Jenny Peterson 11/22/24 Jenny Peterson 11/22/24

I am the mountain

You mine for ore

Looking for healing

In all my rich deposits

In old ragged veins

In rocks, secret rocks

In height and a secret depth

How deep does a mountain go

And where is its heart?

I am the mountain

You mine for ore

Looking for reassurance

From a rock

From a pile of rocks

As if love was geologic

As if you knew I loved you by mountain rules

Slow

Steady

Seemingly eternal

(I am a rock)

I loved you like a mountain

Veins embedded with my great care

And your great neglect (humans just ruin it anyway)

Permanent slivers of glitter and shine

I fed with my slow, twisting ache

I fed with the earth

Here you are, forever- see?

You came to visit

Looking for yourself

Looking to know that you are still worthy of love

Eking out the aquamarine

Around every corner

Something about your eyes

And your ease in the water

Something about the stone only costing 20 dollars!

A joke about being cheap but pretty

Great snaking aquamarine, a hard hard river

You came to the mountain

The great giving tree of the PNW

Here, take my apples

Here, take my heart

Mountain as reflecting pond

Mountain as womb

Mountain as extraction

Mountain as no one will notice

What is a mountain

but a memory

Who stands

And holds

And harbors

And is too big to be seen

Jenny Peterson 11/12/24 Jenny Peterson 11/12/24

May 29, 2024 at 4:40 AM

I am a storm

Waves of plankton

Foam and acid

A bath of time traveling

Little dudes

I am a storm of burning horses

Hurling themselves into the sea

Burrowing baby horses, burning into the sand in the sea

I am a storm of midnights

Many words for deep purple

violent IOUs

On a body

On a sea

You’ve never been able to read

I am every midwesterners

Nightmare sky

Brown-green and full of guilty promises

Carrying sediment through the air at high speeds

A bath of time traveling earth

I am a storm

Pressed into a body

Pressed into small hot space

A wet bag of anxious body

Pressed into the sky

The bathroom light blinks off again

White noise

At least there’s coffee

At least there’s a body

And a sky coming alive

The cat is on my chest

But the alarm brings no such releases

I am working my way through poems and songs I’ve written in the past 6 months and am going to share some here. Writing always comes in waves for me but it’s a muscle I would like to exercise more regularly.

Jenny Peterson 11/6/24 Jenny Peterson 11/6/24

Marriage Stories: Abortion, covert misogyny, and the battle cry of the surly teenage boy

Hello! It’s been a long time since I’ve written on here. It can be hard to know how to navigate the waters of vulnerability. At the end of the day, it is most important to me to be a full person- to avoid compartmentalizing as much as possible and to be brave and bold and above all- honest.

Since this spring, I’ve been deep diving into a serious effort to improve my mental health. Out of all of the unpleasant and difficult work, processing my abusive marriage is one of the hardest. On the morning of the news of another Trump presidency, I’ve decided to publicly post an essay I wrote this past week. My story is really, really common. I have no expectations that this will soften the hearts of misogynistic abusers. I do hope it helps someone to feel less alone.

After we had been dating for about 3 months I discovered I was pregnant. I figured it out fairly quickly and also fairly quickly knew I was going to have an abortion. This was the easy part.

There’s a lot more I could say here. There are all of the practical things- I had just started my own massage business. I had dreams of saving up and buying a house. I was in the middle of a big dance project and had touring scheduled. There were all of the serious economic realities- I had very little money saved up, no sick leave, no parental leave, absolutely no structural support.

Then there’s all the other stuff. I was horrifically sick- “morning sickness” was all day vomiting. I vomited in the shower. I woke up in the middle of the night vomiting. I had to run out of the room while massaging people to vomit. I could barely eat anything. I was non-functional and it was still so early. High risk pregnancies are very much the rule in my immediate family and that was scary.

Then there’s all the other stuff. How do I describe the absolute disgust-revulsion-panic of what felt like a hostile takeover of my body? I had never been pregnant before, but that was lucky. When I was in high school I was sexually assaulted by my then-boyfriend in the middle of the night. By his own admission it was an attempt to get me pregnant so that I “couldn’t leave him.” If you’ve ever wondered what this kind of violence does to a person I could tell you. I was a shell of myself for most of my senior year of high school. I had a friend who had to coerce me to eat. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t know or recognize myself. I didn’t talk about it until much later.

So pregnancy. I kind of figured that due to my experiences, it would be terribly hard under even the best circumstances. These were far from that.

My body only signaled great danger.

And then there’s all the other stuff. There was you- a sullen 34 year old, living in a dilapidated rental house set for demolition. You were already so hard to reach. I figured that maybe our relationship would be a slow burn but you were not a vetted person to be trusted with anything hard or serious.

In these early days of us dating I found a public blog entry that your ex-girlfriend before me had written. I went looking for “evidence” that you were capable of having a relationship. I knew she had broken up with you. I knew the relationship moved quickly and explosively, an all consuming kind of love. I knew you had negative things to say about her but from my social media information gathering, I knew that I liked her. She said:

“Looking back I can see that my idea of him, was really just my dreams rolled up in a ball and stabbed by a toothpick flag with his name written on it in sharpie. I thought he was responsible, capable and rich. I thought he was inexperienced and therefore unjaded by love, unlike most people his or my age... I was wrong about everything, except he is responsible in the most minimal sense of the word.”

So there you have it. I really should have listened.

But here I was, pregnant. I told him and he tried to act appropriately “supportive.” He always had a knack for doing the bare minimum to have plausible deniability, to be a Nice Guy.

He met me at the clinic. The abortion itself was the easy part. He left me afterwards in the hands of a friend to drive me home. We split the cost. It had all of the emotional depth of meeting someone in a parking lot to sell a coffee table.

When I got home some of my close friends had arranged a party for me, with cupcakes and deep dish pizza and an incredible sense of humor and merriment about the whole thing. Suddenly I COULD EAT and I filled myself with food. These absolute rock stars also built me an entire new bed while I was having the procedure. That evening was the first time I laid down on it. I had a very clear thought that this- THIS is how people show up when they care. I passed out quickly after eating, exhausted.

I didn’t realize that I would have complications afterwards. Two days after the procedure I woke up with a high fever. The first thing you think of in these situations is that you might have some sort of infection. I waited as long as I could until what felt like a reasonable hour and I called him. No answer. I texted- “I have a high fever and I’m worried. Can you take me back to Planned Parenthood?”

He showed up a little while later with a scowl and- a coffee. In retellings of this story over the years, this is the most pivotal and insulting moment. He was so unhurried, so unbothered by my distress- that he stopped to get himself a bougie coffee and DID NOT GET ME ONE. I laugh about it- don’t get between a caffeine addict and their coffee, I suppose. I thought- wow, okay. Not only do I not factor into your calculations at all but you obviously don’t know me if you don’t understand that I will want coffee even when I’m significantly physically suffering. Anyway.

