KEEP CALM & PANIC

Man oh man. My anxiety is through the roof. Why? [Warning… strong language ahead.] 

No fucking idea.

Contrary to a vaguely popular (and really fucking irritating) belief, anxiety is not stress or worry – although stressing and worrying are part of anxiety. And it is most certainly not a choice. It’s not a lifestyle. It’s something you have – like chickenpox. Although thankfully chickenpox is a once (perhaps twice) in a lifetime affair. Anxiety, on the other hand, can be a daily curse. Forever. And just like chickenpox, it needs to be managed.

If anxiety is not a condition you have to tick on tell-me-your-medical-history quizzes, then a) I’m jealous and b) please try to understand. A lot of us are dealing with this shit, and your understanding and empathy can make a big difference.

But how do you slow a racing pulse? We can’t all be like Qui-Gon Jinn, with the inexplicable ability to drop into a trance-like meditative state mid-way through an epic Jedi battle.

Is it even possible to stop the tremor coursing through your body, culminating in excellent mimicry of late-stage Parkinson’s Disease? Or the incessant and uncontrollable need to wiggle and jiggle like the skivvy-clad quartet, popular with toddlers for the past two decades.

And that startle reflex is really startling.

I’ve been known to scare the life out of store attendants with my freaky leap-in-the-air-with-panic response to the rather unassuming question, Would you like some help?

Anxiety may be a mental health issue, but it has physical consequences. And they’re very fucking uncomfortable. Calming the farm is problematic. There are as many tools and options as there are people on the face of the planet. What works for one, may not work for another. Putting aside pharmacological management for a moment (it’s great – but not instant, not appropriate for everybody, and not a complete solution), most coping strategies fall into three categories (in my opinion).

Category One: Maladaptive

ie – a really bad option. Any kind of coping strategy with a negative impact on you (or someone else), is maladaptive. I learned to manage anxiety by 1. ignoring it; 2. becoming depressed; 3. developing an eating disorder; 4. numbing emotions (usually by burying my head in something so the real world disappears – reading, writing, playing candy crush…); and 5. self-harm. Self-harm is my go-to behaviour and something I instinctively go in search of when breathing becomes difficult, thoughts can’t be stilled, and I’m quivering like a bowl of jelly in an earthquake.

Category Two: Mind games

Mindfulness is the buzz word of the 21st century. And I’m sure it’s really fricking fabulous. But I suck at it. Stilling my thoughts is impossible. Popping them onto clouds and streams or shoving them in filing cabinets doesn’t work – they just pop straight back into my head. I’m sure a lot more practice would see improvement, and perhaps I’ll get my shit together and do some practice – but for my current bout of high anxiety, it’s not helpful. What I have found helpful however, is… [I sat here for 15 minutes trying to think of mental activities that help still my mental chaos – I can’t think of any. I appear to have mentally failed this category].

Category Three: Distraction

There are tools that do (sometimes) work for me in this category. Phew! Grounding is my favourite: finding five things I can see, hear, touch, taste and smell. Really focus on each thing and try to describe it to myself. It’s surprisingly helpful. And really bloody simple. Physical exercise is awesome – going for a huge walk, to the gym, doing a workout, or housework (ha ha ha!! that’s a joke – I don’t do housework 😀 ) Television is terrific. Burying myself into a movie or binge-watching Netflix are pretty fabulous. My mind is sufficiently engaged it forgets to be anxious. Until the phone rings and my startle reflex pops back up. Breathing is another simple but useful trick. I know we all breathe all the time (those that don’t aren’t reading), but focused breathing (I like apps to focus on) makes a world of difference – particularly if anxiety is morphing into a panic attack. And last but not least, touching stuff. Not just any stuff – I used to use a stress ball but I lost it. Now I have a toy rabbit – called Hope. Becoming mentally and physically focused on the object in hand, helps. It helps me anyway.

Any psychologist, psychiatrist, or would-be therapist, would (should) have a large bag of tricks to draw from when it comes to healthy ways to manage anxiety. I’m sure I’ve been taught all sorts of things, but not all work and not all are remembered.

The one thing I do need to remember, is tools don’t make anxiety go away – they simply make it manageable.

