Kyla and Nick Around the World travel blog

A statue of the Ark of the Covenant. Little do they know...

One of the 4 rivers that meet at Gyor, the City of...

Fishing on the river, before the ice comes... our last day without...

At the museum of history in Gyor. We felt the juxtaposition of...

Our host, Dr. Miklos Alexy, and us out for dinner, drinks, and...

Dessert - chestnut puree in spaghetti form.

Gyor at night.

"What's Hungarian for 'Where's our freakin' bus?'"


Gyor, or What's Hungarian for where is the freakin' bus? - Nick writing

We visited with Dr. Miklos Alexy in Gyor (or, Dr. Alexy Miklos in Hungarian, where the last names come first, which was confusing for us, especially where his last name could be a first name, and vice versa). He is the head of the neonatology department at the hospital, and provided great companionship around the city, and great conversation. It was a fitting end to our time in Hungary - the weather was grey, the beer was good, and the friendships memorable. But we knew it was time to leave for Bratislava.

If the city let us go. We had visited the bus station and the train station the day before, checking out the schedules. We were told that there was an 11:00 am bus to Bratislava for half the price of the 1:30 pm train. Great, we thought, the bus sounds perfect. So we arrived at 10:30 am, so that I could pace anxiously (and also because buses sometimes have a habit of leaving 5 or 10 minutes early in this part of the world). At 11:00am, no bus. At 5 after, no bus. I went to talk to the information counter, and was again assured that there was a bus at 11 am. At half-past the hour, Kyla went to the counter to try her luck.

This is the moment where Kyla turned into that traveller. Many of you know that traveller. We have always aspired to avoid being that traveller. When communication becomes an issue, that traveller believes they can smooth over any rough patches simply by raising the level of their voice, repeating the words "Bus" "Bratislava" and "11 o'clock" angrily, holding a watch up to the window, and gesticulating emphatically.

Didn't work.

The gentleman behind the counter kept saying that there was a bus at 11 o'clock, which clearly was not in tune with reality as we were experiencing it. However, we did not figure out a way for his reality and our reality to line up. (It turns out he most likely had an out-of-date schedule in his hermetically sealed time capsule of a bus station information booth.) We gave up, and went to the train station, where we caught an actual physical train, that transported us to Bratislava as advertized.

And Kyla didn't have to repeat any English words loudly to anyone.



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