The attitude. The sullenness. He greeted me with all the care and enthusiasm of a teenager being asked to pick up their stinking socks off the living room floor. I was way too vulnerable to address this or process it at the time. We went to the clinic. No signs of infection- it was likely I was reacting sensitively to the massive dose of antibiotics they had given me before the procedure.

He took me home and went to work. Duty done. I think it was a few days later (I remember it was a Wednesday) I woke up again in the middle of the night in searing pain. I was passing massive amounts of blood clots. I called the night nursing line and was told to take the max dose of ibuprofen. I was told that this was my body expelling the rest of the pregnancy tissue and normal. (Duh- I should have thought of that). The pain was unbearable. I called him, over and over again- in the middle of the night. Pleading to answer and come over. I didn’t want to be alone. Nothing. And while I don’t fault someone for not answering their phone in the middle of the night, being awake did nothing to bolster his feelings of concern. I didn’t see him again for at least another week- during this time concerned friends (and their visiting mothers!) came in and out of my apartment as I recovered from the blood loss and the stress and the hormone dump.

Not too long after I relayed this entire story to a friend. I was basically like- “I should dump this guy, right?” I then let her convince me that his behavior was normal, that he just felt insecure because my ex-boyfriend turned close friend happened to be visiting during the whole pregnancy fiasco. It was the most blatant social conditioning nightmare of “won’t someone think of the men” bullshit that I think I’ve ever experienced.

I didn’t leave him. I thought I had done my due diligence communicating to him how all of this made me feel. I told him exactly what I wanted from a relationship. I laid all my cards on the table and waited for him to either show up or get lost. Why I put this decision in his hands is a really, really good question.

He convinced me for nearly a year that he wanted the same things. That he was going to show up. We had a lot of fun. Of course there were ongoing red flags that I ignored. For the purposes of this story, I am going to jump to election night: 2016.

I don’t think I need to elaborate on how distressing this time was for anyone who values democracy, who has suffered sexual violence, who has any kind of empathy for others. I *knew* reproductive rights were on the chopping block if this shitstain got elected. I didn’t want to be alone that night. I asked him- “Please can we hang out? I don’t want to be alone.” He refused. I don’t remember why. He just didn’t want to. Eventually I started to put together that just me needing support was enough for him to flat out refuse. That night was a comedy of errors trying to find community and camaraderie. I wandered the ghost town of Capitol Hill, trying to find friends where they said they would be and finding empty bars. I ended up at a friend’s apartment. I left when Pennsylvania went to Trump. The last thing I saw on my phone before I passed out was that he won.

Three years later, he would bring up this night. “That was a hard time for us!” he declared, almost mystified. I said something to the effect of “Yeah. I really needed you to be there for me and instead I spent the night alone.” Instead of apologizing or having a hard conversation of any kind he yelled at me and stormed off, leaving me alone in a restaurant.

In the fall of 2018, shortly after we got married- Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed as a justice on the Supreme Court. Those confirmation hearings were a nightmare for many, many women- particularly those of us who have experienced sexual assault. Looking at the writing on the wall- for Roe and beyond- was terrifying. At this point I had been speaking out about abortion access for years. I asked him, “Hey- could you use your voice to talk about this issue too? I feel very alone and unsupported. I feel like I have to continually make myself vulnerable as a way to beg for my basic humanity to be recognized. Abortion has benefitted you too. Maybe you could talk about that.”

Instead of any sort of kindness, I got an indignant rampage- I got yelled at for “expecting him to post on social media when I KNEW he didn’t use social media!” He turned my vulnerable pleas to feel like I had an actual partner into some freaky mirror world where I was a monster for not respecting his very strict anti-social media habits. Nevermind the many other ways he could have spoken up or given support. Nevermind that I wasn’t demanding that social media be the medium. Nevermind that literally nothing about his temper tantrum addressed the actual point. It was horrific.

There are so many other small and large moments. There’s his absolute disbelief that I had the audacity to be disappointed that he neglected to vote in a local election. There’s the general attitude of hating the policies that affected him personally, but being unwilling to do anything proactive or engage in anything community focused. There’s the moment, shortly after we got married- when he yelled at me, “I don’t want to subsidize YOUR healthcare!” when I was trying to figure out our insurance. There’s the ever-present “teenager energy.” He was so upset that capitalism hadn’t favored him the way he deserved as a man. He was so upset at the ego hit of being at times underemployed, at times struggling with money. (Nevermind that I also struggled with money). He was so resentful that I owned the house we shared, so resentful that any attempts to combine resources were met with emotional violence.

Beware, BEWARE- the so called “progressive” men whose main motivation is simply not wanting to look bad to an external audience.

I might as well have been married to a Republican.

Where did this feeling of betrayal, this knowledge of the complete lack of support all begin? With a pregnancy. With a choice to not have a child under wildly unstable circumstances.

Our first summer living together we got a puppy. Such a cliche for the starter stage of a serious relationship- get a dog, then get married and have a kid, maybe. We both adored her. I’m not going to say that he was a bad dog parent because by most measurements he was great. He was responsible about some things and irresponsible about others. I was responsible about some things and irresponsible about others. We fell into our respective strengths, I guess. He made sure she got to go to the dog park and get good play. I made sure she was safe and took on the bulk of the emotional labor of managing her health (she had some issues as a puppy). We butted heads. We each thought the other person wasn’t pulling their weight. But we both loved her deeply and within that at least- I had trust. He felt that I was not a good enough dog mom and told me that with some regularity. He told me that after having a dog with me there was “no way” he would have a child with me.

During the lead up to our divorce the issue of who would take her was an agonizing one. I was staying in the house (that I had bought before we got married) and he was moving to another state. He just sort of assumed that he deserved to have her more than I did. He straight up asked me if I would “hold onto her” for about 6 months while he got his life together and then send her to him. After all his criticisms of me as a dog parent, he sure had no problem asking me to take over all of her care while he waffled around.

I said no. I insisted on a “custody agreement,” written into our divorce agreement. Because he was moving out of state, we would have a year on/year off agreement. We would split medical bills. We would each take care of her other needs when she was with us. I could not give up this dog, but I also felt like we both had a right to her. I was trying so hard to be fair and amicable. The parallels to the perils of navigating human children during a divorce were not lost to either of us. During one of the more heated discussions, he actually told me- “If we had human children I would just take them to California with me and then you wouldn’t be able to see them!” I was hurt but I also sort of internally cackled. That’s called kidnapping, my dear.

He left. Years went by and he never contacted me or communicated at all to take his turn with the dog. I was nothing but relieved. Last year, he tricked me into talking to him again by framing it as finally wanting to “talk about the dog.” He was living in state again and we met for a beer. He apologized for not reaching out. I didn’t have the heart to tell him how glad I was that he didn’t. It turns out that his life still was exceptionally unstable- he was working the same miserable job, living in a miserable suburb in a state that he hated, with messy 20 somethings who left their food wrappers everywhere. “An unfit environment for a dog,” he said.

