And 30,000 steps

Now if you can follow the disjointed and inconsistent posts, you’ll know that I was just in London for the Broncos game. That was our last hoorah with all our friends. My hangover the following day reflected that. Most everyone went back home, leaving just Zach, Trent, and I. The three roommates abroad. Briefly we toured the Churchill war rooms before heading to the airport. I thought it was very cool, even in the state I was in, and would recommend it to anyone visiting London.

We flew to Budapest that Monday afternoon. At the airport, Zach and Trent fell in love with the currency exchange woman behind the window. After they decided they were too afraid to ask for her number, we took a cab from the airport that evening. It was my first time in Hungary. The drive into the city was about 30 minutes with nothing to see, but I don’t judge a country based on the drive from the airport. Night had descended, there was nothing to see anyway. We stood on the sidewalk outside of an old building with large doors. I fumbled through my messages to find the door code while the smells of Italian food wafted over us. Inside was a staircase, not unlike the one in Trent’s temporary abode, where old creaky stairs wrapped around a claustrophobic elevator shaft. The apartment itself was quite nice. Modern, well-renovated, two bedroom, two bathroom, large living room. “Grand” is a stretch but it was the best title I could think of.

Strangely we were all in the mood for Italian food, and conveniently there was a restaurant right downstairs. It was a nice place. They sat us in the back away from the windows. We ordered a bottle of wine. I attempted to say “thank you” in Hungarian. The waiter flat out ignored me and walked away. Zach and Trent got a kick out of that, and I spoke in English the rest of the trip. The food was very good, I had lamb chops, and the bill somehow got handed to me. Nothing outrageous, but about $40 per person. That is about what I would expect from a decent place in the States, but it was more than I was expecting from Budapest. All of us were too tired to even consider going out that night, so we went straight back upstairs for our eight hours.

Ten hours later, we slowly built our collective motivation to begin the day. We found a breakfast spot not far away. Finding an actual breakfast place, not just a café with espresso and pastries, is difficult in Europe. The place we found seemed to cater to American tourists just like us. They had coffee (not just espresso), mimosas, eggs and bacon, and breakfast burritos. There were also staffed with many young and attractive women. At least, that’s what Trent and Zach told me. I took no notice. The only thing missing was a TV with Sportscenter on and it would be a super-magnet for 27 year old American guys. Really, anyone of any gender would have enjoyed it. The food was good and the prices very reasonable. In the U.S. it would be just any other typical brunch spot with “cute” vibes and pastel colors. But all the way in Hungary, it might as well been a cowboy saloon flying the stars and stripes.

After breakfast began a long, long day of walking. But it was all fantastic. The streets are pedestrian-friendly and there is plenty to see. Picking random landmarks, we first stopped by a great cathedral and the opera house. Both decorated with marble statues and ornate carvings. This was on the way to the parliament building, which is probably the most famous landmark in the city. It is a massive building with sharp, gothic spires all over it. As if the building had been dipped in red and white paint and hung upside down to dry. A large stone plaza laid out in front of it, with fountains and trees and more statues. On the other side it hugged the Danube river. From all angles it is a magnificent display of Hungarian architecture.

From there we began to cross the aforementioned river, but took a detour halfway across the bridge. Budapest has what could be considered their own Central Park as a narrow island in the middle of the Danube. Surrounding the walkways and bike paths were trees, flower gardens, football pitches (the European kind of course), ice cream shops, outdoor cafes and bars. It was a slice of paradise. We stopped for a quick beer and enjoyed the nice weather. We watched the bikers and dog walkers for a while before deciding to cross the rest of the bridge.

We arrived on the Buda side of the river. Or was it the Pest side? Long ago it was two cities that unified into one, combining their names. That sounds like a bad joke I made up but it is true. On this side of the river there was a steep hill. Stone steps wove through the streets and buildings leading to a castle perched on top overlooking the city. We did our best to catch our breath while admiring what was an excellent panoramic view. The castle was extremely well-preserved. It looked like it could be from a Disney movie. It seemed to be designed with the sole-purpose of gazing over the city below. Or whatever was below hundreds of years ago. I am now reading that it was fully renovated/rebuilt in 1851. So as far as castles go, not very old.

After walking on the castle, we went under the castle. Into the dungeons and tunnels. No lights were allowed, except the few they already had down there. It was spooky, but also interesting. I tried to be brave. One stretch of tunnel maybe 200ft long was pitch black. Couldn’t-see-my-hand-an-inch-from-my-face-dark. We just had a small rope guiding us along the wall, and trusted we wouldn’t fall into a pit or be attacked by cave creatures. I learned about the history of Budapest and Hungary from various info signs, but what really gave us the chills was that same dungeon once held Vlad the Impaler. Also known as: Dracula.

Oh Dracula was real. Maybe not a vampire, but the real-life version of him was arguably worse. He killed and tortured tens of thousands of people in hundreds of different ways. One of the famous stories was when Vlad (Dracula) was a ruler in modern day Romania, he faced an invasion from the Ottomans. The Ottoman army far outnumbered him, so he enacted a “scorched earth” retreat into his own territory. When the Ottomans crossed the Danube river, they were horrified to discover a “forest of the impaled”. Reported around twenty thousand men, women, and children were impaled on large stakes in the ground. For no other reason than to intimidate the Ottoman army from marching further. And it worked. The Ottomans turned around and went home. Who wouldn’t? Vlad the Impaler was literally a case of a sociopathic serial killer coming to power and ruling a small nation. And we were in his dungeon.

