Hungary

It was cold and rainy the first three days of my time in Budapest. I was here to see Dr. Windisch, who I’d found when I lost a tooth while visiting Greece a few years back. I had come back every summer since, to the tune of 5 implants and much more money. I don’t know how many parking tickets I had accumulated while here. In the course of 3 days I’d acquired 2 more. 

Before my next appointment, I decided to drive to Vác for the day—a lovely medieval town perched on a bend of the Danube, where the river shifts direction from east-west to north-south. I wandered through the old square and narrow streets, strolled along the mighty river, and came across a charming museum that showcased the city’s history, including the crypt discovered beneath a house during renovations in the 1990s.

After visiting the Citroën dealer—miraculously, they had the replacement engine cover—I drove straight to my appointment. I was late and parked near the Mercur Hotel, expecting either a ticket or the dreaded car boot. Luckily, I only got the ticket. Dr. Windisch extracted the tooth as planned, but said there wasn’t enough bone and the tissue condition meant he wanted to wait until May before placing an implant. Exhausted, I limped over to Tim’s by car, dropped off my clothes for washing, did some house chores, and headed to bed relatively early at 10 pm.

The next day, I went back to Vác (see above). On the way back, I stopped by Buda Castle—closed, unfortunately—but enjoyed the sunset and thought about visiting Normafa, though I ran out of time. Then it was back to the dentist’s again and afterward to Tim’s. My cheek had been injured by the instruments, so the tooth extraction left a wound. Two days later, during drilling to find a spot for the implant, the bone wasn’t strong enough, and the dentist accidentally perforated the sinus cavity. Because of my scleroderma, he stopped and called it a day. He suggested a cantilever bridge on two teeth extending to the first molar behind, but not the second. He was sorry.

Because I had to be out of the flat by 8:30 am Friday morning—Tim had friends coming over—I dropped my things at his girlfriend Naz’s place (she’s Turkish), then headed to Vác again, arriving around 11:30 am.

Saturday, I headed to Esztergom, though I got a late start after having breakfast with Naz and her mother, who had visited the night before. It was nice to be around warm, welcoming people—the Turkish are like that.

The road to Esztergom was beautiful. I felt like I was seeing more of the Hungary I’d imagined. Much of Hungary, like parts of Eastern Europe, can feel like a ruined wasteland. There are hints of former glory, but mostly everything seems broken or destroyed, with only a small percentage of infrastructure truly functional. Roads take decades to finish, and a few places feel like Potemkin villages, freshly painted and boasting at least one cafe open on Sundays. Lake Balaton is one such place, long a resort town resting on its past glory with few recent improvements.

Esztergom itself was charming—situated on the Danube and connected to Slovakia by a bridge destroyed in 1945 and only rebuilt in 2002 with EU funding (a clear sign of the area’s poverty). My visit luckily coincided with a wine fair, held simultaneously in Budapest’s Heroes’ Square, which I’d stumbled upon the night before. I’d fallen in love with several woolly stuffed animals made from sheep’s wool and cashmere but didn’t have the money to buy them then. I’d promised to return on Saturday but ran into the worst traffic jam of my trip. Apparently, there was a marathon that weekend, adding to the wine festival crowds, and traffic was at a standstill. I tried to find parking but got yelled at by a security guard in front of a consulate, who said parking was only for dignitaries (didn’t he know I was one?). I gave up in disgust, hence the late start to Esztergom. On the way, I stopped at Tesco, replacing my car charger and buying a suitcase to hold all my purchases for the return flight.

I loved Esztergom. I walked along narrow streets of old houses to the market square and main church square, then followed a growing crowd along a small canal. There I found lovely booths selling truly homemade goods and bought some corn husk crafts—a nativity scene, a Hungarian star, and several figurines made from all-natural materials. At another booth, a man sold traditional Bolivian hats. I’d lost several hats, including a favorite baby alpaca one I’d seen on a homeless person in Santa Cruz (where it had fallen from my pocket). I should have offered him money but wasn’t quick enough.

I asked, “¿Hablas español?” and he said, “Claro que sí.” We talked for a while in Spanish about how he ended up in Hungary. Originally from La Paz, Bolivia, he arrived in Vienna over 20 years ago, married a Hungarian woman, and settled in Budapest, where he felt warmer and more at home. He’d connected with a large group from Central and South America and said he plans to stay as long as he’s working. He sings Spanish songs and has upcoming gigs; he emailed me links to his music. He was warm and said I should look him up next time I’m in Hungary. “Latinos are like keys,” he said—knowing one connects you to a much bigger community. I felt lucky to have met him and bought two hats and a pair of wool slippers—ready for winter.

I continued walking along the canal and bought more corn husk handicrafts. At a leather booth, I eyed a casual coin purse with a strap. The vendor didn’t speak English, but a young man named Tamás from a neighboring ceramics booth translated. Tamás and his girlfriend Janka were kind, and we ended up talking for hours. I told them about my plans to visit historical towns, and they strongly recommended Pécs in southern Hungary. I took their advice, and had a wonderful time exploring with them.

I wanted to cross the bridge to Slovakia, where another wine festival was happening, but it was too far to walk back once I realized. Instead, I walked along the Danube under the archdiocese and castle wall to Esztergom’s old town and cemetery, then up to the cathedral. Inside, it was as high and fortress-like as it looked from outside, renovated in Gothic style. Some visitors bought tickets to access the altar area, but I stayed in the main gallery, marveling at the towering arches. Then I headed to the castle, though little of the original remained—it had mostly been reconstructed.

