Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Chinese Migration Business and Global Conquest

Chinese Migration, Business, and Global Conquest

"Chinatown is not a place where the Chinese run to to take shelter from the locals; it is a place that they build up to keep the locals from getting to them. . . and I can say that it is very racist; they don’t like to inter-mix."
-From an interview that I did with Toney Leong, an overseas Chinese in India, on November 16, 2006.

Overseas Chinese in India

At the Four Tigers market in Budapest, my imagination was stricken by the stories of these Chinese immigrants whom, at least from those that I had spoken with, were right off the boat from their native land. They came to Hungary as a part of the mission that the Chinese have been practicing for hundreds of years: to be covertly at the forefront of every economic surge on the planet. A clever investor only has to look at the number of Chinese immigrants in a given city to know of its potential for economic success.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The foreign Chinese tend to not live in dead cities, and they jump upon the boom towns like ants on a befallen scoop of sidewalk ice cream. I would bet anything that a timeline of global capital and investment patterns would be nearly identical with that of Chinese migration.

I do not know how they do it, but if you look at early incidences of mass economic expansion - from the west coast of the USA, to the east of India, to southeast Asia, to Latin America, to the Silk Road, to the recent economic explosion that is taken place in their own country - Chinese traders and laborers have been present at nearly every modern investment boom.

Follow the Chinese and you will be OK.

But this new wave of Chinese immigration seems different than the ones that proceeded it. The Chinese who are now emigrating seem, at least from my conversations with the Chinese in Budapest, to be coming from the north of China. This is in stark contrast to the historic pattern in which Chinese immigrants came southeastern provinces. Perhaps this is because China has opened up, making it much easier for these groups to set up businesses in other countries? Maybe this is because many of the social factors that pushed the Hakka and Cantonese to travel are not as present in contemporary times? Or maybe it is because there is a huge pot of plastic and tupperware gold in China that can easily be sold all over the planet?

At first appearance, it seems as if the Chinese emigrated because China was a poor, feudal country that did not have the necessary resources to fend for its population. But on further insight, it seems to me that the Chinese have always been very opportunistic travelers. In an interview that I did in 2006 with overseas Chinese in India, I was told that " . . . the Chinese first began coming to India to fill the British military needs for high quality leather products. As most native Indian communities have a strong taboo against producing and using leather goods there was a vacant niche that the Chinese willingly filled." It seems as if Chinese migrants are still filling vacant niches all over the world, and are setting up shop in other countries because China is wealthy and is now replete with resources that can be shipped across the globe. These are resources that - in many cases - can be better tapped from abroad. In point, it seems as if the Chinese are emigrating not because they have to, but because they know that they can make more money abroad by continuously bringing the contemporary resources of China to new parts of the world. The Chinese have become masters at import/ export trade and have taken their grassroots small business network global.

It seems to me mildly ironic, but China is becoming monstrously wealthy off of simple, petty, insignificant, and cheap business in foreign lands. The goods are made in China, purchased from China, shipped through Chinese means, distributed by Chinese warehouses in foreign countries, and then sold in Chinese owned shops. All the while money is ever being filtered back to China.

Chinese goods are cheap, and people the world over like cheap. China is also a culture that works on the premises of Guanxi - connections - and, therefore, the flow of these goods are often kept within the bounds of Chinese communities. From Wikipedia: "Guānxi describes the basic dynamic in personalized networks of influence, and is a central concept in Chinese society." -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guanxi

In point, China is now an economic beast with more than 40 million arms in over a hundred countries. The Chinatowns of old are now rekindling communication with the motherland, and are becoming exceedingly wealthy for the effort. China, in turn, now has sizeable social and economic settlements in nearly every city on planet earth.

"Name one city on earth that you have been to that did not have Chinese people?" a university professor once asked me in Costa Rica. I could not answer in the affirmative. In nine years of travel, I have seen the bobbing black heads of the Chinese everywhere.

In part, China's former desolation and emigration pressures has now amounted to a culture that has the potential to be the most powerful, influential, and widely dispersed that the world has ever known. Kurt Vonnegut once wrote a fictional story in which the Chinese took over the world by making themselves shrink to the size of microbes. When they first began the shrinking process, nobody really took much notice as they were small and mostly kept to themselves. But they then slowly infiltrated and took control of every political and economic sector on the planet. I am laughing at the sci-fi overtones of these words, but, in many parts of the world, the Chinese have spread their cheap junk like a microbic cloud.

The Chinese invade with population. It is my impression that Tibet cannot now be liberated, because the majority of its population is Han Chinese. "We are a minority in our own country," a Tibetan refugee once spoke to me through tears (Seekers of Refuge in a Land of No Return). Yes, bring democracy and self rule to Tibet, and you will just confirm and vindicate the rule of the Chinese. Tibet is now Chinese: to liberate it would necessitate action on par with ethnic cleansing. Xingjiang, Guangxi, and Yunnan do not seem to be that much different. I was told by a Chinese professor that every school child is still taught the old Maoist songs of how China aspires to take over the world. The lyrics to the song starts out with China claiming Tibet and Taiwan, and then moving across the world taking over each land sequentially until they finally claim the United States of America.

Once the USA is conquered the song ends with the Chinese being the victorious captors of planed earth.

I hesitate to say this, but I think that there is a certain amount of truth to this little song. I can remember many conversations that I have had with people in China in which they seemed to take if for granted that China and the USA will come to blows, and China will reign victorious. The matter of fact way that these conversations are spoken initially left me aghast. From my experiences, the notion of global warfare seems to be burnt into the cultural consciousness of the Chinese much like how people in the West take it for granted that a human induced apocalypse is inevitable.

China still believes in manifest destiny.

They are a proud culture.

By the mandate of heaven.

But if there is one population on the planet that I would approve of furthering its influence, it is the Chinese. The people learned how to work; they learned how to eat bitter; they know how to fend and provide for themselves and their communities; they know the value of retaining a strong cultural identity. Now, after a few twists and turns of history, the Chinese are collectively becoming the richest and most powerful people on planet earth.

A billion pennies adds up to ten million dollars.

Further reading:
Overseas Chinese in India
Chinese in India

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Travel Guitar
Hostel Life in Budapest
Bomb in Budapest

Chinese Migration, Business, and Global Conquest
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Travel Guitar

Travel Guitar

A reader named Seth left me some good words in a comment or two so I followed the backlink to his website Etribe.com and was impressed by what I found: instructions and schematics for building your own travel guitar.

http://etribe.com/guitar/index.html

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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 30 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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"I envision a distributed production network where each person can build as little or as much of a guitar as they please, with minimal tools, and be compensated somehow through an online guitar/parts/bank, in either finished guitars, parts for guitars, money or other medium of exchange."

