I became acquainted with books when I was still in my mother's womb. My mother, in her second pregnancy, decided that her cravings for ripe mangoes and squid, go well with books (as if mangoes and squid go well either). Grandma used to tell me how mom would always have a book in her hand, reading at any chance she had. I didn't know then and I could've cared less since the only worry I had really, was getting out into the world. 

At five, books and I were finally formally introduced in Sunday School! I read the stories of this guy named Jesus, who turned water into wine, fed 5,000 people with fish and bread, walked on water, died on the cross and raised from the dead. Later, this guy Jesus, would have become the most influential person in my life. 

Years passed, and my love for books slowly grew. I switched from reading the Sunday newspaper comics to Archie comics then science books. I was fascinated by the nine/eight planets existing in a limitless universe powered by a smoldering sun. At one point, I even dreamed of becoming the first woman astronaut to ever land on the moon. But that ambition never lasted; my curiosity of the universe shifted. I found that books took me to other interesting places faster than I could land on the moon. Sifting through my mom's and cousin's small collection of fiction, I took a shot at reading The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas and Maeve Binchy's, I think, Circle of Friends. But what do I know then? Webster gave no definition of the culture all so foreign to me and no further explanation of the English language I was still trying to learn. I was eight and read both books as far ahead as chapter two.

Then, Francine Pascal's Sweet Valley Twins landed on my lap. After it, I craved for more. It was like tasting Nutella for the first time, never letting go until the bottle's swiped clean. Our family trips since always consisted of a stop at a bookstore. Always. I could care less about toys, I'd rather have with me a Sweet Valley book, an Archie Digest and an occasional fancy notebook as my journal. Locked up in a room and lost in the world of my imagination, I'd finish a book in one sitting on a good day. By the time I stepped into high school, I have amassed a mini library of 100+ books, mostly of Archie and the Sweet Valley series, pushing my family to build an improvised book case on the ceiling of our already cramped room. The shelf made our room looked even smaller and hotter, but my treasures, they were safe.

When high school, college and my transition to Guam came, times left alone flipping through brown pages occurred less and less. I would still read, mostly non-fiction, but devoid the intensity, excitement and frequency I once had. Though I love peering through every character, every paragraph, every line, I've turned its pages out of obligation and looked at it with sheer exhaustion - half-reading, half-skimming through. The smell of books had slowly lost its lure. The sight of rows and rows of books neatly classified in Dewey became less and less appealing. 

Life, happened. My priorities were different. I had to grow up. Books and I, we went on a break. 

The winter of 2008 came, we had moved to Italy. Perhaps, it was that exposure again to novel literature and to a teacher, whose love for reading and learning, unyielding. Perhaps, it was Italy or Europe as a whole, responsible for rekindling that petered out light. Its quaint houses, glorious landscapes, majestic palaces, age-old museums, fascinating people, funny anecdotes, all of it created a hunger to read and know more about such, whether true or made-up. I looked at thick binds with an overwhelming sense of excitement deprived of the fatigue I chose to meddle on. Books, stacked higher, patiently wait for the unraveling of their worlds from its confined pages. I used to travel with them but, that too, has changed - I travel with them and they travel with me. I didn't quite know how or what or when it happened, it just did. It was like the father meeting his prodigal son, like a Sparks' last chapter incarnate. 

Books and I, we have been reunited - never to part again, happily ever after.

Check out what or who I've been reading here.

We arrived Krakow, Poland at 6:00AM ready to tackle the place we came there for: Auschwitz I & II, two of the worst concentration and extermination camps during the Nazi reign. After dropping our bags off at the luggage room, reserving our train tickets to our next destination (Prague, Czech Republic) and dilly-dallying around the station looking for the bus to Oisweicim, we finally left Dworzec Glowny at 0800AM and reached Auschwitz two hours later. I didn't really expect anything from this visit, in fact, I didn't do much reading or cared to research anything about it. I knew it was a Nazi concentration camp, but that was the only card I have. I really  wanted the element of surprise. I wanted to see and experience it with fresh eyes, like skipping all the preface and introductions of a really good book. I wanted the biases of other people's commentary out of my thoughts so I can create mine. And wow, was I blown away. Not because it looked aesthetically pleasant but because it showed how cruel we all can be. Now I clearly understand why there were skeptics about the existence of this place. Now I clearly understand why it is necessary for other countries to step in when the greatest crime against mankind is committed. Now, I fully understand.

