here - they were still making sex. He called me at 9:00 in the morning to say they were finally finished. I asked the Polish girl how her night was the next day and she smiled and said, ‘Oh! Very good!’ Crazy Polish.”

The British Wall-Sprayer

“I don’t know how he did this. He was drunk, but it was awful. This man - he was from England - managed to shit all over the bathroom. It was everywhere. The walls, the seat, the floor. How did he do this? Why did he do this? I had to clean it up. I kicked him out in the morning. Terrible. This is a hostel, not a zoo!”

The Guy that got Drugged

“I got a phone call from another hostel that woke me at 4:00 in the morning. They told me, ‘Sab, you have to come and collect your guest. He is here and he is acting crazy.’ So I go and I get this guy. He is acting very strange. He told me that he jumped out of the second story of a building. He kept saying to me, ‘Don’t call the police! Please don’t call the police!’ I tried to ask him what he did, but he would not answer. So I drove him around for 2 hours to get him some fresh air; maybe it would help him. I took him back to the hostel and he slept for more than a day without leaving his bed. I thought he died at first. I don’t know what happened to him but I think someone put something in his drink. Strange, no?”

The Guy That Died

At this point, the conversation got a little more serious. Sab’s face changed. “It was the worst week of my life. There were four guys here. They were good guys. Nice guys. I liked them. They went out one night and came back very late. I asked them, ‘Where is your friend? Where is he?’ They said, ‘He is not here?’ ‘No.’ So we waited. One day went by and then another day and we heard nothing. Then it was the third day - still nothing. Finally, I got a call from the police. They had who they thought was him and he was dead. I had to go with his friends and identify him. They showed him to me and it was him. It was awful. I think he had an enlarged heart, he had just been robbed so he had no identification, and his heart stopped working. It just stopped. It was very sad.”

The Late to Check Out Couple

Sab seemed a bit distant now. But then he flashed his broad smile again and continued with one final story. “But that was sad. Sometimes good things happen for Sab! It was past the time to check out and two people were still in their room. I opened the door to tell them they must leave. When I opened the door I saw them - she was sitting on him and they were making sex. I told them, ‘You must go.’ But they were not stopping! This man, he looked at me while she is on him and he said, ‘I’m almost finished. Just a minute.’ I thought, ‘Okay. Okay. I let them finish. Sab is a nice man!’ It was good show. [he laughs boisterously] ‘I’m almost finished!’ Can you believe that? Crazy guys.”

Thanks, Sab.

Sight-Seeing

I’ve gotten to see all manner of things here. My favorite thus far was walking across the bridge to Buda and climbing up to Buda castle. The view of the city is spectacular, even on a grey and overcast winter day. I even met a Turkish couple that offered to show me around Istanbul when I arrive! Woot. There are plenty of pictures of the sites in the Flickr set. Here are some highlights:

Out-Hangery

Been meeting the people, as usual. Thursday night I met two Swedish med student guys who love Fresh Prince of Bel Aire. We recited the whole song and then they tried to convince me that Swedish women are the most beautiful in the world. Friday night out lead to talking with a couple expats - an American from New Jersey and a Brit from London - and a couple hours of good-natured shit-talking about the other’s country. On Saturday, I went out with a couple I met at the hostel, Spanish Sebastian and French Laura. Good folk. They’re students in Poland and decided to skip a week of school and travel around and fall in love (or so I surmise). It was good to practice my Spanish with Sebastian and we even played my favorite game to play with ESL people - reading tongue twisters in English!

Overall, this city has a very international feel. Most of the non-Hungarian people I have met so far haven’t been passing tourists like in Krakow, but people that live, work, or study here.

The Dreaded Shelf Toilet

Thankfully I’ve managed to avoid shelf toilets up to this point in my trip. Not anymore. The hostel has a shelf toilet. For the uninitiated, a quick explainer: Instead of the typical bowl of water that your leavings drop in to where they are thankfully submerged in water, the shelf toilet has a platform that they rest on. Open air. The smell is easily four to six times as bad if you’re not quick on the courtesy flush. It’s a terrible idea.

Popular in Germany and Central Europe, the shelf toilet is apparently created with the purpose of giving one the opportunity to inspect their leavings. Could a lifetime of shelf toilet exposure have something to do with the rumored coprophilial tendencies of Germans? Who knows.

Because this post clearly already has more than it’s fair share about toilets and poop, those interested in more reading on the shelf toilet subject can see here and here.

That’s all for now. Stay tuned to hear what happens next. I still don’t know where I’m going, but Romania is sounding good. As long as the transportation workers let me leave, of course.

Here’s the Flickr photo gallery for this post again.

There’s a Flickr set here with plenty of Krakow pictures.

Quoth Vincent:

But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is? It’s the little differences. I mean they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it’s just– just there it’s a little different.