I can now see more clearly how he weaponized the dog against me for emotional manipulation and control. These actions were less obvious to me back then, in the thick sea of distain he created and allowed us to fester in. He would ignore me when he arrived home and immediately run to the dog to shower her with love and affection. When it became hard to participate in things like taking her to the dog park (because it felt wildly unsafe to be around HIM)- I was made to feel like an asshole who didn’t care about her. On our last day together, the goodbyes consisted of a disturbing emotional display towards her (playing a song from his phone and weeping into her face), and a half hearted, “take care of yourself, lady” to me. At the time I thought- these are the actions of a wildly unstable person or a wildly manipulative person- or both. It’s not that I don’t understand or have compassion for the loss- I absolutely do. But ultimately these displays had nothing to do with her and certainly had nothing to do with me- it was all about him and only him and his feelings. Wielding approval like a weapon, like a treat that only gets doled out if you are pleasing him was something that happened constantly. Imagining going through this with a child- who most certainly would have been a vessel for his projection and unprocessed garbage and emotional manipulation- is sobering.

I have no doubt that he deeply loved our dog, but the unconditional and uncomplicated love of an animal is easy. Being a human in his orbit who is not serving his ego is resigning yourself to the life of a ghost. I have no doubt that protecting this fragile ego will always come before the care of literally any other living being besides himself.

That is mostly the end of the story. Now I live alone in my house with my dog and my cat in relative peace. I think about what would have happened if I went through with the pregnancy. I think about how I would have an almost 8 year old now. I think about the insidiousness of abuse and misogyny and about how everyone wants to think of themselves as a “nice guy” but how actions speak louder than words. I think about his insistence that I was bad at care, at “mothering”- when really- he was mad that I refused to mother him, a grown ass adult who wanted to remain emotionally 14 years old until the end of time. I think about the deep sting of the words he threw at me often, including, “I don’t care about your feelings and you can’t make me care.”

I think about the care I lend to people every single day in my job, tending to people’s pain and their complicated relationships with their bodies. I think about how I nursed my cat in her old age, managing multiple serious health conditions and how seriously I took this role. I think about how good that devotion felt, regardless of whatever “childless cat lady” insults get thrown my way. I think about the close friendships I have and how we care and show up for each other over years. I think about how much easier it became to care for my home, my dog, and all the other labors of my life when I was no longer being berated and neglected by this sullen, mean house ghost. I think about broader community care- how to show up for people outside your immediate sphere, how to advocate for better circumstances for everyone. I think about how writing this out, sharing my vulnerable stories- is also an act of care. It would have helped me to recognize myself and my story when I was in the thick of all of this turmoil. I think about how “care” and emotional labor are expectations that have much higher stakes for women, and how my ex never stopped to ask himself whether or not he was showing up in the ways that he demanded. I think about extending love and care to myself- something that could have interrupted this nightmare so much sooner. And every single day I am so grateful I was able to access the care I needed in being able to have that abortion with little legal or logistical fuss.

I think about that moment when I read what his ex before me had written. I think about my words joining hers in the ether. I think about the ways women keep secrets for men, hide away their abuses and failings- even from each other.

I think about who might read my words.

And I think about how we are conditioned not to listen to our own intuition and good sense- even when it is smacking us in the face.

Maybe a lot of men will never want to speak out. Maybe they are incapable of expanding their definition of care to anyone but themselves. But I can and I will, over and over and over again.

Jenny Peterson 7/1/17 Jenny Peterson 7/1/17

absence: the state of being away

I want to do a whole series where I remove myself from the situation.

Jenny Peterson 4/25/16 Jenny Peterson 4/25/16

but hit a whale in the heart and the whole ocean turns red, it turns red…

Jenny Peterson 7/31/15 Jenny Peterson 7/31/15

Hawaii, July 2015

I always want to write some epic, well articulated prose to go along with these image heavy posts. I have a lot of thoughts, but I baulk when I try to put them down because I feel verbally noncommittal and embarrassed when I try to communicate in any way that isn’t intentionally obtuse. For someone who values written language and communication, writing feels so utterly terrifying to me. There is a joke about dance performers- we became body artists so we wouldn’t have to speak! I feel like this all the time- my kinesthetic and visual senses feel alive, find-tuned- ready to receive and transmit information. But my voice- as in the sounds that come from my anatomy, my spoken and written language- feels frighteningly underdeveloped. Growing up there were many times and situations in which I just stopped talking- I recognized my lack of control, and shutting down verbally was an act of protection and defiance. I still feel this today- a tightness in my throat, a fluttery fear when I have to answer an email, make a phone call, speak about something in public- I do all of these things because I am stubborn and don’t want to let on how terribly afraid I am. But I am afraid all the time.

Why am I writing about this? As an artist constantly trying to maintain the balance between developing my personal voice and being awake and aware of what is around me, I find myself struggling to communicate lately. There are social and political things happening in the world that are upsetting. There have been personal things that are upsetting. I’m trying to maintain a balance between personal integrity and honesty, as I see it- while also being aware of my tendency to stomp people’s faces with my truth when I feel I am not being heard. Maybe within the confines of creating, of writing/moving/capturing visually- there is safety and freedom to really be heard and communicate in a way that is safe for everyone. I suppose if I were to write a personal art manifesto for this moment, it would be thus- “Stomping your face, with love.”

Anyway, the first part of this summer was challenging, so when I had an opportunity to visit a friend in Hawaii it seemed like the perfect salve to my emotional hemorrhoids. And it was! Below are some images from the trip- obsession with beauty, space, landscape, light- simple things.

To tell the complete truth, my life is actually a total dream right now. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. Traveling, seeing- finding that pathway outside of my own confinements and back again- is a glorious medication.

______________________________________

First things, first: Breakfast. Kate, Kathy J., Tommy.

Waimea, from the road

Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park

Around the house

Trellised coffee and pineapple

Why I really came here

(This image by Kate Hailey)

Order and Chaos, for KJB

The epic mud road and romance novel views

Jenny Peterson 2/23/15 Jenny Peterson 2/23/15

Alchemy

I lift my heart as spring lifts up
A yellow daisy to the rain;
My heart will be a lovely cup
Altho’ it holds but pain.

For I shall learn from flower and leaf
That color every drop they hold,
To change the lifeless wine of grief
To living gold.

Sara Teasdale

Jenny Peterson 1/15/15 Jenny Peterson 1/15/15

Pairs

Jenny Peterson 9/17/14 Jenny Peterson 9/17/14

Scotland, Inverness day 2

My second and last full day in Inverness I decided to do one of those Loch Ness boat tour things. Happily, it was a gorgeous, sunny, almost warm day. Sadly, it was a gorgeous, sunny, almost warm day- which took away the creepy, Loch Ness monster vibe. Still, I can’t say I actually minded.

