Spring has sprung!!

This is what I woke up to the other morning (11:45am is still technically morning).



Apparently this bathing beauty didn't get my memo last month. And yes, that's a woman and no she is not wearing a top. Be grateful that I waited until she lied down to snap the photo cringe*


Oh, spring time in Hungary...

What have I gotten myself into now?!

It's almost time for Helpx round 2! I finish teaching in less than two months and then I'm off on another adventure. First stop, Julia's casa in Spain! After ten days of tanning, gossiping and eating with Kiki and Julia, I'll be heading over to Italy for more fun in the sun. In order to save a few pennies, Kayla and I have signed up to be helpers again. This time we steered clear of farms with any animals that require feeding or wrangling. Luckily, we found a great family that needs 2-4 teachers to work at their English day camp and help with their 9 year old triplets! Yikes, triplets! Oh well, they can't be any worse than 22 goats. Because this is legit full time job we had to submit resumes to the directors of the English camp. They also asked us to describe our hometowns, traditions or any special facts about our respective states. I immediately went to Wikipedia to scrounge up some facts on good ol' Washington state. Ok, so we've got salmon, Mt. St. Helens blew up - that's pretty cool, we grow apples, we like coffee and Seattle is home to the Mariners and Seahawks. I should have stopped there. Oh, but I didn't. Last thing on the list, Washington state's dance: Square Dancing.

From, Gina, our future host/director of the camp:

We particularly like if you can develop lessons and presentations for the show about where you are from, particular customs, dances and songs. For example, one year we had Kiwis from New Zealand and they taught the children the Haka.

P.S. We normally do a show at the end of every two weeks so you will also be required to think of 2-3 different things you can do in the show in the afternoon and attend the show to meet the parents.

Smelly goats aren't sounding so bad...

Flashbacks!

Some of you already know that Kayla and I no longer live in the flat above the dentist office. This year, we live in a dentist office! Luckily, the only reminders of its dental past are the lobby-like entry and the florescent overhead lights in my room. Oh ya, and the ThermalDent sign outside our front door. Anyways, it's much nicer than the attic we shared last year and it comes with many perks. We are situated smack dab between a pizza shop and a cheeseburger stand (which we're convinced is a front for the mob) giving us options for late night snacking. Also, we're located away from the busy center, but still within walking distance of the grocery store and the language school. But there's one catch...we share a parking lot with the thermal bath. Oh sure, there's a lot of traffic, but that's not my complaint. I'm more concerned with the swimming pool steps from our backdoor! Rewind to last fall to when I sent an email about my traumatizing trip to the thermal bath.

I'm convinced that the average age here is 87. I was ok with this until we went to the thermal bath. Cue the scary music...We were the youngest ones there, but probably the most modestly dressed. We wore normal suits, tankinis and one pieces. Don't worry, the other bathers preferred bikinis and speedos. The image of scantily clad seniors is permanently burned in my mind. It completely redefined the term, "banana hammock!" Speedos should be outlawed.

In the end, the overhyped therapeutic baths turned out to be nothing more than a series of lukewarm hot tubs, filled with German pensioners and Komarom's finest. It's only February, but already terrycloth wrapped hotel guests are passing by as they make their way to our town's prized baths. Now, it's only a matter of months before the weather warms up and those robes come off! This is a plea to the bathing Hungro's who will soon fill the pools behind my flat:

I know that 50 is the new 40 and I'm all for, if you've got it flaunt it, but be honest. Stop and ask yourself, have you really got IT? If you hesitated, then please put away your banana hammocks and saggy, see-through bikinis. Please.

Palin 2012? ; )

Ya betchya I won first prize in the costume contest!

I see London, I see France...and Italy, too!

How to travel for over a month without breaking the bank...

1)Get dirty! Accept not showering for 12 days
2)Smile and nod when your host asks if you're enjoying the mystery meal!
3)Learn how to swallow large bites, whole! (see #2)
4)Embrace the goats. I'll explain.
5)Welcome others' differences. They probably think you're just as strange...

Jobless, homeless and low on funds...what to do? I know, let's work on farms in exchange for food and a bed. Deal! We used a website called helpx.net, which connects volunteers with small farmers looking for an extra set of hands -or two! Neither of us knew much about this program, but we had only heard positive things. After wading through 100's of profiles and checking references, we decided on 2 French hosts.

Let's start with Lydie and Seb. This is the only photo, other than scenery, on their profile.