-Seth from Etribe.com http://etribe.com/guitar/vision/index.html


These travel guitars are small, hollow bodied, light, do not have a headstock, and could easily fit into a rucksack. I have met many travelers who bind themselves down with big and bulky full scale guitars. I look at them and think about what a burden it must be to carry around something so large and unweildy, which invariable occupies the use of an entire hand and arm. Likewise, I also meet many wanderers who say that they would love to be able to travel with a guitar if they were not so bulky and large. It is my impression that Seth's little travel guitars may be a good alternative to both scenarios.


Photo of the Etribe.com Travel Guitar.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Hostel Life in Budapest
Bomb in Budapest
Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest

Travel Guitar
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos *

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Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Hostel Life in Budapest

Hostel Life in Budapest

"To be free, you had to be alone, always, everywhere, and above all amongst people. . . Wandering and alone in a world in which he could always stay unknown, Orschanow was really free. He thought and acted as he wanted to, and no one could pretend to control his thoughts, since all he needed to do was to leave, at the first clash of views, and set off on the road again."
-Passage from Isabelle Eberhardt's Vagabond

A new group of people, another late night, 4 AM drunks trying in vain to find their beds, odd smells, international youths watching American sitcoms, me sitting in my bunk typing words, and the oft-occurring mystery of beautiful women making love to not so beautiful boys in bathrooms.

Hostel life in Budapest.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I sit up in my dorm bunk like a bird perched in his nest. I can look out into the common area at strange looking strangers glued to the TV or I can look at last-night drunks with next-morning faces. These people will soon be gone from me, as if they never really existed at all.

Perhaps they are all just figments of my word scrawling, manic daydreams.

I can say anything, do anything, think anything, and if someone does not approve, I can just wander on to the next town or to the next group of people. Freedom from social obligation is one of the aspects of travel that I love most. I can be anybody.

But choose to be myself.

I can do anything.

But choose to do good.

The Open Road leads us to where we choose to go.

Whether we know it or not.

Budapest Hotel Accommodation

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Bomb in Budapest
Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest
The Lying Swede Portrait of a Misanthrope

Hostel Life in Budapest
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Bomb in Budapest

Bomb Leaves Budapest Evacuated

15,000 residents were evacuated from a 1km radius in downtown Budapest earlier today due to the discovery of a two ton WWII bomb buried beneath the wreckage of a recently demolished mill.

"It was found after a mill was demolished in which people had worked for decades without knowing what was down there," Tamas Bansaghi, deputy mayor of the affected 9th district of Budapest, told Reuters.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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Unaware to area residents, the two ton explosive laid fully active beneath the building since the Allies' bombing of Budapest in WWII.

"I lived right next to that building for four years and I had no idea that there was a bomb inside of it," one evacuated resident told Vagabond Journey.com.

Due to the possible threat of explosion, police removed 15,000 residents from their homes and transformed the ninth district of Budapest into a virtual ghost town. Specialists are expected to be diffusing the bomb well into the night, as it is planted under concrete deep in the ground and cannot be easily accessed.

Meanwhile, area residents will remain without access to their homes. But they remain hopeful, as one man related to Vagabond Journey.com, "We are happy that this was a WWII bomb rather than a Cold War one, because at least we do not have to worry about a nuclear explosion."


Schematics of the bomb that was found buried for more than five decades in the heart of Budapest.
Taken from http://index.hu/politika/bulvar/bmbfrc7679/?p=1

Police barricade that surrounds the sixth district of Budapest. Photo by Vagabond Journey.com.

Evacuated residents unexpectedly caught out of their neighborhood. Photo by Vagabond Journey.com.

Bomb diffusion specialist working on the bomb. Photo from http://index.hu/politika/bulvar/bmbfrc7679/?p=1

-Reporting by Wade from Vagabond Journey.com, playing journalist and having fun

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest
The Lying Swede Portrait of a Misanthrope
Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com

Bomb Leaves Budapest Evacuated
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest

Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest

"I want moon cakes!" exclaimed Kaitie from the Loft Hostel. "I want moon cakes!"

When Kaitie says that she wants something, she means it. A trip to Chinatown was in due order.

I have lived and traveled in China for a long time, but I cannot say that I had any idea what in the world a moon cake was. Kaitie told me that they were from the Middle Kingdom, so I pooched up my Asiatic authority and stoutly pretend to know what she was talking about. She then invited me to put my expertise to use and join her on a mission to the Chinese Four Tigers market in the eighth district of Budapest. I, of course, could not decline such an invitation, and at the word "Chinese" and my head automatically entered into a fit of frantic nods and I probably even jumped up and down in excitement. Simply put, I am longing for China and anything Chinese here in landlocked Europe.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 29, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The simple leafing through a National Geographic China Special Issue has sent me into a mania for China that nearly shipped me off for the far side of the globe a few days ago. I love that country, and it is my favorite place on earth. Any exposure to anything Chinese makes me frantic with deep feelings of Romance. So I gathered up my tea thermos, put on my boots, and ran out the door bound for Budapest's Chinatown.

Photo of the entrance of the Chinese market in Budapest, Hungary. Photographs and cameras were highly prohibited, but I took some anyway, and only had one minor altercation.

This mission for moon cakes included Kaitie, her boyfriend Cliff, Samoan - a tall, model-looking girl from Perth who is the younger sister of some famous Australian actress - and myself. We went out into the streets and jumped into a crowded city bus and rode out to the Chinese/ Turkish district of Budapest. We grew excited when the bus route began to leave the huge stone buildings of Old Budapest behind for the shanties and slums that make up the market grounds of the Asian district.

The Chinese market was proportionately sized to the country that is its namesake: It was huge. The market stretched for over a mile on both sides of a road and stretched away from it at least another quarter on each side. Within the market were, yes, Chinese people. I feel oddly at home in large groups of Chinese. I tried to quickly assemble and rekindle my knowledge of Mandarin.

I speak Chinese decently. I studied in Hangzhou at Zhejiang University for two semesters and for another semester with a private tutor in India. But I learned to really speak the language while hitchhiking across China from Mongolia with Loren Everly in the summer of 2007.

Chinese people playing cards in Budapest's Chinatown.