I tried to make this photo dark and spooky.

This German couple was smooching the whole time.

At one point, everyone went below deck and I had the whole upper deck to myself. So of course, silly self portraits were had.

I want to fill a room with these scary, fake cats and have a performance.

I walked around these neighborhoods a lot.

After my boat tour, some lunch, and a long walk back to my hostel, I went to the food co-op for dinner and sundries for my 14 HOUR trek back to London to fly out the next day. Sadly, my last two days abroad were all massive travel days with no fun. But that just seems to be how it goes.
One skill that I seem to have developed is the ability to fall asleep anywhere- whenever anything is just too boring, uncomfortable, grueling, traumatizing, or annoying- I noticed that I started to pass out. I got so good at this that I actually passed out in the sun during the ride back on the boat. I slept for a lot of the 14 hour bus ride, and then on my 11 hours of flying on the 6th I actually managed to sleep for a few of those hours (I am the most nervous flier ever, but it was actually okay- no turbulence.) I’m going to chalk this up as a really useful life skill that I hope I can maintain- just know that if I’m with you and I start to fall asleep, you just might be annoying, boring, or traumatizing. =) HA.
I made it back to Seattle on Saturday night and in my first week back I managed to see a dance performance, give 22.5 hours of massage, take a technique class, perform for a benefit, and go on a 25 mile bike ride. Ahhhhh, welcome back to the workaholic ways. (Actually, this is something I’d like to change, going forward).
So far I’ll say it’s really good to be home, back in my space with Betty and all my things and more clothing than I know what to do with. I have some big life changes coming up, but I feel like if I can carry over the confidence that traveling alone for 3 months has given me- I can accomplish anything.

Jenny Peterson 9/17/14 Jenny Peterson 9/17/14

Scotland, Inverness day 1

After my tumble down the stairs in Edinburgh, I fumbled my way onto one of the few train rides I was able to afford on this trip.

At first, I was mad at this old lady because she took my (assigned) window seat, but then when I saw her struggling with the lid on her cup of tea I felt bad for being a grumpy asshole and made friends.

My hostel was a little shabby but also somehow awesome. I did have a roommate with some interesting ideas about cleanliness though:

I cannot accurately describe the beauty of Inverness. Luckily, I took a lot of photos. My first full day there I decided to attempt a roughly 16 mile bike ride (I wasn’t sure about my stamina due to the shoulder) to Dores and back. After getting used to riding on the WRONG side of the road, I was off.
Loch Ness, from a distance.

The same view, but with these adorable sheep.

I was dealing with some emotional issues around returning home and well as the body pain of my shoulder, so I noticed that I isolated myself quite a bit in Inverness. I think it was actually exactly what I needed though. This hike through the woods was incredibly mind clearing and beautiful.

When I was a kid, I remember always looking for 4-leaf clovers and never, ever finding them. Somehow though, in the past few years they just seem to be everywhere. I found two on this trip- this one, in Scotland, and the other one was gruesomely at Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland.

Dores Inn, where I had lunch and of course beer.

A nice tavern down the street from my hostel.

After the bike ride, I got back to Inverness in time to go to this amazing old bookstore, complete with curmudgeonly owner.

After some resting at my hostel, I took myself out for the last fancy meal of the trip. I had lamb, potatoes, and wine and it was all delicious. I got a little bit of attitude for daring to eat out by myself- I’m not sure why. I LOVE eating alone! I sat there reading Margaret Atwood and just thoroughly enjoying myself.
Inverness at night.

Jenny Peterson 9/17/14 Jenny Peterson 9/17/14

The last week! Scotland, Edinburgh

Well- I’ve actually been back in Seattle for a little over a week now and am just now getting to these last few days of travel. Terrible! After the ups and downs of London, I found Scotland to be way more hospitable and charming. I also decided that Scottish people are very attractive. Who knew? My first night I arrived with very little energy after the bus ride, so I took myself out to dinner at a pub close to my hostel- Bennet’s bar. I was served a delicious cheeseburger and beer by two cute boys, who sadly I didn’t get pictures of.

My hostel in Edinburgh was nice- I have a weird feeling it may have been secretly religious but as long as no one tries to force me into bible study-I’m cool with that. I met a really nice girl, Karen from New Zealand, and she became my buddy for the day and half I was there.

Alarmist news:

Scotland is poised to vote in just a few days on whether to remain part of the UK or to have independence. I saw tons of these YES signs everywhere, with the occasional sheepish looking “No thanks” sign.

I started my only full day in Edinburgh with a trip to the National Museum of Scotland- I didn’t have time to do much, as I was scheduled to go on a walking tour that afternoon, but I did have a robot spell my name:

The walking tour was great, as per usual. I learned that this beautiful area used to be a slum filled with garbage.

Edinburgh Castle. This place was way too epic to capture with my 50 mm lens. The reason it’s on top of that huge rock like that is because Castle Rock was conveniently created after a volcanic eruption millions of years ago. Apparently the whole of Scotland is ancient volcanic land (now dormant, of course). Scotland also used to be closer to the equator and thus had a tropical climate. Basically, Scotland and England collided and stuck together somehow, but are not actually the same piece of land!

This was in Greyfriars Kirkyard, which is another fabulous cemetery. What is it with me and cemeteries? I just love them so.

George Heriot’s School, which supposedly was the inspiration for Howart’s. I feel like the whole of the UK is trying to take credit for all of this stuff, but that’s okay. I love this girl’s side eye, she’s a total Hermione.

They say that Harry Potter was written here(?)

I love that someone just wrote “Sirius Black” on this grave with a sharpie. There are some die hard Harry Potter fans here.

And, the most amazing- here is the grave of Tom Riddell, clearly just a front as we all know Voldemort is still alive somewhere just biding his time…

Overall, I wish I had had more time in Edinburgh but it’s always a good feeling to leave a place wanting more. I feel like I could come back and spent a month just in Scotland, biking and hiking around the country.
Unfortunately, my time here ended on a little bit of a low note as the last morning I fell down a flight of stairs in the hostel and messed up my already ailing right shoulder and my right hip. Luckily, now that I’m back home I have access to help with those things, but it did make me quite grumpy for a few days. And no, I wasn’t drunk, just clumsy as per usual.

Jenny Peterson 9/4/14 Jenny Peterson 9/4/14

London, take 2

On Wed August 27 I arrived in London after another grueling bus ride.

Somewhere in Belgium.

My hostel was MUCH better than my previous stay in London and even though I was in a 12 person dorm, I still felt fairly comfortable.

After a good night’s sleep I went off the next morning to meet Alex- the nefarious ex-boyfriend- who stopped in London on his way to Greece to hang out and see the Kate Bush concert with me. Our first stop was the Tower of London, which I hadn’t seen on my first time through. They have been installing a WWI memorial with porcelain poppies and I was excited to see it.

