From Lithuania to Iran, and Beyond: A 1-year Journey

The day I met her parents

As I was cruising down the narrow road, I noticed Tufis, the loyal guardian, jumping around next to the fence, guiding me all the way to the entrance. Trust me, his sweet name is deceptive. These powerful creatures are bred specifically to guard the flock from wolves. If you're an admirer visiting the owner's daughter, better get ready for a memorable encounter.

We’d known each other for a few years but started getting really close just a few months ago. I hadn’t met Kamile’s parents before, nor had I set foot in her hometown. This was the first time. They say as long as there’s something new to experience, you're still young.

“I’m the tough one here,” Kamile’s dad, Virginijus, stated with a semi-serious tone as he reached out to shake hands. His expression was stern. “Keep an eye on the dog. Strange things sometimes happen. Just last night, he took out a hedgehog. I’d rather you didn’t get caught up in trouble...”

The dog patiently awaited the signal from his master to give the green light to lead me in (or out). But then the atmosphere was lightened by the welcoming smile of Kamile’s mom, Gražina. She ushered us all to the table, where we gathered around for a home-cooked feast.

Hold up! That's my son's spot!

The table was piled high with food. As the ladies got themselves settled, I spotted a good seat for myself. I grabbed the heavy chair and pulled it out just enough to be able to sit. But before my bottom department could touch the seat, the thunderous voice of the head of the house made me freeze.

“Hold on! That’s my son’s seat! You may sit over there,” he pointed to the chair next to me. Just for the record, Kamile’s brother Augustinas wasn’t even there that day.

After a delicious meal, it was time for some tea. My survival instincts urged me to watch the mother’s moves closely. You never know, sometimes you might end up with some herbs in their tea that aren’t exactly good for you. Although such incidents are rare, some inner feelings told me to stay alert.

While the family was halfway through their cups, mine was still full. I held it with shaking hands, cleverly hiding them under the table. The last thing I wanted was to spill my tea all over the tablecloth. When asked if the tea was good, I replied that it was very tasty and thanked the lady of the house for the wonderful treats.

The Sooner We Leave, The Sooner We’ll Be Back!

After we finished sipping tea, Kamile’s dad, who had been silent for a while, took charge of the conversation. He wanted to know what kind of guy was planning to take his daughter away to who knows where. But, let me tell you, when he hinted at buying a shotgun, it threw me off for a second.

For every wild plan we mentioned, he wanted a full-blown action plan of what we would do if anything threatened his daughter’s well-being. Can’t blame him, really. I mean, how often does your daughter come up to you and say she’s leaving everything behind to go on a trip to Iran or even further with a guy they barely knew?

All things considered, it turned out pretty good. Even the dog guarding the place seemed to mellow out once he felt the family was cool with me. I came there solo, but we left as a duo.

“Out and back in a snap. The Sooner We Leave, The Sooner We’ll Be Back!” Kamile said, trying to soothe their hearts.

However, as soon as we turned the corner, her smile turned into tears. She knew she was going to miss her family a lot. We wouldn’t see them again for a whole long year.

Poland

Poland was the first country on our way to Asia. The Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Kingdom of Poland once formed the so-called Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The ruler of that time was called the King of Poland and the Grand Duke of Lithuania.

Those days are long gone, but the heritage of that time has survived throughout the former Commonwealth territory. Knowing this, curious Lithuanians and Poles eagerly visit each other. They travel alone or with guides, using their own transportation or comfortable buses.

The landscape of northern Poland is similar to ours. If it weren't for the unfamiliar language to Lithuanian ears and the foreign signs hanging in the suburbs, we would have thought we were in our homeland. However, as we moved south, the landscape started to change.

Hitchhiking is a sport for the patient. In Poland, we probably set a record of waiting for someone to stop: six hours. It took us almost a year to break it. Nothing surprising. Hitchhiking requires certain skills and experience.

"You look like a criminal!"

Before leaving, all the know-it-all friends spared no advice. According to them, just elegantly sticking out your hand with a raised thumb would solve everything on its own. Oh, Holy Naivety! As the old folks used to say, it's much easier said than done.