As our group approached the first little Chinese food market in search of moon cakes I did not assume that Mandarin - or Putonghua- would be understood by the girl behind the counter. Most Chinese in Chinatowns across the world either speak Cantonese, Hakka, or have forgotten Chinese all together and just speak the native tongue of the region they immigrated to. My Mandarin has never gotten me too far in Chinatown before.

When Kaitie began trying to explain to the counter girl what she wanted, I intentionally hung back to avoid jumping into a potentially embarrassing situation. I did not want to speak what sounded like Chinese in front of my friends and not be understood. So I let Kaitie try first with English. But the Chinese girl gave her a little attitude and I became slightly annoyed. More than any other people in the world, I refuse to be disrespected by the Chinese. So I jumped in and asked the girl if she spoke Mandarin. She understood my Chinese and said that she did. In my rashness, I had committed myself to explaining something that I had no clue of in a language that I have not spoken in over a year. I did not know what a moon cake was or what they even looked like, so I asked her if she had anything that was sweet, sort of like bread, and made from lotus seeds - which were the attributes that I guessed that a moon cake should have. She looked at me like I was nuts. I felt nuts, and added to this feeling by pulling up my shirt and showing the girl the big tattoo of a lotus flower that spans across my stomach. I then asked her if she had bread from the seed of this flower, while pointing at my exposed belly.

She thought that I was really nuts now.

So I gave up my assault and asked her if she knew at all what I was talking about.

"Bu Zhidao," she said while looking at me a little sideways.

I gave up and said goodbye to the girl as we went to look for another store. She just laughed at me and returned my zaijian politely.

Group of Chinese men at the Four Tigers market in Budapest.

The next store had a nice looking Chinese girl behind the counter, and we fell into an affable conversation. At Kaitie's prompting I again tried to explain what I thought a moon cake was. The girl understood Mandarin as well, and said that she did not have what we were looking for. I then flaunted my Chinese a little more as we told each other where we were from and that I had traveled and studied in China.

I was in my glory.

Budapest's Chinese market.

Chinese underwear for sale with a Chinese man looking at them.

Kaitie then seem to grow disheartened at our fruitless search for moon cake, and we all just walked around the market looking over the illegally imported Chinese goods being sold by illegally imported Chinese women. Knockoff jeans hung next to knockoff sunglass which sat next to knockoff watches, and the vendor women wore knockoff scowls. I cannot say that tourists are made to feel welcome here. But plastic junk abounded everywhere, which Kaitie and Samoan shamelessly delighted in, while I shamelessly delighted in surprising shop owners with my unexpected linguistic knowledge.

Samoan - from Perth - posing for glamour shots in Chinatown.

I was surprised that so many of these Chinese traders were speaking Mandarin. They were straight out of the north of China, and spoke a standard Mandarin that was crystal clear and free from dialect. I haggled for cheaper prices just to speak Chinese, and they became annoyed with me.

I was in my glory.

Now that I am back in Anglo-Budapest, my mind is ever more in the clouds of Asia and China. I smile because I have an end of the rainbow to travel to. I smile because I know that I can go to "China" in any country of the world.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
The Lying Swede Portrait of a Misanthrope
Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com
Loft Hostel in Budapest

Chinese Four Tigers Market in Budapest
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Sunday, July 27, 2008

The Lying Swede Portrait of a Misanthrope

The Lying Swede or The Portrait of a Misanthrope

The lying Swede told me that he had won satori over the philosophical hurdle of Care and looked upon life with complete, unencumbered Indifference. Indifference, as far as I know, is the western equivalent of Enlightenment. He then began explaining to me the ways in which he was Indifferent. I asked him why he was bothering with explanations if he were really so indifferent. He understood and flashed me a smile and I laughed a little. Society, friends, talk, and a late night hostel room full of Middle Eastern girls, a big Norwegian, and Hungarian wine always brings a man back to the feral world of men.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 27, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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"I was Indifferent before I got to this hostel," he corrected himself in a half-ass manner.

The Lying Swede was a misanthrope.

I travel the world in search of people like this 22 year old Swedish poet who studied philosophy in a button-up white shirt, a sweater vest, and an indrawn twinkle in his eyes. The Lying Swede lived more within than without, and, as with most men who have cultivated their inner selves, his interactions with other people were not smooth.

The night grew long and myself, the Lying Swede, a big Norwegian, and three Egyptian/ Lebanese/ Canadian girls were getting drunk off wine while playing Erik the Pilot's card game, up the river, down the river. We soon found that our words touched upon philosophy as soon as our tongues were lubed with booze. A powerful set of minds were assembled around me at this table - the Middle Eastern girls were law students, the hulking Norwegian an engineer, and the Swede was well versed in Heidegger, Kierkegaard, Khayyam, and other men who wrote words to dispel The Word. We went at each other with squeals, smiles, laughs, and sneers. We were going deep, and the Lying Swede was taking the talk seriously- this was his forum. The world met around this table, as it should (but rarely does) in a backpacker's hostel.

But it all exploded when the Swede looked directly across the table at the Lebanese girl who brilliantly squashed one of his arguments, and told her that he would like to put her in a concentration camp. I have heard many people say many things to people before, but I had never heard anyone say this before.

I laughed at the philosophical jest, and everyone else joined in. The Swede sat calmly.

Earlier in the day, I found the Lying Swede walking the streets of Budapest and joined him.

"I tell lies," he told me.

"I know," I told him "but I like lies."

"I don't."

He then smiled a little and we talked of the Road and writing and publishing writing as we passed city block after city block. The Lying Swede spoke in the serious, dead-on way of his country men. I have always admired how a Swede could calm a man with the simple tone of his voice. He talked steady, slowly, quietly, though very direct, and made me respond in kind. I found his way of talking curious, as he seemed to believe in his words to the point that he could melt away an entire planet and only leave himself standing. His sincerity trapped me into listening to his every word intently. He believed in what he said and in himself, as if his world consisted of only one man.

I am of the impression that it did.

I also took notice that girls were really drawn to him, but he looked upon them with the same absense of regard that he seemed to pay to the rest of superficial human interaction. I mentioned this to him and he just shrugged his shoulders. He had no interest in women.

A couple days before, the Swede and I met at the kitchen table of the Loft Hostel. He greeted me with a simple "Hey" and I chided him for offering such an American sounding salutation. He laughed a little and told me that he was studying the Gypsy people of the Balkans and was writing an essay on them. I opened up the conversation a little more and questioned him about his experiences, as I myself, at one time, put a good deal of study into the ethnographic record surrounding the Romani. The Lying Swede spoke with slow and solid sincerity but his words on this topic lacked much significance.

