Wednesday, May 27 — Warnemünde, Germany to start our Baltic Cruise
Embarkation day has a rhythm all its own, and it’s pretty much the same regardless of the cruise line or the port. Our Baltic Cruise was no exception. Everyone arrives at the terminal at once, the lines shuffle forward in fits and starts, and there’s a frantic, slightly bewildered energy as two thousand people simultaneously try to figure out where they’re supposed to be. We were no exceptions.
Somewhere between Berlin and the Baltic, hoping the German rail system would be kinder to us than the Polish one.
Getting to the port was its own small adventure. Cruise lines love to market these itineraries as visiting Berlin. The reality is that there is no ocean anywhere near Berlin; the ship docks in Warnemünde, about two hours away by train. “Berlin” simply looks better on a brochure. Despite what the itinerary says, Warnemünde is a solid two hours from Berlin by train — two trains, in fact. The German rail network, which we’d been hoping might redeem the reputation of its Polish counterpart, proved equally creative with its scheduling. A late departure from Berlin cascaded into a missed connection in Rostock, which put us toward the back of a very long check-in queue. From the moment we joined that queue to the moment we reached our cabin was forty-eight minutes. Not bad, all things considered.
On Board the Ship – Our Home for 9 Days
Once on board, we did what you do on the first day of a cruise. You get lost, wait for elevators, and slowly start mapping the ship in your head. We caught a yoga class, unpacked our bags — properly unpacked, for the first time in 10 weeks. We made it to the evening’s early show before dinner. The entertainment was a high-energy musical tribute spanning four decades, with great costumes and an equally great cast. After sixty-plus days of hotels and hostels, having dinner prepared and entertainment laid on felt like a small miracle.
This nine-day journey will take us through six countries, with only one sea day. We still have plenty of ground to cover before we fly home, but for now the simple pleasure of unpacking once and staying put is more than enough.
Thursday, May 28 our first port — Gdansk, Poland
We started the morning with back-to-back yoga classes — a thirty-minute stretch session that rolled straight into a second class when the instructor kindly offered to keep going. A good breakfast followed, and then we got ready to go ashore as the ship arrived at 10 AM.
First impressions of Gdańsk: colourful facades, cobbled streets, and a city that immediately won us over.
There’s a small asterisk on “Gdansk” as a port. The ship actually docks in Gdynia, an industrial city about thirty kilometres away. The smoke stacks and container ships weren’t exactly calling to us, so we focused on getting to Gdansk instead. The ship was running a shuttle for €60 return; we found a FlixBus leaving at 11 AM for €4.50 a person. The bus ride was uneventful, and we arrived at the main bus and train terminal just before noon.
From the station it’s a short walk into the old town, and the reward is immediate. The buildings are charming — tall, colourful, and elaborately decorated — the streets narrow and cobbled underfoot. Much of the city was rebuilt after 1945, yet it carries a genuinely authentic air. Rather than feeling like a reconstructed tourist attraction, it feels like a city rebuilt for the people who live there and only incidentally enjoyed by visitors. The area around the famous medieval water crane was buzzing with visitors from what seemed like half the ships in the Baltic, but it’s busy for good reason. We found a table at an open-air café, ordered something cold, and spent a happy hour watching the world go by.
We also spotted a handful of Solidarity signs. Quiet nods to the movement that began here in the 1980s and changed the course of European history.
Getting Back to the Ship (The Hard Way)
The water is the heart of Gdańsk
The return trip provided the afternoon’s entertainment. At the train station, we purchased tickets from a real person after the automated kiosk defeated us. We confirmed our platform, and boarded with confidence. Then, just before the doors closed, doubt crept in. We looked at each other, decided we were on the wrong train, and jumped off. We ran across the tracks and boarded the train going the other way — sitting down, quite pleased with ourselves — only to realize we were now definitely on the wrong train. At the first stop we hopped off, crossed the platform again, and boarded yet another train pointing in the correct direction. Ten minutes later, we were heading back to Gdynia. We were back on track — ha! — and laughing about it before we even reached the ship.
That evening the entertainment was a skilled violinist, and over dinner we received news that the clocks would be moving forward an hour overnight. Given the ship’s 07:30 arrival in our next port, that meant an early start by any measure. The travel tax — not the financial kind, but the accumulated toll of early mornings and busy days — is part of the cruising life too.
Next up: Klaipeda, Lithuania — quirky statues, a high school parade, and a brilliant afternoon on bikes in a national park.
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Quote – “Travel aspirations? Don’t put them on your bucket list, put them on your to do list.”
Our Berlin travel blog covers a short but memorable stay in Germany’s capital including stopping at Checkpoint Charlie (above).
Monday, May 25 — Arrival
A five-hour train from Warsaw brings us across the German border and into a city with an entirely different energy. Berlin is bigger, louder, and more alive than anywhere we’ve been in weeks. If we’re being honest, it was a bit overwhelming at first — in the best possible way.
For reasons neither of us could quite explain, Leonard Cohen’s First We Take Manhattan had been running through our heads for days. Arriving in Berlin felt like finally getting to the punchline.
First Impressions of Berlin
Meg had been carrying an image of Berlin since high school, when a friend who’d grown up in West Berlin described a city cut in two — divided streets, abandoned subway stations that trains rumbled through without stopping. That version of Berlin lived in her memory as a somewhat shadowed place. What she found instead, stepping out into a hot May afternoon under one of the bluest skies imaginable, was a city that felt anything but. Modern architecture, a vibrant pulse, and an unmistakable sense of freedom.
Not the Berlin we imagined—and all the better for it.
We arrived at the hotel an hour ahead of schedule, and the receptionist — coincidentally named Michaela — had a room ready and even produced a bottle of water typically reserved for elite members. Small kindnesses land differently after a long travel day. We took an hour to decompress, then headed out into the city. An evening walk took us through Alexanderplatz and around Museum Island, dinner found us in the Hackescher Markt area — on a patio, listening to a busker, watching the world go by. It being Monday, we found a spot with a vegetarian burger, keeping our meatless Monday streak very much intact.
What struck us immediately was how young Berlin felt. Not young in age, of course, but in spirit. Sidewalk patios were packed, cyclists streamed past in every direction, and nearly every public square seemed to have someone playing music, sharing a drink with friends, or simply enjoying the evening. It wasn’t the Berlin either of us had imagined. For a city so closely associated with twentieth-century history, it felt remarkably forward-looking — energetic, creative, and comfortable in its own skin.
Evening Wandering – A Berlin that is Lively
As we wandered through Alexanderplatz and around Museum Island, we found ourselves recalibrating our expectations. The Berlin of divided streets and concrete barriers had long since given way to something different. History was still present, but it no longer defined every moment. Instead, it felt like a city that had learned how to live alongside its past rather than be trapped by it.
That said, any illusion of having boundless energy was quickly put to rest. Five hours on a train sounds easy enough — you just sit there — but the travel tax is real and it always collects. We turned in early.
Tuesday, May 26 — The Big Sites Day
We were out the door just after eight. Meg had reserved Bundestag tickets before we left Canada, which turned out to be a very good thing — English-language tours in June are scarce, with only three days available the entire month. After clearing security and presenting our passports, we were met by our guide for a ninety-minute walk through one of Europe’s more remarkable legislative buildings.
Inside the Bundestag – Germany’s Legislature
Looking out across a city that has reinvented itself more than once.
The Bundestag shares some things with the Parliament buildings back home, but it carries its own distinct weight. The guided tour gave us access to areas not generally open to the public: walls still marked with Russian graffiti from the fall of Berlin in 1945, the library holding minutes from every sitting since 1949, and a quiet non-denominational chapel. The tour ends at the glass dome — a panoramic lookout that sits directly above the parliamentary chamber, the transparency entirely intentional. With the weather cooperating, we could see across the city for miles.