"I sincerely believe you are the weak link in this team," Kamile once said without the slightest hesitation in her voice. "People are afraid of your hairstyle. You look like a criminal."

Her words hit me like that apple hit Isaac Newton on the head. That's how a brilliant idea was born. I had a plan. All that was left was to execute it.

"I'll hide behind that tree, and the drivers will think you're traveling alone! When they stop, I'll come. Poor souls won't understand what happened!"

A blond blue-eyed girl standing alone by the roadside, holding a plush bear in her hands. Huge backpack behind her. Although the tactic seemed ineffective when female drivers were behind the steering wheel, tricking the guys proved to be much easier.

Krakow: first encounters

On the evening of the second day, our path led us to Krakow. It was a perfect opportunity to make a stop at one of the many bustling bus stations in the city. We had only a few Lithuanian snacks left in our provisions, but the more scarce they became, the more we appreciated them.

Like a mushroom after the rain, an impressive figure of a policeman appeared out of nowhere. He tilted his head and scrutinized the large suitcases with his gaze. After performing some calculations in his mind, he finally decided that the suspects were more likely just two weirdos rather than representatives of the criminal world. He scratched his head and walked away without saying a word.

It was midwinter, a time when the days were long and the nights were short. We still had a few hours until sunset and we couldn't wait to wander around the old town. We had a reservation waiting for us at a small yet highly regarded hotel. Leaving our belongings in the room, we soon found ourselves strolling through the main square of the city.

"Pigeons - Just Like Politicians!"

The Market Square in Krakow is the largest square of its kind in Europe that has survived since medieval times. With its 40,000 square meters, there is more than enough space for a diverse crowd of street artists and the city's guests to engage in their activities. The pigeons, nicknamed "flying rats," also feel like they're in paradise.

"Did I ever mention that I used to keep domestic pigeons as a child?" I confessed to my companion. "Some believe that pigeons were the first birds domesticated by humans."

The pigeons in Krakow's Market Square do not resemble domesticated ones. They are not very liked by most locals, mainly due to their habit of building nests on balconies and using sidewalks as outdoor toilets. The city authorities discourage residents from feeding these mischievous birds.

However, there are a few kind-hearted elderly people who sympathize with the struggling pigeons. They share breadcrumbs or other treats from their own table. One such person was the man standing next to us, dressed in a light brown suit. Feeding birds seemed to be his pleasure.

"These birds are just like politicians," the man chuckled. "As long as they are at our level, they don't hesitate to feed out of our hands. But once they rise higher, they don't hesitate to poop on you."

Journey to Zakopane

The border between Poland and Slovakia winds its way through the peaks of the Tatra Mountain range. The Tatras are the highest part of the Central Carpathian Mountains. The winding hiking routes attract hordes of active travelers every year.

Located in the southern part of Poland, the small town of Zakopane is home to just 30,000 residents. Compared to the one-and-a-half million travelers who visit every year, it may seem like a joke, but it's not hard to guess what draws them here. Nowhere else in Poland will you find such a landscape.

"I urge you to consider the possibility of staying in Europe. Italy, Spain, Portugal - relatively safe countries that have much to offer," Mr. Vieslav expressed his concern.

The middle-aged manager agreed to take us a good hundred kilometers all the way to the town of Zakopane. Along the way, he talked about all the business partners that he had in Lithuania.

"For inexperienced travelers, Asia can be a tough nut to crack. But no matter what, you are young and strong. I believe everything will be fine. Stay well!"

I'd be ashamed to look a horse in the eyes if I were you

Soon enough, Wieslaw's car became barely visible. Some sounds from my gut interrupted the prolonged silence. Out of hunger, my stomach was touching my backbone.

24 years: that's how long it took to develop the habit of eating heavily three times a day and constantly snacking. It turned out that these so-called "modern" eating habits had a dark side. Once we deviated from the daily routine that had formed over many years, my body systems went nuts.

