Budapest has received a lot of fan fare in recent years for its bohemian settings and casual expat culture. We got to experience a bit of this for the few brief days we were in Budapest. First, the city is divided in half and together Buda and Pest comprise the metropolis of Budapest, the river dividing them neatly in half. Beautiful bridges connect the two townships, making them one.

The older part of town and, incidentally, the side most tourists visit is Buda. In Buda you’ll find the old town citadel and the famous labyrinths that run beneath it. A sign informed us that the catacomb labyrinths beneath us were one of the seven underground wonders of the world. God knows what the other six are. We toured around the cathedral and admired the view from atop the hill in Buda, looking over the river and the steady development in Pest. Strolling around, Buda could be any beautiful city in Europe, with fashionably clad women and business-minded men briskly going about their day.

Budapest boasts one of the oldest metro systems in Europe. We decided to take the subway to check it out. Leather straps dangled from metal plates inside the cabins on the subway, while real glass windows let passengers look out into the beautifully crafted subway platforms of tile and mosaic. It was extremely impressive, and efficient. The subway connects travelers with bus and above ground train stations so that mobility in the city is easy.

Pest, where the city’s modernity begins to shine through, is where we stayed. Naturally, prices are cheaper in the peak season in Pest, and our campground was only a few Euro a night and nestled neatly into the middle of a public park. We jumped on the tram heading north to take a tour of the Budapest Torture Museum. Obviously not my idea, but I was along for the ride. I’m glad we ended up going, as I learned a great deal and someone has invested a large amount in the facility, making it one of the most in-depth museums I’ve ever visited. It happened to be free for people under 26 the day we arrived, so I got in for free while Mike, having forgotten his ID, decided to wait outside. Bill paid for his ticket (old man!) and we made our way up a flight of stairs to view a real Soviet tank in a small room that was comprised entirely of pictures of deceased Hungarians. The tour would only become more sobering as we went on. In all, we saw the cells where prisoners lived, the gallows where they died, the torture chambers, and several videos made from victims who calmly explained what went on in the building. Finally, we emerged from the building into the sunlight with a lot of information about the Soviet invasion of Hungary, and what that meant for the people of Budapest. I’d highly recommend the museum, but plan to be shocked. There is no “politically correct” concept when it comes to displaying text and images.

Back at the campground we managed to do a bit of laundry, stringing a line from the car to a nearby fence. We cleaned out the car (which was much in need of attention) and Bill did a once-over on the car checking the wheels, engine and poking his head around under the belly of the beast. All was in order, so we set off the following morning for Romania.

Needless to say, the entire convoy of people were now desperate for a shower and a few days to rest. We saw signs for Budapest and drove into the center of town. No hostels came up on Hostel World that were affordable and had safe parking, so just as we were debating jumping in the river with a bar of soap we got a text message from the Back flips and Summersaults team that had left the convoy in Czech. They had found a campground. We headed towards the park in the middle of town where the campground was. Taking a wrong turn into a parking lot, we made a three-point turn to get back on the main road. In front of us, the Face Race team was doing likewise. For some reason I saw the front left of the hood dip down and then Oly and Oli jumped out of the car and stuck their faces under the body of the car.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and had a drink of water. I strolled over to see what was up. I could not have imagined how terrible the accident was. Making a three-point turn isn’t something I consider a hazard to a car, but apparently to theirs’ it was. As I rounded the corner I could see that the entire front left wheel had snapped off at the arm. Corroded medal was flaking off from the weight of the car. “Jack it up so it doesn’t snap the other side.” I yelled, and ran to the trunk and helped them unload their gear. Oli jacked up the car as Rikki and the other Oly got in a huddle and decided on their next move. I suggested that we take all of their gear and head to the campground so that their car was empty when the tow truck arrived. We loaded down our car and after some careful maneuvering with Bill at the wheel and Mike and I navigating, we got our car past the broken down one without damaging anything in the parking lot. It was as we were ready to pull out that the next problem occurred.