What impressed us most was how deliberately the building embraces transparency. The dome isn’t simply an architectural feature; it’s a statement. Visitors quite literally look down into the parliamentary chamber below, a reminder that government is meant to remain visible to the people it serves. Even for those with only a passing interest in politics, the symbolism is hard to miss. The building manages to acknowledge Germany’s complicated history while looking confidently toward the future.
From there, the Brandenburg Gate. The last remaining gate of the old city walls, and a piece of living history in its own right — Napoleon dismantled it and carted it to Paris after his conquest, only for it to be returned two years later when he was defeated. History, returned by courier.
Crossing the Divide – Checkpoint Charlie
Then Checkpoint Charlie — the last Allied checkpoint before the Soviet sector. The small booth, still surrounded by sandbags, feels oddly out of place against the now-bustling neighbourhood around it. It was busy when we visited, and yes, a little gimmicky. But it’s hard to stand there and not try to imagine what crossing that line once meant.
A Berlin institution. Not necessarily a personal favourite.
A quick lunch — and we’ll leave it at that — except to say that Meg had her heart set on a currywurst, a Berlin institution we felt duty-bound to try. Cam was less enthusiastic going in, and the verdict upon finishing confirmed his instincts. Some culinary experiences are about the story rather than the flavour. This was one of those.
From there we made our way to what turned out to be the most affecting stop of the day: the Berlin Wall Memorial. What remains of the wall stands in a peaceful green space, almost parklike in its calm. That contrast — the open sky, the birdsong, the plaques listing those who died trying to cross — is quietly devastating. It takes a moment.
The Berlin Wall Memorial
Unlike many historic sites that have become polished tourist attractions, the memorial feels restrained. There are no dramatic recreations and very little spectacle. Instead, visitors are simply presented with the facts, the preserved sections of wall, and the stories of those who lost their lives trying to cross from East Berlin to the West. The effect is powerful precisely because it is understated.
Standing there, it was difficult not to reflect on how recently all of this occurred. The Berlin Wall fell in 1989 — well within living memory. Many of the people walking through the memorial today experienced a divided Berlin firsthand. That realization gives the site a different weight. This isn’t ancient history; it is history that still feels close enough to touch. We remembered an old phrase we’d heard years ago: people voted with their feet. Looking at the memorial, it wasn’t hard to understand why.
The Berlin Wall Memorial: peaceful today, heartbreaking history.
Cam continued on alone for a bit, stopping into St. Hedwig’s Cathedral — the first Roman Catholic church built in Prussia after the Reformation. The interior is strikingly minimalist, with the altar positioned in the centre of the space rather than at the far end. The organ, fashioned entirely from stainless steel, is something else. He spent some time there, in no particular hurry.
We reunited for a last evening out — Thai food, alfresco, in a restaurant with an outdoor courtyard. A fine way to close Berlin.
Wednesday, May 27
We packed up, checked out, and made our way to the train station for the journey to Warnemünde, where our cruise ship was waiting. We’ll confess: Berlin probably deserved more of our time than we gave it. The biggest surprise was how optimistic the city felt. We arrived expecting history and found plenty of it, but we left remembering the energy, openness, and sense of possibility that seemed to be everywhere. Two months of near-constant travel has a way of blurring the edges. But the cruise offered something we were genuinely ready for — one suitcase, unpacked once, for nine days. We were ready for that.
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Poland’s rail network had already humbled us once our Wrocław-to-Kraków run a few days earlier. The Kraków-to-Warsaw leg offered no redemption. The train left late and arrived later, its carriages packed well beyond capacity — passengers standing between cars, sitting on floors, wedged into any available inch. We never did figure out the occasion. Whatever it was, Warsaw was clearly the place to be.
One of Warsaw’s Old Town Market Squares, rebuilt stone by stone after the Second World War
Our accommodation had its own ideas about timing. The host rang during the train ride to announce that check-in, already pushed to 4 PM, might slip further — a replacement cleaning crew, apparently. We arrived at 4:15 to find the cleaning still underway, dropped our bags, and set out into the city without complaint.
The old town rewarded the detour. It’s charming — energetic in a way that felt a step or two livelier than Kraków or Wrocław, the squares buzzing with what seemed a genuine mix of locals and visitors. Meg noted, with characteristic precision, that most of what you’re admiring was rebuilt after the Second World War: the streets look ancient, but the stones are relatively new. She prefers the organic character that only centuries of patchwork can produce. Fair enough — but the replica was still beautiful, and the energy was entirely real.
We provisioned at a local grocery store, got our bearings, and ended the evening at a milk bar. Polish milk bars deserve their own fan club: inexpensive, unpretentious, and generous to a fault. The cashier raised an eyebrow when we ordered just one side of potatoes for two mains. We held firm. Questioning if we should have doubted him — the plate arrived bearing somewhere between seven and eight good sized potatoes. which we struggled to finish. We ate well.
Day Two: Monuments, Markets, and More Milk
Warsaw’s Monte Cassino monument — Poland remembers the 1944 Italian campaign. So do Canadians.
Warsaw wears its history openly, and Day Two was a lesson in just how much history there is to wear. We started at the Monument to the Warsaw Uprising Heroes, commemorating those who fought the German occupation in 1944, then paid our respects at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier before finding the Monte Cassino monument — a reminder that Polish soldiers, fighting alongside Canadians and others, took part in one of the harder-fought campaigns of the Italian front. Walking these sites in sequence, in the spring sunshine, among the flowers coming into bloom, felt like exactly the right pace for absorbing what they represent.
For lunch, we tried our luck at Koszyki Hall. It was, by consensus, too polished and too pricey — a market that had traded its original function for a food court aesthetic. Meg went looking for something more honest and found it in Hala Mirowska: vendors crammed into every corner, locals arriving with empty shopping trolleys and leaving with them full, proper butchers and bakers and cheese sellers doing proper business. No prepared food whatsoever, but a fascinating contrast with the gentrified version across town. Milk bar it was, again, and we had no complaints.
The afternoon took us across the Vistula river to the Praga neighbourhood — rougher around the edges, mid-renovation, not yet polished — and back again with enough energy left for kebabs from a local spot, eaten at the apartment. Cam logged over 30,000 steps on the day. A yoga class had somehow also materialized in there. He felt, improbably, pretty good.
Day Three: Parks, Chopin, and Stained Glass
Meg takes the advice to stop and smell the flowers literally — lilacs in full bloom, Łazienki Park
Sunday in Warsaw is a quiet affair — shops closed, streets unhurried — and we leaned into it. An early trip out to Łazienki Park set exactly the right tone. Seventy-six acres of forest, ponds, and palaces sitting in the middle of the city; within minutes of entering, the crowds thinned to nothing and we were walking among ducks and squirrels with birdsong for company. We’d hoped to catch one of the famous Chopin concerts held there on Sunday mornings, but renovations have pushed the season back to July this year. No matter: our apartment had been providing its own nightly recital, the building’s concert hall below sending every note of a Chopin programme up through the floors from 5PM to 6PM and again from 7PM to 8PM. Front-row seats, no ticket required.
Moses and the 10 Commandments – a modern and understandable stained glass window.
The afternoon brought us to the Holy Trinity Church, one of only two evangelical churches in Warsaw. The rotunda alone is worth the visit, but it was the stained glass that stopped us. Most church windows require some interpretive effort — familiar symbols rendered in colour and light, their stories legible mainly to those who already know them. These were different. One window depicted Moses carrying the tablets of the Ten Commandments; another, figures bearing the Ark of the Covenant. The images were clear enough that even we, wandering in off the street, understood immediately what we were seeing. Cam photographed them in detail.
Warsaw – A Capital City
Warsaw surprised us. We arrived with modest expectations — it was the third city in a Polish sequence that had already given us a lot — and left genuinely fond of the place. It’s harder to pin down than Kraków, less immediately picturesque than Wrocław, but it has a depth and an energy that reward patience. Given more time, we’d have spent at least another day in Praga alone.