They stop it escalating into panic. And the undignified experience of having an ambulance called to confirm there’s nothing wrong – you’re not actually having a heart attack. I haven’t mastered Jedi mind tricks and I’m still startling myself with my startle reflex. I know this too shall pass – it always does. In the meantime, it’s really fucking unpleasant. I don’t know why it’s there. I don’t know when it will go. I can fondle a blanket, breathe deeply and binge watch Netflix. And I can write. Write, write, write. It’s always my most cathartic outlet.

TRAVELS IN THE DORDOGNE

After a dull-as-dishwater week in Berlin, we were looking forward to a week in the French countryside. And we weren’t disappointed.

We’ve fallen in love with a little part of paradise – along with anyone who’s ever been there I suspect.

We flew into Bordeaux airport, grabbed a hire car, then proceeded to spend several hours getting lost on our way to a medieval cottage, in the medieval village, Berbiguières. I was the navigator, but take no responsibility for the slightly circuitous route we traversed – apparently if you take the far right lane at the toll station, you can’t return to the motorway – ever. Perhaps the sign above the toll lane mentioned that – but it was in French. Once the frustration of being lost wore off, we were mesmerised by the lush green forests, narrow country lane ways, grazing cattle, rolling hills, and stone cottages.

And an occasional castle on a hill.

We arrived much later than expected, and after the enchanting drive, were excited to get to the village. Nestled beneath the large chateau, are twenty or so stone cottages arrayed like a horse shoe under the high stone walls and ivy of the chateau fortifications. We wandered down the lane to our little piece of South France and arrived utterly exhausted. I opened the door to our cottage and was struck by the smell. It wasn’t pleasant. A heady mix of musty and dusty, and cloying heat after spending 48 hours locked up in a heatwave. I managed a brave face for all of 15 minutes while exploring the layout, before having a complete meltdown. It felt filthy – it wasn’t. But the smell and the heat and the occasional cobweb, coupled with the master bedroom being underground, (and me being utterly exhausted), launched me into emotional overdrive. I sobbed my way through the next hour, downed enough medications to tranquilise a medieval horse, and went to bed fully clothed from head to toe.

I awoke a little groggy, but a lot more reasonable. In the light of day the cottage was very rustic, but spotlessly clean and very well stocked. I opted to move into the upstairs bedroom – despite my husband’s repeated warnings of “heat rising”. I was much happier having daylight and airflow.

The views from our little windows were spectacular – we were in quintessential French countryside, with no evidence of modernity to be seen. Just green hills, stone cottages and slate roofs. The only sound – cooing doves and mooing cows.

Our first morning we visited the Saint Cyprien farmers market. Oh my lord – how fabulous!

I’d heard French farmers markets were pretty special, but they really are pretty special. The produce and the atmosphere, and the cheese and strawberries and nectarines and sausages and tomatoes and baguettes and yoghurt and more cheese and we were in gastronomic heaven!

The rest of our week was spent sampling delicious foods everywhere – even supermarket pastries and cheeses were exceptional – and driving around the countryside discovering castles, caves and cobblestone streets.

The Chateau of Biron is set high on a hill, with magnificent views of the surrounding countryside. The castle is a mix of restored, and yet-to-be-restored, and is for the most part pared back to bare rooms. We loved it. The spiral staircases, enormous fireplaces, long drop toilets, parquetry flooring,  overgrown ivy, stunning chapel, and the ever present cobblestone paths. I’ve visited castles with replica (and occasionally original) period furniture, but it was surprisingly refreshing to see the castle in it’s naked state. The giant kitchen was a sight to behold, with it’s brick stove housing twelve cast iron pot rings, and a huge well partially hidden that opened into a large tub for washing, and drained into an outlet down the centre of the kitchen. Very clever. Very magnificent. And very, very big.

