The "Eastern Europe" Trip

When I was initially gearing up to come on this exchange the thing that excited me the most was the potential to travel.  It was even a factor in why I chose to come to Slovenia rather than one of the other 30 plus countries I could have gone to.  From here, every direction I go I’m bound to end up somewhere steeped in history, awash in natural beauty, or rich in culture, and usually it’s a combination of these things.  On top of that, while I’m on exchange my grades don’t matter (I just have to pass) and most of the friends I have made are also from other countries and so are in the same mindset to travel whenever possible.  Thanks to all these reasons, I am in the enviable position of being able to just look at a map, pick a place to go and then actually go there.  And that’s exactly what Marcel and Florentia and I did.  In about 10 minutes and using nothing but a map we planned out where we wanted to go for what would be our last trip together, at least for the foreseeable future.

The fairytale-like steps up to Graz's Schloss Eggenburg

Not long after, we kicked things off by hopping a train to Graz, Austria.  Just across the border and about two hours away by train, Graz is by European standards a small city, which means it’s fairly big by Canadian standards.  At first I was worried that the two days we had allotted to spend there would be too much time and that we’d be bored.  Turns out though that Graz is a pretty cool place and there were plenty of things to do to keep us occupied.  We checked out the Glockenspielplatz, Schloss Eggenburg, and ate schnitzel, among other German sounding activities, and tried a traditional Austrian dessert called Germknödel which is somewhere between a doughnut and a dinner bun.  We also took in a tour of the Styrian Armoury which houses the largest collection of medieval weapons and armour in the world.  All the different rulers of the region from medieval lords to Napoleon have taken from and added to the cache of steel and guns making the visit a fascinating history lesson in itself.  As if that wasn’t cool enough, everything is original from the 16^th century, including the graffiti on the bathroom door which our guide deemed too crass to be repeated in public.   Most of our time in Graz, however, was spent just walking around and enjoying the snowfall which gave the city an idyllic wintery look.

Now, Europe in February definitely has its pros and cons.  On the one hand, there aren't huge crowds everywhere, you have virtually everything to yourself and for usually about half the price as in the summer, and if every city looked like Graz does in the winter it would be worth putting up with a bit of snow and cool temperatures.  But unfortunately they don’t and we learned first hand why this is the “off-season” while in Bratislava.

Bratislava's main square.
They have odd statues like this all over the city

I was frequently reminded of the movie Eurotrip while we were in the Slovakian capital.  There’s a scene where they accidently end up in Bratislava instead of their intended Berlin.  While they walk around the deserted streets which are made to resemble something like Chernobyl, a man rides up on a bike and says, “Good thing you came in summer, in winter…it can get a little bleak.”  We were definitely there in the winter, and while the city was nowhere near as rundown as the movie shows it was a little depressing.  It was bitterly cold and very windy so walking around and generally exploring wasn’t much fun.  Come 4:30pm when it was dark out there was no one on the streets and even most of the restaurants were closed.  Also, the idea of spreading sand or salt to de-ice sidewalks apparently hasn’t made it to Slovakia yet because the whole city was a skating rink.  We might as well have had defenders hurling objects at us as we walked up the steep slope to the castle because the ice made it just as dangerous.  So while I’m sure Bratislava is a very nice city when weather permits, it was all too clear to us why no one else was there in February.

Budapest, meanwhile, was a different story.  Of course, I was in Budapest in November with Julian (see post “Hitch hiking to Budapest”), but we were really only there for one day which, as you can imagine with an ancient city with 3 million people, is  not long enough.  The off-season blues that we experienced in Bratislava seemed a distant memory as soon as we arrived in Hungary.   It was warm, the sun was shining, and it was anything but deserted.  As to be expected with a city of this calibre, there’s never a dull moment in Budapest.  We spent two nights and three full days in the city trying to take in as much as possible, all the while staying at what I’m convinced is the best hostel in world (Maverick City Lodge if you ever go there).  Budapest also has some of the coolest bars around so there's never any shortage of things to do.  In total we must have walked back and forth across the city a half-dozen times and yet it never got boring.  I think I mentioned in my previous post on Budapest that every building is a sight in itself and no two are the same.  For our entire time there I walked around staring up at the buildings as if it was my first time in any city, let alone my second stint in Budapest.  It really is an incredible city and it seems the more time I spend there, the more I want to stay.  Eventually though, it was time to move on.

The Royal Palace with the famous Chain Bridge in Budapest

 

We had spent about a half a day trying to figure out how to get to Belgrade, which would be our last city and where Florentia was going to fly out of on her way back home to Athens.  We had initially planned to take a night train but they wouldn’t sell us tickets for the time we wanted and, frustratingly, wouldn’t explain why.  Nonetheless, after some sleuthing we were eventually able to get an overnight bus.  That’s when I had one of those moments that you get every once in a while when you find yourself in a peculiar place.  One of those moments where you stop and take things in.  Its 11:00pm, I’m on the outskirts of Budapest waiting for an overnight bus to Belgrade with two friends from Germany and Greece.  This is exactly where I want to be. 