On to Berlin.
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Travel quote – Live life by the needle of a compass, not by the hands of a clock
Old Stones, Deep Mines, and the Best Ice Cream of the Trip
The Cloth Hall (shown above) has been conducting trade in Kraków since 1257.
This article is written by Cam and Meg with help from AI. All photos were taken by Cam and Meg.
Day One — Finding Our Feet in the Square
The sun finally made its first appearance in Poland as we dragged our bags across Wrocław toward the train station — Google Maps insisting, somewhat improbably, that walking beat transit. The train left late and arrived in Kraków even later, which we were beginning to understand was simply the Polish train (PKP) way.
After settling into our apartment, we headed straight for the old town. Kraków’s main square, Rynek Główny. It is often described as the largest medieval square in Europe. Standing there, it certainly feels enormous — although the grand Cloth Hall planted squarely in the middle does shrink it somewhat.
Saint Florian’s Gate, where Rulers would enter Krakow after battle.
Just after the bells rang on the hour, a lone trumpeter appeared high in the tower of St. Mary’s Basilica and played a short melody that ended abruptly mid-note. We later learned the tune commemorates a 13th-century watchman struck by a Mongol arrow while sounding the alarm. When the trumpeter waved from the tower, the crowd waved back instinctively. It felt less like a performance and more like a ritual the city has quietly carried forward for centuries.
Dinner was at a sidewalk pasta restaurant just off the square — warm air, clinking glasses, and a steady stream of people drifting home with shopping bags and souvenirs in hand. A lovely way to arrive somewhere new.
Day Two — Towers, Tunnels, and Freddie Mercury
We had intended to join a walking tour that morning, but Kraków proved distractingly good at pulling us off course.
The first distraction was the old Town Hall Tower, standing alone in the square since the rest of the building was demolished centuries ago. Cameron decided to climb it. Meg exercised better judgment and stayed below with the camera.
There are roughly 200 steep stairs to the top, and although the outdoor balconies are now closed, the views through the spotless windows were still worth the effort. Along the climb, an interpretive display included a replica of the city lord’s ring from the 1500s — a reminder that even seemingly modest museums in Poland tend to contain something unexpectedly fascinating.
Looking out over Kraków’s rooftops from the Town Hall Tower — earned one step at a time
From there, we descended underground into the Rynek Underground Museum, an archaeological site excavated beneath the square as recently as 2005. The museum traces more than a thousand years of Kraków’s history through buried roads, merchant stalls, graves, and medieval artifacts. One of the more surprising revelations was just how valuable salt once was — in the 1500s, half a ton of salt could buy a ton of gold.
The museum brochure suggested allowing an hour. We spent more than two and emerged considerably better informed than expected.
That evening brought one final surprise: a candlelit concert at the Royal Chopin Hall featuring piano, cello, and violin arrangements of Queen songs. Some translated beautifully into chamber music. Others felt slightly like Freddie Mercury had wandered into a conservatory by mistake. Either way, it was memorable.
Candlelight, chamber music, and Queen — not the combination we expected in Kraków.
Day Three — Salt, Jewish Memory, and Ice Cream
We were up early for the Wieliczka Salt Mine, a short commuter train ride outside the city.
More than two million people visit the mine each year, yet the operation runs with remarkable efficiency. English-language tours depart every thirty minutes, visitors wear headsets so guides never need to shout, and the entire route moves with near-clockwork precision.
Deep underground in the Wieliczka Salt Mine beneath chandeliers carved entirely from salt crystal.
The tour itself covers 3.5 kilometres and more than 800 stairs downward before a merciful elevator ride back to the surface. At 135 metres underground, we found ourselves standing beneath chandeliers made entirely from salt crystals in vast cathedral-like chambers carved directly from the rock.
Cam discovered that standing directly beneath one of the chandeliers creates a convincing halo effect in photographs — possibly the only halo he’ll ever claim.
Salt has been extracted here for at least a thousand years, with commercial production only ending around 1990. The carved chapels, underground lakes, and salt sculptures are genuinely astonishing, even if parts of the experience now lean heavily into tourism.
One guide told us between the 16th and 18th centuries, once a week, each worker could take home as much salt as they could hold in their hands. It was said, local ladies would seek potential husbands based on the size of their hands. We took that story with a grain of salt 😉
Our advice: book early and go first thing in the morning.
A Local Experience
Krakow from our rooftop bar
Back in Kraków, we stumbled onto a local farmers market with almost no tourists in sight. Google Translate handled most of the negotiations, cash was strongly preferred, and for approximately twenty minutes we felt extremely local.
Later that afternoon we wandered through the Jewish Quarter, eventually finding a rooftop hotel bar overlooking the neighbourhood’s red rooftops and church spires.
Then came Heroes’ Square.
The square commemorates the liquidation of the Kraków Ghetto between 1942 and 1945 and is filled with empty metal chairs scattered across the plaza. It is quiet, restrained, and deeply affecting. Some places ask for photographs. Others ask simply for pause.
On the walk back, we discovered what may have been the best ice cream of the entire trip. We ordered one scoop each. The woman behind the counter responded with cheerful disbelief and gave us two flavours apiece regardless of our protests.
It was far more ice cream than either of us needed.
We have no regrets.
Day Four — Planty Park and the Train to Warsaw
St Anne’s Church – A lovely church with an amazing organ.
Our final morning in Kraków was spent wandering Planty Park, the long green belt that traces the outline of the old medieval walls and moat. We drifted through the sunshine, ducked into a few churches, and enjoyed the rare luxury of having nowhere urgent to be.
Then it was back to the train station, where our train to Warsaw departed late and our reserved seats faced backward despite specifically booking forward-facing ones.
PKP, consistent to the end.
Kraków rewarded us more than we expected. Three days only scratches the surface — but what a remarkable surface it is.
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Quote – He who returns from a journey is not the same as he who left
We arrived in Wroclaw by train from Prague — five uneventful hours and, disappointingly, no RegioJet-style conductor appearing with Prosecco. Meg took the downgrade personally. Arriving in Wroclaw, we faced the classic traveller’s dilemma: bus or walk? The math said walk — barely a difference — but the cobblestones and construction sites made us earn it. Our host was waiting to greet us, patiently guiding us through two keypads, a lockbox, and the sort of apartment entry system that makes you question your own competence before we could finally dump our bags and meet our first Polish city.
The City of a Thousand Dwarves
We stopped counting after 45 dwarf photos. The dwarves did not stop appearing.
Wroclaw’s most whimsical claim to fame is its collection of small bronze dwarf statues — over a thousand of them scattered throughout the city, each going about some miniature business. We found our first on the walk from the station. By the end of day one, the novelty had settled into a comfortable rhythm: spot, photograph, move on. We managed 45 dwarf photos before declaring the project complete — or at least temporarily suspended. That evening, we tracked down pierogies — Poland’s great culinary promise.
The first spot was a traditional milk bar with a menu board like you would see at your high school in the 1970’s, no English, and no pierogies available. Plan B brought us to the main square and an upscale option where they’re made to order. Results: the seasoned pork and asparagus dumplings in cream sauce were excellent; the classic potato and cheese, a bit doughy; the raspberry and white chocolate dessert version, more wrapper than filling. A fine first meal regardless.
History Rebuilt
Wroclaw’s main square – the kind of square that makes you stop every twenty metres for “just one more photo.”
Day two brought a walking tour that proved illuminating, if repetitive. Our guide focussed heavily on the architecture — and with good reason. Nearly everything that looks old was rebuilt after 1945. Wroclaw was devastated in the Second World War, and what you see today is largely a painstaking reconstruction. After the third or fourth ornate facade accompanied by some variation of “…destroyed, …painstakingly rebuilt”, we quietly pressed some banknotes into our guide’s hand, thanked him sincerely, and slipped away in search of something more aligned with our interests: food markets. We found our way to the traditional market, very much our style. Cheese vendors, fruit stands, a bakery — and one cafeteria lineup that rewarded us with schnitzel, potatoes, and two salads for the price of one plate of last night’s pierogies. We could not finish it between the two of us.