It was time to eat but before dinner, we had to find the right place to settle. The majority of the town was nestled in the valley. The idea of setting up a campsite away from residential areas quickly materialized. In a matter of moments, our green tent took on its final form.

For dinner, we had boiled beans, oatmeal porridge, and a large loaf of fresh Polish bread.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing," Kamile said. "You've eaten so many oats that I'd be ashamed to look a horse in the eyes if I were you!"

Strangers on the farmer's land

While having dinner, the sun set and darkness covered the land. Both the little birds and the residents of distant cottages were preparing for rest. Gradually, silence took over the whole valley. We left the entrance open so that we could watch the peaks sinking in the moonlight. It was one of those moments when you feel wealthy, even when your pockets are almost empty.

"Shh... Do you hear that?" - Kamile noticed a dog bark.

The sound was slowly approaching us. We had to leave our tent and find out what was going on. It turned out that a few hundred white sheep were swiftly making their way home, and we got caught in their path. Four-legged sheepdogs ensured the order. Suddenly, a man appeared next to our tent. His white shirt, tucked into wide brown trousers, seemed to glow in the moonlight. We were on his property.

The man took a couple of steps forward and, spitting out the straw he had been chewing, removed his wide-brimmed hat. A friendly greeting was followed by a few short sentences in an unfamiliar language. With awkward hand gestures and a mix of different words, we explained who we were and where we were heading. All we got in return was a moment of silence.

You could hardly blame a person if he had ordered us to leave. His home, his rules. However, to our surprise, the opposite happened. The man explained that we were his guests and invited us for a short tour. He even showed us where to find drinking water and other conveniences.

Breakfast with locals

Seated at the table was a man we had not seen before. It turned out he was a close friend of the farmer. Jakob had been invited by the farmer to be his translator. The middle-aged man revealed that he had lived in the United Kingdom a few years ago. That was when he had "mastered" English.

Both men sat contentedly, smiling from ear to ear. Having breakfast with a couple of foreigners was a great amusement for them. From time to time, laughter filled the air. The host occasionally urged us not to hold back at the feast table. He even jokingly remarked that who knows when we would have another chance to eat.

The majority of the meal consisted of dairy products: goat cheese, freshly churned curds, and homemade butter. There was no shortage of all kinds of bread either. As I spread the butter, my mind wandered back to my childhood when I would spend months at my grandmother's house in the countryside. Churning butter was a regular task back then.

As the two Polish men and I enjoyed the curd, both of them laughed. They claimed that this robust drink was a source of masculine strength. According to them, after consuming a couple of liters of curds, not only did any farm work become effortless, but also it had benefits in raising one's potential as a lover.

Slovakia

Due to its numerous national parks, countless rivers, mysterious caves, and winding trails, Slovakia is attracting increasing attention from travelers. After crossing the Poland-Slovakia border, we set up our camp in the darkness of the night.

"Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?" - I greeted Kamile, who poked her head out of the tent, looking around curiously.

The early morning light revealed the hidden beauty of the landscape that darkness had so diligently concealed. It's no secret that the coziest camping spots are far away from the attention of passersby, so we spent the night where even the sharp-eyed mosquitoes wouldn't think of searching - a little island in the center of the Bialka River.

When I ventured into the swift stream to wash up, I carelessly lost my footwear. Like a graceful boat, a synthetic slipper floated away to the east, soon disappearing into the rapids.

"It's only been a week, and you've already lost half your belongings," remarked my companion with a tiny touch of Samogitian humor. I decided it was best to remain silent about the towel I left hanging on the fence in Poland.

"Well, maybe it's for the best," I told myself. "I'll dry off in the sun, and if necessary, I can always use some piece of clothing for that purpose."

The Eye of the Sea

A cup of hot tea helped to wake up. The small dry alcohol stove did its job perfectly. A handful of freshly picked wild berries was supposed to ensure an energy boost until we got something better. There was no time to dream about the abundant feasts at my grandmother's and recurring questions "Why, my dear, aren't you eating anything?"

