Nearly twenty-five years ago, Peter and I planned our honeymoon to Prague, Vienna, and Budapest. Then the Gulf War intervened, and I grew nervous about the State Department recommendations that Americans be careful during overseas travel. So, in deference to my nervousness, we scrapped the plans and headed for Northern California. It was a wonderful trip, don't get me wrong, but we always harbored the dream of visiting Prague, Vienna, and Budapest someday. That someday became this summer, when our base camp in Amsterdam meant it was no longer such a long haul to arrive at our dream honeymoon destination. Thanks to George Bush and Operation Desert Storm, we were making this trip for the first time, rather than returning for a second honeymoon. Our friends from Maplewood, Kate and Howard, agreed to come along for protection. Actually, they have long wanted to visit that slice of the world, too. We joined forces because having shared so many dinners together in New Jersey, we decided it was time to branch out and see the world together. They began by visiting us in Amsterdam for four days. That set a high bar for the other cities to live up to.

Here are Kate and Howard gathering strength for their journey to Prague. After that, we were parting ways, as they went off to Munich while we continued on to Vienna and Budapest. Nary a jet-lagged wrinkle on their brows. Ah, youth! — Here are Kate and Howard gathering strength for their journey to Prague. After that, we were parting ways, as they went off to Munich while we continued on to Vienna and Budapest. Nary a jet-lagged wrinkle on their brows. Ah, youth!

I apologize in advance if this blog post is longer than most. I have nearly twenty-five years of pent up excitement spurring me on to write and write and include more and more photos. I also think back to one of the original reasons for the blog: to give me a forum to keep track of my travels. So, advance warning: you may need multiple cups of coffee to sustain you through this one. And possibly a nap.

In a sign that I am becoming ever more Dutch, here is my breakfast (a goat cheese sandwich) at the airport the morning we flew to Prague...at 9:30 a.m. — In a sign that I am becoming ever more Dutch, here is my breakfast (a goat cheese sandwich) at the airport the morning we flew to Prague...at 9:30 a.m.

I knew that the city of Prague was calling my name as soon as we set off from the airport in the mini-bus. Literally. The song Suzanne was playing as the bus wound its way up and around the hills at a fast clip. That's not a song that you hear too often on the radio, so I took it as a good omen. Some lines and phrases that seemed especially appropriate were, "and you want to travel with her" and of course, "her perfect body". As we sped towards the Old City of Prague, I couldn't help but think about what my dad - who once got pulled over for driving too slowly - used to tell cab drivers who drove fast, "Can you please slow down? My wife is pregnant." As I remember these occasions, the cab driver would look skeptically at my well-past-baby-stage mom in the rear-view mirror and continue on his merry way.

Some of the things that stood out most for me in Prague were the architecture, the beer, and their Monopoly-esque system of currency. Just when I had started to get used to the euro, I soon discovered that the Czech Republic didn't go along with the euro crowd. Instead, they use their own money, the Czech crown. It took some getting used to, like when I gasped at the expensive lunch I had just eaten: "What 325 for lunch?", only to realize that was only the equivalent of about $13. Once I let go of the currency angst, it was kind of fun. I got to spend 1,000 on a gift ($42, but it doesn't sound nearly as impressive when using the U.S. dollar amount).

The beer? I don't even know if it was all that much better than beer in Amsterdam, or Belgium, but it was plentiful, and cheap. Some would say it is cheaper than the water. As for the architecture, that was a feast for the eyes. Postcard-pretty scenes (or just really interesting, in the case of the modern Dancing House a.k.a Fred and Ginger on the top right) greeted us wherever we turned.

These are the cars you could hire to tote you around Prague. Choosing the green/understated/cheaper mode of transportation, we used our legs instead.

Although we knew ahead of time that Peter's father would be in Prague, it was still fun to pretend we had just happened upon him. Having been in Prague for two full days, he could show us around as if he had grown up there.

Before the trip, I hadn't thought much about our connection to this part of the world and what it would feel like to reconnect with our roots. In fact, I hadn't given much thought to Jewish Prague, Vienna, or Budapest at all. But on our first full day in Prague, we made our way to the Jewish Quarter, and took a tour of the synagogues, the Jewish cemetery, and the museums - exhibits housed on the upper floors of the synagogues. The exhibits, especially the artwork by children from the Terezin ghetto, reminded me that visiting Prague is about much more than beer and buildings. In Terezin, a teacher, Frieda Dickl-Brandeis, somehow managed to give art lessons to the children confined to the ghetto. Even more amazing is the fact that she managed to hide some 4,500 drawings in a suitcase before she was deported to Auschwitz. Most of the children perished in Auschwitz, along with their teacher. It was a sobering moment for this teacher to think about how brave Mrs. Dickl-Brandeis was, and to realize how she somehow made those children's lives bearable until almost the very end.