I returned to the festival, said goodbye to my new friends, and headed back to Budapest’s Heroes’ Square for the wine festival taking place just outside the picturesque castle on the lake. I was thrilled to find the woolly stuffed animals vendors still there and happily bought my favorites, swapping one lamb for another. I had a lovely conversation with Zoltán, a kind young man who had developed a disability that paralyzed his right side, ending his dream of working in animal husbandry. He’d studied in Denmark and the US and spoke with sad nostalgia about those experiences. He was helping his boss run a nonprofit for developmentally disabled youth and adults who made the stuffed animals. They invited me to visit Debrecen, Hungary’s second-largest city. I thanked them and made tentative plans to come after my final dentist appointment the following Wednesday.

Back at Naz’s Airbnb flat, I had a lovely dinner with Naz, Tim (with whom I stayed most of the time in Budapest), Naz’s mom visiting from Izmir, and Naz’s godparents, a funny brother-sister duo from Istanbul. Ilnur, Naz’s mom, prepared a wonderful Turkish meal—gozleme, lokum, kofta, and other delicacies—and I ate until I was stuffed. Tim made glühwein, a German mulled wine mainly drunk at Christmas markets, and Naz had plenty of raki on hand. I tried a little of both and felt happy to be surrounded by kind people. It meant a lot to me to feel cared for, and my heart was full. I went to bed and slept in, waking late to head to Lake Balaton. I had to be back Tuesday at 2 pm, so I had two days to explore.

I was surprised by the good condition of the highway to the lake—much better than the dilapidated roads I’d gotten used to. But it made sense; most wealthy Hungarians own summer homes on the lake and probably get the infrastructure they want. I drove to the north side of the lake, exploring the towns and admiring the old buildings. After a few hours, I drove to Balatonfüred to stroll through the park grounds of the Anna Grand Hotel and admire the lovely manor homes nearby. I visited the summer house of Jókai, Hungary’s most famous 19th-century author. Due to tuberculosis, he and his wife summered by the lake, seeking clean air. They continued for twenty years, only stopping when his wife died—the memories were too painful.

I stayed as late as I could, then headed to Tihany, a small village on a nearby hill that once housed a Benedictine monastery (still active today). It was dark when I arrived, but I’d been told to visit for both its natural beauty and cultural richness. I saw a small restaurant and was tempted by their goulash, so I went in. I ordered gulyás and peach juice and was glad I did. The waiter, David, apologized for his limited English, but we understood each other well. I apologized for my nonexistent Hungarian—I always feel guilty when I don’t speak the local language and want to try harder.

David told me about the history of the mud-brick stuccoed house, once home to 15 people—two families of six and nine—before it was remodeled into a cozy restaurant. He had been a gardener but needed extra work, so converted his home into this eatery. He and his wife still live upstairs. Meals are warmed in an outdoor adobe stove, a tradition from when the entire meal would have been cooked there, but now with many customers, the food is cooked inside and warmed outside. A nice touch.

Halfway through the meal, I heard a honk outside. I’d parked on a narrow one-lane street and a couple was waiting impatiently for me to back up. I found another spot down the hill. The street seemed deserted when I’d parked earlier.

We talked about loss—David had recently lost his father to cancer. I shared my regret at not being with my own dad when he died. It haunts me. When I got the news he was in his final days, my uncle booked a flight before I could. My dad and stepmom told me they could only handle one visitor at a time. I knew he was dying soon and wouldn’t get to see him, so I sent him as much love as I could. I went to Purisima Redwoods, a primordial park, and asked the majestic trees to cradle and support him. The last two nights of his life, I had vivid dreams of saying goodbye. Talking about my dad brought tears. I’ve felt extremely alone on this trip, especially the last two months. My tears were mostly from remorse.

David was as supportive as he could be with limited English and my nonexistent Hungarian. When I left, he asked if he could hug me. I was touched and walked into the night feeling like I had a friend.

I’d scouted a possible camping spot before dinner—a turnout by the side of the road near town—but wasn’t sure it was a good choice. So I drove to a lakeside turnout and set up my tent out of sight from the road. I heard animals prowling nearby before finally convincing myself to sleep.

The next morning, I had a short time before heading to stay with my new friends in Pécs. I woke at 9 am, packed quickly, then hiked up to Tihany through a private path thick with brambles. My new sweater cape, purchased at a thrift store in Landsberg, Germany, was full of burrs. It reminded me of my Aunt Pauline, my mom’s second oldest sister, who loved to sew and had made herself a striking cape I admired on a visit to Massachusetts.

I wandered around the church (closed), took photos of the lovely thatched roofs and rounded dormer-like windows. The houses reminded me of hobbit homes—very cozy. I found a cafe to use the restroom and grab a snack, then took a thorn-free path back to my car and returned to Balatonfüred. I walked the esplanade near the Anna Grand Hotel, breathing the fresh lake air. The day was fairly sunny, and I was happy to explore such a pretty part of Hungary.

At 11:30 am, I hit the road toward Pécs, planning to arrive around 2:30 pm. What a scenic drive! For three hours, I drove through rolling hills dotted with forests and small villages bordered by corn and hay fields. I arrived at my friends’ flat in Pécs right on time. They live a short walk from the medieval walled city, up a hill. What a place—and kind people. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.

After enjoying one of the best soups I’ve ever tasted (Tamás kindly shared his chicken soup recipe), we took a 10-minute walk to the town center. Since 1853, Zsolnay Porcelánmanufaktúra Zrt (Zsolnay Porcelain Manufacturer) has played an important role in Pécs, producing ornamental and utilitarian porcelain, ceramics, and stoneware—tiles, toilets, sinks, and insulators. They invented the eosin glazing process and pyrogranite (fire-proof) ceramics. Much of the town is covered in their beautiful tiles, including rooftops, the county hall and post office facades, and several fountains in the city center.

I was blown away by the beauty of this southern town. Maybe it was because I’d been in gritty Budapest for weeks. Later, I learned that in 1998 Pécs received the UNESCO Cities for Peace prize for preserving minority cultures and its tolerant, helpful attitude toward refugees from the Yugoslav Wars. In 2007, it won second place in the Livable Cities LivCom Awards for cities with 75,000 to 200,000 inhabitants. So it wasn’t just me who loved this city.