Then we ate some food and walked around Hyde Park for awhile, which was close to where we were both staying.
Alex, doing his best to look like a K-mart model. (Okay, that’s an old inside joke with myself).

This could probably be a Valtrex advertisement.

Someone came up to try to make us pay for sitting in these chairs. Too bad we already took this picture, sucker.

The next morning we had another subpar breakfast experience (London has the worst food offerings of pretty much any place I’ve ever been to). Then Alex posed again, this time like a Sears model.

I showed Alex the Camden Market and after walking around for about 20 minutes I needed to go into a quiet tea shop to feel sane again.

Of course I had to take him to my favorite cemetery, Abney Park. This dog belonged to an alcoholic old lady.

What do you do when the idea of going out for dinner is just too depressing because the food in London is awful? You go to a movie theater and buy popcorn for dinner, of course. Then you eat it while walking down the street. Then you go to a Tesco and further destroy yourself by getting little snack cakes and other junk food to go with your popcorn. Amazing.

The next day was Kate Bush day, so naturally I woke up really excited. We started the day off right with a Harry Potter walking tour. Unfortunately, the tour ended up getting retroactively ruined for me, but I got some fun pictures out of it.

The most literary street in London. This place was full of little antique bookstores and was by far one of my favorite places there.

Kate Bush. Oh my god. I actually took this photo after the show, so you could see the lit up marquee.
As we were making our way into the theater and getting drinks, we met some really nice people- a girl named Emma from New York who flew to London for the concert, and her friend- a Londoner. We ended up hanging out with them for a bit after the show.

As Kate Bush requested no photos during her show, all of these were taken before the show started.

What can I even say? It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I loved the whole concert, but I especially loved that she played The Ninth Wave in its entirety, complete with an elaborate theatrical performance. It was beautiful and it made me cry.
“Well I said, “Lily, oh Lily I don’t feel safe
I feel that life has blown a great big hole
Through me” And she said
“Child, you must protect yourself
You can protect yourself
I’ll show you how with fire”
Gabriel before me
Raphael behind me
Michael to my right
Uriel on my left side
In the circle of fire”
“Can’t let you know
What’s been happening.
There’s a ghost in our home,
Just watching you without me.
I’m not here”
“‘Cause every time it rains
You’re here in my head
Like the sun coming out
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen
And I don’t know when
But just saying it could even make it happen”

I think this one might be one of those dancing Gap ads.

What else to say? As a whole, London was pretty rough on me. I learned that it’s not my favorite- it’s too big, the food is terrible, the weather is pretty bad- and I feel like because it’s so big, it doesn’t know what or who it is as a place.
Anyway, I also learned that sometimes, despite your best intentions, traumatizing things are still going to traumatize you. Time doesn’t really heal all wounds. But you can keep trying.

Jenny Peterson 9/1/14 Jenny Peterson 9/1/14

Amsterdam, day 3, 4

Oh wow, am I ever behind on the blogging. Things here have been a bit tough- facing the realities of going home so soon has made me want to escape even more.

Amsterdam turned out to be one of my favorite cities that I’ve visited. Despite some crappy, cold, rainy weather- I still managed to fall in love with the place. And that says a lot.

On Monday (August 26) I wanted to spend some time in museums- but that was before I realized that everyone forms HOURS long lines outside of everything. So I vowed to go to the Anne Frank house the next day so I could get there early.

Instead, I opted to take a canal boat ride, to get out of the rain. It was kind of lame and touristy, but still cool to see the city from that perspective.

Then I went and had pancakes, which were very tasty.

After that I rented a bicycle and toured around the city for awhile, biking through the rain and cold and joining the masses of others navigating the endless canals and side streets. In keeping with my Asian food theme, I had take away Thai for dinner. Which was delicious. I finished off the day with a much needed yoga class.
I loved my nice, private bed.

The next morning I got to the Anne Frank house as early as I could manage- around 8:30 in the morning. It took awhile to get in, but I did it! The experience was humbling, to say the least.
This was part of the line as I was leaving:

I had lunch by myself, at a place that served Huevos Rancheros. Oh yes, my ill timed food cravings have extended to Mexican breakfast as well.

After lunch I biked my way over to the Van Gogh Museum- only to find another endless queue outside. I waited in line for about 30 minutes and then decided it was stupid. I opted instead to bike through Vondelpark, which was lovely.

After the park, I went to another photography exhibit at the Huis Marseille Photography Museum, which was a much better choice as I almost had the place to myself. I saw two exhibits- Taco Anema / In Conference. Portraits of Dutch Administrative Boards, and Guido Guidi / Veramente. Both were inspiring. Then I made my way back to return my bike and rest at my airbnb.

I had a snack. These stroopwafels started out delicious, but later turned into torture.

For dinner/drinks I met up with the loveliest person- a girl named Jacqueline, who is an old travel friend of Joe’s. She was so interesting and easy to talk to and I felt comfortable right away. We went to a Belgium bar where I got to indulge in more beer gluttony.

I had wanted to take one final walk down to the red light district to photograph it at night- but alas, the Belgian beer had its way with me and I got too drunk and had to just go home.
The next day (August 27), I had to get up early to catch a bus to London. Unfortunately, I was running late and didn’t have time to grab breakfast before I hopped on the tram(s) to get to my pick up location- which ended up just being a park and ride in the middle of nowhere. There was no where to buy food anywhere around and the bus drivers were militant and didn’t let us stop anywhere. One of them was nice enough to share an orange with me, but other than that all I had to eat was the package of stroopwafel. Which, after 10 hours on a bus with no other food- kind of makes you vomit in your mouth a little.
When I arrived in London I immediately went to the first restaurant I could find outside of the bus station and ate an entire pizza by myself.
I will probably never eat stroopwafel again.

Jenny Peterson 8/24/14 Jenny Peterson 8/24/14

Amsterdam: Day 1 and 2 and Happy Birthday to me!

I arrived in Amsterdam last night and I have to say I feel pretty enchanted by this city. After getting settled into my airbnb (a birthday splurge), I went out to meet my friend Adam (Canadian, met in Poland) to celebrate my birthday early.

It was a pretty epic night of many things, which included lots of wandering around the city until 2 AM. Some time around 1, we ended up at this park close to where I am staying. As our eyes adjusted, we realized it was a secret bunny island.

Today (my birthday!) I woke up around noon and spent much of the day recovering from last night’s festivities.
Photos of people on bikes. Oh my god, the bike culture here is astounding. So far I’ve seen people riding one handed holding an umbrella with the other hand, someone riding with their dog on the bike with them, lots of people with their infants seemingly propped in the front near the handle bars, and all sorts of people clinging onto the backs of bikes propelled by their friends.