He then told me of how his mother was Iranian and that his family was Muslim. The Lying Swede was blonde with blue eyes, and looked in all and every regard Swedish. I enjoyed his story though, and realized that he romanticized etnicities that were not his own and seemed to wish minority status for himself- perhaps in an attempt to further draw himself out of the ebb and flow of society, perhaps to make himself as unique as he believed himself to be.

"I feel bad for the Gypsy people," he said, and later admitted that he wished to be Romani.

I could sympathize, for I also once held far away visions of having a cultural backing that was not my own. I once thought that I was traveling to find my people. Maybe I still am.

I liked the Lying Swede. He was proud, thought himself brilliant, and had eyes full of Romance. He dreamed far away dreams.

He also wrote words.

And told lies.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com
Loft Hostel in Budapest
Around the World Travel to China
Hennessey Hammocks


The Lying Swede or The Portrait of a Misanthrope
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Saturday, July 26, 2008

Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com

Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com

For the past two months I have been traveling very cheaply through some of the most expensive cities in the world by trading internet pages on Hobohideout.com for free accommodation at hostels and hotels. I have been traveling so cheaply, in fact, that I would be starkly surprised if my expenses average out to $8 a day - and this amount includes the occassional bout of late night fun.

In point, by wiping out the cost of accommodation, travel in Europe becomes cheap and accessable to any traveler who is willing to work. Anybody can make hotel pages on Hobohideout.com; any traveler can make these accommodation trades and move about the world comfortably with hardly a dime to their name.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 26, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The mission of the traveling webmaster program is to assemble around 25 travelers who are willing to work a couple hours each day in order to greatly reduce their travel expense so they can keep traveling farther, further, and longer. The traveling webmasters program is for travelers who will do anything that the Road requires to keep on keepin' on. Hobohideout.com is a site made by travelers for travelers, and henceforth presents a Way for wanderers to move about the planet on very little money.

I took advantage of this graft, and I must say that it is a good one.

I am asked all the time how I afford to keep traveling for so long. One of the main ways that I have the money to travel is that I do everything that I can to not spend money. I have learned the simple skills of restraint: I have learned how to have fun and really enjoy places without having to pay for it, and I know that it is far easier to save $20 than it is to make $20. I also know that if I want to keep traveling that I need to perpetually keep my ear to the tracks for new ways to reduce the cost of travel. When Andy the Hobotraveler.com proposed that I begin trading Hobohideout.com pages for accommodation earlier this year, I heard a roaring train coming in my direction.

In point: I saw that train, and I got on it. Trading these internet pages for accommodation has now rolled me across Guatemala, the Czech Republic, and now Hungary.

The first time that I went around to hotels on the Hobohideout graft was earlier this year in Guatemala. I was unsure then if I would be taken up on my offer. Andy reassured me that most hotels are willing to jump at a free promotion, and will usually offer a traveler a room to do so. So I tried it, and Andy was proved correct. The hotels in Guatemala took me in with open arms and showered me with praises when their Hobohideout.com sites were completed. They were happy because their hotels received good, free promotions, I was happy because I received a good, free rooms, and Hobohideout.com benefited from receiving good content.

I do not mind working in my travels. By actually earning my keep enables me to regularize my life as I move about the planet earth. It is my impression that being a tourist on a never ending quest for hedonistic pleasure gets a little dry after a while. I have done this before, and it did not make me feel fulfilled. To make my travels worth traveling I know that I must work, least my muscles will wane soft and my mind will falter from inaction. I feel strongly that work and projects are a neccessity for the long term traveler.

The traveling webmasters program provides a way for travelers to earn their keep on the Road.

For more information on becoming a Hobohideout.com traveling webmaster go to www.hobohideout.com/webmasters or email me directly at vagabondsong@gmail.com.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Walk Slow,

Wade

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Loft Hostel in Budapest
Around the World Travel to China
Hennessey Hammocks

Travel Cheap with Hobohideout.com
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Friday, July 25, 2008

Loft Hostel in Budapest

Loft Hostel in Budapest

"The job of the staff of a hostel is to make the guest feel at home. To do this, I make sure that I, myself, feel at home. So I put on music and light incense."
-Kaitie from the Loft Hostel in Budapest

I walked into a stone-old building in the downtown heart of Budapest and up a stairwell that had obviously seen the passing of many men and knew the beat of time. Gloom and doom were adjectives to describe my entrance into the ages-old residential building that houses the Loft Hostel, but upon walking in through the hostel doors all shrouds of melancholy rapidly dispersed. As I was again in the presence of friends and in a hostel that was as bright as a smiling day.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 25, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I knew that the Loft Hostel was a good place when I met the owner and staff at Poets' Corner Hostel in Olomouc, Czech Republic. I quickly befriended the receptionist Kaitie as she adored my smoking pipe and flask full of cheap Czech rum. She called me manly, which had the effect of making me blush shyly in a very unmanly way. She then reassured me that she also has balls and that she is a tough New Hampshire woman who could fell trees and build cabins with hands and elbow grease alone.

Or at least this is what I imagined her capable of doing.


Well Kaitie then introduced me to the rest of the Loft Hostel staff. There was Cliff, her redheaded crew-cutted saving grace of a boyfriend and a young Englishman by the name of Tom. Tom wore a big black cowboy hat, was from the Isle of Man , admitted to being inbred (as is all of his fellow islanders), and perpetually wore an ear to ear school boy smile. He owned the Loft Hostel

I gave them all the Hobohideout wrap and they agreed to give me a week in their hostel as a trade for putting them up on the site. This was a real Ace in the hole, as there would be no way that I could afford to shelter myself in Budapest without trading Hobohideout.com pages.

Nearly a month passed since I saw the Loft Hostel bunch in Olomouc, but I was welcomed as an old friend as I walked through their door in downtown Budapest. Luke the Fruit Pirate (aptly renamed Ass Pirate by Kaitie) preceded me to the Loft, and I was given a bed next to his. I then put my gear away and laid down upon the bed and basked in the good graces of friends.

I have now been at the Loft Hostel for five days listening to music in the smoke of incense and good company.