Example.

Europe is great, but Europe is easy.

Europe is comfortable. It’s relatively predictable. It’s orderly. People play accordion in the streets. There are hipsters. Stag-dos. (Bachelor parties, in US parlance) Unlike the beloved smoke-belching, girl-whistling-at, stop-in-the-middle-of-the-road combis of Lima, public transportation arrives on time and always stops at a station. Historic, beautiful, and not exactly piquing my interest as much as places that are more different than what I’m used to back home. Too easy. Where’s the WTF factor here?

Inevitably, I find myself comparing my experience here to South America. On November 1st, more than a month ago, I wrote this:

I genuinely miss South America and find myself comparing Poland to Colombia and Peru. If you told me right now that I had to pick a place other than the United States to live the rest of my life, it wouldn’t be Poland. It’s so… European. I’ve actually caught myself getting emotional several times about Colombia and Peru. In the back of my mind I’ll make up schemes to move to Bogota and live for an extended period of time. Maybe go be a combi driver in Lima. I walk around the streets here and think in Spanish. I still type “jaja” instead of “haha” when I chat online with friends at home.

I’m certainly not saying I’m ungrateful. Obviously, if it was a Friday afternoon in Indianapolis and you asked me, “Hey, so do you want to stick around Indy and go to the Living Room Lounge for the weekend or should we head to Europe?” it wouldn’t even be a question. I love the LRL, but shut up and let’s get the hell out of here.

Basically, Krakow has been good, but Europe just isn’t that different or challenging enough for me with Peru in my rear view and India waiting around the corner.

I know, baby. You dig it the most.

Faces Trump Places.

In two days, I will have been gone for exactly six months. Half the trip! As my trip continues, I notice that I am learning more about what is important to me as I travel. That would be the memories of the people, people.

In fact, the entire time I’ve been in Poland, I haven’t gone to a museum or any sort of paid-admission tourist place. Nary a one. That’s despite the fact that I’ve had ample time and opportunity. I don’t think I went to a museum the whole time I was in Colombia either. It just doesn’t seem to float my boat or find my lost remote. The museums I did go to in Peru were fun because I went with Gaby. Yet I don’t feel jilted, bad about it, or like I’m missing anything. On the contrary, I’ve walked miles and miles all over the place, had countless conversations with people, made friends, and had some great experiences.

Places are fine. They’re the basis and structure for a trip from the get-go. Sometimes those places are even quite awesome (such as the Dead Cow Head market in Cuzco, the pirate DVD market in Lima, or Pablo Escobar’s estate). I can walk around them, take pictures of them, observe them, and compare them to what I know. It’s certainly valuable to me. What I realize, though, is that when I look back at those pictures, they remind me more of the people that I met wherever I was than the place I stood when I took the picture.

I think that’s it for me. I’m less motivated by seeing museums or sights to learn about culture than I am by meeting people and making friends that actually live in those different cultures. History, locations, and events are all culturally important and interesting. However, the memorable things usually happen when someone else is there with you. Present the place and come with the culture, but explain it through the eyes of a local.

This wasn’t a conscious decision I made before leaving; it has happened organically by the simple day-to-day choices I’ve made. Works for me. Hell, I’m balls deep in Gidget over it.

Quick note: I’m skeptical that these observations are that interesting to others (anybody care?), but I am personally both glad and intrigued to see my trip, my understanding of it, and my intentions continually evolving.

The Polish Acting Students, Joanna & The Dead Teddy Bear, Pseudo Birthdays, and Polish Girl Quentin Tarantino.

I have gotten to spend time with a gaggle of acting students from the Lart Studio acting school in Krakow, which includes the previously mentioned blues singer, Joanna, and flowing Bartek. Quite the rowdy and predictably dramatic bunch in general, but fun to hang out with. Half the time when I’m the sole English-speaker hanging out with such a group of Pols, I just smile and try to figure out what the hell they’re talking about. It’s essentially impossible.

The group went to a small Jewish bar called Szynk. It’s a cozy candle-lit spot that I’ve been to a few times in Kazimierz. Apparently it’s the only place in Krakow to get the amber beer “Krakowskie.” The owners are exceedingly nice and make excellent soup. Everything was going well until someone peed on the floor in the bathroom and the group got a serious talking-to by the owner. Granted, they were being obnoxious and deserved it. To wit:

The Polish Acting Students Sing from Nathan Shipley on Vimeo.

The Teddy Bear Murder Mystery Flick You Will Never See

I made a teddy bear murder mystery movie with Joanna. An entire ten-minute movie with my point and shoot Canon. It is ridiculous. I’m not posting it on the internet. Even by old Toilet Bowl Productions standards, it is crap. Tedious, nonsensical crap. That said, it was damn fun to make and it’s funny to at least two people.