Despite being really wiped out, I did managed to eat eggs benedict, go to Foam, which is an amazing photography museum, and take myself out to a delicious Italian dinner. And eat this cake, of course:

Jenny Peterson 8/24/14 Jenny Peterson 8/24/14

Belgium: Bruges and Gent

I arrived in Bruges, Belgium on Wednesday, the 20th- After a 13.5 hour bus ride, a 1 hour train ride, and a 20 minute walk. Needless to say, I was exhausted. I went to a place called Bocca, where you get a giant take out container of pasta for 5 euros. I filled myself up with pasta, stopped and sampled some Belgium chocolate, and went to a place called De Garre where I drank a delicious sour beer. ( I can’t express enough how much I love sour beer. It is the best and strangest beer there is).

My hostel room. My hostel ended up being fairly nice this time around and I genuinely enjoyed staying there. I could have done without the 3 dude roommates, 2 of which insisted on coming in loudly at 3 am each morning and turning the room into a dungeon of stale bed farts. But oh well.

After all of that excitement, I was in bed by 6 PM. The next day I woke up fairly early and had breakfast at a cafe called Juliette’s. Then I rented a bike because I was determined to see a coastline. I took a 30 mile bike ride to Knokke-Heist and back. It was honestly one of the most beautiful bike rides I’ve ever taken- there is a vast network of numbered bike paths and most of them are separated from the road and surrounded by trees, canals, and beautiful nature. (And corn!)

After my long ride, I decided to eat more pasta and then go to a beer tasting event.
We tasted:
Duvel
Tripel Karmeliet
Westmalle
Chimay
Hoegaarden

I made some friends from the Netherlands and Ukraine.

After the beer tasting, I had to return my bicycle- biking through the dark streets while intoxicated is especially thrilling.

I decided I needed one more Lambic- style sour beer, so I went to Brugse Beertje.

After that I was pretty done, so I went back to the hostel and slept. Overall, this day was one of the best I’ve had on my travels- biking and beer make me sublimely happy.
The next day I took a train to Gent to hang out with my friend Lien, who I met in Poland. Lien was kind enough to invite me to stay with her!
The graffiti street in Gent

Lien lives in this incredible 5(?) story house with 4 other girls. After exploring the city and having coffee we went back to their house and Lien made dinner, a traditional Belgium dish called Waterzooi. It was delicious.

Then there was an impromptu marriage ceremony, of course.

The following morning, Lien and I went on a nice bike ride, ate french fries, and said goodbye. I’m so happy I met her.
Then I went to the station to catch my bus to Amsterdam.

Jenny Peterson 8/22/14 Jenny Peterson 8/22/14

Prague day 3, 4, 5

I have gotten very behind on blogging!

After my day of rest on Saturday (Aug. 16), I spent Sunday exploring the city. I took another free walking tour that took us around the Old Town Square and the Jewish Quarter. I mostly learned that like a lot of Eastern Europe, Prague has spent a long time being occupied by other countries. Also, Czech people like to throw people out of windows when they are angry (at least according to my guide- there has been lots of waring between Catholics and Protestants.) I don’t blame them- so do I!

The Prague astronomical clock, first installed in 1410.

Some people on the tour act out a saintly miracle.

Kafka statue from a story I haven’t read.

This square was constantly full of people.

After the walking tour, I had some dinner (Thai food- for some reason a lot of the time I spent in Budapest and Prague was spent trying to satiate my insatiable appetite for Asian food.)
Then I made my way to the Spanish Synagogue for another stringed instrument concert where I got to hear Bolero, which was very exciting for me.

I started Monday with a nice long walk around the east side of the city. I walked from my airbnb to Riegrovy sady, which was a park with a view of the city. Then I made my way to the tv tower and saw a sculpture/installation by the artist David Cerny.
Shit? Happens

I had to go to the Sex Machines museum, which was mostly creepy and contained machines, devices, and garments from different historical eras.

After the sex machines, I took the second half of the 3 hour walking tour from the day before, where we explored the other side of the river.
“Venice of the North.”

I made a friend, Michely, on the walking tour and we decided to have a traditional Czech dinner together.

I started Tuesday with a lengthly ritual of cleaning out my suitcase and backpack, doing laundry, charging all of my electronics, and feeling organized for the first time in weeks.
Then I had breakfast at a cafe close to “home” and then went to see an exhibition at the Leica Gallery. It was an exhibition of street photography by Felix Lupa.

Then I took another really long meandering walk around the city.

View from one of the islands in the middle of the river. This one had a “beach” which was basically a very small strip of sand on one edge.

The Memorial to the victims of Communism

I ended my walk back in the Jewish District where I got probably one of the best haircuts I’ve ever had.
After that I went back to my airbnb, said goodbye to my host Pauline, grabbed some Vietnamese food to go, and caught my 10:30 PM overnight bus to Belgium.

Jenny Peterson 8/16/14 Jenny Peterson 8/16/14

Prague, Day 1 and 2

I arrived in Prague late-ish on Thursday night, and navigated my way to my airbnb. It’s always exciting how every city is different and you never know what you are going to get in terms of getting yourself around. I arrive with no local money and have to find the metro and learn the idiosyncrasies of each particular system. Luckily in Prague there was an ATM right outside the bus station. When I went down into the metro tunnel though, I learned that their ticket machines only take cash- and they only take coins- and they only take CERTAIN coins. HA! I managed to get change though, and the rest was easy.

I “splurged” on an airbnb in Prague, because I am finding myself very weary with hostels. I’m not in my 20s anymore, people. Who am I kidding? Living in a dorm was hard for me even when I was 18. Anyway, this place was really affordable, and my host- Pauline- is really sweet and accommodating. We had tea and she gave me some solid advice about where to go/what to do in Prague. I’m staying in the southeast part of town, which is a 20-25 minute walk from the city center.

When I woke up in the morning, this was my view:

My own room! A door that closes! Privacy! Sunshine! Quiet! And a washer/dryer, a fully functioning kitchen, an adorable cat, a shower with a tub- I almost lost my mind with how happy and comfortable I was.
I walked to the Old Town Square to meet my Toronto/Ponderosa friend Vic and her lovely mom for lunch.

After lunch we walked up to a viewing tower on the east side of the Charles Bridge- through narrow winding streets and a park area.

On the way down from these hills, I meandered in and out of cute shops full of handmade pottery and other things. I have to be careful, because this seems to be a city that makes me want to spend money. It’s a lot more touristy than Budapest, which on one hand makes it easier, and on the other hand makes it a little harder to have a more unique experience.
That’s an orchard at the bottom part of this photo- so beautiful!

At night, Vic and I decided we wanted to go out- which is so against my nature, seeing as how I’m a grandmother and all. I wanted the experience anyway. We went to a place that Pauline suggested, Vzorkovna- it was a dive bar with multiple rooms filled with couches and comfortable places to sit/relax. There were arcade games and foosball tables in the back and in the room where we were sitting- a stage where people would randomly go up and play music.

It was incredibly dark in there, but I did try to do some longer exposures:

We drank a lot of beer and met some very interesting locals- and spent the night talking and dancing and being silly until we eventually left the bar sometime between 3 and 3:30 AM. I had the best time! Vic is amazing, and I’m so happy I got to spend more time with her on this journey.