As we marched towards the main road, fellow hikers we met along the way insisted in unison that we were going in the wrong direction. They vigorously waved their hands, urging us to turn around. It turns out they were all headed towards Morskie Oko, known as the Sea Eye, which is perhaps the most famous lake in the entire Tatra Mountains.

Morskie Oko is a lake of clear water that has long been nestled at an altitude of 1395 meters above sea level. According to the locals, it acquired the name Sea Eye because of an old legend about an underground tunnel connecting the lake to the sea.

"The world is full of wonders," we exclaimed, making a promise to return in the future. However, there was no time to dream for too long. Our goal was to reach Asia without major stops. Nevertheless, the contemplations about the future were destined to come true. After three years, while visiting the vicinity, we finally visited the Sea Eye together with my father, but that is another story.

Hitchhiking to Hungary

The language barrier didn’t seem as scary as expected. Wide hand gestures and accompanying grumbling – the universal language, understood worldwide.

Most of the drivers were elderly. English speakers willingly shared stories about their grown-up children and mischievous grandchildren. They didn't hide the fact that they expected more trouble to come from those little rascals.

Those interested in geography know about Slovakia's interesting shape. The entire country appears elongated, stretching just 175 kilometers across from Poland to Hungary. For those traveling in this direction, it only takes about three hours to cross the country by car.

Of course, hitchhikers like us might find this adventure taking longer, as it greatly depends on the people you meet. In our case, it took several hours to reach the halfway point.

Each driver was different, possessing unique traits or even certain quirks. I guess, what's odd or normal solely depends on the perspective of the observer.

It's our choice

The major challenges arose at noon when one of the drivers announced that he needed to turn back. He dropped us off in a small village with three houses and a tavern. The eyes of the locals couldn't stop following two suspicious Lithuanians carrying 15-kilo backpacks on their shoulders. Most likely foreigners were a rare sight in that part of the country.

We spent the afternoon walking along the scorching hot road, which seemed to never end. Most of the cars passing by in the desired direction were sports models, racing toward a local event so any attempts to hitchhike were not too successful. While waiting on the roadside, the water supply ran out. The only remaining refreshment was Kamile's smile.

In the solitude of a lonely tree, deep within the recesses of memory, a piece of advice once heard from a Croatian traveler emerged: "Always remember that it is your choice. Take responsibility for your decision. It might end up well or not (:D), but it's your choice."

The First Rule of Hitchhiking

The first (imaginary) rule of hitchhiking is to avoid big cities. Kosice, a charming Slovakian city located just 20 km from the Hungarian border, turned out to be our unintended stop.

We pondered for a while on how to escape to the outskirts without spending too much money or time. Camping in a metropolis was not an option, and building a bonfire was out of the question too.

As dusk approached, we were left with two options: keep walking until we got out of the city and find a place to camp, or find accommodation in Kosice and continue the journey in the morning. A local fast-food restaurant happened to be a convenient place to use the internet and evaluate all options.

The closest camping spot was about 10 kilometers away. Staying in a hotel was also not suitable as it would have strained our already limited budget. Moreover, sleeping in a fancy hotel, just a few days after leaving our own home, would have diminished the sense of adventure.

As they say, two heads are better than one. Gradually a plan started to take shape. Summer nights are short so we decided to spend a few hours at the bus station, maybe finish the blog post we were working on, and set off towards the outskirts of Kosice early in the morning.

Adventure with a pickpocket

The adventures began as soon as we entered Kosice bus station. Our backpacks found a spot under the stairs, and benches next to us turned into protective barricades. This was meant to make life difficult for the pickpockets who occasionally lurk in such places. The necessity of such measures quickly proved itself.

The only way to grab my backpack was by jumping over the bench I was sitting on. To make matters worse, the backpack weighed a hefty 15 kilograms. There was no escaping unnoticed with such a weight.

Kamile stretched out on the bench in front of me and closed her eyes. Meanwhile, I took out my laptop to do some work. Although focused on my work, I kept one eye on my surroundings. Suddenly, a middle-aged woman dressed in a businesslike manner caught my attention.