Night of the Museums
One of those rare artworks that photographs poorly because your brain cannot process where the painting actually ends.
As luck would have it, that Saturday evening was Night of the Museums — an annual event where Wroclaw’s galleries open free of charge until midnight. Despite the rain and a 45-minute queue, the Panorama Racławice was worth every minute. The painting is 80 metres long and entirely circular, depicting a 19th-century Battle of Racławice in such masterful detail that the painted canvas and the three-dimensional foreground merge seamlessly. Even standing inches away, your eyes struggle to locate the seam between painted illusion and physical foreground — and in photos, it is simply impossible. This national treasure was rolled up and hidden during the war, very nearly lost forever. We followed the Panorama with a tour of the National Gallery — the kind of place we likely would have walked past on any ordinary evening.
The Lamplighter
One of those wonderfully specific travel moments you could never have planned and would hate to miss.
Sunday morning gave us quiet streets and perfect reflections. We wandered Cathedral Island with no crowds, capturing facades and statues in the early stillness. But the evening was the day’s true highlight. One corner of Cathedral Island still uses gas lamps, and each night around sunset, the lamplighter makes his rounds. Dressed in a black cape and hat, propane tank on his back and a long torch in hand, he moves from lamp to lamp — turning the gas, touching the flame to each of four mantles. His route changes nightly and people try to find him. We happened to be standing in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. We followed him to the end of his route and managed a photo together to mark the moment.
A Day Trip to Sobótka
A day of birdsong, forest trails, and lily-of-the-valley discoveries — exactly the reset we needed after city wandering.
Our fourth day felt like enough of a foundation to venture further afield. The small town of Sobótka, about an hour away by bus, promised hiking. Getting there required navigating PolBus — a website in Polish only, resistant to Google Translate, and not entirely current. We went on instinct, arrived at the bus station, and caught a bus within five minutes. On board we met an American missionary, on a two year Polish posting, who shared local observations as fields and villages slipped past the window.
The woods around Sobótka were everything we needed: birdsong, forest trails, and a pace entirely unlike the cities. Meg spotted lily-of-the-valley, which brought back childhood memories. Getting home involved a kind Ukrainian woman who — entirely through gestures and Google Translate — walked us through a construction zone and pointed us to the relocated bus stop. We made the bus with minutes to spare, grateful for the reminder that communication transcends language.
Farewell, Wroclaw
Still water, empty paths, and one last quiet loop around the islands before the train.
Our final morning rewarded an early start. Blue skies and still water on the river meant buildings reflected perfectly in the ponds as we walked the islands in a long loop. No one else about. We said quiet farewells to the dwarves we’d grown fond of, stopped at the bakery for brown paper bags of pastries we probably shouldn’t have eaten, and made our way to the train station. Both of us agreed: Wroclaw is the kind of place that sneaks up on you. The signage can be opaque, English surprisingly scarce, and tourist crowds refreshingly absent. Somehow those very things become part of its charm. The bike paths, the waterways, the green spaces, the layered history, the quietly eccentric dwarves. By the time we boarded our train, it no longer felt like a stop on an itinerary. It felt like a city we’d happily return to.
🇨🇿 Four days in Prague brought us unexpected train cuisine, a deeply overachieving medieval clock, monastery beer, and proof that Czech beer logistics operate on a different scale entirely.
Day One: The Train, the Clock, and the Communist Cola
The journey from Vienna to Prague took just under five hours, and we loved every minute of it. Trains remain a firm favourite — downtown to downtown, no security theatre, proper seats, and actual scenery rolling past the window. What’s not to love?
We travelled with RegioJet, a Czech independent train company whose reviews are, shall we say, spirited. We’d booked months ahead, paid a reasonable fare, and felt quietly pleased with ourselves. Then, a few days before departure, we received an email saying our carriage had been changed — same class of service, no big deal. Then, the morning of departure, a second email: another change, and this time a downgrade. A refund, apparently, was on its way in five business days. We have heard that before.
Moving platforms…again
We arrived at the station in good time, positioned ourselves confidently at our platform, and watched — with increasing unease — as everyone around us suddenly picked up their bags and walked away. A glance at the departures board confirmed our suspicions: the train had shifted platforms. We schlepped our luggage up and down stairs and arrived at the new platform with minutes to spare, joining the mild chaos of a couple of hundred people trying to board at once.
Despite the preamble, the train itself was genuinely excellent. Our “Relax Class” seats were leather, in a two-and-one configuration — just that bit more generous than regular coach. The class comes with a bottle of water, unlimited tea and coffee, and table service for food. We had, of course, packed snacks, operating on the reasonable assumption that train food would be overpriced and underwhelming. We were wrong on both counts.
The menu was cheap and surprisingly diverse. Between us, we managed: cappuccino, mint tea, prosecco, a ham and cheese croissant, a sushi tray, potato chips, apple cake, honey cake, pop, and water — the whole lot coming to around $18 CAD. Cam’s ginger shot, ordered mostly out of curiosity, turned out to be the best he’d ever had. The sushi was, in fairness, firmly in the grocery-store tier, but for under three euros it was hard to object. The ham and cheese croissant was excellent.
🥤 Meeting Kofola
And then there was Kofola.
Our snacks on the train with Kafola front and centre!
If you haven’t heard of Kofola, here is the condensed history: during the communist era, Coca-Cola was capitalist and therefore bad. Kofola was Czech and therefore good. It is dark brown, fizzy, sweet, and comes in plastic bottles. That is where the resemblance to Coke ends. When Cam ordered one, the conductor — a man of excellent English and admirable patience — fixed him with a look that suggested this happened more often than it should. He warned, diplomatically, that Czech people liked Kofola but visitors sometimes found it difficult to take. Cam replied that he was a guest in the country and wanted to try local things, which earned a genuine smile and, shortly afterwards, a glass of Kofola.
The verdict: somewhere between Coca-Cola, Dr Pepper, root beer, and something faintly herbal that nobody could quite identify — Vimto, perhaps, after a long day. Meg, fresh from her fermented tea adventure in Albania, elected to stick with prosecco and made no apologies for this. Cam is glad he tried it. He will not be seeking it out again.
A Fairytale City
Historical and narrow streets, they felt like a Disney set.
The train pulled into Prague on time, which felt like a minor triumph after the morning’s adventures. A light rain was falling — our remarkable streak of good weather quietly ending — but we dropped our bags and set out anyway. Old Town Prague is a labyrinth: cobblestones, alleys, facades that look as though they were designed by someone who had read too many fairy tales and decided to simply build one. In places, it really does feel like a Disney set, which sounds like a criticism but somehow isn’t. There is a quality to it — particularly on a cool, damp evening in mid-May, when the crowds have thinned and whole stretches feel almost deserted — that is genuinely unworldly. We hadn’t felt it in any other city on this trip.
We found dinner in a traditional tavern just beyond the main tourist radius. There was a twenty-minute wait for a table. It was entirely worth it.
Before bed, we stopped to watch the Astronomical Clock — more on that tomorrow, because it deserves more than a footnote.
Day Two: Walking Tours, Gas Lamps, and a Clock That Does Too Much
The walking tour ran nearly four hours. With hindsight, this was ambitious. The first two hours were excellent; the second two were the mental equivalent of trying to pour water into a full glass. We nodded, we noted, we absorbed considerably less than we intended. The Jewish Quarter section, in particular, deserved more of our attention than our flagging concentration was able to give it.
What stuck, though, stuck well.
