Hol trolik róják a lakótelepet – Where trolleybuses rule the world
Sorry guys, the Hungarian title does not match the English one.
But this is typical, in the end of the day. Now I just paid to English in Hungarian currency. Hungarians have a long record of mistranslating film titles. Here, I mistranslated a Hungarian title into English.
So what is this post about? For those of you guys not familiar with the concept of trolleybuses, they are by far my favourite type of public transport and have haunted my dreams since my adolescence, more specifically since seeing the abandoned trolleybus net of Sibiu (or Nagyszeben, or Herrmannstadt) – Europe’s 2007 culture capital, in the summer of 1999.
I have even dreamt of steam-trolleybuses in Plovdiv.
And now I am located in a city with such extensive network of intervening trolleybus wires I can walk for days and get never enough of, and still be happy.
Reference were made to Vilnius’ trolleybuses in one of my first posts, and they are sure to appear in further ones, too.
Unlike the GV-Ikarus giants, the remnants of the socialist past here are Škodas, of the one that used to run the streets of my ex-hometown, Varna. They are very funny, especially when one ends up behind the other and cannot override it.
But this stop is not about trolleybuses. It is about the wintery spring scent I enjoyed this Tuesday when I was celebrating the snowy afternoon while making quite a roundtrip to fetch a wooden box of a black metal band from Ukraine I was happy to meet the mastermind of back in 2015 in Hungary.
I also almost managed to almost fall in love, but instead started writing a song entitled Waiting for Me to commemorate a girl fervently writing an SMS to someone who I will most probably never have the honour to meet the real, happy person of. When the song is finished, and if I manage to record it, I wil post in the continuation of this post.
Until then, I will be so sad to have to one day leave Vilnius with its panel block complexes, one of which desperately reminds me of one I dreamt of still in Budapest, perhaps before receiving and accepting the offer to come to Lithuanian. And of course, to mourn its endless trolleybus wires and the Škoda trolleys that are one day bound to leave us, like me.