The Squeaky Robot

A Meddling Robot in a Human's World

Posts tagged “Hungary

The Smaller Picture

Posted on April 24, 2013

Let me break it down for you: There was a bird on the glass. It reminded me of an ancient Hungarian fairy tale, “The Glass Man and the Golden Bird,” that describes a king who must travel to the Kingdom of Magic to find The One. Along the way he encounters great foes, like a witch who has turned herself into a monstrous black spider with two swords for two front legs. A little golden bird accompanies him on his journey; it serves as companion and songbird in times of peace and protector during times of trial and despair. Eventually the king finds The One when the golden bird sings a song for a lily, transforming the lily into a beautiful maiden. Sometimes even…

A Robot, A Film Camera, and Eastern Europe

Posted on August 14, 2012

A melody, maybe?

Bucharest

I arrived to Bucharest on its hottest recorded day ever. What can I say, I do that to places.

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Sighisoara

Dracula’s hometown manages to attract many visitors, but it’s not difficult to leave the beaten path.

This woman is a Holocaust survivor. She also happens to be as sweet as sugar.

Lokoshaza//En Route

I was bored, okay??

Budapest 

Currently in Krakow; rain is pouring. I am beyond excited to be back in Poland where much of my family is. Obligatory pierogi pig-outs are happening. Trying to stop them would be like trying to pull a large ship to shore with a piece of floss.

After Krakow, it’s off to Ukraine. A bit random, I know, but I have a very important bucket-list matter to tend to. Putting it off any longer would just be woefully irresponsible and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?

The Parts of the Line

Posted on August 7, 2012

I often speak ad nauseum about the journey vis-a-vis the destination – how the line connecting point A and point B is often more memorable, more educational, more action-packed, more tale-worthy than the points themselves. This particular line has four parts: Part One: The Place that Doesn’t Exist Eastern Hungary smells like smoke and sunflowers. I’m currently at a tiny train station in Lőkösháza, so I would know. Rather, I’m sitting on the concrete platform watching local men and women socialize. They appear to be railway employees but they’re not doing anything official, just the occasional joke and smoke. It’s dusk already. A light flickers on overhead; a line of lights soon follow suit, flickering on in a systematic fashion down the line. I have…