Prague’s history follows a pattern familiar from our weeks in Central Europe: alliances, betrayals, occupation, and Hitler. Always Hitler. But the tour surfaced a few details that set Prague apart. One was the gas lamps. The city converted its old town streetlighting to electricity in the 1980s and almost immediately regretted it. By the early 2000s, the gas lamps had begun returning. Today, from the Old Town Square to the Charles Bridge, the streets are lit by faithful replicas of the originals — and every night, a lamplighter makes the rounds to light them by hand. It is a choice that says something nice about the city.
The Clock That Refuses to Be Normal
The other thing that stood apart was the Astronomical Clock, which we had already seen but now properly understood. The hourly show — the twelve apostles parading above the dial — is the thing that draws the crowds, but it is honestly the least interesting thing about it. The clock itself was built in the 1400s and tracks, simultaneously: three different time systems (modern time, old Czech time, and Babylonian time), the current zodiac sign, the height of the sun, sunrise and sunset, and the phase of the moon. The feast day appears as well, along with which saint is celebrated — at least one for every day of the year. All of this was engineered without computers, without precision machinery, without anything we would recognise as modern tooling. It has been doing its job for over six hundred years. The 9 AM showing, we discovered, is the best: the full performance, the fewest people.
Prague Astronomical Clock in Old Town Square – six hundred years of celestial multitasking
Prague’s Slightly Mischievous Side
Floating down on an umbrella.
Prague also has a playful streak in its public art. Beyond the famous rotating head of Franz Kafka and the Dancing House, we came across whimsical statues scattered through the streets — mushroom umbrellas, figures floating above the pavement à la Mary Poppins, automated aeroplanes with butterfly wings. It gives the old town an additional layer of surprise, as if the city occasionally winks at you.
Lunch on this day was a genuine find. Our guide pointed us toward a cafeteria-style restaurant — a proper Czech cafeteria, not a café in disguise. You collect a tray and an order slip from the cashier, work your way along, have food written down as you go, eat, and then pay at the end. Cam described it as eating at IKEA, which is accurate, and meant as a compliment. The prices were genuinely remarkable for central Prague.
🍺 Day Three: Uphill Both Ways, Monastery Beer, and the Beer Delivery
We set out on the morning of May 14th with a plan to do some walking in the wooded hills above the city. The destination was Petřín Hill and its lookout tower — a scaled-down Eiffel Tower built for the 1891 Prague Jubilee Exhibition, with commanding views over the old town.
We took the bus to get close, which helped with most of the climbing. Most of it. The remaining ascent still took a solid half hour and covered 150 metres of vertical, which is enough to reclassify a casual walk as a hike, particularly when you hadn’t entirely planned for it. At the top, we looked at the tower, looked at each other, and agreed to take the elevator. For fifty extra Czech koruna, it seemed a reasonable investment.
The views were worth it. The city spread out below in that particular way that medieval European cities do — layers of red rooftops, stone bridges, the river curving through it all.
Beer as Motivation
Coming down through the forested paths of Petřín, we noticed a large building on the map: the Strahov Monastery. Right next to it, almost as an afterthought: the Strahov Monastery Brewery. It was approaching lunchtime. The brewery had exceptional reviews. The decision required very little deliberation.
The food was good. The beer was exceptional — the best of the entire trip, and we have been covering some ground on this particular metric. Made on-site, sampled with the appropriate reverence, it made the uphill slog feel entirely worthwhile. Perhaps more worthwhile than it strictly was, but that is what good beer does.
Beer Delivery, Czech Style
You need a firehose to supply Czech pubs with beer!
Later that afternoon, back near our hotel, Cam witnessed something that tied together a theme that had been running through our Prague days. A truck pulled up outside the pub on the ground floor of our building. The driver climbed out, opened the back, and began feeding a large hose — the diameter of a fire hose — through a small opening in the basement wall. Cam, curious, went over and asked if this was a beer delivery. The driver looked at him with a broad grin and said with a heavy Czech accent: “This is the Czech Republic.” He waved Cam around to the side panel of the truck, which opened to reveal six tanks. Each tank held 1,000 litres. He would be delivering 3,000 litres to this one pub.
The Czechs take their standing as the world’s highest per-capita beer consumers very seriously. Kegs, it turns out, are simply not sufficient to the task. Earlier in the trip, our Bratislava guide had told us that the old town sat atop miles of beer cellars — tunnels and caves running beneath the streets. Prague is the same. Many of those cellars are now restaurants: small and apparently modest at street level, then descending through a staircase or two into dramatically atmospheric spaces with exposed stone walls and copper holding tanks. On our first visit to one, we watched group after group disappear through a door that looked like it should fit perhaps thirty people. We were eventually led through that door, down one flight of stairs to a larger room, and then down again to the second basement. The tanks, Cam had assumed, meant the place brewed its own beer. They are, in fact, holding tanks. The beer arrives by hose from the street.
For dinner, we found another traditional Czech restaurant away from the tourist drag. It was, again, excellent. We are beginning to suspect that Prague simply does this well.
🌅 Day Four: Early Morning, Empty Bridge, and On to Poland
On the final morning, Cam rose early and walked to the Charles Bridge before the city had properly woken up. In high season, the bridge is perpetually crowded; at that hour, in mid-May, it was nearly empty — just the bridge, the statues, the river, and the light. Worth the early alarm.
We then made our way to the train station, luggage in hand, for the journey to Poland — the country where Cam’s mother was born.
Prague surprised us. The reputation for beauty is entirely deserved, but it is also a city with a sense of humour, a willingness to invest in its own history, and a serious commitment to beer that goes well beyond the performative. We arrived sceptical of train food and left unexpectedly converted. We arrived vaguely aware of the Astronomical Clock and departed genuinely awed by it.
One of many statues on the Charles Bridge at sunrise.
We would not hesitate to return.
Travel Quote – Life is a journey. Make the most of it.
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🇦🇹 Schnitzel, Palaces, and a Well-Earned Café Stop 🇦🇹
May 9–11, 2026 – Our three days in Vienna, Austria – Written by Meg with help from Cam and AI. All photos by Cam and Meg.
🚂 Day One: The Transit Tax
Travel has a way of humbling you. No matter how short a journey looks on paper, getting from one place to another frequently consumes far more of the day than logic would suggest. Today’s one-hour train ride from Bratislava somehow swallowed five hours whole!
Blame check-in and check-out times — the quiet tax of traveling without hotels. With no front desk to stash our bags and no gracious early check-in, we simply had to improvise. Luckily, with cooperative weather and a decent grocery store nearby, we made a picnic out of it. There are certainly worse ways to spend a Viennese afternoon. 😊
Fountains at Belvedere Palace with a happy duck!
Once the flat was finally ours, we ditched our bags and headed straight for Belvedere Palace. Distances in Vienna are deceptive — much like Paris, things look much closer on a map than they actually are on foot. The journey by public transit took around 40 minutes, with some local Saturday demonstrations adding a bit of color to the delay.
The palace, unfortunately, greeted us with scaffolding across most of its façade. Taking photos was largely futile, and the grounds — though expansive — were less manicured than we had hoped. Belvedere is clearly a place that deserves a return visit under better circumstances!
🍽️ Dinner in Vienna: There is Only One Option!
Weiner Schnitzel tastes better in Vienna!
Dinner made up for the rocky start entirely. We found a quiet neighborhood restaurant well away from the tourist orbit of St. Stephen’s Cathedral. It was the kind of place where the menu is humble and the cooking is honest. When we asked whether the schnitzel was good, our server replied with magnificent conviction: “Of course!”
He was absolutely right. This Wiener schnitzel was fried in clarified butter, not oil — resulting in a golden, crisp, and deeply satisfying meal. The warm aroma of butter arriving with the plates was half the pleasure! As they say, Wiener schnitzel simply tastes better in Vienna. 😋
👑 Day Two: The Palace That Earns Its Reputation
An early Sunday start paid massive dividends. We secured tickets for the first entry slot at Schönbrunn Palace and walked straight in without waiting in a queue.