Here is the Spanish Synagogue, one of the spectacular synagogues in Prague, which also houses the zidovské Museum. As you can see, this is a much more opulent space than the simple and spare synagogues that we are used to seeing in Europe. You can see the Moor and Byzantine influences in both this and the later photos of the Jerusalem Synagogue of Prague.

These are from the Jerusalem Synagogue in Prague.

It was hard to see the name Drucker so often when we saw the listed names of Jews who died during the Holocaust. They may not all have been related to Peter, but some may have been. It was heartening to see how much money the Jewish Community of Prague has given towards renovating synagogues and to restoring old gravesites. At an exhibit inside the Jerusalem Synagogue, we learned that about 200 synagogues and 370 Jewish cemeteries have been preserved to date, and the restorations continue. It was also encouraging to see the numbers of tourists visiting the Jewish Quarter in Prague and in Budapest.

There is really no smooth transition I can make here from writing about visiting Jewish synagogues and gravesites to telling you about our other activities in Prague. I'll just say that while we toured the Jewish Quarter with sadness, we were so glad we were able to go there, and to remember our past.

We parted company with our friends after our four days together in Prague. While there, we marveled at how clean the main tourist area of the city was (with municipal workers sweeping up every last cigarette butt underfoot), and noticed the capitalist influence everywhere (including a Starbucks right with a to-die-for view of the city, right next to a castle). A visit to the Museum of Communism helped to prepare us for the Prague train station, which reminded us that Prague's communist roots weren't completely swept away. The station was grey and drab, and our train to Vienna finally crawled in over an hour late. But with visions of N.J. Transit still dancing in our heads, we knew we couldn't completely chalk this poor service up to Eastern European inefficiency. Or maybe Governor Christie is part Czech? In any case, we were glad to finally get on the road to Vienna.

In a country known for Mozart and Strauss waltzes, I was more than a little disappointed to be serenaded by the Climax Blues Band instead as we made our way in a cab from the train station In Vienna to our hotel. Mozart and Strauss must have been rolling in their graves. Couldn't it have at least been Billy Joel? Actually, Howard serenaded us in Prague with Vienna whenever the subject of our next destination came up.

Bye, bye to Kate and Howard, our travel companions extraordinaire. And thank you to Seanette, a new Amsterdam friend, for recommending Hotel Paris in Prague. Elegant, yet still comfortable. Kind of like the person you hope you are. — Bye, bye to Kate and Howard, our travel companions extraordinaire. And thank you to Seanette, a new Amsterdam friend, for recommending *Hotel Paris* in Prague. Elegant, yet still comfortable. Kind of like the person you hope you are.

Every person who has asked about our trip has wondered, "Which city did you like best?" As soon as we arrived in Vienna, I could see that this was going to be a tough question to answer. Vienna was a much more gussied-up version of Prague, with elaborate buildings and statues and equally elaborate pastries. In fact, one curmudgeon called the lavish architecture on the Ringstrasse, one of the rings circling the center of Vienna, "monstrous confections". I could never put the word monstrous anywhere near the word confections, just as I could never say that the architecture was too garish. I even found a little writing room for myself inside one of the palaces (photo on bottom, right). How dare that man talk on the phone in my writing nook.

Found a little writing room for myself inside one of the palaces.

How could anyone think these confections are monstrous and over-the-top?

Vienna was, however, monstrously hot. I guess the Viennese are very law-abiding, because I didn't see anyone cooling off in any of the many fountains around the city, except for one small criminal who crept into the fountain-pool outside the Leopold Museum. I was certainly tempted.

The oppressive heat led us indoors to the many wonderful museums in Vienna. I think we were not the only ones escaping the heat while catching up on our art-watching. I saw loads of 20-somethings who may have been driven inside to brush up on their art history just to escape from the sun. Whatever it takes, right? We did learn a lot about the two titans of the Austrian art world: Schiele and Klimt.

In the steamy weather, even looking at this Austrian garb in the shop windows made me hot. Do people actually wear that stuff?

Although Vienna is known for its concerts, we chose not to sit inside the sweltering concert hall for our fix of Strauss. Instead, we had to settle for the outdoor-hipster version. To my Maplewood book group friends: the Radetsky March is one of the most popular tunes. And believe it or not, I actually saw someone on the train from Vienna to Budapest reading it! (Sorry, that was an insider story of interest to my book group only, and probably not even to them).