Harmless, right? Ok, so she looks a little rough around the edges . But she's a farm girl, so being glamorous isn't a priority.

We had exchanged several emails with Lydie confirming our arrival time, so she could meet us at the train. In typical Kenzie and Kayla fashion, we managed to get off the train in the wrong town, but Lydie didn't seem to be too bothered. She met us at the train station with a big smile and the customary European kisses. She looked just as she did in her photo - straight off the farm : ) The journey back to their farm took almost an hour. Let's just say they live in rural France! During the ride she explained that we would be responsible for cooking dinner and/or lunch at least twice a week in addition to caring for the goats. What?!? Cook dinner for everyone?! Who knew that we'd eventually look forward to cooking because it got us off goat duty!


Kayla and I were still digesting the fact that we'd have to become overnight chefs, when we arrived to their house. I grabbed my overstuffed backpack and followed their Dalmation inside to meet Lydie's husband. Expecting to see a typical farmer in overalls and flannel, I was completely thrown when I entered the room to find two Rastafarians 'chillin' on the sofa. I was too distracted by the dreadlocks and full beards to notice the American boy, a fellow helper, sitting near the fire. Before any introductions, the American bluntly asked/stated, "You're from the city, aren't you?" "I guess," I answered. "Ya, I can tell!" he said. Strike one! Nice to meet you, too.



I can't describe how uncomfortable I felt at that moment. A wise man once told me that people with expectations are often disappointed. And boy was he right. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run out the door. Fast forward 11 days, and I was sorry to say goodbye. Not to mention, about 2 days away from having dreads of my own and dirtier than a goat:) Lesson reinforced, don't judge a book by its cover - even if it's covered in massive dreads!


Rather than give you a play by play, I've just included some highlights/lowlights from La Chevre Farm:

Spaghetti Salad, anyone?
How thoughtful! They held dinner for us. Um, wait a second. Isn't the pasta and salad usually served separately?! I really wish I had a photo of this dish. Bitter (organic) lettuce, mixed with beets and cold spaghetti, tossed with a oily dressing. Kayla and Tristan were still talking about this salad almost 2 weeks later. They said they couldn't stand the noodles mixed with the lettuce. Looking back, the noodle salad was a treat compared to some of Lydie's other creations.

We all took turns cooking on a rotation, which meant Kayla and I cooked more often because we were a team. I actually didn't mind cooking because it eliminated the element of surprise from dinner and lunch! Seb usually threw something in the deep fryer. And as we all know, you could probably deep fry an eraser and it would come out delicious. He is the self proclaimed 'French Fry God' and made them for us twice to make us feel at home ; ) Tristan was an idea man. Big ideas, little follow through. Kayla and I rescued him on numerous occasions. Now, that leaves Lydie. It was either hit or miss with her. And the success of her meals usually depended on the leftovers in the fridge. Nothing was wasted in that house - and I mean nothing. I already mentioned the noodle salad, but there were more interesting dishes such as the chilli/lettuce/ pasta/cabbage salad that lingered for days. Or the lasagna mashed potatoes. Oh, but I have 2 memorable favorites.

Traumatizing dinner #1: Typically the cook served the meal and controlled the portions. Lucky me! Lydie served us all heaping portions of an unidentifiable casserole - grey in color and covered in sharp cheese. My favorite! Turns out sharp cheese isn't so bad when it's used to cover the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. I looked around to see if the others were struggling, but Kayla and Tristan were actually finishing their meals. After the cheese crust was gone I knew I had to man-up and finish the mystery slop. Eyes watering and on the verge of throwing up, I contemplated spitting mouthfuls into my napkin. I honestly thought I was eating shark or eel! They were vegetarians so I knew it had to be something that swims. I couldn't swallow another bite, so I hid the rest under my lettuce. I later told Kayla that I felt like I was on Fear Factor. She told me that it was good practice for The Amazing Race. Ya, well on TV gagging out loud is actually encouraged! By the way, it turned out to be eggplant, not eel.