Meg on the red carpet at Schonbrunn – worth every early alarm!
The visit opened with a well-produced audio-visual presentation through about ten rooms, beautifully setting the historical stage. Interestingly, the storytelling leaned more heavily on Franz Joseph and Empress Elisabeth (Sisi) than on Maria Theresa. This shaped a considerably poignant, emotional tone — there is something deeply melancholy and cinematic about Elisabeth’s story that the curators clearly know how to highlight.
What we saw covered only about 2% of the palace’s staggering 1,441 rooms — yet it still took us an hour and a half to explore! Heading up the grand staircases into the Palace, Meg even had the red carpet all to herself for a quick photo. 💃
Our audio guides allowed us to explore at our own pace, though we could feel the crowds heavily building around us as we moved through. By the time we reached the exit, the line just to collect audio guides stretched well out the door. Arriving early was easily one of the best decisions of the trip!
In the end, Schönbrunn is very reminiscent of Versailles — sharing the same overwhelming scale, gilded interiors, and architectural attempts to make imperial power feel inevitable. If you have been to one, you will instantly recognize the design language of the other. That is not a criticism; it is simply the universal grammar of an empire.
🏃♂️ Wandering the Grounds & An Evening Stroll
The palace grounds were incredibly lively for a different reason today: a “Run for Life” race was scheduled to begin in the early afternoon. With 13,000 runners expected to swarm the grounds, we happily made our exit well ahead of the tide. 🏃♂️💨
The afternoon brought a long, relaxing stroll along the Donaukanal in the late sunshine. For dinner, we opted for wurst and schnitzel again — we are nothing if not consistent! — wrapping up a genuinely satisfying day.
☕ Day Three: Coffee, Clocks, and a Well-Timed Storm
Outrageously priced. Completely worth it
Now, those who know Cam will appreciate what a momentous occasion this was. He does not drink coffee or tea. Getting him to sit at a café and simply watch the world go by is a minor diplomatic achievement. Today, it actually happened! 🎉
We snagged an outdoor table at a small café right beside St. Stephen’s Cathedral — the absolute epicenter of tourist Vienna, with its famous colorful tile roof and soaring Gothic spires.
From our perch, we watched tour group after tour group trudge past, each trailing obediently behind a colorful flag. No one looked particularly engaged; if we’re honest, it looked like a rather sad procession.
The coffee was outrageously expensive, but completely worth it. If this was to be our one proper café stop of the Vienna stay, we could not have chosen a more quintessentially Viennese setting.
🕰️ The Anker Clock: An Art Nouveau Timepiece
From there, we stumbled upon an unexpected discovery: Vienna has its own remarkable astronomical clock! While we knew all about Prague’s famous timepiece and were looking forward to seeing it, we had no idea Vienna was hiding one of its own — the Anker Clock (Ankeruhr) in the Hoher Markt square.
Vienna’s Anker Clock – an Art Nouveau Masterpiece
We missed the noon show because we didn’t know to look out for it, but we lingered to admire its design nonetheless. The clock is fantastical and whimsical. Apparently, at the strike of noon, twelve historical figures parade across its face while music plays over the speakers.
The Anker Clock is not nearly as famous as Prague’s, which means it doesn’t attract massive crowds, making the experience feel far more personal. Next time, we will make sure to be there at midday to listen for Mozart and other great composers! 🎶
We made it back to our accommodation just ahead of a magnificent thunderstorm, which provided a dramatic Viennese backdrop that felt almost scripted. ⛈️ A short walk through a nearby park between rain showers and a quick chance to catch up on emails quietly wrapped up our three days in Vienna.
💭 Final Thoughts on Vienna
Vienna deeply rewards patience and good timing:
🏰 Get to the palaces early to beat the massive crowds.
🧈 Eat the schnitzel — especially if it is fried in clarified butter!
☕ Sit at the café, even if one of you doesn’t drink coffee.
⏰ Always keep an eye on the clocks.
We would happily return. Next time, perhaps we’ll bring bicycles; the city has a wonderful way of making distances feel manageable once you stop fighting them on foot. 🚲
Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment below or get in touch with us — we’d love to hear from you! 👇
✈️ Quote: “Airplane travel is nature’s way of making you look like your passport photo.”
Up next on the blog: Prague, its famous astronomical clock, and whatever else we haven’t thought to expect! 🇨🇿
Our introduction to Bratislava came in a conical bread bowl. Hungry and ready to explore shortly after noon, we stumbled upon SoupCulture, a quirky café serving rich, hearty soups inside edible hollowed-out loaves. It was a clever, delicious discovery that set a wonderful tone for the entire city.
Meg sitting down chatting with Napoleon. She was taller than he was 😉
After checking into our hotel, we joined a walking tour for a crash course in Slovakia’s layered past. Our guide seamlessly walked us through the country’s complex history: the amicable split from the Czech Republic, WWII German occupation, decades of communist rule, and the liberation following the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Along the cobblestone streets, we paused at the ornate Franciscan Church, spotted the famous Napoleon statue watching over the main square, and stopped near the city museum to learn about the poet Pavol Hviezdoslav.
🏰 A City of Two Worlds
The tour culminated at Bratislava Castle, perched high above the Danube. It was here that the city revealed its most striking contrast.
Looking one way, we saw the graceful old town with its historic spires and rooftops. Turning toward the opposite bank, the view shifted entirely to a dense horizon of rigid, square, communist-era tower blocks. Seeing these two worlds simultaneously from one vantage point made the history we’d just heard feel powerfully real.
⛪ Day 2: Fairy Tales and Five-Euro Wine
Inside the “Blue” Church – a lovely building.
The morning began gently with a visit to the Church of St. Elisabeth, known simply as the Blue Church. It is exactly what it sounds like: a dreamy, powder-blue Art Nouveau confection that looks more like something out of a fairy tale than a place of worship.
From there, we wandered along the riverfront, pausing to look at the various sculptures before heading to the train station for the day’s main adventure: a wine-country side trip.
🍇 Finding a Foothill Oasis in Pezinok
The rolling hills of the Little Carpathians make for excellent hiking and wineries!
A short train ride brought us to Pezinok, a town sitting at the foot of the Little Carpathians. We set off uphill on foot, winding along lanes flanked by rows of vines stretching up the slopes. Because it was May 8th—Victory in Europe Day—most of the vineyards were closed for the holiday.
Just as our plans to sample local wine seemed to be slipping away, we rounded a bend and found one small, family-run vineyard open for business. We settled into the sunshine with glasses of crisp white wine, looking out over the valley.
It was one of those quietly perfect travel moments—unhurried, unplanned, and utterly wonderful. The best part? The entire experience cost just five euros for the two of us. An absolute bargain.
🍷 Slovakia’s Best-Kept Vinous Secret
Wine tasting in the foothills of the Carpathian Mtns.
We made our way back down the hill to the station and caught the train back into the city, but the wine exploration wasn’t finished. Back in Bratislava, we ducked into a cellar wine bar to sample more Slovakian varieties.
What struck us was a point made with unmistakable local pride: Slovakian wine almost never leaves Slovakia. The country drinks essentially everything it produces and must actually import wine from elsewhere just to satisfy domestic demand. It’s the kind of secret that makes you feel privileged to have found it at the source.
A traditional meal – you will not leave hungry!
Dinner that evening took us to Bratislava Flagship, a sprawling restaurant dedicated to traditional Slovak cuisine. The place was enormous, loud in the best possible way, and humming with a convivial energy that made the meal feel like a celebration.
The food was hearty and deeply satisfying—honest, unpretentious cooking that reflected the soul of the country. We left full, happy, and grateful for a day that had delivered far more than we’d expected, from the vines above Pezinok to the last bite of a very fine Slovak dinner.