Her meticulous hairstyle resembled a wig, and her eyes were concealed behind large dark glasses. A small suitcase gave the impression that she was waiting for a bus. The most interesting things started to happen when Kamile closed her eyes for a well-deserved nap.

Perhaps tired, or perhaps not, the woman, who had been quite active until a moment ago, momentarily stopped. Despite her large glasses, it was not difficult to sense that she focused her attention on a man lurking in the corner. Curiosity took over, and I put off my work for a later time.

The thief's cap is on fire

I remember my childhood when my Dad and I used to watch "Walker, Texas Ranger" and guess who would get the beating next. The intuition I developed as a child didn't disappoint me and helped me identify the victim. The woman slowly but steadily moved towards her target.

The man received a phone call. Perhaps his wife called and urged him to hurry home before the dumplings got cold. He grabbed his suitcase and hurried outside. Did it disappoint the respectable lady? It seemed not, as she tried the same approach with two other people. Both times the situation unfolded similarly.

The spectacle reached its climax when an announcement rang through the loudspeakers, stating that the station would be closing soon. As the last travelers boarded the buses, the waiting hall was left with only us, a couple of station workers, and the mysterious woman. Suddenly, her gaze turned towards us.

"Do you hear me?" I awakened Kamile, who was still trying to sleep. "There's a woman approaching us. Pretend to be asleep, but keep in mind that she might be a pickpocket."

A small amount of cash that we had and the most expensive belongings were in the depths of my large backpack. The laptop rested on my lap. The only less protected item was the phone lying next to me. Driven by curiosity, for research purposes, I nudged the phone even further away.

The course of events unfolded as expected. Out of the several available seats, the woman chose the one next to us. I pretended to be busy with my own affairs, while the prominently placed phone caught the woman's attention.

"Excuse me," she turned to us. "Could you tell me what time is it?"

"It's 10:20 PM," I replied without hesitation. The clock hanging on the wall confirmed it.

"What did you say?" she pretended she did not hear and cleverly shifted closer.

The woman leaned forward as if trying to glance at the laptop screen. Her right hand reached towards the phone. At that moment, I couldn't help but burst into laughter. When Kamile, pretending to be asleep, did the same, the woman grabbed her fancy suitcase and left the premises.

Unwanted

After the end of the bus station working hours, we moved to the train station. According to a huge sign, it was open 24/7. The upper floor seemed to be the most quiet and all we wanted at that moment was a bit of privacy.

I went to search for an internet connection to finish the task I had started earlier, while Kamile stayed with the backpacks. It turned out that the evening adventures were not over yet.

While on the ground floor, I noticed a security guard climbing up the stairs. Two police officers followed him closely behind. The men headed straight to the upper floor and I knew Kamile was the only person over there so I followed.

"Can I help you?" I addressed the officer who had just started interrogating Kamile.

"Who are you, where are you from, and where are you planning to go?" the policeman asked in a voice colder than Lithuanian winter.

"We are from Lithuania. We're planning to travel to Hungary tomorrow," we reported without hesitation.

"Where are your tickets? What time are you leaving?" the officer bombarded us with questions.

"We haven't purchased them yet. The ticket office is closed..."

"We have a problem then," the law enforcer stated firmly.

It turns out that during the night at the Kosice train station, only those with night train tickets are allowed to stay. "No big deal," we thought, and without getting into unnecessary details took our belongings and left. Men followed us all the way to the exit.

Suddenly, something unexpected happened. The tone of the officer changed as soon as we left the premises. He explained that they were just following orders and that they had to remove people who did not have tickets to protect the passengers from pickpockets. It was understandable, especially since we had very likely recently encountered one of them ourselves.

The man explained how to reach a hotel where, according to him, we could stay at an affordable price. However, that option didn't seem enticing. We thanked the officer for his kindness but decided to stick to our plan. Besides, it was a great opportunity to explore the Kosice old town at night.

In the heart of Kosice's old town proudly stands the St. Elizabeth Cathedral. Outdoor cafés serve delicious meals day and night. They are enjoyed by both locals and city visitors. Maybe our meal was not as fancy, but we sat on a wooden bench and still felt blessed. The canned beans and apple juice were very delicious.

