Turning 32 in Hungary

The summer before I left Toronto I turned 30. 

The build up to that age was somewhat stressful, even for a man. It's one of those ages that society has decided that you should have your shit figured out.

On my 30th birthday, I went to a hardcore punk concert to see Refused, a band I have loved since I was 18. The next day I started work at a new ad agency.

I don't know if I will ever have my shit figured out – I quit that sweet job to move to Budapest and make ads for Big Tobacco – but I was closer to having myself figured out. 

The older I get, the more I know that getting my shit together has less to do with having a house or a bunch of kids and more to do with being comfortable with myself.

This summer I turned 32. After a weekend in one of Hungary's wine growing regions with Kata, we shared a birthday dinner at home before we joined a few friends at a Sick of it All concert – yes, another hardcore punk concert.

It's only an ideal birthday for a handful of people – even Kata was surprised at the prospect of watching aged punk rockers on my birthday – but it was me, it was fun, it was perfect for my birthday.

Badacsony! Wine! Heat!

Birthday dessert

The older I get, the less good I am at these cell phone photo thingys.

Up too early in Croatia

The long walk to the old city.

Grey skies, grey water, grey walls.

We had the streets of the old city to ourselves. 

There is no easy way to get from Budapest to Dubrovnik. No direct planes, no trains, just a bus. 

The bus only runs on Fridays during the summer. It winds its lazy way through Hungary into Croatia, all the way around most of Bosnia, which juts into most of Croatia. It labours up and down switchbacks along a coastal road from Split to Dubrovnik, where it scheduled to stop after 14 hours of driving time. In this part of Europe a bus does not stop if it can go further; this bus was continuing to Montenegro.

It was the only affordable way my sister and I could find that either didn’t cost a King’s Landing's ransom or require so many connections that the trip might be mistaken for a road trip on the Spanish Road.

The upside? Well, it was an overnight bus, so we managed to sleep a bit  – after we read until the lights went out and burnt out the batteries of our iPods – over the 12 hours (that's right, we were two hours early, which is a huge difference when you're folded up like a pretzel on a Balkan bus).

Left at the bus station all groggily-eyed at 5am in the morning on a Saturday, we decided to shake a leg and walk off our bus leg cramps.

Aside from us, the only people on the streets were garbage men and a slurry, stumbly couple in night club clothes. Then we saw another night clubber in full zombie mode, alternating between zig zagging into the street and leaning/riding along the fence.

We turned a corner and found the source of the late/early party-ers: a club just outside the wall. It was closing and disgorging the last few stragglers into the streets to greet the rising sun, look for a kebab stand, and, from the sounds of things, try to continue the party.

Zombies of Dubrovnik. All they want is a party and some kebab.

Our hostel’s office did not open until 8am, so we took that time to wander around the old city with the streets to ourselves. At this point, chairs and tables at some of the restaurants were being laid out on the main drag, but the side streets were quiet and deserted. We had no idea what a treat this is until we were shoulder to shoulder in the same streets later in the day.

We had breakfast at one of the only places actually open and went to the hostel office only to find out our room wouldn’t be ready until 12pm. So, we walked the city wall. We pretty much had that to ourselves too.

The morning light was great and it wasn’t yet too hot to linger in the sun to take in the views. Here again was a treat that we enjoyed but didn’t really grasp how special it was to be one of few on the wall – it was us and a bunch of early-rising seniors – until we saw the crowds trundling along the top later the same day.

This is the third overnight gypsy bus ride I’ve taken somewhere and I don’t regret any of them. In return for losing a bit of sleep you see Dubrovnik in this way, or the canals of Venice slowly come alive or dawn in the Balkan Mountains on the road to Sofia – things any sane, or sober, person on vacation would not usually see.

History nerd looks out a window in Prague

The Thirty Years War and the window that started it all

Before Prague became a capital of bachelor parties and misbehaving backpackers, it was the capital of Bohemia. And no, not the broke, artsy fartsy hippy bohemians, but the Czech sort of Bohemians.

The Bohemians built pretty buildings, of one which is the royal palace. In this royal palace is a window, made popular by the Defenestration of Prague. The only thing that tells you this is a little plaque by the window.

My sister, who was also on the trip, thought it was cool but pointed out I was nerding out a bit too much when I saw it.

It might sound like a tawdry dance move performed in a Czech gentlemen’s club, but the Defenestration of Prague was a big deal in 1618.

A few Protestants – enraged over limitations of their religious rights – came into the palace and threw a few Catholic regents out of a fairly high window. This allowed Catholic hardliners to gather armies to retake Protestant lands in Bohemia, which whipped up the rest of the Protestants to rise against their Catholic rulers, which led to the Thirty Years War.

The regents thrown out the window survived the fall. The ever opportunistic Catholic Church declared their survival a miracle; proof that God is on their side in the war. The Protestants, with no miracle to claim for their cause, retorted that they survived the fall by landing onto a pile of manure.

This is not a pilgrimage destination, no one journeys to Prague to look at this window thoughtfully and reflect on Johnny Calvin or Marty Luther – or maybe they do, there's a lot people nerdier than out there. Right?

And yes, it’s just a freakin’window, but it played a role in a historical event.

Traveling through Europe, you get used to seeing pretty churches and castles and what not, but it’s nice to see a little bits of tangible history along the way. Even if it is just a window with a plaque beside it.