We walked back near dark and had a lovely evening watching two episodes of Family Guy. I hadn’t watched any TV or movies since April, so it was a rare treat.

The next morning, I drove back to Budapest for a consultation with a hair implant surgeon. I’d been considering an eyebrow implant. The surgeon seemed imperious and unhelpful. I asked if they could do less for a lower price, but he said their fee was 2,500 euros and assured me it was cheaper than elsewhere.

I left his office and parked near my dentist’s office, where I had a 5 pm appointment. I saw Vicky, another dentist working with Dr. Windisch. She was remarkably cheerful and talented, speaking three languages fluently—Slovakian (her first language), Hungarian, and English. She checked my wound and said it looked good. I left and headed back to Tim’s, arriving by 6:30 pm. I had three good hours to answer emails and catch up on my blog.

The next morning, I headed to Visegrád, wanting to spend every day somewhere other than Budapest. I stopped in a small village about five miles south to explore. The houses were old, a cobbled lane led to the main church, and kids played in the outdoor schoolyard. The school building was new and impressively built. In Hungary, school buildings tend to be either stately and historical or new and well-built, reflecting the importance placed on education.

I drove on to Visegrád, stopped for gas (yikes, I’d forgotten I was low and the empty light had come on miles ago), then headed up the hill to the castle, the town’s hallmark. It looms ominously on a bluff overlooking the Danube and was one of Hungary’s best-fortified castles.

Visegrád was first mentioned in 1009 as a county town and chief town of an archdeaconry. After the Mongol invasion in 1242, it was rebuilt slightly south of its original site. King Charles I of Hungary made Visegrád his royal seat in 1325. In 1335, Charles hosted a two-month congress with the Bohemian king John of Luxembourg and the Polish king Casimir III. This meeting was crucial in creating peace between the three kingdoms and securing an alliance against Habsburg Austria. Charles held another congress in 1338. The site contains remains of the Early Renaissance summer palace of King Matthias Corvinus and the medieval citadel. The name Visegrád (Vyšehrad) is of Slavic origin, meaning “the upper castle” or “the upper settlement.”

Little of the castle remains. There’s a “hall of wax” with wax figures reenacting the feast between the Bohemian, Polish, and Hungarian kings and their courts at the 1335 congress. The ramparts and walls stand, but most interior rooms have been gutted. One room depicted a traditional hunting scene and a makeshift forest dining room fit for a king.

According to my friend, many traditions surround killing an animal, especially one’s first kill. At that time, the hunter is hit three times with a stick by his godfather, whom he has chosen from fellow hunters. On the first hit, the godfather says, “I accept you as a hunter in the name of St. Hubertus.” On the second, “I accept you as a hunter in the name of the real Hungarian hunters.” On the third, “I accept you as (wild hog, deer, pheasant), and may the goddess Diana favor you, and may the leaves used on the wound of the animal be worn on your hat.”

My last dentist appointment was disappointing. The doctor scheduled the next set of appointments for June. Afterward, I visited Naz and her mom one last time. Her grandma had been in a coma while her mom was visiting, which left them very scared. Naz couldn’t sleep those nights.

The next day, I headed for Pécs, arriving right around 2:30 pm after booking a flight for next year and making a reservation at Colors Hostel for June and August. Janka was waiting for me. We walked downtown together; Tamás was also in Budapest at the time, busy filming. Janka had spent some time at the airport with a gyrocopter. It was Thursday, and she was preparing for the 50th anniversary festival in Pécsvárad, taking place Friday through Sunday.

I got a ticket to the Zsolnay Cultural Center and spent two days there—Thursday and part of Friday. I hadn’t planned on staying so long, but the festival and traditional grape harvest dances and music were too tempting. On Saturday, I joined Tamás after getting a ticket to the cathedral and lapidarium. In Batthyány Square, there was a festival with a dance group called Golden Pheasant. A very friendly man there was a teacher, and Tamás filmed for the village.

On the way back, we stopped at Pécsvárad, then returned to write. I didn’t get around to blogging until Sunday afternoon after touring the bishop’s residence that morning. That afternoon, I attended the festival and danced for three hours, then returned around 4 pm for two hours at the treasury and lapidarium. We got home late, around 9 pm, after packing up Eva’s ceramics.

I spent some time sorting maps and tourist papers, trying to plan where to go next. The weather forecast called for a week of rain, so I wasn’t sure whether to head to Croatia or Slovenia—or skip directly to Italy to avoid the bad weather.

I left Pécs at 9:30 am, driving northeast toward the border region. The sky was overcast, and a light drizzle began to fall, making the winding country roads slick. Despite the gray weather, the landscape was still beautiful—rolling hills dotted with farmhouses, forests thick with early autumn colors, and fields recently harvested.

Austria

I decided to cross into Austria but ended up having a hard time finding a place to camp. I tried a logging road but kept hearing machinery and engines even at 10 p.m.—after waiting 20 minutes, I gave up. As I backed up the road, I ripped off the heat shield from under the car. It tore in half. I pulled the part I could off and drove on, eventually finding another spot, but it was muddy and I nearly got stuck. A farm overlooked the area, so I tried to stay out of sight and had to cross a stream—wet, cold, and didn’t sleep well.

The next day, I drove through a beautiful forested valley—it turns out it was part of the Bohemian Forest, which ends just north of Linz. I didn’t know at the time. I stopped at a schloss, now used as a rehab facility (very typical for Austria and Germany), and eventually found a small town where I could finally buy bread—after four days without any. The Czech countryside was kind of a food desert outside tourist zones—no cafes or hotels.

I asked about a Citroën dealer, eventually found the place but not the right part. I met a really sweet couple, Wolfgang and Dianne, and their small son—very kind people. Then in Linz: still no part. I called Salzburg and Innsbruck—same story. So I decided to try Budapest.