After the castle, we visited an airshow – at my husband’s request. The French do magnificent food and wine, but their organisational skills are truly appalling. The circuitous deviation to the airfield added a good half hour to the trip, before we ended up in a one hour queue, on a tiny little dirt road, with several thousand other would-be airshow enthusiasts. When we finally made it to the airfield, we ate lunch in the scorching heat, searched in vain for a small piece of shade, my husband declared the planes “uninteresting” (they’re all just planes I said…) and we left. Once past those still trying to get in, we turned left instead of right, and were once again free to admire the beautiful French countryside. We popped into the cottage, grabbed our swimwear, and headed down to the Dordogne river to cool off, while watching the canoes slowly paddle down in the distance. It was heavenly.

Most of our days were long and full of exploring villages at leisure – Sarlat, Agen, Belves, Saint Cyprien.

We spent one long day visiting the incredible Padirac Caves – along with a few thousand of our best friends. The caves were an absolute sight to behold. We almost didn’t stay to visit as the crowds were overwhelming, the heat was overwhelming, and finding a cafe with wait staff to take our order proved impossible. But none-the-less, I insisted we’d driven all that way so we would damn well buy the ticket and go in. They’re indescribably beautiful so I shan’t endeavour to describe them. If you’re in France, give them a visit.

The following day we visited Grottes Prehistorique Cougnac – with it’s prolific cave formations and then eye-opening cave paintings that were 30,000 years old. 30,000 years… I can’t get my head around it really. It really gives a whole new meaning to “permanent marker”.

By the time we left the Dordogne, we were replete with old buildings, ancient caves, prehistoric drawings, winding roads, cobblestone lanes, canopies of green forests, juicy nectarines, pungent cheeses, delectable aperitifs and just an overall sense of being at peace with the world.

From Berbiguières it was a return trip to Bordeaux for our next adventures in the city of love – Paris.

TRAVELS IN BERLIN

Hmm… What can I say? City. Buildings. Rivers. History. Bored.

Yep – I spent a week in Berlin, and by day three I was bored. By the time we arrived in the city that birthed Oktoberfest, the Brandenburg Gate, and Adolf Hitler, we’d been away from home for 46 days. So looking at old rocks, old churches, and old history, was wearing a little thin. As are funny-tasting tap water, pay-to-use toilets, European heatwave, and whatever-that-yellow-stuff-is-they-call-cheese.

Berlin is a lovely city, so I feel a little guilty to begin this post by bagging it out. Let me tell you all the awesome things first.

The Berlin Bears: No. Not a football club (although it could be – I have no idea). The Berlin Bears are cheerful statues. Our hotel had a delightful upside down bear – decorated with indigenous Australian aboriginal artwork – to greet us on arrival. Every hotel – and occasional major building – also had their own decorative bear. They really are lovely and cheerful.

World War II: The oft-repeated phrase, Don’t mention the war, did not pertain to our week in Berlin. Our first day was spent with a local guide walking through old and new war sites. We saw the magnificence of the Reichstag and the Brandenburg Gate – iconic 18th century German landmarks, used by the Nazis as staging platforms to demonstrate strength and power. Now the Reichstag is once again home to the German Parliament, and the Brandenburg Gate has become a symbol of peace and unity. Both sites are swarming with tourists, but still awe-inspiring and worthy of many happy snaps.

Memorials: With a history as checkered as Germany’s, there are bound to be a lot of memorials. And there are. The most moving of all – the Neue Wache.

A mother embraces her dead son, helpless and turned to stone in silent pain

That sums up the futility of war to me. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe was thought provoking and touching, as was the Memorial to Homosexuals Persecuted Under Nazism. From the ashes of war, comes respect and tolerance for all. Sometimes. For a short period of time.

The Berlin Wall: The history of the Berlin Wall is fascinating, and the city is capitalising on its’ fame in recent history. There once stood 155 kilometers of the 3.6 meter wall. Now scattered remnants of the fortification are popular tourist attractions, and Checkpoint Charlie is one of the most famous – and touristy – of all. There are also metal plaques in the pavement at various locations, indicating the line where East and West were divided, and the Cold War was on the brink of boiling over. Wandering around photographing a wall I watched tumble down on television in my teens was really quite special. We also visited the East Side Gallery – a long stretch of concrete wall covered in street art – which I foolishly assumed was a segment of the Berlin Wall. Apparently not. It’s just a wall with paintings. It’s still kinda cool though.