While I won’t post the video, I will post some images because I still find the premise that I made a teddy bear murder mystery movie with a Polish blues singer that features teddy bears held up by strings walking around, wielding knives, and killing people and bears to be on the awesome side of things.

The truly impressive thing is the number of acting students that have seen this abomination and still want to make a film with me. There was even a somewhat serious discussion of a plot for a second film, but it very rapidly devolved in to an existential avant-garde mind-screw that I had no interest in pursuing. Probably would have been a huge hit a the Polish Film Festival, though.

Birthdays are not enough for the Pols

In Poland, a person celebrates both their birthday and their “name day.” The name day is like another birthday, except everyone in the country with the same name as you is celebrating it on the same day. Though I still can’t really pronounce his name, I was lucky enough to get invited by Andrzej (pictured right, holding up a gift t-shirt he received) to attend his name day celebration with a bunch of his high school friends. Good crowd. Hold their vodka well. Certainly more mature than the acting students.

After me and five guys met at Andrzej’s apartment, which is directly above my apartment, we went to a bar in Kazimierz with beach-themed decorations and sand for floors to meet the whole group. I then got invited by Polish Girl Quentin Tarantino and her friend to go to another place. It was a new cafe that was opening that night and had VIP-only invites and an open bar. Happy times.

Polish Girl Quentin Tarantino?

Yes. She is a psychology student and the closest female approximation I have seen to a younger version of the famed film director. It’s pretty common for me to see foreigners that remind me of people back home. “Oh, look! There goes Peruvian Lance Rider!” This one was a first, though. Resemblance? You be the judge:

From Midwest to Budapest.

Next stop, Budapest. I’m excited and ready to go. I went to the train station yesterday and bought my ticket. Heading out tomorrow around noon. I’ve heard good things, though my initial idea is to only be there from somewhere between four and seven days. I’ll figure out where I’m going next at some point later. Plenty of choices and plenty of reader requests to think about. The main push will be to get to Constantinople, though.

Reader Requests

Speaking of reader requests, I am delighted with responses I’ve gotten thus far. I’m pursuing these and hope that you will continue to submit ideas as they come to you.

More pictures of Polish Girl Quentin Tarantino, the Teddy Bear movie, and other goings-on in the Flickr set.

Okay, people. Welcome to your chance to tell me what to do. Time to stop reading and start talking. Here’s the deal:

I read a great five-part article yesterday by Kelly McEvers on Slate about how she found a real pirate in Indonesia. It took her three weeks of hanging out with shady ex-pirates to finally connect with him. It’s a good story. Inspirational, too.

As I read through it, I thought, “That could be me. I want to do things like that. I could go find pirates. Why the hell not?”

“But, Nathan, what does this have to do with me,” you ask?

I want you to come up with ideas for what you’d like to see me do in the coming months.

What sort of missions and concepts can you think of? Got anything you’d like to know about the world? Something you always wanted to try? (Or at least have a human guinea pig try for you?) Use “find a real pirate” as what I consider to be a good example. It can be anything, though — interesting, funny, dangerous, inappropriate, stupid, gimmicky, crazy, sexy, cool (big ups TLC?) — whatever.

You come up with it, I do it, document it, and report back. It’s like the Subservient Chicken of travel blogs.

Some other good examples are some of the travel segments done by Vice Magazine’s vbs.tv. For example, they went to Colombia looking for a drug called scopolamine used by criminals to render victims completely open to suggestion who are then robbed and raped. Apparently half of the emergency room admissions in Bogota are related to scopolamine. The guy initially thought it would be a funny story, but it ended up being a terrifying and awful drug.

They went back to Chernobyl 20 years after the melt down. They hung out in a gypsy village in Bulgaria. They found people that have sex with donkeys in Colombia like it ain’t no thang. New Years in Kabul, an actual Pakistani arms market, a Japanese porn producer who puts live eels inside his actors (yeah, eel porn), gay leather culture, people that live off of garbage in Manilla, etc.

Seriously; throw anything out there. It needn’t even be super crazy or topical. Cool if it is, though.

Obviously, where I am could affect your suggestions. I am leaving Poland next Thursday, December the 11th to go to Budapest. From there I’m headed to Turkey. Then to India and then Southeast Asia (Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam). As per usual, these destinations are not set in stone. I’d be glad to go somewhere else if there’s a good enough reason to go there.

Got an idea? Got two? Write ‘em in the comments. Let’s see what we can come up with.

Chicago, St. Louis, The Delta… Krakow? It turns out Polish blues is pretty awesome. But first, some background:

Smoking, Drinking, and Bathroom Line Lurkery

Thursday was Thanksgiving and Poland doesn’t give a shit about Thanksgiving. I was feeling mopey, missing my friends and family, Street Fighter II Turbo marathons, and going out back home for relatively awkward conversation with people from high school I don’t know very well. I decided the best thing to do would be to get out of the apartment, go see some music, and have relatively awkward conversations with people I don’t know at all!