Miraculously we made it out of the tunnels alive and continued our self-guided, self-planned tour of the city. We found the Buda Castle was under construction, so we kept walking. The bridge we had planned to cross was under construction, so we walked a little more. The sun was setting as we walked through the hills and neighborhoods. The streets and houses felt ancient, but pristine as well. This side of the river was hilly and steep. It burned our thighs but offered wonderful views of the flatter city on the other side. We walked a long way south along the Danube river. The sunny cloudy day (the pictures reminded me, funny how memory works) had been traded for city lights. A large open-air market at the far end of town was our next destination. We crossed back over the river and found that was closed as well.

A few small strikeouts were not a big deal, we were enjoying the journey. However my legs were cramping up, and breakfast was a long time ago. Forgot about lunch, so dinner it is. We weighed our options glancing at the outdoor menus in the street. Employees would come quickly out of the restaurants with their best sales pitch to lure us in. We eventually decided on an ordinary looking, cheap restaurant. They spoke good English, were very attentive about allergies, and the food was terrific. I had some awesome Goulash. Now having spent money at a few places around town, we realized that first Italian place was maybe one of the nicer restaurants in Budapest. The whole city is a frugal man’s paradise.

Apparently we weren’t tired of walking because we decided to go out that night. There was a casino within a block of our place, which was dangerous. They required our passports to let us in, and luckily we were just lazy enough to not go back to the apartment to get them. That laziness saved us countless Hungarian Forints. The night led us to a fascinating bar. One of the best bars I’ve ever been to. Budapest has “Ruin Bars”, which are bars built in old abandoned buildings. Sounds creepy, but it results in very cool layouts and spacing. There were maybe a half dozen different bars in the building. Some had dance floors. Some outside surrounded by lush, leafy plants. Some like a speakeasy: tucked away in a quiet, hidden corner. One was in a movie room with bean bags and sofas. It had a little something for everyone and was like a whole night of bar hopping with a lot less walking.

Eventually we did leave, after enjoying a few of the internal bars. We saw a Rock n Roll themed bar and stopped in for a bit. The music and wall to wall posters of rockstars revived some nostalgia of home. Or at the very least, England. Finally we ended at the Communist Party bar. It was small and painted bright red. One wall had a mural of Lenin, Trotsky, Marx, and Stalin drinking and dancing. One of them had a lampshade on his head. In other words: partying. It was a Communist Party. I love a bar built on a bad pun as much as the next guy, but it was a bit strange at that time being in a country sharing a border with Ukraine. Were we supporting the wrong side? Three beers wouldn’t monetarily tilt the conflict I told myself.

Thus wrapped up the night and (mostly) our time in Budapest. Including the walking after midnight, we had gone about 30,000 steps that day. Our flight out was the next morning. Budapest is a city I could easily see myself living in. Now I can enjoy visiting a city without ever wanting to live there. I enjoyed Bangkok and Paris, but I wouldn’t want to live in either. Budapest is lovely. The streets are tidy, trams run on most major streets, there are many beautiful gardens, the architecture is brilliant, there is a rich history going back 1,000 years, there is plenty to do, the food is great, many people speak English, and most of all – reasonably priced.

We did as much as we could in a single day, but never saw the famous bath houses. Except for Trent, who woke up at 6am to visit them. That man is a tireless machine. Our next stop was Albania, which was… an experience. We took a cab to the airport, already thinking about our next connections. As we walked up to the security line, Trent patted his pockets. Never what you want to see in an airport. “I don’t have my phone,” he said, wide-eyed. Maybe he was a little tired.

After a double pat-down and a check through both his bags, he pulled up the location on his computer. It was on the highway headed back to Budapest. I frantically began calling it, not concerned with what language the person on the other end may be speaking. We also pinged it from his computer so it would make a ding sound. I must have called that thing two dozen times. Pinged it another two dozen. How does the guy not hear this in his cab? Zach and I were doing this, while Trent waited in the checked bag line. Since he had come straight from living in France for a month, he was the only one with a checked bag.

We had arrived at the airport with plenty of time, but that had run out. Zach and I had to go to the plane. Trent was just going to be phoneless for the foreseeable future. We told Trent we would delay them as much as possible, not knowing if we’d really be able to. I waved to Trent in the long check-in desk line as we made our way to security. By the time we got through and walked down an endless terminal to find our gate, they were already boarding. They had only just started, but started all the same.

Zach and I hovered in the walkway, both in eyesight of the gate and the long terminal hallway from where we came. The line dwindled. I started to bounce some ideas off Zach. I could try and pull up my ticket through Safari on my phone without wifi to make it painstakingly slow. I could ask to check a bag at the gate. The line was to single digits. I could faint and collapse on the ground. I could call in a bomb threat. I was anxiety-ridden at the thought of executing one of my half-baked plans. Then the last person went through, leaving Zach and I alone at the gate staring awkwardly at the Wizz Air employees. Now or never. I took one last look down the endless corridor for Trent. I had to squint at first, but there appeared to be a tall man sprinting like he’d just committed a crime. As the figure grew larger, relief washed over me. It was our old pal, just in time.

He stumbled to us, completely out of breath. We scanned our tickets and made our way to the tarmac while he ranted to us about how his check in line was shut down when he was the next person up. He had to go to the back of a different line and wait there. He then basically sprinted through security, cutting several lines. Most likely he was cursed at in Hungarian and I assume he pushed over at least one old lady. None of that mattered now as we were all on the plane heading to Albania, our final stop on the long journey.