A man and his wife and presumably one of their mothers exited the apartment building and got in their car…. Which was trapped behind the Face Race car. Because we could not move the car, and because these strangers drove an SUV, there was nothing we could do to help them. They called a tow truck and as Mike and I set off for the camp ground on foot, Bill drove the full car to the campground while Oli and Oly waited with the car.

We checked into the camp ground and met two other rally teams. I set up our tent and we set up the Face Race tent as well, filling it with their stuff from our car. Two hours later they returned in their car, having told us that the mechanic charged them 400 dollars to fix the wheel on the spot in the parking lot. At least they were back on the road and still in the rally. We all celebrated that fact with a toast and, since they were not in the mood to party after their 400$ repair, we retired early.

We arrived in Bratislava that evening after leaving Vienna. We heard it would be cheaper in Slovakia than Austria, but a quick consultation with Hostel World proved otherwise. We did manage to discover that there was a large camp ground near the city. We asked for directions and followed them….almost. Somehow we overshot the campground by over 30km! We turned around and headed back towards Bratislava. Before we could get far at all, however, angry clouds to the south started to swirl and bark. Having grown up in the Midwest, Mike recognized all the signs of a tornado about to touch down. Cool and warm wind whipped the side of the car and our pirate flag was whipping so wildly we thought it would rip right off and fly up into the black clouds. Slowly, a funnel formed from the largest cloud and it arched its way down to earth.  Our cars were racing along the highway back towards town but the sky was growing dark so fast and so suddenly that many of the locals were pulling off the road to wait it out. Recognizing that waiting in the path of a tornado was a bad idea, we forged on at full speed.

I pulled out the video camera and started filming just as the rain started to fall hard against the car. There is no sound on earth quite like heavy rain on metal, it comes down like bullets and lands with a thud for each drop. I yelled into the camera but the rain and wind was too much to be heard. I turned the camera around to the car behind us and although I knew it was right behind us, it was not visible.

Everyone was pulling over. Our radio walki-talkie buzzed and the Face Race team said they were pulling over. We kept on ahead for several more minutes, eying the clouds. The funnel had touched earth and played around in the field as if just interested in picking sunflowers and swallowing them whole. Not being a meteorologist, I’m not sure why the tornado retracted back into the cloud when it did, but we watched it retract its fingers full of flowers and disappear. The rain continued for several more minutes and then abruptly stopped. Once it was clear again we easily saw the sign for the campground (we had zoomed right past it!)

We bought one bungalow for all 6 of us and then we all headed towards the showers. There are few things more wonderful than a shower after a long stint of camping. My joy was cut short as the water was ice cold and lasted less than one minute. With shampoo in my hair, I pushed the button and nothing happened. I kept pushing it and eventually a small stream of water trickled out. I rinsed off as best I could then went back to announce the lack of water to the group. Groans went up from the masses of angry, dirty ralliers so we grabbed a few coins and headed to the bar. At one Euro a beer, these were the cheapest prices we’d seen yet. We grabbed a few drinks and a meal on the camping compound and it turned out to be a very nice evening.

In the morning, we packed up and headed east towards Budapest. But on the way out of town we saw something that caused our two car convoy to screech to a halt. A giant wooden chair sat on the side of the road, no signage or explanation. We, of course, tried to climb on it and failed. In case you were ever wondering, we think Bratislava holds the record for world’s largest chair.

With our small caravan, we made progress slowly. Having stopped for food, for water and for gas and bathroom breaks (all at separate times for some reason) we eventually lost one of the cars in our convoy, the Back flips and Summersaults team, which had farther to go that evening and wanted to make haste. That left our team and the Face Race team, which sped things up a bit. We reached Austria as it was growing dark and decided to pull over and camp.

We were on a major highway with sunflower fields on either side as far as the eye could see. A dirt road up ahead was all we needed, and at the first sign of one we jumped off the road and drove several kilometers away, weaving around fields as we went. Eventually we settled on a place that was on a hill, but relatively lower than the high ground around us. We set up our tents and pulled the cars into the field. The Face Race team, being British, pulled out a soccer ball and set about in a small game which we eagerly joined in on. We cooked dinner and hung out into the evening. The day before in Prague another team had given me a strange toy. It was a piano with a drum set mounted on it and a techno beat player. We set that up and took turns playing DJ on the strange device. It took up so much room in the car, but it was too funny not to keep.

