Blissful relaxation
I am in love with my bed.
Really and truly.
I have been sleeping here better than I have since I arrived in Europe, and naps are again a part of my daily life.
Sadly, I leave tomorrow.
Though, through a twist of Hungarian train pricing fate, I may come back through here. [It was significantly cheaper to buy a return ticket than it was to by a one-way ticket.] Not likely, but a possibility.
This is a tiny place, perfectly suited to the foggy and drizzly rain of the last couple days. Since I still only have my poor, battered jean jacket, as soon as it gets more than slightly damp, I'm on my way back to the hostel so it can dry out. I found a Barbara Kingsolver novel on the bookshelf (Prodigal Summer), so I've been blissing out on her use of language and the story itself. I'm not a Nature Girl, but I'm so taken with the story I could even consider spending a summer in a Fire Lookout or in a rural town.
Maybe.
Aside from the new, nosy, American girl in my hostel room (her and her boyfriend(?) return to the room while I'm reading, we all say hi and do our own, quiet things. When I finish a chapter, discover my jacket is dry and start preparing to go out, it goes something like this: her: where are you going? me: to check email and eat. She says nothing more, and it's worth mentioning neither of them introduced themselves. 98% of the time, I really and truly dislike coming into contact with other American travellers -- especially young (under 30) ones), everything is really wonderful here. I'm blissed out on excellent sleep, I've taken some lovely photos, I've visited the graveyard on the hill, I've managed to not twist or break my ankle on the many uneven steps up to the citadel (and the internet cafe) or on the uneven, very old cobblestone streets.
Now, it's time to decide where to eat dinner. I'm favoring going to the Restaurant Dracula, even though my guidebook says the food is only mediocre.
It's in the same building/house that the man later known as Dracula, aka Vlad the Impaler, was born.
I just don't want to eat blood sausage or blood pudding...
Really and truly.
I have been sleeping here better than I have since I arrived in Europe, and naps are again a part of my daily life.
Sadly, I leave tomorrow.
Though, through a twist of Hungarian train pricing fate, I may come back through here. [It was significantly cheaper to buy a return ticket than it was to by a one-way ticket.] Not likely, but a possibility.
This is a tiny place, perfectly suited to the foggy and drizzly rain of the last couple days. Since I still only have my poor, battered jean jacket, as soon as it gets more than slightly damp, I'm on my way back to the hostel so it can dry out. I found a Barbara Kingsolver novel on the bookshelf (Prodigal Summer), so I've been blissing out on her use of language and the story itself. I'm not a Nature Girl, but I'm so taken with the story I could even consider spending a summer in a Fire Lookout or in a rural town.
Maybe.
Aside from the new, nosy, American girl in my hostel room (her and her boyfriend(?) return to the room while I'm reading, we all say hi and do our own, quiet things. When I finish a chapter, discover my jacket is dry and start preparing to go out, it goes something like this: her: where are you going? me: to check email and eat. She says nothing more, and it's worth mentioning neither of them introduced themselves. 98% of the time, I really and truly dislike coming into contact with other American travellers -- especially young (under 30) ones), everything is really wonderful here. I'm blissed out on excellent sleep, I've taken some lovely photos, I've visited the graveyard on the hill, I've managed to not twist or break my ankle on the many uneven steps up to the citadel (and the internet cafe) or on the uneven, very old cobblestone streets.
Now, it's time to decide where to eat dinner. I'm favoring going to the Restaurant Dracula, even though my guidebook says the food is only mediocre.
It's in the same building/house that the man later known as Dracula, aka Vlad the Impaler, was born.
I just don't want to eat blood sausage or blood pudding...
posted by Shana @ 12:16 PM
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