Onward to Salzburg. I was tempted to get my passport stamped in Hallstatt but skipped it. Got to Salzburg at 2:30 p.m., parked (and got a ticket—figured I’d take my chances), and walked to the old town. I visited the cloister and cemetery from The Sound of Music, then the catacombs—where I briefly got locked in. I joked with a German guy that my worst nightmare was being stuck in a crypt.

Up to the castle—I didn’t have time for the full tour, so I skipped the €12 fee. Walked behind it to the ruins of an older fort (Molbach or something like that, discovered by an archaeologist). Took winding paths back through old houses, past the Rathaus, Dom, market square, and Mozart’s birthplace (I thought it was Augsburg for some reason). I saw a group of college kids performing music—hauling instruments around. By 5 p.m., I returned to the car and, sure enough, had a €25 ticket.

Headed to Innsbruck. I had a gut feeling not to use the highway, but the regular road was jammed (Friday rush hour), so I got on the autobahn—only to be stopped by German border control doing a refugee check. It took an hour to go two miles. I was already exhausted from clutch-driving all day. Drivers were aggressive, including one guy who high-beamed me because he thought I was trying to pass him. I wasn’t—I was just avoiding the cement barrier.

Arrived in Innsbruck around 9:20 p.m. to find loud music and partying—totally different than I remembered. Turned out it was “shopping night,” so the whole town was out. I dodged drunk kids and vomit on the cobblestones. One young guy told me to watch my backpack—I appreciated that.

Wandered the old town, took photos, listened to a jazz/blues band, got a pizza. A local girl told me where I might be able to camp—up a very steep road on the other side of the canyon. I almost got stuck; the engine quit at one point. Eventually found a hard-packed spot to park. I saw old clothes by a tree and got spooked—it looked like a body, but it wasn’t. Somehow I slept.

Woke around 9 a.m. and hiked a bit, but the trail was uninspiring—sterile. Went back to the car, thought about coffee but skipped it, and wandered into the main church instead. Then off to the Hofgarten, and ended up at the Tyrolean Folk Museum instead of the Hofburg. So glad I did. The museum showcased the life and culture of Tyrol—crafts, tools, furniture, trades. They had an amazing laser-guided audio tour that gave detailed info on every object. I spent 11:30 to 5 there.

Also visited the nearby church where Emperor Maximilian is buried. His bronze tomb was surrounded by statues of his “relatives,” including King Arthur. Classic Habsburg myth-making. Got another parking ticket—added it to the pile—and drove toward St. Moritz.

Even though it was October 1 and late museum night, I was too worn out for another museum. Headed for the Alps. Drove through spectacular scenery, and by 7:20 p.m. it was too dark to keep going. Crossed into Switzerland, then Italy briefly, then back to Switzerland and stopped in Scuol. It was cold and raining—the temp dropped from 68 to 58 quickly. I walked into the Belvedere Hotel and asked to use their Wi-Fi. They said yes, so I ordered a tea, charged my phone, and wrote a bit.

My car charger had broken, so now my phone won’t charge in the car. Everything feels like it’s falling apart—including me. I checked the weather and felt discouraged—cold and rain in Budapest, Ljubljana, and here. No place to hide, really. I’ll see how it goes.

That night I slept near the river, across from a power plant. The generator hummed all night. In the morning, I drove to a curious building—Brukken Trinkwasser—the source of Scuol’s mineral water. A man at the fountain explained that the local language is a strange blend of Italian, French, and Portuguese, and that preserving it is key to their culture. The houses were marked “Chasa,” like “casa” in Spanish. Many had sayings written in that hybrid language on the façades. Wheel ruts led from the road directly into what used to be livestock cellars.

I explored turn-of-the-century spa buildings, then walked up to Vulpera, where I found an old schloss with a garden, Japanese-style pond, gazebo, and some hotel ruins. Headed back down, returned to Belvedere, used the Wi-Fi, and considered my next move.

Everyone recommended St. Moritz, so I went. The valley climb was stunning—sharp peaks flanking the road, and the river dammed into a beautiful lake near the town. But St. Moritz itself? Not a fan. It’s been overdeveloped. Ugly modern apartments overshadow what was once a quaint hill town.

I drove back down, trying to reach Hallstatt before dark. Made it as far as Golling, Austria, and decided to stop. Wandered the town, checked a few hotels, but at 9 p.m., paying €60 for a bed till 10 a.m. didn’t seem worth it. Visited the castle and church. I’d had a rough night before—reflux, vomiting, and diarrhea—so I went to bed early.

Found a forest road that ended in a locked gate. Figured no one would be logging on a rainy Sunday night. Set up camp quickly in the rain—everything got wet. My pillow, sleeping bag, even the towel I used to dry it all. I was damp and cold all night. But in the morning, the sun came out around 12:30, so I spread everything out on the car to dry. I probably looked like a gypsy. Maybe I am, in spirit. My grandmother may have been part Roma—a rumor, but telling, given how that term was used as a slur.

Speaking of discrimination, I learned about the massacres of Jews in Tyrol in the 1300s–1400s after one was falsely accused of killing a Christian child. The entire community was murdered. Anti-Semitism has such a long, brutal history. I remember stumbling into the Jewish quarter in Venice—the original “ghetto”—only two small blocks once housing 2000 people. Despite that, they had a printing press and a rich cultural life… until they were rounded up.

In Golling, I treated myself to chestnut cake and hot chocolate at a nice café. The cake had liqueur in it—not a fan—but I ate it anyway. Downloaded books, researched next steps. Walked back to the castle and found a map showing local sites, including the salt museum in Hallein. Decided to skip Hallstatt for now and go there.

Stopped in Kuchl, which also had a salt museum, but no time. At Hallein, visited the original salt tunnels where brine was sent down wooden chutes to pan houses. The museum had great exhibits on the Celtic salt miners—pottery, smithing, farming, and mining with hand tools. The site was active since Neolithic times, peaked in 1300 under the bishop of Salzburg, who kept wages low and children working in the mines. Pretty grim.