In the morning, we packed up and had a light breakfast before hitting the highway towards Vienna. We easily found the center of town and paid for parking. Walking off into the labyrinth that is Vienna, we quickly stumbled into the center square with the cathedral. It had been a while since our last Breakfast Beer, so we ordered up a round and sat outside the church watching horse-drawn carriages pull tourists around the city as they snapped pictures and consulted their guide books. We enjoyed the respite and although the waitress eyed our dusty group with a wary eye we all paid and walked off to find food.

The hunt for food turned out to be epic. Finally, King Rikki (so called because of his love for fine things) found us an affordable place to have schnitzel and fries. I hadn’t had that since my youth, so it was a nice treat. We walked around town a bit more before heading back to our cars. A wave of relief hit us as we turned the corner to find our cars still there, everything on the roof rack still in place. Another day without any major problems! Perfect. The two Olis and Rikki boarded their car and we did likewise, pointing it east to Bratislava.

The Bone Church is roughly an hour outside of Prague to the east, which was great for us since east is the general direction of Mongolia. The caravan now had about five cars, and once we finally reached the Bone Church we found a few other rally cars already parked outside. We paid our minimal sum to get in and then all stopped as our jaws dropped open.

The bone church was erected prior to the black death (plague). As people were dying off at an extremely quick rate the general feeling towards death was altered to be a casual and inevitable occurrence. People started to think about their own deaths and what they wanted done with their bodies. Its all a bit morbid, really. Cemeteries were filling up quickly and there simply wasn’t room or time to deal with everyone. People paid to have their bodies kept in crypts under the churches, essentially mass graves in dark cellars.

Long after the actual plague ended, a private family bought the church and discovered the crypt full of human bones. They hired a designer and allowed him to renovate the church using human bones as decoration. From the center of the room dangles a chandelier that the artist boasts has every bone in the human body. The family crest hangs on wall, made entirely of bones as well. Strings of bones, like one would make with popcorn for the Christmas tree, hung from the ceiling in all directions and in all four corners of the room stood huge piles of human skulls that were about nine feet tall and ten feet wide, and not hallow.

The ralliers filled the church and started walking around quietly at first. Eventually, people just get used to being around strange things regardless of what they be.  A room full of bones becomes simply the room you happen to be standing in at that moment and ralliers gathered in small groups to talk about their routes, or tell stories about what had happened to far to them on the trip. At one point I watched a young woman not associated with the rally put her finger into an eye socket while her friend took her picture. Later, one of the ralliers said it was hard for him to imagine they were ever real people, which explained why he could take pictures of himself smiling in front of a pile of skulls. Humans are a strange animal.

After the bone church we stopped at a local supermarket to fill up the trunk with food for the long haul ahead. One of my favorite things about traveling is shopping for food in foreign countries. Whole chicken heads in a jar, or even boiled eggs mixed with mostly-developed chicken fetus line the shelves in some places we’ve shopped. Czech had fairly normal food, but it was still fun to look around. I bought a tub of meat paste which ended up being gross (who knew?) while most people bought ramen, soda and water. It was a strange thing for the teller to see a whole row of dusty, disgusting ralliers holding food like precious cargo.

We set off with two other cars in convoy to Vienna, having said our goodbyes to the Aussies and a few others.

If you are going to get hopelessly lost driving in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language and can hardly read the signs, then Prague isn’t a bad option. We managed to join a small convoy heading into Prague from the Czech-Out Party and, after purchasing the required highway road-tax sticker we headed into the city. We also managed to lose the entire convoy and get ourselves so far off track that we found ourselves being laughed at by locals in the gas station who shook their heads and finally, in a great show of pity, showed us on the map how far off course we were.