I am now putting up the Hobohideout.com pages for the Loft Hostel and enjoying the hostel living. Which means late nights, cheap wine, sleeping next to idiots, talking to good people from around the world, picking up pieces of new languages, wild talk, bad jokes, funny smells, no privacy, odd looks, and getting to know people that I will soon leave if they do not leave me first.

Hostel living.

But the Loft Hostel is good, though it is a Hostel World Hostel and has a predominately Hostel World crowd. It is in fact the highest rated hostel in the city of Budapest.

They have me here in hopes that Hobohideout.com could bring them in more hobos and travelers than tourists with backpacks. I too, share this hope.

*If you are interested in trading internet pages on Hobohideout.com for free accommodation go to, Hobohideout Traveling Webmasters.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Around the World Travel to China
Hennessey Hammocks
Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language


Loft Hostel in Budapest
* Travel Blog Directory * Vagabond Journey.com * Travel Photos * Travel Questions and Answers

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Thursday, July 24, 2008

Around the World Travel to China

Around the World Travel to China: an Excercise in Patience

Some reckless soul in the Loft Hostel in Budapest left a National Geographic China Special Issue laying out upon a table. I was immediately drawn to it, and opened it to find my own love of East Asia boiling up within me. Every morning I have to grit my teeth and bite my tongue to prevent myself from making a manic jump to Japan, Hong Kong, or China. Each day, in the lull of my thoughts, the sweet smells of the East arise to meet me. I try to suppress these feelings, as I know that if I did not do so I would never travel anywhere else in the world beyond the great Buddha arch that runs from Japan to the north of India to the Mongolian shrub-lands on its way back to Japan. My very soul travels this route every night in dreams, and I awake with the vibrant taste of East Asia in my mouth.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 24, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I love China. I love it's grit, I love it's grim, and I love it's slippery market floors drentched in blood and vegetable guts. I love the obnoxious floresent lights of Chinese cities at night and I love the wind the blows through the dusty noman's lands that lay forgotten by the even the Chinese themselves. I love in China the same qualities I hate in the rest of the world: factories, shopping complexes, loud men blowing snot rockets and chain smoking in trains, young girlfriends throwing temper tantrums at their young boyfriends, city traffic, the black "dust" that clings to ever stationary surface, the noise, and the squalor of slums. I love China and I do not really know why.

But I know that there is an entire world out here that I want to live out and learn from. East Asia always lays at the end of my rainbow - it is my pot of gold - and, therefore, I know that I will arrive there at the terminus of this journey around the world. My love for this always far off land can only ripen as I slowly creep across the globe, ever getting closer and closer.

Temple in mountains of China.

I looked through the pictures of the fields, mountains, peasants, factories, and shining-light cities of China in the National Geographic magazine, as the splendors of the antique white-man land that I am standing in seeme to shrink to a measly pulp. It is funny how contrast has a silly tendency to belittle the present. I tried to ignore these feelings - I tried to find interest in the landscape of Budapest which stretches out before me like a stone cold universe. But my mind, instincts, and intuition have already packed for the East. I knew that this would happen soon enough.

Today it is raining in Hungary's capital. It is the kind of rain that keeps people inside of walls and behind doors, the kind of rain that seems to have nothing else to do other than keep raining all day long. The sky is dark and the city darker. Days like this make me want to run. I am restless. So I went looking for airfares to Turkey in a lustful effort to jump these few remaining Western hurdles that lay in my Path to the East. I saw a sign in front of a travel agency that offered a $200 ticket to Istanbul. In more modest times, I would have thought this an expensive price to pay, but now it was a feast to behold. But what to do about my bicycle? What to do about riding east? Would I pack the bike on a plane? Do I really just want to fly over Romania and Bulgaria? Do I really feel like bothering with walking into a travel agency, booking a ticket, paying for it, going to the airport, being raped through security, and sitting on a sterile airplane full of sterile people just to do what my own legs can do on their own (if given the proper amount of time, of course)?

I am on a Vagabond Journey Around the World. Do vagabonds fly in airplanes?

I quickly grew tired of thinking and just returned to the hostel feeling as comfortable as a rainy-day, soaked-wet alley cat. I did not bother going into the travel agency. It is difficult for me to remain in a place when I want to leave. I tend to go at the first urge of going. But I am learning patience, and staying put through these sporadic urges is good training for the mind. I listen to my intuition always, and I am being told to sit tight and enjoy this excercise in patience. It is my head -not my Heart - that is telling me to run.

Europe is wonderful, but Europe is about friends. I have friends here in Budapest - good people, too - but something about the city seems as hard as the stone it is etched from. I feel as if I cannot penetrate this place.

No, I feel as if I cannot step out of myself here. My walls of introversion have become as hard as these streets that I walk upon, as unpliable as the great stone walls that I sleep within. For some reason I am not breathing air deep down into my gut here, but am rather taking in short, shallow breathes. The Loft Hostel is good, but I am a private sort of person. There is no privacy in any hostel, and constant contact with people makes me want to take flight and hide for cover. There is nowhere for me to abscond to.

"Too much contact with people brings conflict, hatred, and attachment. To rid myself of inner conflicts and hatred, I must walk."-Japanese poet monk Taneda Santoka

So I abscond in my mind alone and think and dream of China and East Asia, and curse the damn photos in the National Geographic that threw these images back into my face just as I was settled and comfortably traveling through Eastern Europe. China is like an old dirty friend that has worked its way deep into my heart, history, dreams, and life. I like my dirty friends.

But I shall not be flustered by such flights of mind and memory! I shall not fall victim to impulse overriding true intuitive discipline and go rushing off to another land before I have even begun to taste the one that I am standing in! I have done this far too often in these 9 years of travel. Throughout this time, my Path has been wrought with global zigzags, jumps, sputters. Now I feel as if I want to carry through a continuous journey around the world from West to East.

Always moving East.

I watched a girl cook pea soup in the hostel yesterday. She cooked and cooked and tasted and added more ingredients all day long. Seriously, she made pea soup for like four hours. She cooked that damn soup until it was cooked perfect - until it could be cooked no more. She had patience to make the soup exactly as she wanted it. Then she enjoyed thoroughly the spoils of her labor to supreme delight. Every time I looked at her for two days she had her face stuffed into a bowl of pea soup, ever enjoying the sustenance of what took so much patience to prepare.

Likewise, I will watch as the landscape and people - as well as myself - gradually cook, as I patiently move from West to East; ever and always taking in the entire Path between the flip-sides of planet earth.