Wandered the town—medieval alleyways, crooked rooftops, the church where the composer of Stille Nacht once lived. His tomb is outside his front door.

Later I checked out a waterfall and pilgrimage church to St. Nicholas—definitely an old pagan site. Didn’t pay the €2.50 to see the falls (forgot my wallet). Had another pastry, then drove to Hallstatt. Very pretty lakeside town with ancient Celtic salt history. Visited the museum. Learned that women used to carry salt blocks up and down the mountain.

Then: more speed camera tickets. First in Austria, then two more near Golling—after turning around to help a hitchhiker. I thought I was going slow enough—35 km/h—but apparently not. Then in Hallstatt, I asked for a Harissa and the guy thought I said Wiener Schnitzel, got mad and fried one anyway. I thought about offering to pay but was already gone.

Parking tickets everywhere—Salzburg, Golling, Budapest, France, Czech Republic (they booted my car), Austria, Hungary, Germany. In the U.S., I have a handicapped placard—none of this parking chaos. And here, tolls or vignettes in every country but Germany. As someone said, it’s like dying from a thousand mosquito bites.

Czech Republic

I drove across the Czech border and bought a vignette. Then I went through the Bohemian Forest to Prague, arriving around 4 p.m. I parked near the bridge on the castle side and walked over to Charles Bridge and back, stopping by a chocolate store David had told me about.

I walked up to the castle library exhibit at the cloister—it looked interesting—then climbed the tower and headed back down. I chatted with a nice Czech woman who studied anthropology in the U.S. and worked with Native Americans in Arizona. On the way down, I passed the music museum, which looked worth visiting.

Back across the bridge to the main square, I watched the astronomical clock at 8 p.m. It rang on the hour, and I videotaped the spectacle. Later, I had goulash and mint tea at Lolos before driving south along the river. The forest was smoky and full of barking dogs, making it tough to find a place to camp. I finally found a perfect spot on a plateau by a harvested field. Someone fired a gun in the middle of the night, which made me nervous, but at least the dog stopped barking after that.

The next day, I slept in and explored town and the castle. I had hot chocolate at Inoqie Café, then returned to Prague to find Kinsky Park and the summer palace ethnographic museum. After some searching, I found a beautiful house with a lovely exhibit on farm life, which I enjoyed from 12:30 to 3 p.m.

Then I went to the city center and the National Museum, where I saw a retro exhibit and one about Noah’s Ark focusing on animals and biodiversity. It was very interesting—kind of like an E.O. Wilson style presentation.

Next, I visited the square’s harvest festival, bought a top and a marionette, and enjoyed handmade crafts, a crepe, and bratwurst. I wandered through Old Town and found the Kinsky Palace, which is also part of the National Museum’s Asian art collection. I walked down a darkened street to see the old synagogue, which was very moving. I wanted to come back the next day to explore the synagogue and Jewish neighborhood further.

I bought marzipan and French nougat from vendors and then drove to Mělník. I looked for a green spot on the map and found a forest, but there was a barking dog and strange sounds like logging or explosions. The next day I realized I had survived the forest—those noises were probably some kind of explosions.

That morning, I drove to a nearby village and admired the dilapidated buildings. Then I headed to Mělník itself—a precious medieval jewel surrounded by ugly Soviet-era architecture. I parked and walked up to the main church, supposedly the oldest in Bohemia. The churchyard was full—the graveyard had run out of space during the plague. They had planned to turn it into a crypt for queens but never finished it. A stone inscription said something like, “Why are you here? Soon you will be.”

I visited the local museum, which had displays of baby cages, carriages, and some wine-making equipment. The castle was very interesting, especially the wine cellar and beautifully restored palace rooms. The current owner spent his own money restoring the place. Then I walked the castle trail and drove across the river to Hronovice, where another castle still stood but was in poor condition.

Next, I headed through the countryside to the National Palace near Tábor. Unfortunately, it was closed for the winter, but I walked through the lovely gardens with big trees. It made me think about Peter seeing redwoods as a king’s tree—here in Europe, only royalty had forests and large trees in their gardens.

Later, I arrived in Český Krumlov at 6:20 p.m., just at dusk. The skyline was pretty, but I noticed Soviet buildings just outside the medieval core—built in the 1960s during Soviet occupation. I went into the church and experienced a beautiful candlelit procession with singing and frankincense. The choir and organ were wonderful.

I wandered across the river to the gardens, took photos, and scoped out museums for the next day. I found a cloister where baroque and church music were being sung and played. They let me in for free. I bought a CD, received a standing ovation, thanked Zuzana, and promised to email her.

This part of the country—from Prague south, through the Šumava Hills and Bohemian Forest—is beautiful.

After more wandering, I got a wrap for dinner, found a quiet spot east of town on a small road to sleep, and listened to the wind in the trees all night.

The next morning, people walking their dog nearby woke me, but I told myself I’d get up after my trauma. The dog barked a lot—seems like a local territorial thing.

I arrived at the museum at 10 a.m. and stayed until 1:20 p.m. There was a lot to read about the town’s history, from Celtic times through to the post-Soviet era, including traditional costumes of Czechs and Slovaks.

By the time I reached the palace, it was closed for the day at 4 p.m., as I’d spent so much time in the museum and on the tour. However, I did see original documents, paintings, stove tiles, and archaeological finds from the castle.

I walked the palace gardens and pond, which were very pretty with water features. The restoration was impressive; photos showed how dilapidated and stark the watch room had been before refurbishment.

I then visited the Joseph Seidel House. Seidel was a photographer in Vienna and Prague who captured life in the late 1800s and early 1900s in this German-Czech border region. The house and photography studio were beautifully preserved. You can find more at Siedel.cz.