The Greenery: Apparently Berlin was built on a swamp. Who knew?! There are waterways everywhere, and with so much ground water, the city has a network of overhead blue pipes pumping the ground water into the river. All the most famous museums are housed together on museum island, where the rivers and canals merge –  which we didn’t visit as half of them were closed due to renovations. All this water, makes for a lot of greenery, and the Tiergarten in the city is really quite beautiful, offering a reprieve from the weight of a European heatwave. Strolling through the greenery was a really lovely aspect of our time in Berlin.

Berlin: The city itself is clean and new (let’s face it – an awful lot of it was destroyed in the last century), and the streets are wide and easy to navigate. The town buzzes with tourists and locals and really there’s nothing to complain about. Arts and culture are (apparently) amazing, but unfortunately we didn’t visit a show or a concert, so missed out on the opportunities available. As a musician, I would have loved to delve more into the home of Bach and Beethoven, Mendlessohn and Hindemith. Alas, I did not. Next time.

We did a Hop-On Hop-Off tour over two days – we hated it. Why are these so popular?

There’s no air-con so the air was only tolerable when moving. The open top is in the sun – which would be lovely on a mild day, but when the weather is relentlessly hot for weeks on end, the last place I want to be is in the sun. The audio guide was not in sync with the bus. Some of the stops, the bus pulled over for 20 minutes, with no indication in advance there would be a large stop. The bus stops were hard to find if you didn’t know where they were. And – worst of all – I banged my head really hard on the frame for the roof cover upstairs. I mean really hard. I dropped everything and felt dazed. Thankfully I wasn’t bleeding everywhere or concussed, but I had a big cry for half an hour (inner monologue of how hot it was and how much I hated that stupid fucking bus), and I really struggled the rest of the day. That hit on the head knocked the wind out of me. And that bus was useless. I would never do one again. When we travel, we walk everywhere, and that way we get to discover all sorts of little gems along the way. We stop and start as we please, google facts and figures as necessary, and get the feel of the city. We also get blisters, tight calf muscles, and sweat-drenched clothing. But I’ll take that any day over a tourist bus.

Our accommodation in Berlin was an apartment hotel, so we spent a bit of time in the hotel spa and swimming pool. And even more time in our apartment, lazing around reading and watching television. And getting bored. The relaxation was great, but by the end of the week I couldn’t wait to pack our bags and move on – Bienvenue France!

TRAVELS IN KRAKOW

Six weeks into our Big Adventure of a Lifetime, we touched down in Krakow and hopped in an airport transfer to a beautiful little airbnb, right in the heart of Krakow Old Town. The apartment was possibly the nicest airbnb we’ve ever

Wow. Krakow. What can I say?stayed in.

The second largest city in Poland, down in the southern part of the country. And very proud of its well preserved history that managed to dodge much of the destruction in WWII. Alive with the sound of tourists and vendors and the clippity clop of horse drawn carriages.

The Old Town is gorgeous (hint – when traveling, if there’s an old town, stay there!)

So many beautifully preserved buildings and cobblestone paths. And churches. Churches absolutely everywhere. All stunning inside and out, and free to enter. One lays claim to being the most beautiful church in Krakow. I beg to differ. It looks like a small child went wild with gold leaf then glued on the plastic heads of angel dolls.

The church I personally found most beautiful was St Mary’s Basilica, in the heart of the Old Town. Inside is beautifully ornate and full of admiring visitors. It’s also renowned for a bugle call, which came to my attention early one morning, while sitting on the balcony of our apartment enjoying a cup of tea.

The Krakow signal bugle call, or Hejnal Mariacki, dates back to the Middle Ages when it was announcing the opening and the closing of the city gates…The melody abrupt ending is said to commemorate a trumpeter from Krakow who was shot through his throat by a Tatar archer in 1241 when the Mongols besieged the city. Every full hour a golden trumpet shows above Krakow’s central Grand Square in the west window…of the Basilica of the Virgin Mary’s. Then a characteristic signal trumpet melody…resounds all over the city’s Old Town…Next the same bugle call is played towards the east, the south and the north. That’s 168 times per week. Four fanfares each time. I think trumpeters in Krakow will never be out of work.

