Cow Eyes

This weekend, my good friend Grace Goulding told me that when she was younger, a boy told her she had “cow eyes”. She was insulted until she realized that it was a compliment, that she had big, doe eyes that were seen as beautiful, and while the statement initially seems demeaning, it speaks to a deeper significance. Also this weekend, I visited said friend in her native Budapest. 

After my first week of workshops and speeches with the Salzburg Global Seminar, I had my first weekend free. I left the Schloss at 5:30am and took a taxi to the train station, where I was nearly scolded by a German cab driver for misplacing my debit card for a brief but terrifying minute. I hopped on the train headed for Vienna, planning to transfer trains there. Two and half hours later, I found myself panicking in the Vienna station, my transfer train nowhere to be found, but eventually I found a service worker to question, who told me that my train was merely delayed. It was a sigh of relief for my sanity, but not my wallet, because I initially thought that I had missed my train which prompted me to buy another 30 Euro ticket. I was extremely stressed at the time, but I’ll brush over it because my journey to Hungary only got worse from there. 25 minutes into my train from Vienna to Budapest, we stopped at Vienna’s airport, where the conductor walked down the aisle and shouted “Last stop!”, “Vienna Airport!”, and “Off!”.

I looked over at a group of Spanish girls in the row next to me, just as confused as I was. “We paid for a train to Budapest- Our tickets say Budapest”, they said. He said nothing in response. As I walked off the train into a station that was 2 and a half hours away from my desired destination, I was lost. 

The Spaniards probably looked at my pale and pitiful self and took pity on me, because the next thing they did was take me by the arm and say “Let’s get to Budapest”. We took a train back to Vienna’s main station and found our plan B: a Railjet car leaving Vienna for Budapest in two hours. I sat in that station eating a pre-packaged sandwich from the Spar and drinking a redbull, frustrated and sleep-deprived. 

I would have liked to have had a pleasant experience in Vienna, for the sake of Billy Joel. Sorry Bill, Vienna was rude.

Two hours later I got on the over-crowded train without a spare seat to sit in. I sat in alleyway in-between rail cars and watched the fields change color with distance, as my phone battery dwindled and I made my final arrangements with Grace before I arrived. 

I got to Budapest two hours later than expected, but I was excited to be in the city. Eager to get to my final destination, I realized that I didn’t have any hesitations asking people for directions or instructions. I purchased my ticket for the metro and rode to a nearby station to hop on a railcar out of the city where Grace was going to pick me up and bring to a family function. 

Buda-something, that’s what my stop was called. It’s also the stop that the conductor came around and asked for tickets, and it’s the stop where I realized I didn’t have the correct one. I didn’t have any forints with me, so I sheepishly shrugged and gestured that I was getting off regardless. He was not pleased with my American ignorance. 

Finally, I was were I was supposed to be. “Where’s Grace?” I thought. Then I realized- Caroline, Grace doesn’t know you’re here yet, you should text her, but you can’t because your phone is dead. You are alone in Hungarian suburbia with no currency or form of communication. I went into three nearby stores and said the probably the most half-assed sentence ever to all three clerks.

“Szia, English?”

“Szia” means “hello” and “goodbye”… it was also the only Hungarian word I knew at the time. All three people shook their heads apologetically, and I begged for some sort of communication bridge. I stopped by a farmer’s market and a middle-aged man with a very basic understanding of English lent me his phone, only for the both of us to realize that his phone doesn’t make calls to international numbers. He even pulled out google translate for me to talk into the microphone and better communicate my situation. The attempt to reach Grace proved unsuccessful. 

I never cried. Were there a lot of huffs and puffs and profanities expelled that afternoon? Absolutely. I knew I had to get where I was going though, and I knew I would eventually find Grace, I just didn’t know when or how that was going to happen. 

Finally I walked into a bar and realized I didn’t need to ask for a phone, I needed to ask for a charger. I walked up to the 20-something year-old bartender and asked if she spoke English. She shook her head, paused, and then walked into the back-room, bringing out a tall boy that looked about my age.

“Hey, how can I help you?” He said in near-perfect English.

God Bless.

I explained to him that I was trying to get in touch with my friend and needed an IPhone charged. He responded by pulling one out of his back-pocket and plugging it in for me behind the counter. I turned on my phone and called Grace who answered and instructed me to meet her at a specific intersection (I was at the wrong one). It only took us 30 minutes after that to find each-other, and I told her that I had never been so happy to see another human being. 

We drove to a small dock to float over to her grandparent’s house on a small strip on land in the middle of the Danube. What happened next can only be described as me crashing a Hungarian family reunion. I want to thank the Schmitt family for welcoming me, including me in their pictures, and giving me a T-shirt even though none of them spoke a word of English… I’m sorry I couldn’t grace you with awkward small talk. 

Budapest is beautiful. I would talk about it for a few paragraphs, but words wouldn’t quite do the city justice. I encourage everyone to visit and learn about the history behind the buildings, and of course, St. Stephen of Hungary. We walked around Buda and spent the rest of our night in Pest, exploring club culture like the rebel teens we are.

I followed Grace and her friends around as they ordered drinks in Hungarian and I stood behind them, as if to pretend I was also a native. I was also taught two new words which I cannot spell, but they translate to “thank you” and “beer”. Those are the only words I need to know, right?

My train back to Salzburg last night stood still for 2 extra hours, and I should have been upset about my less-than-perfect European travel experience, but I couldn’t find a will to. I instead found myself grateful for the chaos. It taught me to view differences as nothing more than barriers that are not made of concrete, but a breakable material. I had navigated my way through a town with no understanding of their language, no phone, and nobody to help me. Of course, it makes me want to be better prepared for my next trip, but it instills hope that all you need to find your way around is patience, a willingness to learn something, and of course, desperation.

“Cow eyes”: a compliment that initially seems like an insult.

My flawed travel experience: an opportunity for growth found within a day of challenges,

And I grew.