Reluctantly, I headed back to the car via winding lanes and the park. When I got there, I found a boot on my tire and a note. I asked someone to call the police, and after 30 minutes, they arrived and explained I had been parked in a crosswalk and had to pay 1,000 crowns. I told them I couldn’t pay because I thought it was 1,000 euros. I didn’t have enough cash, so they put me in the back of the police car and drove me to the ATM. People stared as I was driven away. The officer was kind, and I explained that I hadn’t seen the crosswalk and thought it was a parking spot.

Germany

I was excited to be visiting my friend Anne Thomas Ruecker in Kaufering, Germany, where she has been living since 1971. We had to work around her schedule, as she’d been in Scotland earlier that summer and later had house guests in August (including her sister Margie from California). We found a 12-day window in early September—though only 8 of those days would be together, since she had a reunion to attend on September 14. I arrived at the Munich airport on September 6, just a day before my birthday.

I had a bit of sticker shock buying my S-Bahn ticket—after getting used to $10 tickets for 8-hour train rides, I was suddenly paying $40 for an hour-long trip. The woman at the counter assured me it was quite economical. So, with a heavy backpack and side luggage case, I set off for Anne’s village.

Anne lost her husband Tom in September 2014 to Parkinson’s and dementia. Tom was a modern artist whose colorful palette included still lifes, nudes, and social commentary. I first visited them in 2010 and spent a month staying in their living room during a rainy August. It was a balm to my heat-addled nerves after three months in Turkey, where temperatures regularly hit 110°F. Back then, Anne was a full-time caretaker—cooking, taking Tom to appointments—though Tom still retained a degree of independence.

Anne’s father, John, had been a coworker and friend of my mom’s at SRI back in the late 1950s. During my childhood and teens, I used to sail with him on a Columbia 21 out of the Berkeley Yacht Harbor into the San Francisco Bay.

I stayed in Kaufering from September 6 to 19—twelve days total, with Anne from the 6th to the 14th. I borrowed her bike and rode into Landsberg, a beautiful medieval town about 5 km away along a tree-lined river path. One day we went to Augsburg to visit the new textile museum, housed in a former textile mill. The exhibits were rich with information about how the mill had functioned and produced linen.

One evening we went to a Bavarian singing event in the Kultur-Stadl (Stadl also means “barn” in German). There’s a tradition now in Kaufering called a Hoagart, where people come together to sing, play music, or just be together. I would’ve gone for the first time that Friday if it hadn’t been for my cold.

When Anne left for Tom’s college reunion near Stuttgart on September 14, I decided to go with her but arranged to stay nearby through Couchsurfing. I lucked out—a lovely young woman and her family hosted me. I ended up spending three days with them, going into town each day and returning to their peaceful home in the evenings. They lived in a tiny village of about 80 homes, surrounded by farmland and nestled along a river. It felt like getting a glimpse into an idyllic life.

Their mother didn’t speak English, so I used Google Translate to ask her how she felt about the recent Syrian refugee crisis, how it might impact her family and Germany more broadly, and to tell her a little bit about myself.

I drove to Munich, leaving at 7 p.m. and arriving around 9:30. Jennifer and Ralph had made ratatouille to order—they’d asked what I wanted. The next day, Ralph and I went on a 6-mile bike ride to the center of Munich. He showed me where Oktoberfest would be the following weekend, and we rode through Westpark. We had a nice fish meal in the city center, where all the beer gardens are.

I learned how to ask “Is this free?” in German and got a glimpse of beer garden culture—apparently, in Munich, if the gardens are crowded, locals will strike up conversations and be friendly. We went to the park and watched the surfers, then rode all the way to the other side. It was very crowded—lots of school and university kids hanging out before classes started. Everyone was outside enjoying the nice weather. Then we headed back home.

Jennifer’s niece, Lisa, came for dinner. I asked Jennifer about her career and was surprised at how parallel our paths had been—environmental waste management, programming, and so forth. We didn’t know each other well, but our paths had crossed several times in Sunnyvale.

The next day, Ralph and I rode to his clinic, then to the Schloss (castle), where we walked through the formal gardens and surrounding lakes—very pretty. Then home. Later, I drove to Tegernsee, arriving around 4:30 p.m. in Glaum. I parked and rode to Tegernsee and past it—loved it. I wanted ice cream but the shop was closed, so I decided to wait until the next day.

That night, I talked with Jennifer. She recommended Starnberg and a beer hall at a Schloss guesthouse. So the next day, around 11 a.m., I headed to Starnberg. Parking was impossible. I rode along the lake near the train station and ferry terminal, saw a museum, then reparked and went in. The museum covered villas, ships (starting with the Schloss), an artist who lived at the lake, and pilgrims on the Jacob’s Way.

Then I returned to Tegernsee, arriving around 3:30 p.m., cleaned the car, bought some food, and drove around the other side of the lake. I parked and rode again, wanting to swim but it was too late. I sat on a wall with some Germans who were practicing saying alcoholic drinks in English. I wanted to jump in, then rode up into the woods. I planned to come back another time to ride more. Got home around 8:30 p.m., met Ralph’s daughter, and talked for a while. She was staying for two weeks. They were getting ready to go to Paris the next morning—a six-hour train ride costing €30 each way, about the same I’d paid for an hour train ride from Munich airport to Kaufering, which is one-thirtieth the distance.

They woke early and left. I tried to sleep more, then made pancakes and eggs, packed lunch, and headed to Garmisch-Partenkirchen / Mittenwald. I crossed into Austria and walked the Mountain Spirit Gorge hike—lovely ramp above the gorge—then into Mittenwald. It felt touristy compared to Austria, so I explored a bit and headed home.

I talked to Pete Schorer and prepared for the next day. I slept in, and at 12:30 p.m. finally made it to the Bavarian Historical Museum (Saturday), after many detours around the city. It was raining hard, and I split a toe open. I stopped at a café for hot chocolate and chatted with a Brazilian from the south. Then I worked on my blog.

