Cold Feet (Sopron)

It was a misty night setting in as I arrived in Sopron, cool without breeze. A relief after the bustling streets of the capital, and major cities. As I looked for my hotel I could see ruins by the sides of the cobbled streets of the architecture of the once expansive Roman empire. After a routine check in and bag drop at the best Western, the sudden realisation came in that I was famished. Extending to my perception of a sleepy town, the small restaurant that would satisfy my hunger that night was to be occupied by only one other group than myself, though it was early in the week and getting later in the night. However the occupants were jovial, and between them trying to create the ambiance and volume of every other table left vacant. Going from there mood, I'm sure they would of been quite happy to have me join in there singing, but my lack comprehension of Hungarian settled me as audience rather than participant. When the time came for me to wonder, the mist had set in so far as not to be able to see the end of the street. Not far away a pale blue glow shimmered as a beacon in the sky thus becoming the target of exploration, that loomed as the fire tower as I approached; underneath, the entrance to the town square.

Hardly passing anyone as I walked through the streets, I was becoming reflective of the last few weeks, mainly of when I left Poland. I had talked much of my mind with a few people, but I was alone with my thoughts properly for the first time in a while. And of course with the love of irony, on the mistiest night I would see on the trip, my head started to clear. Some nights in Budapest, Szilvi and I would talk to the early hours of the morning, four or five hours at a time, with the practicality of some sleep bringing the close to most conversations. I was wandering around the misty streets, but I had now come to terms with something I knew, with a bit more clarity, and my heart and mind come to rest on a common ground.


One thing every low budget traveller will comment on, though usually dropped in recount, is walking, a lot of walking. My whole point for mentioning this, being no different, my choice in footwear is around my sport: skateboarding, thus the rapid destruction of shoes. I had woken the the sound of rain, and the rest of the day it would keep me company with a thoroughly inadequate umbrella turning inside out with any moderate speed gust of wind. And the shoes worn through at the heels at this piont. The sights of the town, last night covered in the mystique of the mist was now under a heavy wet gloom of grey. By the time I had made the five minute walk into town, my socks were water logged through the split in my heals. And for the first time in my life I would find sanctuary under the roof of the church.



A moral boost was in order, so at the first bakery I turned in for a treat. I have always had a strong love for bakery goods, but in Hungary I think I had started to gain wait for the love of them. Rolled and fired doughnuts, scrolls of chocolate and pastry or orange and poppy seed. Greeted at the counter the lady to served me said to me "guten Tag" To which I started responding "Nem Ertem Mag..."? (I don't understand Hung..) "Sorry I can't speak German". I gave this some thought as I ate. Sopron is as far west as you can be in Hungery without leaving the country. Twenty minutes later, I found that a train to Vienna takes four hours and leaves in two. I took that time to once more see the town, before taking the train and changing to fresh foot insulation of two pairs of socks.

Sopron Fire Tower

Sleepy town