Thanks to our friends and ex-neighbors Rich and Ginny, who lived in Vienna for about six months, we were well-prepared for the culinary highlights of Vienna. The Wiener schnitzel (breaded veal pounded thin, served with a big lemon wedge) that cascaded over the plate was everything they said it would be. So was the tafelspitz, Vienna's version of my mom's pot roast, served with applesauce laced with horseradish. This was food to put meat on your bones, not food to be eaten during a heat wave. But when in Vienna....We ignored the sweat and enjoyed every bit. At Plachutta, the temple of tafelspitz, there was even a brochure to help you eat your meal properly. The brochure also tells you that they can "track every single cow back to its birth." Sounds like something straight out of Portlandia.

As we did in Prague, we visited the two branches of the Jewish Museum. There was a striking monument to the victims of the Holocaust, a stark cube meant to resemble a library, with books facing in. The books symbolize the untold stories of the many Jews from Vienna who were killed by the Nazis.

My mother's grandparents were from Vienna, but they came to the U.S. well before the war. I couldn't help but think about how my own history would be different if they had not left when they did.

Our four days in Vienna were jam-packed with visits to museums, and stops for fortifying Viennese food. Learning about the history of the Jews made it both bittersweet, and much more meaningful. And we still had one stop to go. As I had hoped, the Austrian sense of precision came through for us. Our train to Budapest pulled up exactly on time and departed a minute later, also exactly on time.

I knew we were in for weather trouble when we arrived at the train station in Budapest (on a Sunday) to find municipal workers handing out free water and ice packs. Budapest was hot. Sultry, actually. In order to survive, we sometimes took four showers. A day! Kudos to our boutique, hipster hotel Baltazar Budapest on the hilly Buda side of the Danube river, for their awesome shower. And also for having Uptown Funk playing in the tiny lobby. That really made me feel like I subtracted thirty years from my age as we checked in, clad in my un-hipster capris and ankle socks. As the heat rose to a crescendo during the week, I enjoyed hearing Peter's heat-related phrases multiply; ("I'll get in that un-airconditioned bus when hell freezes over" and "over my dead body" were two of my favorites).

Despite the heat, we loved Budapest. Although I don't have relatives from Hungary, I was in some ways still retracing my roots. Our beloved babysitter when I was a kid - Julia - was from Hungary, and I saw faces - with dark hair and eyes - that reminded me of her wherever we went.

What really brought Julia back to me were the pastries. Unlike the frilly Viennese pastries, the Hungarian counterparts were plainer and more homespun, but, to my mind, even more delicious. I felt like I was back in Julia's kitchen, tasting her walnut and poppy seed rolled cookies. Heaven! She accompanied the Hungarian treats with coffee, served with lots of milk and sugar. It was my first introduction to coffee, and I was probably about seven. It made me feel like a grown up. Little did I know I wouldn't progress much past that maturity level in the years to come, nor did I know how much a good cup of coffee would continue to sustain me through the years. One night for dinner, I ordered the stuffed cabbage, and Peter and I toasted Julia with a fine glass of Hungarian wine. The stuffed cabbage wasn't quite as good as hers, but it came darn close.

Even the still lifes in the paintings I saw in the Hungarian National Gallery included pastries.

As we had in Vienna, we used our museums visits to both see beautiful art work, and to escape the heat, which was steadily creeping up into the upper 90's. I realized how much I loved Budapest when not one, but two different museum guards in the Hungarian National Gallery actually shushed some of the tourists who were talking in loud voices. I think I would like being a museum guard in Budapest. I also realized during one of our museum visits that artists were the original expats. They traveled from their home countries to distant parts of the world, including Paris, Rome, Vienna, and the Netherlands to study different styles of painting. When we needed a break from all the museum-going, we wandered around to take in the beautiful architecture and creative graffiti in Budapest.

On one of our wanderings, we made our way over to the Jewish Synagogue. Our tour guide, Reuven, was a thirty-something year old guy who hailed from Brooklyn. He was incredibly knowledgable about the history of Jews in Hungary. He had a sharp sense of humor. And he was blind. With the help of his own walking guide, we walked through the Jewish Quarter, as he told us that Jews in Hungary were killed late in the war, not long before the Allies arrived. Even in that short time, they were almost completely wiped out. He showed us the reminders of the destruction of the Jews throughout this neighborhood, including memorials inscribed in brass in front of houses where Jews once lived. We began and ended our tour at the Great Synagogue on Dohany Street, the largest synagogue in Europe. In the Raoul Wallenberg Courtyard, we saw the extraordinary memorials to the victims of the Holocaust. These included the weeping willow created with funds donated by Tony Curtis (neé Schwartz) in memory of his father who emigrated from Hungary to New York. The names of the Hungarian Jews killed during the Holocaust are inscribed on each of the leaves.

