It began one winter when Vienna stole my heart. Not the prettiest start of stories most travelers would hope for — jet-lagged, absolutely exhausted and bitter due to an 8-hour delayed flight from New York, and probably hungover from all the wine consumed at the airport and the flight in a stubborn defiance of the circumstances. When our host suggested making a pit stop at the Holiday Markets, I thank every polite and socially awkward bone in my body for saying yes and not just pretending to be asleep and requesting to stay in the car.
The steaming, mulled wine coating my throat as I wrapped my fingers around the beautifully handcrafted mug, the sparkling holiday lights twinkling from each market stall and building surrounding the square; competing with those of the decorated pine tree at the center, the smoking meats, stacks of sweets, rows of colorful ceramic crafts and wooden toys. It was a beautifully painted December dream, and one I wanted to revisit.
I was taking a detour en route to Bulgaria, where I would celebrate my grandfather's 80th birthday and see family for the holidays, which was a first, as I only ever lived in Bulgaria during the summers.
Prague has been a city recommended to me by so many people for a lot of different reasons, as most popular cities are. It was certainly one of those places I knew I "just needed to visit" and cross off the list, but never for any authentic reason of my own.
Something a friend of mine had pointed out to me, rather off-handedly, was that it reminded her of an interesting and rather unlikely combination of Austria and Bulgaria, delicately hanging somewhere in the middle of those cultural generalizations. This seemed a pretty random comparison, but considering how much I yearned to return to Austria, and my unconditional love for my mother country, this was all the more reason to make Prague my temporary home for a few days before the holidays.
Upon leaving the airport and getting on the train with my offensively large suitcase (I always overpack, but also it's winter so cut me some slack, I don't know), I stumbled out of the train station into a familiar holiday wonderland. I had purposefully looked for an Airbnb in the Old Town, and close to public transportation so I could see the most that I could for the little time I'd be staying in Prague. As I lugged my suitcase across the narrow cobblestoned streets, I marveled at the beautiful shopping displays, lights strung up along every shop and street. People were still slowly enjoying their evening wine, coffee, pastry — tables on the street filled — no one was in any rush.
I finally found the apartment I'd be staying in, tucked away in a quiet street, as promised, and still conveniently close to the town center. Again, as promised, there were many, many, many stairs to climb. I had mentally prepared myself; not to mention, I have had many years of training with my grandmother's five-floor walk-up in Bulgaria.
A woman by the name of Katerina, (also a Bulgarian name), greeted me. She might as well have been wearing my grandmother's dress and slippers, with a slightly different hairstyle. Miss Katerina, as we were to call her, was adamant about having no shoes in the house (hi, grandma)! The building itself was, of course, beautiful — a towering set of wooden doors with intricately etched patterns and fine details, complemented by a practical little buzzer and keypad at the side. Patched together by modern means, but standing strong upon its historic foundation and the stories it holds, it was basically my perfect temporary home.
Though it was the winter, I made it a ritual to greet the day on the balcony connected to my room, overlooking the sleepy, curious city as it slowly woke, also reminding me a bit of home in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Church bells echoed within the streets, each chime reverberating off the terracotta roofs, sending birds flying as people scurried to sit and enjoy their first coffees and cigarettes.
I walked the festive, historic streets all over the city, grabbing a mulled wine and pork knuckle when I could. The holiday markets indeed brought me back to Austria, but there was something that pulsated within each of the small streets and the people I greeted, that reminded me of home in Bulgaria. I don't know if it was the haphazard way of greeting one another and mutually agreeing that we'd known each other for years, or even just down to some of the names of the dishes displayed in front of each tavern.
Is traveling solo during the holidays lonely? Sure, it can be. Again, one of my favorite aspects of traveling solo is the fact that it's one of the least loneliest experiences, with all of the people you meet and the things you open yourself up to when you're on your own. But that's not to say that this urge of sharing the experience with someone else doesn't arise. It does, and it's okay. That's also a part of it. It's okay to get a little sad, feel a little lonely, maybe nostalgic for things that could have been — it's all part of the human condition after all, and best experienced when you place yourself in an unfamiliar environment.
The holidays especially are when we're most aware of this loneliness, by whatever measure societal standards have engrained in us. The best way I got over this was trying to view it as a new adventure, another chapter of getting to know myself, and maybe meeting an influential character along the way by keeping myself open to it.
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