We were a couple of minutes behind the scheduled English guided tour, but from half a mile away over our receivers, our tour guide's voice echoed with calmness yet controlled intensity. Already, she had set the tone of our journey through Auschwitz as her "Ladies & Gentlemen" greeting sounded eerie. Slowly approaching the Auschwitz I camp grounds, we were welcomed by the infamous gate sign, Arbeit Macht Frei, which literally means Work Makes Free, an unsettling sign, for what is freedom in the Nazi vocabulary? A couple of feet away from the gate, we stopped at the spot where an orchestra once stood. The musicians, all of which were prisoners, acted as a ploy for newly arrived and unknowing prisoners (about ninety percent of whom were Jews) to think that camp life was Utopia. Who would've thought? 

The open spaced grounds now looked deceivingly simple - red brick houses lined the wide slightly paved roads where trees of pine and occasional trash cans accompany them. But in the 1940's of course, the roads were but dust and the grass and trees were absent. Rain, shine or snow, prisoners would stay out here in the streets for hours as punishment when one of them is found missing during roll call. Each house is called by a specific number (i.e. Block 10, 11, etc) and one of the  first few we ventured in were Blocks 4,5 and 6. These blocks, now turned museum, showcased tons of empty Zyklon B cans, the poison used at the gas chambers, luggages, glasses, combs, shoes, toys, pots and pans, prosthetics - all collected from the Jews, photos of the victims lining up the walls, and the strangest exhibit of all - tons of human hair. After being gassed, these human hairs were cut off from the victims as Germans used and traded them for the production of various textiles. 

Then comes Blocks 10 and 11. Block 10 was notoriously know for its Medical Experiments on infertility, babies, pregnant women and twins. One of the prominent medical experiments included mass sterilization - the Nazi doctors would inject foreign substances in the women's wombs to close up their fallopian tubes. At times, toxic substances were also rubbed into a victim's skin to test its effects. Prisoners (men, women, children) were also immediately killed only for these doctors to dissect them. 

Block 11, on the other hand, was the punishment cell. Prisoners were tried here for different reasons and were either starved, hanged, flogged and/or eventually killed by a firing squad. At least three 3x3 single cell, only accessible by crawling through a small opening, also existed behind these walls. As a sanction, victims were asked to stand here in attention for days with at least three other people per cell, causing exhaustion and suffocation. It is also in this same Block did the Germans first tested the use of Zyklon B.

The last stop of our tour was the Gas Chamber and the Crematorium. Here, prisoners were asked to undress and were lied to think that they were going to take a shower. Fake shower heads were installed and small ceiling holes were carved out. The shower heads to cover the lie on top of a lie, the ceiling holes to dump the Zyklon B gas inside. This building also houses two furnaces used to burn at least three to four cadavers after being suffocated to death. About 4,000 bodies were burned here in a day. And unfortunately, some prisoners were tasked to work here so it was not uncommon for them to see and cremate the bodies of their friends and family. 

By the time we ended strolling the stretch of Andrassy Ut, we arrived at our final destination of the day- Szechenyi Baths, a spa complex with an indoor/outdoor pool filled with natural, thermal water. Starving for some splashy summer fun, we eagerly dipped into the pool's warmness and enjoyed the whirling/jacuzzi pool playing tag and rescue with the locals parading in their tight bikinis and speedos. Beat that 40ºF weather! It was simply the best way to end our long and tiring day.

Following morning, we set our sights on Buda, then a light bulb moment - How about if we go to Memento Park? A brilliant idea. But as soon as we stepped out of that tram to take the supposedly Memento Park bus, that brilliant idea's light bulb slowly flickered. We spent at least an hour scurrying the city for that freakin' stop for Bus #15! But no way we were giving up.

"Okay, how about that one? or that one? No! Bus 15 is not in here. Let's cross the street!"
Across the street...
"#17A, 17...there's no 15! Crap! Okay, let's retrace our steps or maybe we'll just stay here in Buda...Nooooo!"
After retracing our steps...
"Wait, how about that one! There's a lot of people there who looks like they're tourists. Yes! Yes! Yes! Ruuuun!"
At the bus stop where a lot of people looked like they were tourists...
"12...15! This is it! This is it! YESSS!" 
And five minutes later...
"Two tickets to Memento park, please. Whew!"

After our half-day trip at the park, we went around Buda before going back to Pest. We visited the beautiful Matthias Church, with its fish scale like roofs standing out against its white, marble, walls; walked around Castle Hill and saw the Royal Parliament's majestic beauty from afar, crossed the chain bridge guarded by the fading aqua green lions, saw the expensive Gresham Palace a.k.a. Four Seasons Hotel, and St. Stephen's Church. But before bidding Budapest farewell, we grabbed a cheap and scrumptious dinner at Belvarosi Lugas Etterem. No way we would have left Hungary, hungry, as we were bound for another 8-hr train ride to Oisweicim & Krakow, Poland.