After strolling around and satisfying our hunger, we reached the outskirts of the city before sunrise. A fuel station was the perfect spot to approach drivers. One of those kind drivers happily offered to give us a ride. A new day, a new beginning.

Hungary

Looking through the car window, I drifted away in my thoughts. While thinking about the near future, I wrote down the letters I.R.A.N. on the cover of my notebook and underlined them several times.

The driver quickly noticed it and mentioned that he himself had traveled to the farthest corners of the world when he was younger. Over the years, his beloved wife and a house full of children pushed him to settle down.

In the beginning, he planned to take us only to the next town, but eventually, he didn't stop there and took us all the way to the border. In less than half an hour, two young and optimistic Lithuanians gazed at the imaginary line that separated the two countries.

I recalled hearing that to keep a camel confined to a certain area, a fence is unnecessary. It's enough to dig a small trench that the animal will never cross. A similar force was present in that invisible line between Slovakia and Hungary.

Like that confined camel, we looked at the non-existent border and somehow felt that we needed to take a wide step, raising our feet high. Slovakia was left behind, and there was no point in turning back. It was time to decide which way to go further.

While contemplating, we heard a few Hungarians speaking their language. It became clear that the Hungarian language was unlike any other we had heard before.

"Oh, if only someone would offer their help without being asked! We wouldn't have to hitchhike on the side of the road for hours," I thought aloud.

"Hey, buddies!" shouted a curly-haired man with jet-black hair. "Hop in, I'll give you a ride!"

The man in his early twenties reminded me of the American actor Rick Moranis. The latter became famous for his role in the movie "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids." However, our driver wasn't an actor at all but a University student heading to Budapest.

Underground tunnel

Getting to the other side was supposed to be a joke. At least that's what 'Honey, I Shrunk the Kids' claimed. Unfortunately, reality didn't live up to expectations. The highway flowed like a swift river, and a tall fence separated the two sides. It was neither easy to climb over it quickly nor to slip under with a big backpack.

Suddenly, a police officer introduced himself. Lately, the special attention of the guardian angels has become usual. This time, the law enforcer wanted to warn us that attempting to cross the road would be like playing with fate: even if we succeeded, we would get fined. So we had to take a detour and head towards the bustling petrol station to come up with "Plan B".

One of the options was hitchhiking to a safe place to cross. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a kind soul with two available seats in their car. Moreover, the farther we traveled, the longer it would take to return the same distance.

A single idea emerged. We decided to walk across the fields parallel to the highway. It was a good thing our backpacks were packed much more professionally than in the early days. The heaviest items were placed on top of the backpacks to raise the center of gravity and prevent us from leaning forward.

"Some see it as an obstacle, while others see it as an opportunity to rest," we joked while wiping sweat off our foreheads as an obstacle appeared on our path.

Kamile settled in the shade. It was a perfect time to fill her diary. While my partner recorded the events for future generations, I ventured into the vast sea of corn. Fortunately, the journey didn't last long as a new discovery emerged ahead. It was a drainage tunnel running under the highway. Finally!

To Nyíregyháza with Jason Statham

"Two movie stars in one day," I pondered aloud, noticing the driver was a spiffing image of Jason Statham.

This time, a Frenchman stopped. In certain features, or perhaps even in driving habits, the man resembled the famous actor often seen in action films. We were speeding at 130-140 km/h, and he would let go of the steering wheel and clasp his hands for a prayer. Then he would turn to us and make a facial expression as if to say, "No one is driving! What will happen now?"

"It's best not to pay attention to him or he might just step on the pedal even more," I chuckled while preparing I was going to sleep.

When there were no spectators, there was no desire to perform. The show ended just as it began. As the conversation started, the man explained that he was traveling to Nyíregyháza. His mother has been living there for some time. Nyíregyháza happened to be on our route too.

Despite the jokes that might have seemed unusual at first, the man appeared to be a good-hearted person. He would always inquire whether the air conditioning was properly adjusted and if the music was not too loud. He showed interest in the Lithuanian language and traditions.