We finally reached our destination—an elementary school that is used as a youth hostel in the summer to raise extra money. They had a secure car park (hence why we picked that hostel) and were central enough to be convenient for seeing the town. We unloaded our stuff into holding cages for security which prompted the even more valid question as to why an elementary school would have cages on hand. Afterward, we ran out to meet the folks who we lost in convoy. They never made it to the hostel, instead they pulled over at the first place they found for beer and the problem solved itself when it ended up being a hostel.

We went out to see Prague in the fading light and caught a tram to the center of town where amazing European architecture greeted us, and throngs of people milled about trying to sell various objects or lure our large group into their restaurants. Fireworks were going off in the background for several minutes so we watched them erupt over the steeples of the central cathedral. Dinner was a quiet affair for Mike and I; we had passed a Chinese restaurant that looked authentic so we ate there while the rest of the group had western food at a rather expensive restaurant on the square. We rejoined them for a beer and then walked around the square, under the arching towers and around fantastic structures. Finally, we caught the tram back to the hostel and slept well, our first real beds in a long time. I guess I don’t need to say how much the showers were needed and enjoyed after several days camping.

In the morning we packed up and ate breakfast at the hostel. Three young men in another rally car were packing up so we introduced ourselves. They turned out to be the Face Race team composed of Oly, Oli and King Rikki all from the UK. We discovered we were doing a similar route all the way until Kazakhstan so we decided to convoy. Before heading out, though, we had heard a rumor of a strange church composed of human bones. We decided to call the other convoy and caravan to the church.

It was early evening when we finally pulled into Klenova Castle’s mighty camping area. It was not an easy sight to miss because the rolling green hills surrounding the castle were covered in rally cars with tents set up between them. Sprinkled throughout were ralliers dressed up to match the theme of the party—Jules Verne, the ultimate adventurer.

We parked our tiny red car near the Aussies, whom we’d met at Goodwood and the rally launch, and quickly set up camp. Before the tents were even up we had people tossing booze around and a great huff went up to find a bottle opener for the wine. We finished setting up camp and put on our costumes– which consisted of British boiler hats and scarves. We’re not that imaginative, it turns out.

The gates opened at 7pm, so we headed up to the castle to see what treats beheld us there. Already a woman on stilts was amusing people with her hoola-hoop, and a giant was ushering people over for pictures. Another entertainer was a flame thrower and juggler, and they walked around the tents impressing people (amazingly, no tents caught fire!).

At the gates of the castle we were met with an even stranger sight, two men dressed as soldiers barred the gates. “No booze inside.” This suddenly explained the huge throng of people milling about with beers. We opened our wine and set up near a tree to finish our drinks and head inside. We were slightly above the entrance on a hill and from that vantage point could see everyone as they came up the hill. There were mostly men at the party (mostly men in the rally, also) and they came up the hill in drag. Almost every male in the area was in a bikini for some reason, although a few had more inspired costumes. I snapped pictures (no one here will ever be able to run for office, that’s for sure) and eventually a small group had converged with us to watch the party unfold. Two Canadians, an Aussie and a few Brits milled around with us, drinking merrily and talking about the upcoming adventure. Spirits were high and everyone was jovial, it was going to be a fun night.

Eventually, we headed inside. A line  near the entrance indicated free food, so we jumped in. Free lamb, kielbasa, salad, bread and all manner of other delicacies awaited us. It was delicious and the most food we’d eaten since our friend in London took us out to a fancy Lebanese dinner. Free gin was provided, and we learned Brits have cucumber instead of lime in theirs Gin Tonics. Odd people, those Brits.

Music kicked in, and we found chambers of parties all around us. One den in the castle for hip hop, one for blues, one for rap, for dance music, etc. We watched the main stage for awhile– three women dressed as sailors singing Russian pop songs– and then chatted with people around us, including Mario and Luigi look-alikes and a group of people in Borat neon-green thongs. Don’t ask. I found the dance tent and set about showing those Brits how it was really done. Mike, who never dances, even joined the party as we did the robot as a group and then salsa dancing to Eminem rap. It was completely dark when we left the dance tent.