Today, I am mildly exhausted. Pauline is gone for the weekend and the Chinese students who are renting the other bedroom in the apartment have been gone sightseeing all day, so me and Zoe the cat have pretty much had the place to ourselves. I decided to take the day off- like a real Saturday! I woke up around 11 AM and put pants on and walked down to the closest little market to get some things to actually make myself breakfast at home.
I got organic eggs, vine tomatoes, a bell pepper, an onion, brie, and a latte- for under $10.00. So good.

I’m coming down with a little bit of a throat thing- I have a very swollen lymph node on my neck/jaw area, but only on the right hand side. I’m hoping the restful day will kill whatever plague I am now currently incubating. I think I may head down and get Vietnamese food at a place nearby for dinner and then spend the evening watching bad tv and booking some hostels for the last 3 weeks (!!) of my trip.

Jenny Peterson 8/14/14 Jenny Peterson 8/14/14

Budapest, day 3, 4, 5

On Tuesday I woke up feeling pretty off and grumpy, though I’m not sure why. I spent the morning being frustrated on the computer trying to book accommodations and transportation for the last part of my trip- sadly, forgetting how astronomically expensive Western Europe is compared to Eastern Europe (especially Amsterdam- I don’t know how anyone even lives there when crappy hostels are $70.00 a night). Anyway, I’ll figure it all out hopefully today before I catch the bus to Prague.

Tuesday afternoon I walked to the Rudas Baths, a less touristy spot than the Széchenyi baths, located on the Buda side of the river. Their outdoor pool area was under construction, but the rest of the thermal area was open. Sadly, I wasn’t allowed to take photos in there (it was women’s day, and people were allowed to bathe nude), but it was quiet and nice- all of the pools were in a circle gradually increasing in temperature surrounding a larger warm pool in the center.

After my soak, I walked around for awhile, taking photos:

Buda hills

I had dinner by myself at a Thai restaurant on Kazinczy Street. It was delicious! Afterwards, I walked back to the hostel to rest for a few hours. Later, I went out for some Rose wine with my roommate, Eve. We went back to Szimpla Pub, which was a total mess of people but managed to find some seats and stay till midnight.

My lovely friend Krisztina loaned me her bike, so yesterday I took a roughly 12 mile round trip bike ride up to Római part, which translates to “Roman Beach.” It’s basically an area north of the city on the Buda side where there is access to the river and there’s a strip of outdoor eateries and ice cream shops. It was pretty sparse, I think with everyone at the Sziget festival, but I was more than happy to have some space from large crowds and some relaxation time. Basically, it was the best. I am so in awe at how being on a bicycle seems to be my go to happy place on this trip.

Don’t mind me, I’m just the creeper taking photos of the back of your neck!

On the way back down I accidentally ran into the Sziget festival (a giant outdoor music/art festival on an island). I considered going, but then I remembered that after years of going to Coachella, I never need to go to another outdoor music festival again. Ever.

Parliament, on my way back to the city.

After my bike ride I took a free walking tour on Communism, which ended up going for 3.5 hours and was really amazing and full of interesting information.

In a nutshell, we learned that there were several phases of Communism-
From 1947-1956, it was basically the worst, with a Stalin-istic government whose motto was, “If you are not with us, you are against us.” It was pretty much a totalitarian police kind of state, and lots of dissenters were sent to forced labor camps, not unlike in WWII. It sounds like people’s basic needs were not being met, with food being collected and then redistributed, with not enough for everyone. Also during this time, people were asked to write reports on their friends, neighbors, and family- so you never quite knew who to trust. It’s like the flip side of McCarthyism! Awesome all around.
In 1956, there was a revolution and on October 23 several hundred peaceful protesters were killed, and then 200,000 people were forced to flee the country. A lot more people were killed, some things happened, and then the next period of communism started.
From 1956-1988 was “Happy Communism,” during which there was a considerable increase in the quality of life. The motto became, “Those who are not against us are with us.” This was also called “Goulash Communism.” Taken from wikipedia:
The name is a semi-humorous metaphor derived from “goulash”, a popular Hungarian dish. As goulash is made with an assortment of unlike ingredients, it represents how Hungarian communism was a mixed ideology and no longer strictly adhering to Marxist interpretations as in the past. Sometimes described as “the happiest barrack in the socialist camp,” Hungary in this particular period enjoyed many amenities not available in the rest of Eastern Europe.
And then in 1989, Communism ended- which our tour guide described as a peaceful transition because the system had weakened so much. She also says that the reporting done on your friends/neighbors is still a really sore subject with Hungarians and that they need a few more generations to forgive each other.
Our tour guide described this building as one of the “nice” Communist era housing complexes.

Nothing to do with Communism, just some happy bubbles:

Another WWII memorial, around which there is constant protest.

This was a Communist bunker that was build completely in secret- the hired workers were told they were working on a new subway line. On the outside it was surrounded by a box with fake electricity sounds coming out of it, with warnings about staying away from the high voltage. In 2000 (!!) they looked at a citywide electrical map, discovered that there weren’t actually any lines running through this area and uncovered this bunker. Crazy!

Communications and media were pretty strictly controlled during Communism, but people would often alter their radios to get western channels. We learned that news from within the country was only reported on if it was happy, but news coming from the west was only reported upon if it was bad- poverty, violence, etc. We also learned that maps of the United States only had a few cities on them- New York, San Francisco, etc- to portray the US and some sort of desolate, non-populated place.

This is the last remaining Soviet memorial that was not removed from the city center after the political change.

Around the corner, the Americans responded by…erecting a statue of Ronald Reagan. Who had nothing whatsoever to do with Hungary in any way. Wow.

The Communist kiss, which was a display of dominance (in theory), instead of a display of hot gay love.

And, that’s all for now- time to go catch my bus.

Jenny Peterson 8/12/14 Jenny Peterson 8/12/14

Budapest! Night 1, Day 1 and 2

On Saturday night I took a bus from Krakow to Budapest- about an 8 to 9 hour journey. The route was comically slow and winding- in fact, this was the first time I saw anything resembling hills or mountains since Iceland. At one point we were rerouted around a traffic accident on the main road and the bus had to meander through these tiny village streets in southern Poland- the people who were out in the streets were crowding to the sides of the road, pointing, laughing, and waving at the bus.