As I slowly boil my big pot of pea soup.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Hennessey Hammocks
Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language
Postcards from Around the World
Bicycling to Budapest


Around the World Travel to China: an Excercise in Patience
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Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Hennessey Hammocks

Hennessey Hammocks

Rode into Budapest a few days ago and met up with Bicycle Luke. After a week and a half apart where I just plodding and pondering over his Hennessey Hammock, I figured that I'd have him unfurl it and show me what it is made of.

What follows are photos and descriptions of the Hennessey Hammock:
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 23, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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The hammock is first tied up to a tree or another support similar to any other hammock. Then you tie in the lines and adjust to the length you want it to be.

This is the Hennessey Hammock when it is initially unfurled. "It is like a ship's sail," spoke Luke about how you open the hammock.

Once you have it tied up and unwound you can open it up and get in. The weight of your body automatically closes the opening, so you are defended against insects from the mesh that extends over the top of the hammock.

Photo of Luke unwinding his Hennessey hammock. You simply wrap it up like a sail when you want to pack it out and then unravel it when you want to sleep. The whole process only takes a matter of minutes.

A photo of the Hennessey hammock ready to be used.

Luke demonstrating how to attach the rain slip over the hammock. The "roof" of the hammock is but a piece of fabric but it connects to the main body with clips. It seemed as if it would really withstand the force of a rain storm, and Luke says that it does just this. He recently spent two days tucked up inside this hammock in rain showers north ofBudapest.

In all, after inspecting the Hennessey Hammock, I think that they are a useful piece of travel gear. But there are other options. Andy the Hobotraveler.com just recently left a comment on one of my previous entries - Hammock Tent as Travel Shelter - about how he has a similar set up but just uses a Thai hammock with a mosquito net slip, and a rain poncho over it.
I like the idea of assembling low cost multi-use pieces of travel gear rather than sending $200 on a Hennessey Hammock that is specialized to the point that it's uses are limited. For example, you can use all of the pieces in Andy's rig seperately: You can use the hammock as a hammock, the mosquito net as a mosquito net, and the rain poncho as a rain poncho. You can then, if you choose, easily assemble these pieces all together to assemble a hammock set-up that is similar to the Hennessey.
But the advantage of the Hennessey Hammock is that all of these pieces are already put together and ever ready for use as a tent shelter. It is also light weight and compacts into a small package. If camping outside is the modus-operandi of your travels then perhaps the Hennessey Hammock could suit you well.
I am still thinking it over - $200 is a lot of money.
Hennessey Hammocks
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Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language

Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language

To travel the world cheaply I know that I need to learn basics of the local languages of every country that I intend to wander in for a considerable amount of time. I figure that if I wish to remain in a country for more than two weeks it is well worth the time and effort to learn how to hold basic communication in the dominant tongue of the region. In point, if I cannot ask the price of something or understand basic number words, I am hanging at the mercy of every shopkeeper and market merchant that I have to deal with. If I cannot barter for food, say yes, no, thank you, please, that is too expensive, or get away from me, then I am basically Vegetable Lasagna floating in a sea of otherwise competent humanity. To speak is to be human.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 22, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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I was in a market the other day and I picked up 10 eggs and three tomatoes. I went to pay for them and the vendor named the amount owed in Hungarian. I could not understand what she said, but I figured that the price should have been around 350 to 400 Forint, so I paid with a 500. When I only got 10 forint change I was slightly taken aback, as I believed that I should have received more. But the vendor quickly moved on to the next customer, and I was left tongue tied. As the amount of money in question was rather negligible, I just left the shop without protest. But I burned inside and vowed that I would immediately learn the Hungarian number words and a way to protest higher prices.

So I did, because I know if I want to travel the world cheaply that I need to live like the local people as much as possible, and this means speaking the essentials of their language. If I want to travel and only speak English, then I need to pay for this privledge.

I do not like paying for anything.

I have found that if a traveler can say just a few words and phrases in a local language they can become a little more “human” to the countries they travel through and be treated with far more respect and basic dignity. To travel as a deaf-mute is to be treated as a deaf-mute.

I find myself to be, all too often, a deaf-mute (or Vegetable Lasagna).

I don't like it, so I study language almost everyday. I am still, more or less, oftentimes Vegetable Lasagna, though I am Vegetable Lasagna with the linguistic ability to at least feed myself, shelter myself, get to where I want to go, and prevent against being blatantly ripped off. I have found that to learn how to say and understand enough language to basically care for myself does not really take too much effort or time. A few words and phrases go a long way.

Basic words and phrases to learn in any foreign language:

1. Numbers - I think that numbers are the most important thing to learn to provide myself with the ability to fend for myself.

2. Commerce phrases - "What is the price?", "Too expensive", "Not correct"

3. Greetings - "How are you?", "Nice to meet you", "My name is", "What is your name?" I find that being able to speak greetings make people laugh at you in appreciation that you took the time to attempt to communicate in their language.

4. Yes and No - Knowing these words make for a lot less confusion in all aspects of travel.

5. Food names - Important if you want to eat at cheap restaurants and cannot read the menu or if there is not a menu. Though you can always just walk into the kitchen of a restaurant and point to the food you want prepared for you (though this is a real vegetable lasagna move).

6. Basic directional nouns - I have found that being able to say "bus station", "train station", "hotel", "hostel" etc . . . coupled with "where is?" while pointing to the cardinal directions is sufficient to get around in a country where I cannot speak the language. A simply noun, a confused pointing in random directions, a "where is?", and a blank look on your face is good enough to provoke someone to point you in the right direction (or in what you hope is the right direction).

If I can get these basics down, then I know that I can get around a country with little linguistic difficulty. I find that it only takes around a week of comfortable study and practice to do this.

So now I study the Hungarian language (it really does sound like a horse-man tongue).

Hungarian number words:

1- egy
2- ketto
3- harom
4- negy
5- ot
6- hat
7- het
8- nyolc
9- kilenc
10- tiz
100- szaz

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Postcards from Around the World
Bicycling to Budapest
Notes from the Czech Republic

Cheap Travel Means Studying Foreign Language
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Monday, July 21, 2008

Postcards from Around the World

Postcards from Around the World

To the dear readers who recently made contributions to Vagabond Journey I would like to let you know that I have sent you out some postcards from Gyor, Hungary. I thank you.