"We are sooo not ready for this trip!!!" I exclaimed as Ralph and I crammed our already wrinkled clothes in our already stuffed bags. 

"I know yeah, baby.." Ralph snickered, finding the chaos, the rush, thrilling and amusing. But five minutes before our first connecting train to Budapest, he stopped poking fun at our own self-inflicted, procrastinated mess. He had switched his military watch on and begged me to hurry up, "The train doesn't run on your time, Jezell." 

Great. Now even his military tone is on. Scrambling to tie my gray chucks' bunny ears, I told him I'll meet him at the station. Having gone through my travel checklist, I seemed to have slowed down, obviously taking advantage of the fact that we live about 50 feet away from our town's little train stop. And about a split second as I headed through our mini, steeled gate, the chugging sound of the railroad cars came squeaking to a halt. Relying on the couple of days spent at the gym, I dashed to meet Ralph, down the underpass stairs and up, until we finally grabbed an empty dark blue, vis-a-vis train seat. Oh, hello puff first puff train connection, we puff meet puff again...Puff, puff, puff.

13 hours later...we stepped foot in Pest. Getting better at navigating and familiarizing ourselves with public transportation, we found our hostel, checked-in and went straight exploring the latter side of Budapest - Pest. First stop - FOOD! Hoping for some cheap eats, we took the metro to the Great Market Hall. Fresh fruits, vegetables, sausages, bread, ham, and lots and lots of red hot chili peppers tied with garlic, colorfully welcomed us. Up the second floor, we found various handmade items and souvenirs together with an array of food stands lining a narrow hallway. Craving for some sort of meat and wanting to try something Hungarian, I immediately went straight to order this fist-sized looking meatballs and some sauerkraut. It looked devilishly appetizing but somewhere in between my high expectations, unsophisticated palate plus eyes bigger than my stomach, it proved fatal. It was shaped like a meatball alright, but it was definitely not meat! 

"How's your's?" Ralph munching his delicious sausage away. I hesitatingly shook my head, hoping that the Hungarians beside me won't recognize my distaste. But they did. And one of the older women looked half-baffled, half-offended. I know, I know, lady. I should've taken the food most familiar to me. I should've eaten the goulash. But where's the fun in that?

After a quick tour around the Market Hall, we went sightseeing at Budapest's main street, Andrassy Ut. By three o'clock, we have reached the opulent Opera House. Mulling over whether or not to take the guided tour at four, we walked a few blocks away to the House of Terror, a museum about communism and not the haunted house I thought it would be. Bummer. So, Museum or Opera House? Opera House or Museum? Two out of two, Opera House wins.

At the Opera, we opted to go for the guided tour with an included mini-concert tickets. Having made his introductions, our lanky guide led us inside the slightly dimmed auditorium, making its cardinal and golden ceilings, posts, seatings and curtains shine brighter than sun, a sure sign warning that slightly touching it we'll turn us all into gold. He also pointed out the special balcony seating of the Hungarian's Prime Minister, right at the middle with the best view of course! Then the wooden panels and flooring specifically made so the orchestra's sound bounces back better. It is also said that in this very Opera House did Madonna filmed the part in Evita, where she sings Don't Cry For Me Argentina. Hmmmm...another tidbit for our pockets.

If you would have asked me eight years ago, if I was going to see at least part of Europe, my answer would be Yes! but only in my dreams. Never did it crossed my mind that I was going to have this amazing opportunity to travel, much more to travel with Ralph. So allow me to THANK GOD for such an incredible blessing. Actually, during our second or third day into our traveling, I was reminded of this verse, this promise/caution I got eight years ago before I left the Philippines. When I first read it, my initial thoughts were God will bless me if I don't forget Him. But to my surprise, God had literally fulfilled this promise. As to why God poured these blessings over and beyond, I cannot say for sure. Though this, I very well know, it is certainly NOT for what I have done, did or doing (far from it) and most certainly NOT for who I am. And that dear readers, I believe, is what's called Amazing Grace.

This journey has been a blessing from beginning to end, from our home and back. Favors were given, our prayers have been answered even to the minute, tiniest details. It was not just about Ralph and I learning lessons on marriage, but God just being sooooo good to us. Lord, I pray that we will never forget you under any circumstances, may it be amiable or dire, in plenty or in need.

With the trains sounding its horn, its wheels churning, we've crossed the borders of 13 countries, landed on 15+ cities in but a month. And it all began in the Paris of the East: Budapest, Hungary.