We drove through Slovakia around dusk. It looks like a beautiful country! I’ll have to add it to the list of places I’m not going to make it to this time. The “super moon” was out, and it was stunning watching out the window. This cell phone shot does not begin to do it justice:

I decided to spend my first morning in Budapest sleeping in until my body decided it didn’t need any more sleep. I have barely done that on this trip, always feeling pressure to get up and see/do things. But I’m hitting another travel weary wall and the extra sleep was so nice. I got up probably around 10:30 AM and had breakfast at the coffee shop next door to my hostel.
Oh, hostels. This place sounded great on paper and there are some good things about it. Everything in the building is handmade by local people and/or the people who run/own the hostel. Some things are shabby, but most things are really beautiful and interesting. I’m staying in the bottom floor apartment in a 4 person room. It has a separate door and separate bathroom, which really does make it feel like you are staying in some strange eclectic apartment instead of a hostel. My bed is on a platform and it’s almost a full sized mattress- a rarity in hostel living.
However, I get the sense that they think that their crafty interesting decor excuses them from being functional. For example, my roommate got a bunch of bites in the middle of the night- and they changed her linen but didn’t seem too interested or alarmed by what might be biting her. Last night I asked about laundry, and the guy told me that they do it for you for 3 euros. Perfect! He said it would be done by 10 AM this morning. Perfect! I wake up this morning and at 10 AM, I find my dirty laundry still sitting untouched in a bag near the kitchen. This means that today I am wearing dirty underwear and had to wash a bunch of my things in the sink. Which I would have just done last night had I KNOWN they were basically useless when it comes to actually doing what they say they are going to do.
Because the lay out of the hostel is so meander-y, there’s not a great common/hangout area, which has made it a lot harder to meet people from the hostel. There’s also not a great sense of organization or help when it comes to finding things to do or getting advice. It’s that sense that when you ask questions, they find you annoying and just want to go back to drinking or sleeping or whatever they were doing before you rudely interrupted them.
Anyway, I’m realizing that I don’t actually need things to be beautiful or interesting at all when it comes to where I lay my head at night- I just need things to be functional. If I can wash myself and my clothes, connect to the internet and get work done, have my few practical questions answered by someone who isn’t rude to me, and sleep without being assaulted by constant noise- I am happy. Lessons learned.

Sunday afternoon I decided to do one of the free walking tours- this time, the general Budapest one. Our tour guide was amazing, and she led us around for hours.
Apparently this statue was of someone’s young daughter dressed up like a princess- I can’t remember the name of the person, but its significance was that it was the first public statue erected after communism ended. It was refreshing because it wasn’t a powerful figure or leader, or propaganda- they just made it because it was nice. I rubbed her knees for good luck.

Crossing the chain bridge. Budapest is situated on the Danube river, and the river divides the city into the Pest side and the Buda side. In general, the Pest side is more city-like, the Buda side more residential. The Pest side is flat, the Buda side is full of hills. The Pest side is a good place to get cheap food, the Buda side is more expensive.

Looking towards Pest, from Buda. That building on the left is parliament.

Buda. In some weird way, this reminded me of Queen Anne hill.

Another WWII memorial. This is a site where Jewish people were ordered to take off their shoes before they were shot and their bodies fell in the river. Pretty uplifting stuff.

After the tour, I hung out with a lovely girl from Toronto who was also on the tour- Kelsee. We had dinner at a place where for 4 euros, you have all you can eat food for 2 hours. I drank some wine (apparently Hungary is amazing for wine, yet they do a bad job of advertising this fact. So if you visit, drink the wine- it is cheap and delicious), and sampled some delicious Hungarian cakes- one with apricot filling, another with some sort of clove spice.

Yesterday I ventured out and took a 45 minute walk up to the northeast part of the city to the Széchenyi thermal baths. This place was MASSIVE- and very confusing at first. When I walked in the door, a woman with a clipboard tried to get me to pay double for a bunch of things I didn’t need- VIP access, a robe, hot tea, a tour of the facility- I guess that’s what I get for going to the most touristy bathhouse. I paid the regular cheap rate, but in retrospect the tour would have been really helpful- I couldn’t find the lockers, I couldn’t figure out how to use the lockers, I couldn’t find the thermal baths- and a guy yelled at me for hesitating to follow him when I couldn’t read any of the signs and wasn’t sure where I was going. (And I wasn’t the only one- people kept coming up to me in the locker room looking lost and speaking to me in all sorts of languages- luckily, I was able to help a few people and feel better in that way).
In the end though, once I figured it all out it was stunningly beautiful. I ended up getting a massage (probably overpriced for the area, but still much less expensive than Seattle) and the massage was very Thai influenced with lots of stretching and contorting. It was much needed and I feel much better physically today.

In the farther pool in this photo, they were doing water aerobics with weights.

After the baths, I met up with my Hungarian friend from Ponderosa, Krisztina. She toured me around the city, pointing out things along the way.
Heros Square. Here I am posing with one of the original 7 “founders” of Hungary.

I’m not sure what was going on here, but I liked this girl’s sour face.

This was at one of the more famous “ruin pubs”- Szimpla Pub.

Krisztina was kind enough to loan me her bike, so I think today I’m going to go on a bike ride and also check out another thermal bath- the less touristy Rudas Bath.

Jenny Peterson 8/10/14 Jenny Peterson 8/10/14

Krakow, day 3, 4, 5

On Thursday morning I went to MOCAK, which is the museum of contemporary art in Krakow. I saw 3 exhibitions- Crime in Art, I Am a Drop in the Ocean: Art of the Ukrainian Revolution, and some art from the MOCAK collection. This museum was actually one of my most favorite and well curated that I’ve been to on this trip.

Crime in Art
Hubert Czerepok, Redrum, 2014

Danny Devos, Norman Bates Loves Arts, 1989

MOCAK collection
Katarzyna Gorna, Fuck Me, Fuck You, Peace, 2000

I Am a Drop in the Ocean: Art of the Ukrainian Revolution
Vasily Tsagolov, Ballet Dancer, 2013

Banner showing the performance of Markiyan Matsekh and Oleg Matsekh, Imagine, 2013

After the museum, I decided I needed to indulge in some touristy food and drink. I had pierogies at this tiny place:

And then I sampled some vodka. I had crabapple vodka and hazelnut vodka.

After stumbling back to my hostel drunk and having a rest, I went out adventuring with a nice Canadian, Adam. First we went on the “Macabre” night walking tour.

Then we went to a bar to see this Israeli band perform- these guys were also staying in our hostel. I can’t remember the name of the band, but they described themselves as “hard electronic.” I really enjoyed them and I really enjoyed dancing around like a fool.

Sweat on the windows from all the dancing.

On Friday I went to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camps. I actually felt pretty disturbed about the idea of taking pictures there, so I mostly just stayed in the experience and didn’t even take out my “good” camera. I took this cell phone shot of one of the piles of belongings that was stolen from the Jewish prisoners:

I actually felt pretty physically ill after seeing the camps and almost vomited on the bus ride back. I’m not sure if it was purely psychological or not, but I definitely had a reaction. I feel like the camps were something I needed to see for the sake of history, but it was definitely an appropriately terrible experience.

After arriving back at the hostel, I was greeted with a lovely barbecue and party hosted by the hostel owners. We had free food, good music- I had lots of conversations with really lovely interesting people and demonstrated some “contact improv” dancing with another woman from Santa Fe.