At the request of a reader - Motorcycle Bob - I recently began accepting contributions of $10 - "1 day of travel" - for the simple reason that, as of right now, my financial fractions are not constant. There is a leak in my pool of travel funds and it is not being filled up as fast as it is draining out. So I put up a little link on this blog and on the pages of Vagabond Journey.com to accept small contributions from readers. In return for a "1 day of travel" Paypal contribution, I send the contributer a postcard from wherever I may be in the world with a little note that shows my appreciation.

I really do appreciate it.

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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 22, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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Someday I think I will be able to make up the $10 to $15 a day I need to keep continuously traveling the world and writing about it, but that day is not yet today. I have not done too bad for myself so far - or so I think - and I actually make up a modest portion of my bean money through advertisements on Vagabond Journey.com and writing the magazine pieces. But as I look down the Road I see a point where my pool will be drained dry if I do not up the flow of my income now.

I have no intention of becoming wealthy off of this (the very notion of wealth makes me chuckle a feral sort of giggle), and my final intention is to make the much coveted ten to fifteen dollars a day that will allow me to keep traveling. I think this amount is possible to come by if I keep working hard at this website and travelogue. When I first began publishing on the internet with the intention of supplementing my bean money with internet provisions, I decide that I would give myself two years in the venture. I figured that I would work hard at internet publishing for these two years, and, if in this time, I find a way average $10 a day then I would keep on keeping on.

Woman at post office in Gyor, Hungary putting stamps on postcards for readers.

I had no idea at that time that I would fall in love with this lifestyle. I did not know that at 14 and a half months in I would really come to enjoy publishing words on the internet. This is fun.

"Keeping a good travel blog is a full time job," once wrote Ubertramp.

I read these words and then feel into a sea of uproarious laughter, for they are true. Publishing this Vagabond Journey website has almost become a full time job, albeit one that, as I have mention, I have come to really love.

I work as I travel every day. I take photos, take notes, write, read, publish, and work (and learn) HTML code throughout the day. I am laughing as I write this, as this lifestly seems to me to be bordering on the ridiculous. But if you, dear reader, ever cross my Path in the flesh, you will see for yourself how odd my days tend to be. I am the man who is standing in the middle of the street who, upon having his fancy struck by some relevant seeming detail, is jotting down notes in his little black notebook like a poetical lunatic and then huddled up in some hollow corner of a flop-house writing about them throughout the day.

Yes, I am an inveterate scribbler.

My friend Bicycle Luke the Fruit Pirate goes to no small length to jest at how often - "Every five minutes" - I tend to have my face skewered up inside my little notebooks.

But this is fun for me. It gives me something to do- a focus to my ramblings, a direction, a path, a line of consistency that I can follow throughout the world. I want to keep doing this.

And mailing out postcards to readers to show my gratitude for contributions is just one way that I can continue assembling the funds to live like this. I could fairly easily find conventional temp employment on the Road teaching English or doing archaeology or any number of other trades, and make far more money and work less than I do on the computer. I have done this for many years. I am an archaeologist, an English teacher, sometimes pretend to be a gardener, and an odd-jobs-extraordinaire, but I do not enjoy these professions half as much as I like writing words.

I would happily write words for a few peanuts a day than make a donkey cart load any other way. This is my choice, my preference, I have other options but I choose this one. I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face.

So, Ubertramp, you are a wise man, this travel writing round is a full time job, but it is also a love and a passion.

Letter from Motorcycle Bob that gave me the idea to begin accepting contributions:
http://www.vagabondjourney.com/98-002-contribute-vagabond-journey.shtml

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Bicycling to Budapest
Notes from the Czech Republic
To Budapest

Postcards from Around the World
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Bicycling to Budapest

Bicycling to Budapest

I took leave of my Japanese friend Yumi on the eastern fringes of Gyor with a big goodbye and a hopeful "we'll meet again someday," and rode fast out of the city. It was mid-afternoon and I was making my way towards Budapest.

"First peddles, bicycle journey, feel so good," I spoke to myself as I speedily passed under a mess of highways on the outer shell of Gyor. I was then faced with a decision:

I could follow the dips and turns of the buff River Danube and ride out an ancient Path to Hungary's capital city, albeit it was on a motor road with the promise of a decent amount of traffic, or I could play it safe a smooth and straight bike path almost all the way to my glorious destination through a somewhat monotonic countryside. This was a Halliburton-esque battle of Romance versus Discretion.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 21, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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Romance - the River Danube by my side and a highway full of cars, trucks, and other fast paced motor vehicles.

Discretion- a quaint and safe bicycle trail through central Hungary.

"Romance, Discretion, Romance, Discretion," I kept repeating to myself as I neared the intersection that was the crux of my decision. One way lead to the Danube, the other straight to Budapest.

"Discretion is nothing other than an unwooable old maid," I spoke the words of Halliburton.

Of course I chose Romance.

I chose wrong.

Photo from Gyor, Hungary

Route 1 shot up to the Danube out of Gyor, but I would not have known it from the road-side view. There was think foliage, forests, and farmer's fields obstructing any notion that I was in fact riding near any river at all, much less the mighty Danube. The highway was also packed full of cars, trucks, big trucks, and side-of-road-whores scantly clad in skimpy underwear, bras, girdles, ugly faces, and nothing else. I looked at their bare bottoms hanging out of their thongs as I rode by and thought that the clothing was particularly well suited for such a warm summer afternoon whose clouds promised rain.

I figured that it would not take too long for a simple pair of butt-crack thongs and a scanty bra to dry after a rainstorm, but I wholly doubted if any amount of cloud water could wash the stonework grimaces off the faces of the whores working the countryside of Highwayland, Hungary. I imagine that I myself would probably be grimacing pretty hard as well if I were placed on the side of the road in nothing but my underwear (as I patiently waited to be taken into the vehicle of a stranger for the sole purpose of having odd body parts lovelessly shoved in unwelcoming places). I am immensely curious in the stories of side-of-road-whores - how did they end up on the highway all alone and in their underwear? - though they make me scare myself.

I rode my bicycle by them all the faster.

Soon I rode into the storm when I arrived in Komarom. So I made camp at around 7PM, fought viciously to keep my tarp from blowing away in the harsh wind, and read of Richard Burton into the night.

The sky belched cold rains intermittently through the night, but I stayed dry under my tarp, which I tied one side of to a fence and wrapped the other side on the ground beneath my body. Like this, in my cocoon of solitude, I thought thoughts of love and felt a touch of that peculiarly comfortable lonliness that comes to the traveler who finds a bittersweet sort of joy in nightime rain showers.

