Welcome to the Dszungle – Part II

This week marks our one month-iversary of being here in Budapest. I’m currently staring out the window at the milky haze of smog draped over the cityscape like a wet blanket, planning my moves for the day, knowing I’m being chased by the ever-encroaching 4pm sunset. They say the grass is always greener on the other side; well, right now that grass is greener than a grow house in Humboldt. What can I say? – We’re homesick. Sure, it’s lame, but can you really blame us!? We just got finished doing the following, so you can imagine we’re a little spoiled…

Fortunately, we’ve managed to find some relief to the wintertime doldrums here in Budapest, including ancient thermal bath houses, neoclassical cafés, the aptly named ruinpubs, and the market halls. All of these places are interesting enough for me to fill an entire post with photos and historical details, which I may foreseeably do in the future, but for now here’s the abbreviated version.

Budapest is probably best known for its many thermal baths. Without regurgitating the text from a guide book, I’ll tell you that there’s about 25 baths open to the public in the city. Some are incredibly ancient, and some are modern spas built in swanky upscale hotels, and personally, not somewhere I’d ever go. People have been taking advantage of the thermal springs for a couple thousand years, starting with the Celts, then the Romans, Ottoman Turks, and now the Hungarians. Most of the larger baths have a multitude of pools both indoors and outdoors, and all different temperatures. In my opinion, the outdoor pools are the best, especially in the winter, as it’s cool to bathe in a cloud of mist, plus they’re less crowded and don’t smell like a sweaty jockstrap.

While there’s cafes on almost every block here, the hundred year old renaissance influenced cafes are the ones worth checking out, as they’re unlike any coffee shop you’d find in the states. A few worth mentioning include the cafe in the Alexandra bookstore on Andrassy, and the New York Cafe. They cost a little bit more, but are still more affordable than a Starbucks.

As fans of dive bars and beer gardens, we’ve definitely taken a liking to the city’s network of romkerts, or ‘ruinpubs’ – essentially, old tenement buildings that have been completely overtaken and turned into a vast multitiered beer garden, artfully decorated floor to ceiling in found objects,  sculptures, graffiti, and mosaics.  The closest thing I’ve experienced to these places is the squatted out buildings in Berlin that function in much the same way. From what I understand, these aren’t squats – permission is granted to individuals to occupy these buildings through mysterious channels that one local acquaintance of ours likened to organized crime dealings. Either way, several of the ruinpubs we’ve been to are pretty awesome, including Szimplakert (simple garden), which we discovered through a piece in the New York Times before we left, and which is now a block and a half away from the apartment we just moved into (forgive the photos – they don’t do it justice).

Lastly, there’s the market halls. Basically, take your city’s farmers market, throw it inside Grand Central Station, and you have a Budapest market hall. Most of the downtown city districts have their own market hall, the most impressive being Nagyvásárcsarnok, aka Great Market Hall. Basically, all the bases are covered here, including plenty of produce sellers, bakers, butchers, fish mongers, and food vendors. While the chain supermarkets here are pretty awful, the market halls definitely make up for it.

Blogapest Part I – Welcome to the Dzsungle.

It’s now the Monday of my second week in Budapest. I have been brought here for reasons that are pretty clear. I have about 9,000 bucks saved up, a girlfriend with a job, and an iphone. I’m not gonna go so far to say I’m the happiest man alive, but I think Henry Miller and I would both agree I’m doing alright.

Welcome to Hungary. Actually, no one told us that when we got off the plane, nor did we get showered with paprika or serenaded by a fiddler, but I’ll forgive their perceivably nonexistent bureau of tourism. Turns out Budapest is a lot like New York, only a few more centuries of patina and a deeper historical appreciation for non-ironic mustaches. Both cities have George Washington statues, subways, a river, and bridge over the river that everyone is exceptionally fond of screenprinting onto t-shirts.  The subway here is 115 years old, being the second oldest in Europe after London, and is a seemingly a couple thousand leagues deeper underground and more impervious to air strikes. If you’ve never been to Budapest, you should know it’s actually bisected by the Danube river, which if you’re from Texas like me you’ll incorrectly pronounce it as you would Ted Nugent’s nickname; as in Duh-noob. Buda is on the west and Pest (pronounced Pesht) is on the east. Buda is hilly and Pest is mostly flat. They both have tons of castles and churches where a lot of shit went down at some point. Though we’re presently staying in Buda for the month of November, it’s pretty clear were gonna find some digs in Pesht. Why? Because that’s where all the hottest clubs are, dingus!

Visual stimuli aside, we with our foreign eyes, ears, and palette are left to contend with the local language and food. Where should I start? – The Hungarian language is called Magyar, and is a real motherf___er. It’s an anomalous language distantly related to Finnish, yet has no significant similarities to any other language worldwide. As my newly purchased phrasebook smugly informs me, english has more in common with Russian and Sri Lankan than it does with Hungarian. Yay. Nearly a week and a half here studying my language book everyday and all I can say is “two beers please”. While you may contend I’m a slow learner, try this for size. In Hungarian, there is no equivalent to the english verb ‘to have’. Instead, possession is inferred(!) with ‘to be‘. So to say ‘I have a potato‘, I’m really saying ‘It is potato (mine)‘. Not confusing enough? Add about 8 new vowels that have little dots and scribbles as halos and 6 new consonants which are really just other consonants clustered together, and you’re ready to learn Hungarian. While we haven’t found one yet, we should have a tutor in the next few weeks to help us understand how many potatoes we are/have.