On Sunday, I took the car to Westpark and rode my bike to the costume parade route, but couldn’t find it. Police were clueless about the route; only one out of five pointed me in the right direction. I spent three hours watching horses, costumes, and bands.

At 1 p.m., I headed to Oktoberfest. It cost €7 to put my backpack in a locker for a few hours—what a ripoff. It was a circus, and I didn’t want to stay. My hands were turning blue from standing in the cold rain for hours. I tried to find the animal part of the festival, but there were only machines and farm equipment, and it cost another €5 to enter, so I turned back. I got yelled at for standing on a bench to warm my hands; they then made jokes about me to the other Germans. I’m sure I was branded a barbarian tourist.

I retrieved my backpack, rode back to the car, and headed to the museum, arriving around 2:45 p.m. I had two hours to see what I could. I started in the Bavarian house and dishes section—very beautiful pottery—then religious art, and finally ended up in the Baroque section. I didn’t see everything but lingered in a room full of desks with hidden compartments.

At 5 p.m., I walked through a park to the Kunstmuseum and learned about Hitler’s treasured art project. Then I walked down Ludwigstraße into the library, which had a nice exhibit on Bible writing and scribes. Afterwards, I visited the Rathaus and saw a lovely courtyard.

I wandered around, passing through the only part of Munich that hadn’t been bombed during the war, including a triumphal arch. Finally rain-soaked, I made my way back to the car—but had no GPS and got lost. I found a coffee shop called SF Coffee Company and asked if I could charge my phone or use theirs. The owner’s boyfriend, an Egyptian man, was very kind. We talked about how people perceive the US’s actions around the world. His girlfriend was Hungarian and very kind as well.

I waited for her to come with me and then used GPS, though it wasn’t working perfectly. I had to follow the green dot and stay on roads using a map.

Monday morning, I cleaned and made pancakes, then bid Munich farewell. I got a late start and arrived at Dachau at 1:30 p.m. I helped a young woman in distress stretch 500 euros cash and spent 40 minutes walking and driving her around. I was very moved by Dachau and resolved to return if I could.

Then I drove to Kaufering. Traffic delayed me, and I arrived around 7:30 p.m. I went for a walk, had dinner, and talked with Anne. Then I realized I’d lost my vitamins somewhere—very scary, as I might have left them on the street. I called Jennifer in a panic and asked her to look for a green duffel bag. Then I tried to forget about it.

A few hours later, I got a message saying she’d found it—such a relief!

On Tuesday, I decided to go back to Munich to pick up the vitamins and arranged to meet Ralph. I really like him—we had a good chat. Then I went to the Rathaus and arrived just in time for the Glockenspiel striking noon.

I then went to a Toni building and met two lovely women from Florida. We talked about traveling alone and shared stories. One had traveled and stayed in convents in Italy.

I walked around, soaking in that part of Munich despite the gray weather. The Rathaus had a lovely courtyard. I found some alleyways and nice streets near Leopoldstraße, then headed back to Dachau.

At Dachau, I visited all the outbuildings, religious monuments, and the crematorium. Then I toured the bunkers but still didn’t get through the entire exhibit. I ended at the section showing the medical experiments—injecting people with pus containing deadly pathogens, putting them in ice-cold water to study hypothermia, causing embolisms, and more. It went on and on. I couldn’t believe what those sadistic doctors were doing.

After Dachau, I went to Schloss gardens and walked around the old town, then to Landsberg. I walked until dark, had some ice cream, then went home. I talked to my mom late into the night but didn’t sleep well—my mind was full of thoughts about the elections.

We woke at 9:30 a.m., took showers, and had a major event—de-tangling my hair. After breakfast, we went to the Augsburg Textile Museum at 11:30 a.m. We saw demonstrations of cloth-making machines, from old to very new. I was frustrated that most of the information wasn’t in English. There was a special exhibit on carbon fiber upstairs—lots of high-tech stuff.

Then we headed to the Fuggerei and toured it. It was very interesting; I got more interested in the Fugger family. Afterwards, we went to the old town. I found Bertolucci Brecht’s house, but was told it was a different Brecht. There were places he hung out, many churches, and a palace next to the Fugger house.

We went to St. Ulrich and met a nice architect volunteer who spoke good English. The Fugger family was once the wealthiest in the world.

Then we visited St. Anna’s Convent and saw an exhibit on Martin Luther—very interesting, especially about indulgences. The exhibit was well presented but I was thrown out early. We went to St. Anna’s Chapel, wandered an open-air market closing at 6 p.m., then to the Rathaus. The gold lending room was also closed. Then to the Dom (cathedral), which was closed, but the garden was open.

I walked to the city gates and back, then found the Wiesel Fugger Museum about Augsburg families. I’d like to visit that next time, along with the archaeology garden on the same street.

I walked till dark, enjoying the area around the cathedral and a nice café. I bought some baklava from a Turkish woman in a pastry shop—very tasty. I was struck by her warmth.

I drove to Landsberg and stopped at a thrift store around 11 a.m., then headed to Steingaden and the nearby Kloster (monastery) around 1 p.m. Later, I drove to Füssen, parked near Lechfall, and walked to the old town. I visited the cathedral, a musical church, the castle garden, and wandered along the streets.

I started to drive up the Lechtal valley, looking for the Hängebrücke (suspension bridge) in Holzgau, but it was too far, so I drove past Wart and turned back. I walked around Swan Lake at dusk. Due to a detour (Umleitung), I got lost and had trouble finding my way back below Landsberg.

The next day, I returned to Landsberg at 10:30 a.m. and walked around the town from the top down to the main churches. I stopped for gelato at a chocolate shop and visited the salt works—though there was no water in the mill stream.

I went back to Augsburg again, visiting the Dom and the Fugger Museum. Then I stopped at St. Anna’s Chapel and read more about Martin Luther. Afterward, I left and drove to Nuremberg, arriving around 7 p.m.