View from the top of St. Stephan's Basilica with the Hungarian parliament buildings in the background. 

Our full-to-capacity overnight bus turned out to not be as bad as we were anticipating, although it still wasn’t as comfortable as the train would have been, and we arrived in Belgrade, Serbia bleary eyed at about 4:30am.  We then took a cab straight to our hostel where we had probably the weirdest experience of the entire trip.  We had already agreed to pay the driver 10 euros which we figured was probably way more than it should be as Serbia has a different, far less valuable currency, but at this point we were tired and didn’t really care.  Anyway, as we got out at our destination and collected our bags, Marcel paid the cab driver who took the 10 euros and literally started laughing and rubbing the money all over his face.  Welcome to Serbia…

Later that day, after some much needed sleep, we went to check things out.  Our initial impressions of the city were not all that great.  Despite sleeping for most of the morning I don’t think we were 100% there and into it.  We didn’t really know our way around and I actually led us in the complete wrong direction for at least an hour while trying to find the train station, which is very uncharacteristic of me by the way.  All I saw of the city that day were the cold, rundown, communist housing blocks and gypsy kids running around begging.  However, the next day was a different story.  We had great weather, took a free walking tour, and got to see the city in a completely different light which made all the difference.  Turns out, Belgrade is quite a nice place and despite all of the warnings we got, Serbian’s are generally nice people.

Belgrade looking anything but bleak.

Finally, the trip came to the day we were dreading; when we would have to say goodbye.  Although Marcel and I still had a 10 hour train ride back to Ljubljana, Florentia was flying home and it was the symbolic end to our trip and to our time together.   We’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few months so parting ways was definitely tough, especially because I don’t know when, or if, I’ll see either of them again.  Worst case scenario though I’ll just have to go to Germany and Greece.  Not so bad.     

    

          

        

The Getaway- Probably the most stressful sequence of events in my life.

With ten minutes to go before my train was supposed to leave for Casablanca's Mohammed V Airport from the central Casa Voyageurs station, there was still a different train parked at the platform and no sign of mine.  It was 3:50 am which is early enough, let alone when you've only had three hours of sleep.   With time winding down I began to get a little nervous. The next train wouldn't be for more than two hours so I needed to be on this one in order to catch my 7:30 flight to Paris, en route back to Ljubljana.  Eventually, with just a couple minutes to spare an announcement came over the PA, first in Arabic and then in French, saying that the train to the airport was departing from platform one.  I was on platform two.  I immediately got that "oh shit" feeling and started running down the steps, underneath the tracks, and up the other side.  Just as I came to the top of the steps the official was closing all the doors on the running train.  I frantically asked him if it was the train to the airport and either he didn't say anything or I just didn't hear him but he appeared to give a thumbs up.  Without hesitation I jumped on board and felt the closing doors squeeze my backpack as I narrowly made it on.

But before I could even begin to feel relaxed that I had made it, I heard someone yell "No!" and a guy came running over and stared at me through the window on the door.  He was a young guy with a thick beard and a large backpack and apparently he was going to the airport too because he screamed through the glass that I was on the wrong train.  At the same time, he was desperately trying to get the attention of the official on the platform and I began to pound on the "Door Open" button as if I could will the door to open with a little force.  But it was all no to avail and in a matter of seconds we started pulling away, and in the opposite direction of the airport.  The gentle rocking of the train under my feet felt more like an earthquake and my already elevated heart rate began increasing along with the speed of the train.  The guy on the platform just stood there staring at me, mouth open with his hands in the air in a helpless, almost apologetic kind of way.  Judging by the look on his face, my own expression must have been somewhere between "Is this really happening?" and "just got punched in the stomach."  Slowly, the lights of the station faded away and I was overcome with the darkness of the unknown, and the uncertainty of what lie ahead.

At this point my mind was racing at warp speed.  'Its almost four o'clock in the morning and its pitch black, I'm on a train heading in the wrong direction to who knows where and for who knows how long'.  Time was ticking, and of course my initial thought was that I was not gonna make my flight.  But through all this noise in my head came the sound of laughter.  I looked into the compartment to see two girls in the same car, probably the only other people on the whole train.  They were busy taking pictures of each other in funny poses and giggling away, completely oblivious to the gravity of the situation.  I interrupted them to ask if the train was going to the airport, I figured it wouldn't hurt to double check.  Sure enough though they both said no with a little bit of a laugh and looked at me like I was crazy.  They then went back to taking pictures of each other and I was left to torture myself by playing out different scenarios in my head.