🥐 Day 3: Market Treats and Nostalgic Flavours
Our final morning in Bratislava began at the old town market, arriving early enough to be among the first through the doors at nine o’clock. The stalls were a lovely jumble of breads, cheeses, wines, and homemade specialties.
The doughnut we eventually chose turned out to be one of the finest either of us has ever eaten—fresh, light, and impossible to regret. From the cheese merchant, we sampled several varieties before settling on two, including a walnut cheese that stopped us both in our tracks. It was unlike anything we had tasted before, and it disappeared long before it probably should have.
Bratislava’s indoor market – fresh wonderful food and treats!
We also picked up poppyseed cakes that bore a striking resemblance to the ones my Oma used to bake—a warm and unexpected moment of nostalgia in a foreign market.
The wine stall, though we didn’t purchase, was a highlight in its own right. Enormous stainless-steel vats lined the stand, and the system was beautifully simple: buy an empty bottle, point to your wine, and watch it get filled and corked on the spot. “Civilized” hardly covers it.
With bags in hand and full hearts, we made our way to the train station bound for Vienna. Bratislava had surprised us at every turn, and we left already looking forward to coming back.
Our Budapest itinerary 8 days includes six full days in Budapest, divided between Buda and Pest. It also covers an overnight trip to Eger which is well worth the diversion. We feel it is two cities that reward
Day One: Budapest on Foot
Budapest rewards the walker. Our first full day in the city we gave ourselves over entirely to its streets. We joined a walking tour that wove us through the grand bones of Pest, block by revealing block.
We began at St. Stephen’s Basilica but only for a glimpse. Our plans had us going back for a tour and concert in a few days. We pressed on into the city’s layered history. At the Memorial for the Victims of the German Occupation, we paused. The installation is not subtle, nor should it be; it makes you think and demands something of you. We stood quietly with it for a while before moving on.
Finding Our First Kolodko Statue
Liberty Square brought unexpected delight. Budapest, we had been told, hides small bronze figures throughout its streets. Referred to as Kolodko statues, after the artist who created them. They are whimsical and easy to miss if you’re not looking down. We were looking. And there, tucked at Liberty Square, was Kermit the Frog, presiding with his usual air of cheerful bewilderment. We crouched beside him and laughed.
The Hungarian Parliament – impressive with its spires.
We paused by the Parliament Building, all spires and symmetry, glowing in the noontime light. We found a good angle, handed the camera to a stranger with a smile. The result was exactly the photograph we wanted. The two of us, and one of the most beautiful buildings on earth behind us.
The section below is a difficult subject about the Holocaust. Anyone who does not feel comfortable reading it should carry forward to the next section labelled Chain Bridge. click here to skip ahead
Shoes on the Danube
We had been warned, gently, by our guide before we approached.
Shoes on the Danube – haunting.
In January 1945, Hungarian Arrow Cross militiamen — the fascist collaborators who did the Reich’s cruelest work in its final desperate months — came in the dead of night to the Jewish Ghetto. In temperatures of minus thirty, they marched their prisoners down to the river’s edge and issued a simple, devastating instruction. Remove your shoes, and place your valuables inside them.
The shoelaces were taken. Ankles were bound together in groups of roughly thirty people. Then one shot was fired. The person who fell was, in the most haunting calculus imaginable, the fortunate one. Being tied together as they were, they all went into the Danube. The river, cold and indifferent, was meant to carry them away and simply erase them from memory. There was no way anyone could survive. It was -30C. The river, what parts were not frozen, was dark, black and freezing cold. It was the middle of the night, no light anywhere. Blackouts were in place due to the threat of Allied bombings. Once in the river, people would have struggled but would be pulled down by their collective weight. A terrible and terrifying end.
The bronze shoes cast along the embankment today number sixty pairs, rendered exactly as they were in life. There are work boots beside elegant heels and most devastatingly, children’s shoes. In bronze, they refuse erasure. They hold the ground those people were made to leave. We stood among them without speaking. Some things don’t resolve into words. You just bear witness, and you carry it with you.
Chain Bridge
Our walking tour came to its end at the Chain Bridge, Budapest’s most iconic crossing. A fitting place to pause and take stock of everything the city had already given us.
Before we dispersed, our guide produced something charming and entirely unexpected — a Hungarian food bingo card he had designed himself, listing the local dishes and specialties we ought to seek out during our stay. It was exactly the kind of insider touch that no guidebook thinks to offer, and we studied it with genuine enthusiasm, already mentally planning our meals.
We crossed the Chain Bridge on foot, the Danube broad and grey beneath us, Buda’s castle quarter rising on the far bank. We wandered the waterfront for a while, letting the afternoon slow down around us, before making our way back to the apartment to rest.
That evening, we ventured out in pursuit of a Hungarian essential: goulash soup. The bowls arrived modest in size but generous in everything that mattered — dense with tender meat and potatoes, warming in the way that only a dish built by centuries of cold winters truly can be. A quiet, perfect ending to a day that had asked a great deal of us.
Day Two: May Day — Into the City Like Locals
Budapest has a way of making you feel, even as a visitor, that you belong to it. May 1st — Labour Day, a national holiday — gave us our best chance yet to test that feeling.
We made for City Park, where a sprawling open-air celebration had taken over the grounds entirely. Food stalls stretched in every direction. At the other end, a large dog show occupied a portion of the park with canine seriousness. Around it all moved Budapest’s families and couples, unhurried and content, spreading blankets on the grass, laughing with children. People were living the day exactly as a holiday is meant to be lived. We fell in among them gratefully, simply two more people on a park bench, lunch from the food trucks in hand, sun on our faces. It was a great day.
After the park we drifted through the surrounding streets with no particular agenda — the best kind of wandering — letting the city show us whatever it chose.
Margaret Island – an Oasis in the City
As evening came on, we crossed to Margaret Island. The island has its own quiet logic — a green ribbon in the middle of the Danube. We walked its full length along beautifully kept paths, the city a respectful distance on either side. At the far end, we found the musical fountain and settled in for the seven o’clock show. The water rose and fell in surprisingly moving choreography, set to music, lit against the darkening sky. From the classics to contemporary, including Michael Bublé, to make us proud at the Canadian content.
A perfect sunset over the Danube River.
Leaving, we paused on Margaret Bridge and saw what postcards are made of. The setting sun cast itself full and warm against the Parliament Building’s façade — the spires and pale stone lit, but the shadows beginning their slow, inevitable climb. Inch by inch the light retreated up the walls, the golden warmth shrinking upward until, at last, it released its hold entirely and the building passed into the blue of evening. It lasted perhaps ten minutes. We didn’t move or speak much. There are moments that ask only to be witnessed, and this was one of them.
Day Three: Market, Bridge, and Ruin Bars
Budapest’s Great Market Hall is one of those places that arrives with considerable reputation, and on a Saturday morning it delivered on most of it. We wandered in as the stalls were still finding their rhythm, the lower floor coming alive with vendors arranging their displays — coils of sausage, wedges of cheese, vivid ropes of dried paprika, fruit stacked with evident pride, butchers setting out their cuts with practiced efficiency. It was genuine and sensory and worth every minute. We stopped at a bakery and, even though we were in Budapest, sampled a Bratislava pastry.
The upper floor leaned more heavily toward the tourist trade. Souvenir stalls and quick meals jostling for attention. The building itself, for all its undeniable beauty, wore that slightly self-conscious air that great market halls sometimes acquire when they know they are being admired. We appreciated the architecture sincerely, then slipped back out into the morning without any paprika or embroidered tablecloths, which felt like the right decision.
On the way out we admired the Liberty Bridge. We stood on it for a while and said what we both already knew: we liked it more than the Chain Bridge. It is greener, quieter, less performed — a working bridge that happens to be beautiful rather than a beautiful bridge that happens to work.