Lastly, there’s the food. Honestly, I arrived here expecting to hate the food, feeling bitter that I’d given up Mexican food for meat and potatoes. During our last month in New York our bucket list of things to do before leaving was comprised exclusively of eating. But now having given the food a chance, I can say it’s not that bad. I even discovered my new favorite dish, lecsó, which is finely scrambled eggs with peppers and smoked sausage. Add to that the ubiquitous Mediterranean food and I’d say we’re doing alright. Still, would I give it all up for a decent Mexican food restaurant? – Absolutely.

The Final Countdown

We made it to San Francisco. That’s right, after pedaling our asses over 2,200 miles and through five states, over the mountains and down the coast, we made it. This is bike tour. This is about enduring. It’s about pulling up your spandex, forcing yourself to finish that huckleberry ice cream, and pushing onward. Sure, there were times we wanted to quit; there were times we wanted to fly back home to our 750 square foot apartment and get back to our comfortable routine, but we stuck it out. We said to ourselves, “No matter how warm and hoppy it is, I’m gonna finish this third pint and this bacon marmalade hamburger and get back on my bike”. And though we may have been miserable, no amount of mosquitoes, or obnoxiously old trees, or isolated beaches without facebook access were gonna prevent us from finishing what we set out to do. We define ourselves by achievement, and we seek rewards the only way we know how, through suffering. Maybe we’re gluttons for punishment, but we’re extremely sad to be finished.

California starts by immediately thrusting you into the Redwoods – trees so old they are alleged to have been around before the Indians, and so large and dominating that they block out all light to the forest floor and become somewhat claustrophobic. Apparently, there were giants all up and down the coast until the logging boom of the mid 19th century. By the early 1900′s, most mills intended exclusively for giant trees had already closed, as there weren’t any left. Now, aside from a few protected parks along the coast, these giants are mostly massive stumps. I highly recommend to anyone who hasn’t, go see these forests while they’re still around.

We rode highway 101 down the coast through farmland and hippy towns, where the smell of weed seemed to waft out of every passing car. While there were no more mountains to conquer, the predominance of large and steep hills kept our legs working hard. Thankfully, the scenery overlooking every beautiful rocky cliff rewarded us after each ascent. The diversity of geography, flora, and fawna was astounding. After one 50 mile day, we rode past Redwoods, ocean vistas, herds of Elk, colonies of Sea Lions, seals, hawks, skunks, and cranes. Our last day of camping, we read a flyer warning of mountain lions in the vicinity (its advice? throw your kid on your shoulders and fight back!). Awesome.

We were fortunate to meet new cyclists almost every day, and to run into friends from days past once at the campsite. Now that we’re in San Francisco we are attempting to galvanize a few fellow travelers into meeting for a last hurrah, where we can come together to exaggerate our hardships and embellish triumphs.

We’re leaving together
But still it’s farewell
And maybe we’ll come back
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We’re leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?

It’s the final countdown
The final countdown

Oregon in 144 Hours

Oregon treated us well.  Portland was pretty much what we expected: a generous hostess (Thank you, Jennifer!), plenty of great beer at great bars, excellent cycling infrastructure, and super tasty food carts (waffle taco!).  There was also a lot that we didn’t expect: The whole city smells like roses, nearby swimming holes with waterfalls, a surprise visit from Deanna (NYC friend), arcade games galore, and the sweetest, most wonderful kitten in the whole world (love you, Little Ricki!).

We had so much fun that we decided to stay an extra night.  It was a great one.  We made veggie tacos for Jennifer and her roommates and friends, and we drank Jen’s home-brewed beer round a fire pit.

Once back on the Oregon coast, we were treated to incredible views of the rocky coastline, excellent beach campsites, and Oregon’s Ninkasi Total Domination IPA.

We have also enjoyed coming to the realization that what we are doing is not special.  We have met so many other cyclists from around the world.  There are the two Israeli boys who are detoxing from Burning Man by riding form Portland to San Fran.  We’ve also met cyclists from Japan, Australia, and Switzerland doing all kinds of crazy trips.  There was also the family trailing 2 toddlers and riding with a seven-year-old on a tandem.  (And we thought our load was heavy!)  Most crazy of all, we met a guy riding his skateboard from Arizona to Portland.  There are a lot of badasses out there.

Goodbye Washington. Hello Oregon!

We were totally spoiled when we left Seattle (and I was still a bit jetlagged), so we decided to get right back into it with a 70 mile day (ended up being more like 80 – a record!). We caught the ferry to Bremerton and started making our way to Elma — the little town with a big girl’s name. We may be out of the mountains, but this part of the trip sure is hilly. Dustin also had a big tire blow out, which took some time to fix, so we were both mighty tired when we finally got to our destination. After our millionth dinner of burger and fries, we rode to the hostel where we would be staying the night. The “hostel” was really just an old couple’s house, outfitted with some bunkbeds for cyclists and bikers passing through.