The golden trumpet emerges from the window on the hour, the fanfare plays, then the trumpeter waves to the crowds below. It’s really quite entertaining.

Then there was the Corpus Christi Basilica, just 100 meters from our apartment. Another stunning church fully embracing gothic architecture, and like a lot of the prominent sites in our trip, covered in scaffolding. It was truly gorgeous to look at so I can only imagine the awe when it’s fully restored.

We spent most of our days in Krakow wandering the streets, admiring the architecture, and taking in the heady atmosphere. We explored the Jewish Quarter and cemetery, saw the synagogues, and partook of a most delightful lunch at Hummus & Happiness. We wandered aimlessly around the Wawel castle and cathedral. We enjoyed the leafy parks – former moat – encircling the Old Town.

Then of course there was the obligatory day trip to Auschwitz, Auschwitz-Birkenau, and the Wieliczka Salt Mines. Another sordid window into the worst of humanity.

Everyone else does the obligatory trip too, creating a juxtaposition of crass tourist trap exploitation (is crispy chicken really appropriate?), and the dark intensity of visiting a site where millions of people were enslaved and murdered. The tour groups have 20-30 people and run to a tight schedule. I saw no individual tourists wandering about, but perhaps solo tours are possible. The tour guide provided so much information and insight, so while it felt like we were part of a large herd of cattle being rushed through history, I was glad for the overview.

The camps are huge. Auschwitz I is brick buildings, barbed wire, and freshly cut green grass. There are glass cabinets full of confiscated prisoner belongings. A huge showcase of shoes. Of suitcases. Hand creams, combs, prosthetic limbs. The most sobering cabinet was a wall to wall display, filled with women’s hair. Then there’s the gas chambers. We all know they’re there – it’s the most famous bit of Auschwitz. They’re not large – we only visited one. A large empty underground room, with plain concrete walls, a simple floor. and stark lights hanging overhead.

Next to the room full of giant ovens. A dark, sordid window into the past.

After Auschwitz I, we drove to Auschwitz II – Birkenau. The expansion concentration camp when the decision was made to exterminate people on a larger scale. We’re greeted with a large brick building with train tracks running through the middle. An efficient method of herding people to their final destination in an orderly manner. Birkenau is now fields of chimneys. While some of the buildings were brick, and remain standing, many were timber and are no longer there. Just fields and fields of chimneys where prisoners once lived and died. The women’s quarters are still standing – a brick building with no flooring, filled with triple layer bunks that each housed as many women as could fit in the bunk. The camps are an endless display of the depravity mankind can inflict upon his neighbour when politicians rally the masses into a frenzy.

After the unimaginable horror of the Auschwitz camps, we visited the Salt Mines. I knew nothing about them before arriving – assuming it was somewhere salt was mined. Which is technically correct. The two hour tour apparently covers just one percent of the mines. Which seems extraordinary. First we traveled down 380 steps. It takes quite a while in a large group. The air is cool, with a constant temperature of 14-15c. A lovely change after the heat and humidity above ground. Rock salt comes from salt mines. The walls and ceiling are moist and salty – I tasted it to be sure. We learned so many fascinating facts about this salt mine that operated for over seven hundred years until it was closed in 1996. The lowest point is 327 meters below ground, and the entire network of caves is over 287 kilometers long. So it’s kinda big. It has 40 chapels and churches, countless salt carvings, and was listed as a UNESCO world heritage site in 1978. So many accolades. And so interesting. Did you know horses used to live in the mine? The chandeliers hanging in the larger churches are made from rock salt chunks. They are really stunning.

That was it for our guided tours. We are the kind of travelers who just like to walk around and see things, take photos, eat delicious food, and put our feet up in the apartment. That’s exactly how we spent our six days and it was totally awesome.

I hope to go back to Poland one day.

While Krakow was fantastic, there are so many other bits of the country I’d like to see – most especially Zakopane and Morskie Oko. I want to go hiking and see the countryside. I’d go back to Bosnia and Poland in a heartbeat. But with hiking shoes and a hiking partner. Next time…

BACK DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Sidling away from the happy tales of carefree travel for a moment, mentally I’ve plummeted into a bit of a hole.

