Location: Ócsa (Hungary)
Softly the question was asked “why are you crying?” “I don’t know.” she responded. And she began howling even louder than before.
For 3 weeks I called the beautiful town of Eger my home. I was standing at the train station with my awkward luggage waiting anxiously. I felt vulnerable and sadness overwhelmed me. It is amazing how quickly you can fall in love with people and places, and how quickly a goodbye has to escape your lips.
After the arduous journey through Budapest, I arrived at my new home in the town of Ócsa.
Walking through the town with an ice-cream in hand I was able to thoroughly observe my surroundings. The town was just as beautiful as the last, but it was also entirely different in it’s own alluring way. There was a 13th entury Romanesque Church standing honourably over the peasants' houses below. Red flowers contrasted against the white mud walls and corn was drying below the roof thatching. Bumble bees hummed through the green grass foraging the millions of tiny yellow flowers that were scattered across the ground.
After exploring, I returned to my new home, cheery trees sat whimsically in the yard protecting the little wooden shed used to craft traditional Hungarian pottery.
That evening bathing in warm soapy water, I washed away the sticky remains of ice-cream and smooth brown clay. Although I was tired, I was as content as a purring cat napping in the warm sun.
After the arduous journey through Budapest, I arrived at my new home in the town of Ócsa.
Walking through the town with an ice-cream in hand I was able to thoroughly observe my surroundings. The town was just as beautiful as the last, but it was also entirely different in it’s own alluring way. There was a 13th entury Romanesque Church standing honourably over the peasants' houses below. Red flowers contrasted against the white mud walls and corn was drying below the roof thatching. Bumble bees hummed through the green grass foraging the millions of tiny yellow flowers that were scattered across the ground.
After exploring, I returned to my new home, cheery trees sat whimsically in the yard protecting the little wooden shed used to craft traditional Hungarian pottery.
That evening bathing in warm soapy water, I washed away the sticky remains of ice-cream and smooth brown clay. Although I was tired, I was as content as a purring cat napping in the warm sun.