Thankfully, the train came to a stop at a station about 15 minutes later, rather than two hours later, and I, along with the two girls, got off.  It was just a tiny station somewhere on the outskirts of Casablanca.  There were no street lights and definitely no traffic and since it was just after four in the morning there was hardly anyone there except for a few people in the lobby. There was a security guard who was dressed as though he was on an Arctic expedition despite the fact that it was at least 10 degrees outside.  Apparently noticing I had no idea what to do, one of the girls from the train offered to call a taxi for me but after several attempts she could not convince anyone to come all the way out to the station.  The only other option was the lone taxi who had been coming back and forth to pick people up.  After some negotiating, she was able to get him to agree to take me to the airport for 250 dirhams.  Of course, I had spent the last of my dirhams on the train ticket and had only 20 euros (200dh) left, but I'd deal with later.  As I walked towards the lights of the cab through the dark parking lot I realized another problem.  It was a red "Petit Taxi" meaning it was only allowed within the city and not to the airport.  Just when I thought it was clear sailing, there was something else I had to worry about.  Is this guy really gonna break the rules for me?  As it turns out...no, no he's not.

We drove around through dark deserted streets for some time, picking up and dropping off other passengers along the way, until we eventually pulled up beside a stand of 'Grand Taxis', the ones that are used for bigger distances including the airport.  My driver got out and negotiated some more before coming back and literally pushing me out of the passenger seat.  I was to go with one of the other drivers from here.  Now, I wouldn't have minded this except he wanted to be paid in addition to the 250dh I was to pay this other guy which of course, isn't what we had agreed on.  Realistically though, it was almost 5:00am, I had no idea where I was, time was ticking, and I was surrounded by some obviously unscrupulous taxi drivers; paying this guy extra would not be negotiable.  They were more than happy to exchange my euros into dirhams so I could pay my driver, but that still left me without enough money to pay the next leg to the airport.

So the new driver began taking me around to different banks, trying to find one that would take my card.  It became a routine; he pulls up at a bank, I get out and run to the ATM, and he yells at me in French with his incredibly gravelly voice and honks the horn because apparently that makes ATM's run faster.  Finally, I was able to get some money and we sped off to the airport, although I never really relaxed until I sat down in my seat on the plane (which had been bumped to First Class by the way, the only good thing to happen to me all day).  As I polished off my delicious breakfast and dozed off in my comfy seat I had no idea that the most stressful part of my day was actually still to come.

We landed at Paris' Charles de Gaulle Airport at 10:30, giving me two hours to spare before my flight to Ljubljana. de Gaulle airport is MASSIVE and it took a long time to go through passport control, multiple security checks, and take the bus to the right terminal, but I wasn't worried because I knew I still had about an hour to kill.  But as I was making my way past the "A" gates of the terminal en route to my "C39" an announcement came on overhead calling certain people to their gates.  Given the experiences I had already had that morning, I knew right away that my name was for some reason going to be included on this list.  Sure enough, "Mitchell Norstrom please proceed immediately to your gate," came over loud and clear.  As it was an hour ahead of boarding I wasn't quite sure why, I thought maybe I was gonna get bumped to first class again.  Anyway, I picked up the pace and hurried to my gate.

As I walked up, there was a guy standing there who was visibly anxious.  He asked me if I was Mitchell Norstrom going to Ljubljana, followed up with  "Come on, hurry up!"  He started off at a run towards to door to the tarmac and I was right behind him.  Just as we got to within an arms reach a guy on the other side pulls the sliding door shut, and locks it, staring at both of us and shaking his head.  The guy I was with turned to me and said, "Sorry sir, boarding has closed."  To which I replied, "What?"

I was so surprised I literally forgot to breathe for a few moments.  It felt like I had had the wind knocked out of me.  I looked up at the screen above the door and noted the boarding time flashing in red and yellow, it finally dawned on me that it was already 12:30, and that the clock on my phone, the only clock I had looked at until this point, was still stuck an hour behind on Moroccan time.  I was only interrupted from my confused daze by the airport attendant saying, "Sir, you're not getting on that plane.  Do you understand?"   I stood there not quite sure what to say for what seemed like an eternity.  Eventually, and in reality probably only a few seconds later , a girl standing behind the desk got a brief phone call and said, "Okay we're good."  She then hurriedly scanned my passport and opened the door.  "Go now! Run!"

To make matters worse, as I was running out to the plane, I looked up into the piercing gaze of the pilot sitting in the cockpit.  I then had to be that guy that walks on to the plane late and everyone knows he's the reason for the hold up.  They probably thought I had just spent too much time shopping at the Duty Free.  But little did they know what I had already been through.