In the morning, we had the good fortune of meeting Dr. John, who was also staying at the hostel. Dr. John is a retired psychiatrist, father of three, guitarist, surfer, devoted husband, zen master, and Texan, on a solo bike tour from Seattle to his home in central California. We quickly became friends, and since we were on the same route, we knew we would be running into him again.

During our day of hills, we encountered what looked like a dead body on the side of the road. Dustin hollered at the figure to gauge if he was alive or not, and we were greeted with the palest face we have ever seen. “Just taking a nap,” he said. Apparently meth is a bit of a problem in this part of the country. Satisfied that he was “fine,” we continued up the hill. At the top, we stopped for a snack and immediately were welcomed by Derek and his wife Sara who had seen us riding and had cycled up the hill to meet us. We were pleasantly surprised to get an offer of a place to stay, dinner, or a shower at his nearby home. We had more miles to go though, so we left with a few apples from their tree and new facebook friends.

We arrived a few hours later at the Lewis and Clark Campground within a beautiful old growth forest and were once again greeted by Dr. John, who had generously paid for the campsite. The next morning, we started our last day in Washington with a morning walk through the forest, and later a swim in the Columbia River. We punctuated our ride with a race across Puget Island to catch a ferry into Oregon. That evening, we met up with Dr. John again, who had offered to share his motel room with us in Westport. To thank him, we took him to breakfast at The Berry Patch, where we feasted on marionberry waffles, pancakes, and pie. A true bike tour breakfast.

We continued on through Oregon, passing through Astoria (super cute!) and hitting the coast, where we once again stayed at a hostel with Dr. John, now practically family. We had to finally part ways with John though, when Dustin and I turned inland to go to Portland, where I currently sit on a 2nd floor balcony/sleeping porch, our digs for the next four days. Yay!

Sedentary in Seattle

It’s true that it takes substantial work to bring bodies in motion to rest. It also takes a substantial amounts of salmon, oysters, sushi, burgers & french fries, donuts, steaks, local beer, and GNT’s – especially when you’re in Seattle, and especially when you’re staying with  Robert and Tom, our two hosts’s with the mosts’s. We’ve been treated wonderfully here in Seattle. Not just by our ultra-accommodating hosts seen above, but by strangers, old friends, and the weather.

Our inroduction to Seattle was auspicious, to say the least. After riding from Port Townsend and catching the ferry into downtown, we were immediately surprised by our friends Tim & Anne (carfreedays.wordpress.com), whom we’d met on San Juan Island, and who just happened to be riding by at that precise moment after returning from another weekend cycling excursion with their two lovely kids. They informed us of the best way to avoid Seattle’s steep hills, and acted as our first formal welcoming committee. Not fifteen minutes later we were randomly surprised by running into my old friend Stuart, the only person I knew who lived in Seattle who I hadn’t seen or spoken to in over five years, and who also happened to be riding home from work right then. For two strangers to Seattle, it seemed the city was welcoming us at every turn. We finally arrived at Robert and Tom’s incredible hilltop villa, and were immediately handed GNT’s – the first of many. Over the next week, I enjoyed their warm hospitality while Anne travelled to Budapest for a job interview.

With Anne now back from Buda, it’s time to say adios, and begin the next leg of our journey down the coast to Portland and SF. Both Anne and I, but mostly me, have had a wonderful time here, eating extremely well, hanging out in house boats, nearly getting run over by sailboats while kayaking, swimming in neighborhood lakes, riding bikes, and sleeping in an incredibly comfortable bed. BIG thanks to everyone here in Seattle! We’ll miss ya!!

From Bear Boxes to Raccoon Boxes

We’ve been taking it easy these past few days. But after three weeks of riding (today!) and over 900 miles, I think we deserve it. So all of you tuning in to read about our suffering, you might be in for a let-down…at least for now.

The ride into Anacortes was windy and rainy—a nice change from the 100 degree heat we had on our last mountain pass in the Cascades (I hate you, Loup-Loup!). We caught the ferry to the San Juan Islands and took the advice of two touring Brooklyners to camp at the San Juan County Park, a gorgeous spot looking out toward Vancouver Island, where you can see an incredibly beautiful sunset and sometimes catch sight of a school of Orcas. (We only saw a giant school of salmon and a few harbor seals.) We had a decadent ride around the islands sans panniers and picked blackberries.

We also met a wonderful family from Seattle. One of the great things about this trip for me has been the opportunity to meet many individuals, couples, and families, who, on normal salaries, also lead fun and adventuresome lives. Tim and Anne are a great example. They took their two kids on a 8-day bike tour to the San Juan Islands, and have lived in Seattle without a car for the past year. (Check out their blog at carfreedays.wordpress.com.)

From San Juan we spent a enjoyable day crossing Deception Pass and rolling through Whidbey Island to the cute town of Coupeville. We camped at Fort Casey on top of the old bunkers and picked wild raspberries while drinking our coffee. At present, I sit at a brewery at a marina in Port Townsend, and I’m about to hit another. Easy livin’.