Travel Weary?

It was one of those days today; I rolled off the wrong side of the bed. Groggy and dismantled, I KNEW today was going to be hell; I knew the only thing that could fix it was sitting around in my pyjamas, reading short stories, listenin to Ira Glass, and drinking warm, comforting drinks--but unlike all of the other times this feeling occurred, I was in Budapest.

This is not an ugly city by any means, filled with awesome architecture, huge churches, a major river, and fun people. Everywhere around me, there is something going on, things to see, places to be. Sensory overload, in some respect. I have dreamed all my life to come here.

It is just that I woke up on THAT side of the bed...


For 20 days, I have been travelling light, making my way to Istanbul from Italy and Greece, and then finding my way back through Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, Austria, and Switzerland. The trip of a lifetime, and man, I have enjoyed it; but something keeps telling me that I was going overboard. Travelling like this, one encounters many thoughts throughout the journey...

why am I doing this, alone? I miss home. I don't technically have enough money for dinner, but if I eat this meal, I can skip one tomorrow. What time does the train leave tomorrow? WHERE IS MY PASSPORT? oh. right here where I had it five minutes earlier. This whopper may cost 8 dollars, but, by the name of God, it is what I need right now!

But today was the product of too much. One too many touts asked me if I was interested in some expensive Danube boat ride which, of course, did not strike any interest today, yesterday (when he asked me the same question), and the day before (when I actually was lured on the expensive Danube boat ride (not)). I had seen one too many old buildings of which had no signification to me either because I am not familiar with the local history or because it is just another old building, in Europe. One too many terrace restaurants offered me AUTHENTIC hungarian gulash and paprika chicken for over 2500 hft. I walked out of my hostel today in a frenzy, and I went and plopped myself down near the market and got a coffee and CHILLED for about 2 hours. I was angry at the world.

After drinking my overpriced coffee and lemonade (all coming out to be about 1150 HFT (about 8 euros)), I went to the market and started freaking out at all the activity around me like a hermit who decided to go to anamusement park. I ran out the doors to the first business which seemed quiet to get my mind off of the situation:

a pool hall. I played pool all of my life, and especially after my Dad got the pool table. When I was young, I always loved to play pool and think about nothing else, especially on days like these. It was relaxing. I played about 10 racks all together, and just as I was regaining my former gumption, my credit ran out. After my time was done, I had gathered enough sense and strength to go back to my hostel and take an afternoon nap.

It was glorious.


Why is it that it is hard to be content when the dreams of your life are coming true? Is it that I keep turning my sight from God, almost ignoring the fact he is the one that gave me the means to go to Budapest? What would he have to say about the way I exit the bed in the morning? Would he be OK with the excuse lasting for the whole day?


I start my day anew at 6:00 pm, going to the royal parks and parliament building. I know my day will be different.