Back at the campground we found a nearly nude man laying in the field. He couldn’t see so we helped him to his tent. “do you know which one is your tent?” I asked. “it’s the green one” he said. I pointed at a few green tents with a flashlight and eventually he crawled in one. Satisfied, I headed to my tent only to see him come back out of the tent some ten minutes later saying “I don’t think that’s my tent!”

In the morning, I unzipped my tent to find a disaster area. People had bottles everywhere, trash was in piles, people had made camp fires near their cars, and some still smoldered. Whatever genius organized the rally had only two porta-potties for all of us (200+ people) so they were not usable, and the water tanks had long since emptied. The castle was closed. We packed up, cleaned up our area and hit the road with a few other teams heading to Prague. It had been an amazing party in the hills of Czech, and certainly renting out a castle gives you mad street cred.

Having spent a great deal of my youth in Germany, my ten year absence made me wonder what would have changed since I graduated high school there at the beginning of the millennium. What made it all the more exciting was that this time around I was old enough to drive! We set a course for Heidelberg, and drove through the countryside in relative silence looking out the window. Stores I recognized passed by the window, and once again street signs in a language I could read were a real comfort having left France and Belgium in our wake. Nostalgia floated in and I daydreamed about the six years I spent in Germany. We set up camp in Heidelberg that night at a campground directly on the Danube. Somewhere in the hills behind us, church bells rang and the hills on either side of the river displayed proud, traditional German homes. The air was clean and easy to breathe.

We awoke early and had to get a move on in order to make it to the party in the Czech Republic that night. We strapped everything to the roof and set off to Nurnberg, only a few hours away. Having driven little on the trip thus far I decided I really wanted to drive the autobahn as we ventured towards my old stomping grounds. I am still learning to drive stick, so it is a bit more involved than simply putting on a seat belt and pointing the engine end forward. I got the hang of it after a few minutes and enjoyed the drive, Audi and BMW cars zipped past me with annoyed looks, but I wasn’t phased. Even if I’d wanted to go faster, our little Citroen Saxo can’t muster more than 60. That’s why they have the slow lane.

Nurnberg is a beautiful city, one I used to visit on the train from Parsberg. This time, coming in via road, it was totally different and I was disoriented. Nevertheless, we found an ATM and in the distance I spotted something of extreme value and interest. I wasn’t sure I’d seen this mirage correctly, so I paced quickly ahead. I let out a wild scream and turned around to see Mike and Bill standing shocked behind me on the pavement. “Weinerwald!” I yelled, and they agreed to have lunch at one of the best German chain restaurants in the country. We ran in, and I videotaped and took pictures of the food, then ordered and waited giddily for my food. What a treat, and I’d heard all the Weinerwald shops had been closed since we left ten years ago.

From there, we set off on a detour to Britenbrunn, my old town. We found Parsberg and I noticed how much larger it has become. Britenbrun was no different. The old military families were no longer there and a civilian German owned our old house. She was there so I talked to her briefly, but she wasn’t amused to find a car full of Americans, covered in stickers and flying a pirate flag, in her driveway. I took a few snapshots and told Mike and Bill about my time in the house and in the neighborhood while they looked out the window at the town.

But, with time running short, we had to jump back aboard and head to the Czech Republic, flag flying high and flapping in the wind at 50mph on the autobahn as sports cars zoomed past.

Crossing into Luxembourg was an exciting experience, and the car filled with wild cheering and hollering as we officially left Belgium. Few places inspire you to exit more hastily than Belgium…. Perhaps Belarus, from what I hear.

Anyway, there was an instant change when we entered Luxembourg. There were tall, handsome evergreen trees lining the road, which was black tarred and without imperfections. The first town we came to looked like a movie set, with perfectly matching paint and trim on every house, so that it looked almost pre-planned. The hedges were groomed perfectly, and there were signs clearly marking the way. An earthly utopia might closely resemble Luxembourg.