Ruin Bars – A Concept that Invites Celebration
That evening we made our way to one of Budapest’s celebrated ruin bars — those improbable, glorious experiments in which the city takes its abandoned buildings and breathes chaotic, creative new life into them. Arriving early meant we had the rare pleasure of a table, a drink in hand, and space to actually look. Umbrellas hung overhead in clusters, their colours mismatched and wonderful. The décor was deliberately, cheerfully unresolved — odd objects placed with a conviction that they belonged together. It worked. Budapest has a particular genius for this kind of reinvention, for finding the poetry in what other cities might simply demolish. The ruin bars are its most joyful expression of that instinct.
Day Four: Miniature Mysteries, a Charming Village, and Goulash Worth the Wait
Our morning unfolded at a leisurely pace, map in hand, hunting for Budapest’s beloved Kolodko miniature statues. These tiny, whimsical sculptures are tucked into the most unexpected corners of the city, and tracking them down proved a wonderful excuse to wander neighbourhoods we might otherwise have missed. By late morning we’d found four of the little treasures — each discovery earning a proper moment of delight.
A cobbled lined street in Szentendre with umbrellas.
From there we caught the train north to Szentendre, a village that felt almost too picturesque to be real. Cobblestone lanes wound past brightly coloured shops and alleyways strung with cheerful umbrellas, all bathed in warm afternoon sunshine. We settled into an open-air café, ordered ice cream, and happily watched the world stroll by. The return journey was even better — a ninety-minute riverboat cruise down the Danube as the sun dipped low, painting the water gold. An absolutely magical way to re-enter the city.
Beef Goulash
That evening we set out for Hungary’s iconic dish: beef goulash. The meal itself was wonderful — rich, deeply flavoured, and entirely worth writing home about — though getting it proved an adventure of its own. Forty minutes after ordering, we’d watched entire tables around us arrive, eat, and leave while our food remained a mystery. When we gently flagged down our waiter, the manager appeared moments later looking genuinely mortified. He apologized sincerely and insisted the meal would be on the house. We protested, he refused, and his parting request was simply that we leave a kind review if we felt so moved. We did, without hesitation.
Day Five: Castle Views, Sacred Music, and More Hidden Statues
We spent our morning crossing to the Buda side of the city, climbing through leafy parks until the castle grounds opened up before us. After several days exploring Pest, we both agreed that Buda held a quieter, more unhurried character — and, it must be said, noticeably cleaner streets. No slight intended toward Pest’s many charms, but the litter there had been a recurring disappointment. From the castle heights, however, none of that mattered. The views across the Danube to the Pest skyline were breathtaking, particularly with the day’s brilliant sunshine turning everything golden. We lingered longer than planned before eventually making our way back over the bridge to freshen up at the apartment.
A mini sculpture with Meg’s hand for scale
Our afternoon was anchored by a visit to Saint Stephen’s Basilica, timed deliberately to coincide with the 4:30 organ concert — a 50-minute performance included free with admission every Monday. It was a genuinely captivating experience, the great instrument filling that soaring interior with remarkable depth, complemented beautifully by a trumpeter performing alongside the organist. One of the Basilica’s most extraordinary features was a small chapel depicting the crucifixion. Regardless of where you stood, Christ’s knees appeared to point directly toward you. It was so striking that I photographed it three times, half convinced I was imagining it. I wasn’t.
As evening settled over the city, we headed back out into the streets — not for any particular destination, but with our statue map in hand and the quiet pleasure of the hunt ahead. We found several more Kolodko pieces tucked into corners and alcoves, each one a small reward for paying attention. It was the perfect gentle close to another full and memorable day.
Day Six and Seven Had Us Heading to the Town of Eger
We headed to Eger, which is covered in a separate post.
Final Evening: Budapest, Signing Off
Returning from Eger, we spent our last Budapest evening simply — unwinding, packing, and preparing for the next morning’s train to Bratislava. No grand plans, no restaurant reservations. Just the quiet pleasure of a city we’d grown genuinely fond of.
If Budapest was the grand centrepiece of our time in Hungary, Eger was its quiet highlight. The wine cellars of the Valley of Beautiful Women, the castle’s storied ramparts, lángos in the park — it had an unhurried authenticity that stayed with us. If you’re planning a Hungarian itinerary, do make room for more than a day trip. An overnight there is something you will not regret.
Hungary had exceeded every expectation. Warm, generous, endlessly interesting — a country that rewards the curious traveller. We’d return in a heartbeat.
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Thanks for reading
As travellers, we leave you with this quote – Tourists visit. Travellers explore.
The journey began the way the best Hungarian adventures do — aboard a train. Rolling eastward out of Budapest, the city’s rooftops giving way to sunlit plains and the gentle swell of the Northern Uplands. Eger arrived with the unhurried charm of a town that has never needed to announce itself. We found a park bench, unwrapped our lunch, and ate with the easy contentment of travellers who have nowhere to be but precisely where they are.
Arriving at our…Ahhheeemm…Accomodation
Our accommodation, however, tested that contentment. Generous in its use of the word “hotel,” it was a hostel in all but name. Four rooms perched on the top floor, each with its own bathroom. A shared common area anchored by what was diplomatically labelled a kitchen. In practice, this meant a microwave and a hot plate. We unpacked with tempered expectations and took it in good humour. We were fortunate that we were the only guests that evening. I think we all know that, sometimes, reviews are a bit misleading.
“Ninety-seven steps, spiralling upward in the dark — the minaret’s reputation preceded it.”
One of the wine cellars in Eger
The minaret stood nearby our lodging, its Ottoman silhouette rising against the blue sky. It was ninety-seven steps coiling upward in claustrophobic darkness. We considered it seriously, debated, and ultimately declined. This decision felt entirely reasonable and only slightly like cowardice. Instead, we sought out the Valley of Beautiful Women, Eger’s celebrated wine district. The local shuttle, however, would only accept Hungarian Forint which we didn’t possess. So we walked, and the twenty-five minutes passed pleasantly enough beneath the afternoon sun.
The Valley of Beautiful Women
An afternoon in the sunshine on an open air patio in Eger, Hungary.
The valley more than rewarded the effort. We settled into three different wine cellars, drifting between patios dappled in shade, a balmy twenty-five degrees lending everything the warmth of a long, unhurried afternoon. Crisp white wines arrived in succession — local varieties, honest and expressive. We closed the afternoon with two reds that lingered richly on the palate. For €15 for all three caves, it was also incredibly reasonable. However, much like our visit to Porto, we drank more than we planned to. I’m sure everyone does. (see our earlier post on Porto)
Dinner followed: al fresco, candle-lit, lovely in every sense of the word.
Religious artifacts from the castle
Our second morning belonged to Eger Castle. We spent three hours wandering its ramparts and halls, absorbing centuries of siege and defiance layered into every stone. Afterwards, lunch in the park — a lángos, golden and pillowy, the kind of street food that asks for no accompaniment. Then the train, westward this time, carrying us back to Budapest with full stomachs, wine-warm memories, and the quiet satisfaction of a journey well spent.
Getting to Eger
If you go, trains run every hour from Budapest to Eger or vice versa. There’s no need to book in advance as trains rarely sell out and seat reservations are not required. Do validate your ticket onboard. The train ride is approximately two hours. The Eger station is about a 25-minute walk to the Tourist Info centre/central square. There are also buses and taxis.
During the summer and on weekends, it is advisable to have hotel reservations. We were there at the beginning of May during shoulder season. A few of the wine bars were closed during the afternoon we visited, but most were open. During the weekends and on holidays and through the summer all wine bars are normally opened. The walk from downtown Eger to the Valley of Beautiful Women is approximately 25 minutes at a gentle pace. A shuttle will take you there for 1,400 Ft ($4.50 USD), Hungarian cash only.
Eger is a city you should make time for, and an overnight would be much more rewarding than a day trip.