Most of the other people touring the Jewish Synagogue were not Jewish, judging from the questions they asked during the tour. Peter and I talked about how the narrative of the tour was focused on how the once-vibrant Jewish community in Budapest was destroyed. We wondered if the Jewish organizations in the city (and throughout Europe, for that matter) could begin to change that narrative to focus on the ways in which the Jewish community hasn't just survived, but is thriving in many parts of the world. It did often seem like they were talking about a long-ago civilization that has been buried forever. We know that is not the case, but we wished that others could hear about the vibrant Jewish communities in the world.

After our walking tour, we made our way to the Central Hall Market, the large indoor food market. Nothing nourishes the soul more than a walk past stall after stall of gorgeous food. What distinguished this market from the many fine markets in Amsterdam were the huge displays of peppers and paprika. They certainly do love their peppers in Budapest! I loved the jarred ones, which smiled back at me as I passed by.

On my last day in Budapest, I decided to really embrace the local culture and head to a spa. Put aside all images of the Spa at the Short Hills Hilton, or any other high-end temple of pampering you can conjure up. I'm talking large Eastern Europeans dunking in and out of different pools filled with thermal water at various temperatures from boiling hot to heart-stoppingly cold, water which is supposed to have magical curative powers. There are many spas in Budapest, the self-proclaimed City of Spas. I chose St. Lukács, considered a hang-out for the locals "of a certain age". Apparently, it existed at the time of the Crusades, and was the favorite bath of the Turkish Grand Vizier, whoever that is. Visitors came from all over the world starting in the 1600's seeking help for whatever ailed them. So what I at first thought were tombstones of people who had died there were actually plaques boasting of their successful recoveries. The treatments you can seek out include something called "underwater traction", mud-packs, a "chocolate treatment", and bathing in carbonated water. And social security pays for it, if the doctor orders it!

The signs were in Hungarian, so I got plenty lost in the labyrinthic hallways. At one point, a military-looking lifeguard blew a deafening whistle for an extended period. I assumed one of the more senior swimmers had sunk to the bottom to warrant such a piercing interruption of our thermal bliss. The reason for the whistle? An uninformed swimmer (one of the few tourists other than me) had entered one of the pools without a bathing cap. Thank goodness for the shower cap from our hotel! Like the rest of the locals, I was properly attired. I spent most of my time swimming laps in a freezing cold pool (to cure my heatstroke), but I did test out the thermal waters, which were various temperatures and were filled with different mineral concoctions. Since the signs were all in Hungarian, I knew not what I was doing, nor what was in the waters. I do know that I was a new woman when I emerged.

Since I was on my own (Peter had opted to wander and take photos on dry land), there will be no photos of me in my spa uniform: bathing suit and shower cap, with the terry cloth slippers from the hotel in Vienna. Your loss.

So, in the end, I cannot answer the question: which city did you like best? For me, the best part of the trip was the ability to compare and contrast (the teacher in me, I know) the three places. I was glad and sad both to feel like we were connecting to our roots as we traveled. It never fails to leave you holding back tears, no matter how often you hear the stories behind the Holocaust, and this time it felt even closer to home.

While we traveled, my reading companion was Little Failure, Gary Shteyngart's hilarious and touching memoir about his early childhood in Russia and later life as a U.S. citizen. Coincidentally, he wrote about coming to Vienna on the way to the U.S., their "mouths open 'so that a crow may fly in', as the Russian saying goes." I felt that way, too, as we wandered the streets of our honeymoon cities. There was so much to see, and I fear my mouth may have been agape quite a bit.

I also spotted some travel trends that may in fact not be confined to Eastern Europe. As my friend Kate chronicled so meticulously on Facebook (putting her anthropology professor skills to good use) there's the magenta/maroon/orange hair trend. It seemed like a good 10% of the women we saw had shockingly orange or red hair. For men, it was the man bun. Not a good look. Nor is the male capri trend. I could not even bring myself to photograph those male fashion faux pas. Most noticeable in the trend department was the number of people obsessed with taking selfies. Peter is hard at work on a scholarly dissertation on the rising narcissism in our society, either caused by the obsession with the selfie, or the effect of it. I'm not sure which it is.

I came back to Amsterdam after our belated honeymoon eternally grateful to live so close to the many places we have longed to visit for so long. At the Kuntsarthistorische Museum in Vienna, there was a painting by the Dutch artist Jan Steen. Apparently Steen was fond of including mottoes or morals on his paintings. I saw one painting of a kitchen in which a loose-looking woman gazes straight out at you, a dog has leapt up on the kitchen table and is eating a pie, and a pig and a monkey have taken up residence. A dour-looking couple in the corner are reading from the Bible. The motto in Dutch is, "In weelde siet toe" or "Be careful in living the good life." I hope the dour-looking couple or, heaven help us, another Bush, never interfere with our plans to see as much of the world as we can while we are here. Here's to living the good life with my honeymooning-partner, Peter!