A child in an adult's body

Nyíregyháza is the seventh-largest city in Hungary, located in the northeastern part of the country. We stopped right in the heart of the city. The driver's gaze caught Kamile's companion Kevin the Bear. It seemed to brighten his day as he hurried towards the trunk. We found out that this was where he was keeping a plush Koala. Perhaps a gift for his daughter?

Things took an unexpected turn. The sturdy and mature-looking man took both toys and began simulating a romantic encounter between them: French-style kisses and compliments. And to top it off, he rushed back to the trunk and pulled out another plush toy - a tiger.

Although I didn't ask, I could bet that the man had children. Now being a father myself, I understand how one develops the skills to imitate voices and portray a lion, a mouse, or whatever is needed at that moment to entertain their child.

3 days as guests in Hungary

The night passed peacefully. We settled in a cozy place by the lake, a few kilometers from Nyíregyháza. The next day we spent in Debrecen. We ate pastries with acacia honey given to us by one of the drivers. In the evening, we had a long hike out of the city and another night in nature, this time near the forest. If memory serves me right, it was near Debrecen Airport.

We met István in Berettyóújfalu, a town whose name has broken many tongues. We spent a good half an hour there and happily enjoyed a homemade scrambled egg and sausage prepared by István's mother. We also tasted a local drink. For our journey, István packed us a loaf of bread, homemade sausages, mineral water, and honey produced by his bees.

We talked about history, and Lithuanian and Hungarian customs. István was a very knowledgeable person, particularly well-versed in the geography, and history of Hungary and neighboring countries.

After having a good meal, we set off for Oradea, the nearest city in Romania, located near the Hungarian border. We were stopped by officials at the border. They asked István if we were hitchhikers and if we requested a ride across the border. He replied that we were not. We were his friends.

The Relentless Call of Ducks

Ištvan's mother also decided to join our company. Within a few hours, we visited the most famous architectural landmarks, following the recommendations of our friends. We ordered onion soup at a local tavern and enjoyed Romanian ice cream for dessert. However, Ištvan's mother kept glancing at the sun and nervously checking the time. It turns out she raises domestic birds that she has to feed them every few hours. Otherwise, she can't relax.

"I call it The Call of Ducks," explained Ištvan.

According to our agreement, after the city tour, we were supposed to go our separate ways. However, our Hungarian friends insisted on keeping us a bit longer and persuaded us to stay for a couple more days. To be honest, we didn't need much persuasion. What could be better than homemade donuts and a comfortable bed to regain our strength? It was a great opportunity to gather ourselves before the next part of the journey.

We got into Ištvan's large SUV, which he had recently purchased. Previously, he drove an old Volkswagen Golf II. When asked what prompted him to buy a new car, Ištvan replied, "I liked the Golf. It's a great car and very fuel-efficient. However, people found it incomprehensible that a farmer like me could not own an SUV. However, one of my friends once told me, 'If you bought a car just to prove that you're not poor, you're a fool!'"

From parrots and bees to longhorn cattle

After crossing the border once again, we set out to have dinner. In a small restaurant in a tiny town, Ištvan ordered a bread bowl of soup and strips of sliced beef tripe. The tripe was served with vegetables and generously seasoned with aromatic spices. It seemed that Hungarians enjoyed rich food, and the portions were pretty large.

Ištvan had a colorful personality. During dinner, it became apparent that he not only worked as a veterinarian but also grew sunflowers and kept honey bees. There was never a quiet moment in Ištvan's home. A flock of several dozen parrots chirping and squawking without restraint. Singing is also not foreign to Ištvan too. With a powerful voice, he especially enjoyed performing Hungarian folk songs.

As usual, morning dawned after a night's sleep. For breakfast, there was some "pig cheese". Interestingly, this dish had nothing to do with cheese. The host explained that when Pamela Anderson visited Hungary, she was disgusted by it.

We were left alone for a couple of hours until the host took care of the bees and performed other farm chores. Before getting to work, the host explained, "Yesterday, I took a break, but today I'll see what damage my laziness has caused."