Soon enough morning came, and I rested for a while beneath my tarp for a day-break sprinkle to pass. When it did, I jumped up and packed my gear upon my bicycle and rode off into a rainy day with a poncho wrapped over my body.

I tried to cut away from the Danube highway that had no view of the Danube in an attempt to find the bicycle trail that is suppose to lead from Gyor to Budapest.

Could not find it.

Continued riding the busy highway with no shoulder into Budapest. Trucks thundered by me at a close enough distance to toss myself and bicycle rocking unsteadily. This proximity was too near for comfort but there was nothing else to do but ride as fast as I could into Hungary's capital city. I rode uphill, downhill, passed field, orchard, industrial wasteland, housing complexes with dirty grey exteriors, old ladies in nightgowns looking out windows, men with derby hats looking at crops, all under a sky that rained itself out and left only a shining sun to show for the storms of the night before.

Links to previous travelogue entries:
Notes from the Czech Republic
To Budapest
Travel in Hungary
Bicycling to Budapest
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Notes from the Czech Republic

Notes from the Czech Republic

The following are scraps from the contents of my Czech Republic notebook: anecdotes, short stories, thoughts, jokes, and other incidences of travel from the eastern swath of Europe.

-"Anarchy forever," spoke Tomas the anarchist archaeologist as he thrust his fist into the air. He was speaking to me as we sat huddled in front of the campfire. "I look at my priorities, and I see me first, Anarchy second, and everything else third." Tomas is going to Norway to spread the good words of Prince Peter.

-"I have always wanted an older brother," Shishuka spoke, "and I always imagined him to be like you" [meaning me].

-Nine years of travel has lead me to believe that all cultures are the same and all people are different.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in Budapest, Hungary- July 21, 2008
Travelogue -- Travel Photos
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-"I am riding my bicycle to Turkey," I told the old Czech winemaker.

"Yes, it is on the road," came his simply reply.

-A posh and pompous female mayor in Moravia once decided to make a great monument to commemorate her reign. So she build a giant, extravagant, and costly public fountain.

Now it is full of bathing Gypsies.

-The mayor of Prague sometimes dresses up as a tourist and takes taxi cabs from the airport to find out if the drivers try to cheat him. If they do so, he rips off his disguise and berates them personally.

I should probably be careful who I hold up in dark alleys these days.

-The Czech word for roller blades sounds remarkably similar to "BruceLee." My friends were talking of fruit-booting when I thought we were going kungfu fighting.

-Miroslav Horni (pronounced Horny) went to England to see what he could see. Need I say anything more?

-The old Czech soldier once bet his drinking buddies that he could catch a 90kg carp. They did not believe him. So the next night poor Carp was carried into the bar by his old soldier friend.

-Around a camp fire I was trying to get a recording of traditional Czech folk songs. After listening to many beautiful songs of old sung by defacto choirs I was asked to sing the American national anthem. "It is not such a good song," I protested. I sang it anyway.

And this promptly put a quick end to the cultural exchange of song.

The Czechs clearly did not want to be subjected to an encore.

-If Santoka did not travel and write his haiku of beauty and of woe then he would not have inspired me. He traveled and passed through loneliness, hard-Roads, sorrows, and joys so that I can read of it now. I must say that the world is a little brighter a place because Santoka's journeys and the words that he left behind. The world still needs traveling beggar poets.

-Leaves, I like leaves, I say as I drink my morning tea and smoke my morning pipe of tobacco. Leaves, I like leaves, I like drinking them, eating them, and smoking them.

-Could the dream of the traveler be slightly fallow? Naw.

-If you ask for a beer for 250 CZK you will get marijuana in the Czech Republic.

-"I would like to live in France but I think I would miss some kind of humor that is not present there," thus spake Nicola from Olomouc.

-Got sarcastically told, "Are you writing a book? Because if you are I am waiting for it," by a raging bitch.

-"It is interesting to note the very noticeable stench of confidence emitting from a girl who just got rammed," I thought to myself as I watch a girl who just got rammed.

-In Prague
Sitting in Frantz Kafka Square
Drinking wild-berry tea and Smoking a pipe
I realize that Women are beautiful

-It is far easier to convince yourself that you do not want something than it is to go and get it.

-"So you take notes on how much money you spend?" I asked Tyler from AbroadandBeyond.org.

"Yes, that is how I can stay away for so long."

-"I was raise by a man as a boy. I have balls." -Kaitie from New Hampshire

-I miss the days when people believed in the power of things like the run-on sentence. -Wade on Kerouac

-I suppose that a woman's visual senses of sexual attraction must, in fact, really be more subdued than that of men. For how else could women have sex with us hideous apes?

-Man in bar comes up to me and offers me something in Czech. I do not understand the Czech language but I gather that he is offering to buy me a beer. I nod my head yes and say thank you. He starts to leave the bar and nods for me to follow. I look at him puzzled. He reiterates his offer with his hand wrapped as if around an imaginary sausage bobbing back and forth in front of his mouth. This man was not offering me a beer.

-I foresee a day when immigrants in the USA emigrate back to their own countries for opportunities and dreams of a better tomorrow.

-The response from the tourist center in Olomouc about why there were so many people dressed up as 18th century soldiers in the streets.

*Note- my informant was blond and spoke English with a near perfect valley girl accent. The origins of how she came upon this way of speaking remained in mystery.

"It is like uh anniversary for like uh some battle that happened like uh 250 years ago or something like that. So for the next few days there will be like uh people walking around here in like uh costumes and stuff like that."

--"Why are you leaving?" I asked a girl on her outward passage from Olomouc

"Because there are still a lot of places that we want to go," she curtly replied.

"Yes, you are right," I continued, "I suppose going to places is necessary for traveling."

-"We are traveling; you are just living," a girl once said to me in the Czech Republic.

-I told an old Japanese woman what I do for a living and my age. She replied, "Oh, 27, you are young. You can still have a future."

My deficient temporal prospects was thus acknowledged.

-Writing has nothing to do with writing. Writing has to with living.

-Tips for traveling in Europe:

1.Never spend over $2 to see anything

2. Never spend over $5 in a bar

3. Drink wine out of jugs in fields

4. Smoke a pipe not cigarettes

5. Ride a bike

6. Work

7. Make Hobohideout.com pages as a trade for accommodation

-"Being tattooed is kind of like having a child poking you over and over and over again."-Emma, an English girl in a hostel in Olomouc

-Sound of strangers laughing brings a sad, bitter joy to the traveler.

-It is a