Meanwhile, the people were highly intelligent, friendly and eager to chat. Having decided to look for a relatives of Mike’s gravestone, we headed into Mersch. A quick stop at the gas station (immaculate, by the way) proved Luxembourg deserves the hype. I whipped out some German I hadn’t used since High School and in complete style I smoothly asked how to get to the cemetery. The woman behind the counter blinked at me, not understanding and in the background a small peep made me turn to see a girl stocking the shelves. I walked over and she introduced herself in English, without even the slighted accent. She could have been from Pennsylvania, which in fact was somewhat true since she had done a study abroad there in her youth. Her English was perfect and she helped us pick out food, microwaved it for us in the gas station kitchen (yes, you read right… it was THAT nice a place). I asked her how to get to the cemetery (the town being so small there being only one) she gave us directions that added to the charm of Luxembourg. “You go down the road to the left, past a strange dragon and a castle on the right, and then the church will be behind that.” I was eager to see this strange dragon and castle, so we finished our lunch and said goodbye.

At the church, we easily found the cemetery and walked between the tombstones looking for the family name. It was not to be found. We were looking for someone in the late 1700s but all the markers were new. I asked where an older cemetery might be, but no one knew. This was puzzling, and we never did find an answer. Perhaps they simply build atop older graves? Disturbing thought. More likely there was an older church elsewhere with its own cemetery, but with limited time in Luxembourg we decided not to drive around the hillside looking for it.

Sadly, we had to make hast to the Czech Out Party, so we didn’t linger in the graveyard once it started to rain. Instead, we jumped in the car and discussed what could have happened to the older graves.

Luxembourg is a small country, but not without extreme charm and excitement. Of all the places we’ve been I’m most eager to return to Luxembourg and Bosnia & Herzegovina. We drove on through wooded streets and immaculate highways until we eventually entered Germany. Only a country like Luxembourg could make Germany seem disorganized in contrast.

After the official launch party and race around the Goodwood track, we set off toward Dover to catch the ferry to France. We made a few wrong turns here and there and eventually made it to the ferry a mere ten minutes before they loaded up the car, along with a few other rally teams and their modes of transportation. The ferry ride was short but sweet, and we were eager to put some miles on the car once we hit land. There was no passport check or customs in France (we had heard there would be) so we drove right out of the bay and easily found the highway. Having bought a European atlas on the ferry we were now prepared to see what Europe had to offer us.

Our original plans called for a trip to Paris, but with limited time until the Czech Out Party, we decided to book it east and see Brussels instead. First mistake. Here I will insert a brief note about Belgium. When I was in high school we had an away sports game in Belgium which I had been anticipating with excitement for weeks. When we finally got there, we lodged in Formula One, the cheapest hotel I’ve ever been in. I’ve stayed in some real dive hostels and hotels in my day but nothing has ever seemed as vile as the F1 hotel in Belgium. From the carpeted hallway you step up into a closet full of water. Your weight forces the floor down a goof half a foot and the water drains. That is the shower…. A hallway closet that only drains if you stand on it. Essentially you step into someone else’s used water. In the morning we had Belgian waffles, which were disgusting and soggy like wet cake. Belgian beer was no better and Belgian chocolate was also crackly and flakey. Everything we tried to do in Belgium sucked, and since that failure of a trip in 1999 I have always been firmly against another Belgian exploration. But, since neither Bill nor Mike had been we decided it was the best option.

Here is how Belgium still sucks. We got into the country and immediately a smell struck that was like rotting carcasses. We could find nowhere to change money. We eventually found a camp ground and discovered that it was where poor folks lived rather than an actual hospice. We were too tired to care, and in the morning random strangers walked past our tent to get a good look and put in a scowl. We set off into Brussels and got massively lost. Suggestion Belgium, street signs! We got so turned around that eventually we decided to just forget it and get the hell out of Brussels. Good move. Our brief visit to Waterloo hours later was more interesting. We saw the fateful battleground and even the Lion’s Butte mountain. We toured the Waterloo museum and the nearby memorial church with stones thanking and commemorating foreign soldiers for fighting in the battle of Waterloo. We were lost a few more times before we hit Luxembourg, and once we officially crossed out of Belgium we let out a collective sigh of relief.