Dish #2: Again, Lydie served up another winning dinner. I don't know if anything will ever top the eggplant delight, but this second meal is certainly memorable. Dinner was always served at 8pm, so we began to worry when the table was still empty at 8:15. Did Lydie have a surprise up her sleeve? Was she ordering in? Nope! She had completely forgotten that it was her night to make dinner, so she had to throw something together at the last second. She brought goat cheese, bread and small tins of fish to the table. *Graphic side note: Goat cheese smells exactly like its source - goats! Young, uncastrated goats to be specific. Needless to say, I passed on the cheese. Knowing what I know now, I should have gone to bed hungry. The small tins of fish were passed around the table, but no one was able to translate the French names for us. Hmm...ok?? Minced sardines, pass! Something with eyeballs, pass! The last tin came around and I didn't notice any gills or eyeballs, so I assumed it would be safe. Sniff! Sniff! Mmm...Tuna! I can handle that. Kayla and Tristan doubted my classification of the lumpy pink tuna. What did they know?! I took 4 or 5 large scoops of the 'tuna' and quickly realized that this wasn't Chicken of the Sea. Last time I checked tuna wasn't spreadable. Oh well, I thought, maybe it's French. As soon as I had the first bite in my mouth, I realized why this fish smelled so familiar. My nose and brain finally made the connection. It wasn't tuna that I originally smelled in the tin, it was Fancy Cat wet catfood! Thanks nose. Gag!! Again, see tip #3.


When in Rome, do as the Romans do...

12 days, 1 shampoo, 0 showers. Loved it!




















Goats. I can confidently say that I will never own one - let alone 22! Many have asked why they have 22 goats. Do they sell them? No. Milk them? No. They breed them to produce more useless, smelly pets.
It was our job to take the 20 adult goats out to pasture for at least 2 hours a day. We also had to turn their old hay and clear any 'droppings' out of the grain trough - by hand. Don't they make a shovel for that kind of thing?!

We spent a few days observing Tristan as he prepared the food and led the goats into the lower field. How hard could it be? Turns out, it ain't easy ; )

Our first day with the goats was by far the worst/funniest. After giving us a crash course in goat French (go/move and stop), Tristan reminded us that the goats could not go anywhere near the neighbor's property because there were poisonous berries in the bushes. Got it. Poison = bad.



About 20 minutes into our shift, we found ourselves dangerously close to the property line and within feet of the deadly berries. In the blink of an eye, 15 of the 20 goats had escaped under the fence and were ravenously feeding on the lethal fruit. Oh my gosh! We've just killed their beloved pets! We felt hopeless after a solid 15 minutes of yelling and waving our giant staffs in vain. Finally, I had the brilliant idea of literally grabbing one by the horns and dragging it down the hill to see if the others would follow. As I pulled the stubborn beast down the hill, Kayla attempted to keep the others on our side of the fence - and by fence I mean a length of twine. We figured we'd be in less trouble if they weren't technically on the neighbors property. I'm actually laughing out loud as I'm writing this because I can still picture Kayla running along the fence, wielding her stick, and using every profanity I've ever heard. Kayla was fuming and at one point threw her stick into the bushes. Only a few goats followed me down the hill, so we accomplished little more than working up a good sweat. Holding the goat, I was laughing so hard I was in tears and was no help to Kayla. We only managed to move the herd a few feet before Lydie called them back to the house like a bunch of dogs. She made it look so easy!

Seb met us at the door with a big smile. Wait...why are you smiling? I'm pretty sure we just poisoned 20 of your goats. He had been watching us from the house and was quite entertained by our struggles. He said, "The goats see the helpers and they think it's a goat party!" He was very confused when we apologized for allowing the goats to eat the harmful berries. "Not poison. Those little things with energy and are good for the goats," he said. After further explanation we figured out that the "little things" weren't actually toxic berries, but hazelnuts! Apparently a few key details were lost in translation between Lydie and Tristan. At least we didn't lose any goats ; )



On our last day, Lydie treated us to lunch at a community Xmas market held by all of the local hippies. The market wasn't much to write home about, but the view was breathtaking. I was completely blown away when I got out of the truck. I had never seen snowy mountain peaks so close-up. I knew we were somewhere in Southern France, but I had no idea we were so close to the Pyrenees Mountains. It was a perfect ending to our time at the crazy goat farm.







I am grateful for my time on the farm. It was such a great experience to be welcomed into a home and completely immersed in a new culture. I will never forget Lydie for her machine-like work ethic and squeaky French accent. And I will always think of Seb when I hear Bob Marley, especially if it's on a loop! They were very hospitable, laid back and friendly - perfect hosts :)

Help-x membership: $20
Flight from Budapest: $65
Overpriced French Trains: $90
Adding shepherdess to my resume: PRICELESS!













Stay tuned for Italy and London...