It could be worse – it could be a lot worse – but I could also be in a much better place.

It all starts around body image of course. I’m much fatter and not happy about it. It’s not a figment of my imagination – or the wicked voice of an eating disorder. I know I’m fatter because of the way my clothes and jewelry fit. And godawful photos. A lot of cherry picking goes on when sharing photos to Facebook.

While you’d think fear and loathing around body size would make me eat less and move more – proven methods of weight loss – it does in fact increase my anxiety which makes me eat more food, more often, and much faster. Counter intuitive. But my reality. This in turn makes me more unhappy and I find myself in a vicious downhill spiral.

Add to that a decrease in mood and increase in anxiety due to pain and exhaustion. And just being me. I have pain in my back and legs again. Which means loads of pain killers which leads to drug hangovers. I also haven’t slept well since I left Australia 44 days ago. I periodically consume sufficient quantities of drugs to tranquilise a horse, which makes me sleep like a dead person for a few solid hours, but one never wakes feeling rested from drug-induced sleeps. So I’m tired and sore. Not conducive to good mood.

Decreasing mood leads to increased risky behaviours – not just binging and purging (which happens), but I find myself downing way more medications than necessary. Not lethal or precarious quantities – but instead of one, I take four. Just to make sure I get the full benefit. And I mix and match a variety of medications, washed down with a local vodka. I feel no qualms hanging out the window of a fourth storey building, or crossing the road in front of a tram. I’m not trying to kill myself, but if an accident befell me, it would be a bonus. I recognise this as a bit of a red flag.

Although the problem with low mood and red flags, is not really caring about red flags.

Sharing on a public blog is sufficient for those who know me to have a sharp word in my ear at some stage. Please be gentle…

In the interests of full-disclosure – as I prefer to be brutally honest – I decreased my anti depressant/anti anxiety for a few days. It was accidental and then I just kept the lowered dose going. Primarily because I’m sick to death of sexual dysfunction. If you have never experienced sexual dysfunction, I promise you’re not in a position to have an opinion on why this is (or isn’t) important.

But before I receive a flurry of messages about the stupidity of lowering the dose, it was just a few days, my lowered mood and increased anxiety started before the altered dose, and I shall return to a normal dose tomorrow. Much as it peeves me to do so. Midway through a three month trip is not the ideal time to mess with meds.

My holiday so far has – for the most part – been stress free and very enjoyable. I’m starting to miss a few things – Tasmanian water, my pillow, vegemite, gym, writing, writing, writing, and of course, my wonderful friends and beautiful children. But I’m also profoundly grateful for the opportunity to undergo such a huge holiday – one I never thought could happen – and I’m soaking up every magical moment. And most of the moments have been magical.

My husband hasn’t annoyed me too much.

Some days he gets me down, because he’s such a negative Nancy and a ditherer. His dithering drives me insane. Just as my energiser bunny routine drives him batty. We tolerate each other’s quirks in this area. It’s difficult for me to be continuously surrounded by negativity though. Nothing is ever good enough – if I ask what he thinks about something, I get a list of how things could be better, or what was wrong. He’s very literal… He thinks the question, What did you think of X? means I want to know all the things that were wrong. Which is not the case. I’d like to hear all the things that were right – just for a change… I normally cope with his negativity fine as I’m surrounded by other positivity, but while we’re traveling together, there’s no balance – it’s all just nay-saying. I won’t miss that when we get back home. I keep sending him to psychologists and asking him to work on the problem. But he quits after two or three sessions. Because there was something wrong with the session each time… Catch 22…

This is very much a stream of consciousness tonight. I’m loving our holiday. I really am. It’s a privilege and a blessing and a dream come true. I’m hating my body. More so than usual. My mood has plummeted and my anxiety skyrocketed – shaking hands, racing heart, generally feeling panicked. It will  settle soon – this too shall pass. I’ve started binging and purging again – after a long hiatus – and this really frightens me. I want someone to take away ALL control of my food intake. Completely. Don’t ask questions or give me options. That’s the only way I can manage. The next step after binging and purging, is restricting. Great way to lose weight. Great way to get back on the eating disorder wagon of misery.