There’s a cozy little underground bar with live music close to my apartment. This is part of it:

You walk down a narrow set of stairs from the sidewalk to the entrance, push past a black velvet curtain, and enter a series of curved brick-ceiling rooms connected by narrow corridors. Bars like this are common in Poland and seem to frequently lack even a modicum of ventilation, which is unfortunate for non-smokers because I have decided that Poland is a nation of balls-out, unapologetic chain-smokers. You can smoke almost anywhere here and people do. With reckless abandon. My jeans smell like a strange mix of Polish bar and dog kibble right now.

I found this particular spot last week after going to an Irish pub called “The Irish Embassy,” which is right next to the actual American Embassy in Krakow. America has a consulate, Ireland has a bar. Surprise. There I met a middle-aged car mechanic from the island of Jersey between France and England. He was in Krakow pissing away part of a big settlement he got in his divorce. He explained at length to me why his wife cheating on him three years ago was the best thing that’d ever happened to him as he now finds himself buying cars, going where he wants, and seeing his kids on the weekends.

From the Irish Embassy, I moved on to the aforementioned underground music bar. I had a quite an enjoyable time at this bar last week stationing myself outside the bathroom and talking to everyone in the place while I had them cornered with nowhere to go as they waited to pee. I was a bathroom line lurker. Everyone understandably thought I was waiting to go myself, would ask about it in Polish, and then I would ask if they speak English. Instant conversation! They’ve got nowhere to go and I’ve got nobody better to talk to. Perfect. I gallantly ushered them in front of me as I sized up my next victim.

The Blues? In Poland? Yup.

On Thanksgiving, I returned to the underground music bar. One might expect such a bar in the heart of Poland to have a healthy dose of Mazurka or Klezmer music. (Will anyone other than Ryan Hertz even know what these are? Did anyone other than Ryan Hertz major in Ethnomusicology?) Probably wouldn’t expect blues, though. And if there was blues, it probably wouldn’t be worth your time.

Enter Joanna Pilarska (pictured right) and Arek. She’s a Polish blues singer and guitar player who had a gig at the bar on Thanksgiving night. And sing, she did. Arek played guitar. It was the Dr. Pepper of Polish Thansgivings. No need for line-lurking this time around.

I met a Norwegian oil rig worker who bought all my drinks for me. His wife was sick at the hotel but he had to come see the blues. Loose on cheap Polish beer, this man eventually stumbled back to his hotel to go “wake up the missus - sick or not!” Sorry, lady. It’s not my fault. Thanks for the drinks, though, buddy.

After a set break, I moved closer to the stage with the below-mentioned group of guys. Given my handle on the English language and obvious enjoyment of the show, Joanna handed me the microphone at one point during Tracey Chapman’s “Give Me One Reason.” I tried not to think about my awful Rock Band vocal performances and shamelessly belted it out without hesitation. The people cheered and the band didn’t need to activate Overdrive and save me. Great success!

The crappy audio from my point-and-shoot Canon doesn’t do this justice, but here’s a video sampling from the four hour show. The What’s Up closer by 4 Non Blondes was a big hit:

Joanna Pilarska in Krakow from Nathan Shipley on Vimeo.

Joanna and Arek are part of bigger band called “Joanna Pilarska & Na Drodze.” Their MySpace page is here, for the curious.

Bartek Busts a Flow

After the show, I hung out with a group of guys which included Bartek. Like me, Bartek loves hiphop. Upon mention of Wu-Tang’s “Triumph,” the trans-Atlantic gap between Polish and American cultures was instantly bridged. Bartek mostly kept up with me as we recited Inspectah Deck’s part, “I bomb atomically, Socrates’ philosophies and hypothesis can’t define how I be droppin’ these - mockeries, lyrically perform armed robbery,” etc. Thanks to 36 Chambers and to gangster rap in general. You’re still bringing people together.

Bartek then went in to a 2 or 3 minute freestyle session with his friend beat boxing for him. Here’s a clip. Anyone know Polish and want to translate this for me? I’d love to subtitle it.

Bartek Busts a Flow from Nathan Shipley on Vimeo.

The GZA? In Poland? Yes.

Speaking of Wu-Tang, GZA is playing in Krakow tomorrow. This promises to be interesting. Hopefully the show isn’t sold out. I’m trying to get in touch with Bartek to see if he wants to go.

More soon, people! I’ve got some decisions to make about where I’m going next. It’s looking like Turkey, but Latvia / Lithuania are also options. Or Belarus. And then it’s on to India which, if you have any idea of what’s going on with the news at the moment, looks, to say the least, interesting.