A long weekend

We had last Monday off work in honor of a so-called Ski Break. Seizing upon the opportunity presented by our friend Tara's school's ball in the small town of Máriapócs, we headed out early on Saturday morning for eastern Hungary. The morning started rather inauspiciously, with the ticket agent at Nyugati totally misunderstanding us and selling Lyla and I three tickets rather than two. Luckily, we managed to argue with her fervently enough that the situation was resolved, even if I think I may have been ripped off a few thousand forint. Oh well. Onto the train and into a nap.

The first stop of our trip was in Nyíregyháza, where we were supposed to change trains. Of course we missed the connection, so we wound up wandering the town for two hours, taking pictures of the colorful buildings and admiring some random, Disney-themed ice sculptures. We headed back to the train station with plenty of time to spare so that we could buy the rest of the tickets for our weekend. Of course, things wound up taking twice as long as they normally do, with the woman disappearing for several minutes with our card and choosing to slowly write the ticket rather than use the computer because "it's nicer this way," and we wound up sprinting for the train, tickets clutched between my teeth.


When we arrived in Máriapócs, Tara was waiting for us with her colleague Ildi, who gave us a lift into town. The rest of the afternoon was spent in a bit of sightseeing. The town is a pilgrimage site for Greek Catholics, and there is a large (naturally yellow) church. We also sat in front of the miracle that is TV, watching music videos and ski jumping. That evening it was across the street (God, how I envy the commutes of the people in the country-side!) for the ball, which started with adorable performances by the children and ended with Unicum. And that's really all I have to say about that, I hope.





The next morning it was up early, and we were ferried to the train station by Tara's school's principal's son's girlfriend. This sort of thing happens in the countryside, and it's fantastic. They waited for us by the snow-covered train stop until the 30-km-per-hour train rumbled up. This time in Nyíregyháza we managed to catch the next train properly, and we were off to Püspökladány. If you can pronounce that correctly, you get a cupcake. There, I forgot my hat on the train (thanks, purple hat, you served me well), and we ate hamburgers in the snow. Finally the train came for Oradea, and we hopped on. Crossing the border, we caused a bit of a ruckus, as one guard mentioned to the other that there were 2 Americans and the other guard answered with an incredulous "Tényleg?!?!" Really?! I do love when that happens. We also had the normal but still startling experience on both the Hungarian and the Romanian side of the guard saying "Moment" and then walking off the train with our passports (I assume to stamp them...?).


Finally we arrived to Oradea (formerly known, and still known to Hungarians, as Nagyvarád). We walked across town to our hostel, only to discover that it was closed. We had booked a room, so we were a bit upset. Luckily, the dude working at the bike shop across the courtyard called the owner for us, and the owner was able to recommend another hostel that he said should be open. So we walked across town again, waited an hour for reception to open, and finally checked in to a hostel that was part of a Hungarian religious cultural center. It was also lovely, more like a hotel, and costing more like one as well.



By this point we were tired and rested for awhile, watching some horrific movie on TV (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0387541/ Here is the description, and if you ever have the chance to watch it, don't miss out, because it was bizarre and hysterical all at the same time). Then we headed out for a walk, admiring the city, and some dinner.


The next morning it was up late, with more walking and admiring of city, unfiltered beer, good tea, and almost being eaten by a bear dog next to the old citadel. As standard for Romania, I also fell in love with a friendly street puppy and only resisted bringing him home because I know my landlady would kick me out.








In the late afternoon we headed home, discovering in the train station that the slow ticket agent had sold us the wrong ticket. Luckily, the ticket checker did not seem to care in the slightest, because I had my arguments, incredulous statements, righteous anger, and tears of shock all ready. But it's always good to not have to employ those. We came home rested and relaxed, with another stamp in the passport, a continuing love of Romania and country-side Hungarians, and another city that we've wanted to visit explored. Not a bad three days all together.