We spent the rest of the day at the wildlife reserve. It's where Ištvan had the most work to do. As our visit was coming to an end, we also stopped by a place called Mini Hungary.

When Ištvan received a call from his boss who was the head of the reserve we previously visited. He asked us for a minute of silence. As we found out, Ištvan forgot that he was supposed to be at work, so he had to pretend that he had gone on a work-related trip.

"I sometimes forget to pay the electric bill. Then I have to sit in the dark..." joked Ištvan.

On the last day, we were invited to be the guests of his mother. This time, Ištvan's younger brother, a man aš big as a six-door wardrobe, also appeared at the feast. The mother joked that when both of her sons are at home, there is not enough space in the room for even the thinnest mosquito to fly in.

While saying these words, she presented the most delicious dishes and served a tray of fragrant homemade donuts for dessert, the most delightful ones we had ever tasted.

Before the trip to Oradea, the family drew a map of Romania. They planned our route for six days, advising us to choose a longer path through Transylvania. They marked the most interesting places and explained where we would encounter the largest populations of Hungarian, German, and other minorities. They were generous with a few pieces of advice. The most important one was not to have any preconceptions.

Romania

For some reason, it seemed like we were destined to meet a bunch of French people. This time, a curious medical student who was going to Cluj Napoca agreed to give us a ride.

Getting from Oradea to Cluj took 3 hours. The driver listened to educational cassette tapes and shared what he had learned. He assured us that the Romanian language is not difficult. As we chatted pleasantly, time flew by. Soon we got to the city known as the heart of Transylvania. The car stopped by the St. Michael's Church, where the man bid us farewell.

We spent the night at the hostel. It was a good opportunity to wash our clothes and reorganize our backpacks. The first few weeks were enough to clarify what was necessary and what was just worthless ballast.

The idea for the reorganization work was put forward by a hostel employee who expressed his desire to help by taking our backpacks to our room and hurting his spine in the process. Poor guy, but I always say, "If someone offers you help, put them to work!"

Lost in Cluj

Cluj-Napoca, also known simply as Cluj, is the third largest city in Romania, located in the northern part of the country. Some believe that the origins of the city date back to the Roman Empire when Emperor Trajan established a Roman legion base in this area, which he named Napoca. Cluj, with a population of a third of a million people, seemed large enough to get lost in.

The absence of internet connection and navigation reveals the holes in our sense or direction. Luckily, there was something I liked to call "help of a friend," where every encountered person becomes a friend if you just dare to approach and ask for some guidance. This time, a Hungarian working at the gas station became such a friend.

His eyes sparkled upon hearing about our intentions. Trembling with excitement, he invited us to sit down and promised to try to arrange accommodation in the next city. Sadly, his plan failed, but he drew a map on a piece of paper and explained how to exit Cluj. On another sheet of paper, he printed the letters "HR," which symbolized a specific region in Romania predominantly inhabited by Hungarians.

"While hitchhiking, hold this note in your hand. If a Hungarian passes by, they will definitely stop," he explained. Then he offered us some ice cream. The entire staff of the fuel station gathered to enjoy the spectacle.

Night with the Horses

Turda greeted us with scorching heat. Luckily, as we reached the outskirts of the town, the merciless sun was covered by some clouds, and it started to cool down. It seemed like even the sun itself decided it was time for a well-deserved rest.

"I'm not a workhorse," it must have thought.

Speaking of horses, there are plentiful of them in Romania. Horses are traditionally herded by shepherds. From what I've seen, these duties are mostly carried out by the Gypsies.

Wherever you look, there are pastures for horses. At the end of the day, we decided to take a risk and camp in one of those green fields. A tent of the same color blended into the surroundings.

The morning turned out to be a little bit unusual. Suspicious rustling and grinding of teeth woke us up very early. I don't smoke, and I don't like smokers, but when for a moment you think about it, there is no doubt that upon seeing such a sight, a cigarette would slip out of even the biggest smoker's yellowed teeth. The horse stuck its head inside our tent.

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