The red-light district had a fair that evening, and I stayed to watch stage performances—magic shoes, dance numbers, a guy with paper costumes, balloon acts, and stunts. The humor was all in German but still very entertaining.

I found a spot to camp in the woods, but it was too close to roads, so the traffic noise kept me up all night. It was wet and cold.

The next morning, I tried to find an exit and met a mushroom hunter with a white basket. He said it needed to get warmer for mushrooms. I headed to town and found a tiny parking spot, then backed my car in.

While there, a guy waiting nearby scared me a bit, but it turned out to be nothing serious.

I visited a police museum in the castle, which covered the history of the Holy Roman Empire, money, and automats. I spent from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. there.

Afterward, I went to a farm market and a small village near a very quaint Schloss (castle).

I walked to Albrecht Dürer’s house and museum, learning about him and his contemporaries. I discovered that he had traveled to Italy.

Later, I went to Oktoberfest Street. I thought about staying for the evening performance but decided to head to Prague instead.

On the way, I saw a road sign for Amberg and parked there on Saturday afternoon. The walled city was very quiet.

I found the state museum for the next day and visited a Luftmuseum (aviation museum) exhibit. There was an open reception with a Japanese artist who did balloon art with philosophical writings. I talked to locals and met people from Regensburg who suggested I visit their city.

I stayed until 11 p.m., then found a forest nearby to camp quietly.

The next day, I went to a Schloss that was closed, but the museum was open. I spent time there from 10:45 a.m. to 2 p.m. Although everything was in German, it was interesting. The exhibits covered local industry—beer, ceramics, metalwork, kitchenware, ammunition, armaments, and iron production.

There was also a King Winter exhibit by Michael Praechtel, an artist.

I walked around town and visited many churches.

Then I went on to Regensburg, arriving at 3:30 p.m. I toured St. Peter’s Church and others, visited cloisters, and crossed the famous bridge. It was an amazing city, reportedly the best-preserved medieval city in Europe, with incredible Romanesque architecture. The Roman encampment wall was still standing.

Unfortunately, I missed the history museum and the ship museum.

I drove up the Regen River to Ramspau and found a nice forest. I then drove high up to the top.

The next day in Ramspau, I learned that a Kaiser was buried there in 1034. From there, I drove up the river to another castle and town.

Slovenia

As I crossed into Slovenia, the rain picked up, but I was determined to make the most of the day. My destination was the small town of Ptuj, known for its medieval old town and thermal springs. Parking was tricky, but I found a spot near the castle, which loomed above the town on a hill.

Inside the castle, I wandered through exhibitions of medieval armor and local history. The views of the Drava River and surrounding vineyards from the ramparts were breathtaking, even in the drizzle. The town itself felt quiet and peaceful, with narrow cobbled streets and cozy cafes.

I stopped for lunch at a small bistro, where the owner recommended a traditional Slovenian dish—idrija žlikrofi, little dumplings filled with herbed potato and served with a rich meat sauce. It was hearty and comforting on a damp day.

After lunch, I made my way to the Ptuj Thermal Spa. Though it was off-season and the outdoor pools were closed, I enjoyed soaking in the warm indoor waters. The steam and warmth were a welcome contrast to the chilly weather outside.

That evening, I found a quiet spot to camp near the riverbank. The rain had eased to a light mist, and the sounds of the water and rustling leaves lulled me to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to a clear sky and a stunning sunrise over the misty river. Refreshed, I packed up and set off toward Maribor, Slovenia’s second-largest city, eager to explore more of this region I was slowly falling in love with.

Maribor greeted me with bright sunshine and a lively energy that contrasted with the quiet calm of Ptuj. The city’s streets were bustling with locals and visitors alike, and I could sense a vibrant cultural heartbeat.

I wandered through the old town, admiring the charming mix of Baroque and modern architecture. The Lent district, right on the banks of the Drava River, was especially inviting, with its colorful buildings, quaint cafes, and the iconic Old Vine House. This vine, they say, is the oldest in the world — over 400 years old and still producing grapes. I couldn’t resist stopping for a glass of local wine, savoring the taste of the region.

After exploring the city’s small museums and parks, I headed up to the pyramid-shaped hill overlooking Maribor. The view from the top was panoramic—red rooftops, the winding river, and the lush hills stretching beyond.

In the evening, I joined a small group at a cozy wine bar, sharing stories with a mix of locals and travelers. The warmth of the people, the delicious food, and the smooth wine made me feel right at home despite being far away.

The next day, I continued my journey south toward the Slovenian coast, eager to experience the Adriatic Sea and the charming towns dotting its shores.

Driving toward the coast, the landscape shifted from rolling hills to Mediterranean vegetation—olive groves, cypress trees, and vineyards gave way to rugged cliffs and sparkling blue waters. I stopped first in Koper, a bustling port town with a lively market square shaded by ancient palaces and cathedrals. The salty breeze and seagulls circling above reminded me that the sea was close.

From Koper, I made my way to Izola, a smaller fishing village where narrow cobbled streets wound down to the marina. Fishermen were unloading their catches, and small boats bobbed gently in the harbor. I lingered over fresh seafood and watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery reds and oranges.

My final stop was the picturesque town of Piran, nestled on a peninsula with Venetian-style architecture and a maze of winding alleys. Climbing the hill to the old town walls, I caught a breathtaking view of the Adriatic stretching endlessly, the red-tiled roofs spilling down to the water’s edge. In the fading light, the town felt almost magical.

Before leaving, I explored Tartini Square, named for the famous violinist and composer born here, and enjoyed a final meal of local specialties in a quiet seaside café. The gentle sound of waves and the warm glow of lanterns made it a perfect end to my Slovenian coast adventure.

With a heart full of memories and a camera full of photos, I headed onward, ready for the next chapter of my journey.