I’ve been going into every church I see – and there are a lot to be seen – and praying desperately for some reprieve.

I mustn’t be doing it right, because there’s been no reprieve as yet… I’m just slipping back down the rabbit hole. I  hope I’m not so far down, that it’s a mammoth effort to haul myself back out again…

TRAVELS IN BUDAPEST

It was a whirlwind trip to Budapest, arriving late Friday and departing at the crack of dawn on Monday. We had no plans or expectations for our short stay and really didn’t do anything.

It was fabulous. Hot and steamy and breathtakingly fabulous.

We caught a shuttle bus from the airport to our accommodation and knew we were in an interesting city when the bus driver pulled over unexpectedly, walked up to a woman on the footpath, and gave her a beautiful long kiss.

Our preferred travel style is to walk everywhere – for two reasons. Mainly because being on foot is so free and means discovering all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies as we wander around. But also because using public transport in a foreign country is very stressful so I avoid it whenever possible.

Budapest is a city of statues – there are statues for everyone and everything. The beautiful wide streets, flanked by stunning gothic buildings, have small parks and plazas filled with statues and fountains every couple of blocks. There is no shortage of places to sit down and have a lovely rest.

Our first day we walked the length and breadth of the Pest side of the Danube, following a guided walk I created on Triposo – my latest happy fad. We photographed every statue we found, until we realised every street corner has a statue. There’s even a park dedicated to statues of long, lost forgotten communist heroes – whimsically called the park where communist statues go to die.

We didn’t make it there, but maybe one day I’ll return to Budapest and have time to explore a little more.

After wearing out our shoes, feet, and sweat glands on Saturday, I suddenly decided I absolutely had to go to a church service on Sunday, and the only one I could possibly attend was a two hour walk from our inner city apartment. Despite having a plethora of magnificent historic churches within a stones’ throw of our apartment, I wanted something less traditional and more modern, so we traipsed across the city, into the suburbs and arrived a mere six minutes late, drenched in sweat, at the Danube International Church.

I don’t really know why I suddenly had to go to church – for the first time in my life. Except I know I’m searching for something spiritual and churches seem like a spiritual place, and I’ve been traveling through a lot of biblical places, so I figured hey – Church. Why not? I wanted to experience a church service all by myself – with no pressure or expectations from anyone.

I still haven’t been struck by lightning. I have to confess, I’d dearly love to suddenly be “converted” and feel a deep and abiding affinity with God and Jesus and Church. But alas – I’m the same person wondering about the reason we’re all here and where truth begins and interpretation ends.

The church service was quite lovely. Very relatable. I went in with an attitude of acceptance and willingness and to look for what resonates, and ignore what doesn’t. I sang along with the songs, making a valiant effort not to be judgmental (so difficult with a lifetime of musical training). The sermons and prayers were very relatable and while obviously they were all passages pulled from the bible, the messages were universal and spoke to me in a way I haven’t previously experienced in church. [Obviously I’ve been to church services before, usually as a paid musician, or a wedding/funeral attendee, but this was the first time I’d gone specifically for the service and of my own accord.] They handed around a microphone at the beginning, asking visitors to share their name, country of origin, and reason for visiting Budapest. So I chose to participate. After the service lots of lovely people came to chat which was really sweet. Even more sweet was the beautiful offer of a lift back to our apartment as my husband’s feet are in pretty bad shape and walking another two hours in searing heat and high humidity was not an option. The person facilitating the service (pastor? no idea…) invited people to come down to the front after the service if they’d like to be prayed for. So I thought, why not? And I went down and met Louise who very kindly said a beautiful prayer asking for healing in my mental health. It was very lovely. I feel blessed.

That pretty much sums up Budapest to be honest. I feel blessed to have visited – even if it was only fleeting. There is so much we haven’t seen, and we didn’t get to one of the many thermal spas (Budapest has lots and lots of them!) but I spent enough time to know it’s a big, bright, beautiful city, full of vibrance and colour and fun and laughter. And statues. We’re now resting quietly in Krakow. Tales from Poland coming soon.