My motivations for… I forgot the mouse! After we saw the Shoes on the Danube, I spied with my human eyes something bounding through the grass. I exclaim “mouse, mouse, mouse!” Issi looks at me quizzically, tilts her head, and says “What?” Now my already quiet voice was even quieter than usual, so as not to frighten away my already fleeing mammalian brother/sister. I repeat “mouse, mouse, mouse!”
“Where?”
I point, now she sees and says a suitable, aww, naw, oh how adorable.
So that’s the tale of the mouse we saw, after seven glasses of wine, and following an emotional late night viewing of an exceptionally powerful memorial.
Anyway back to my motivation, is to get all this down before it festers and disappears. It happens when you hold something for too long and it warps etc. That’s what I believe anyways, I said it to Issi and prompted her to start publishing pics on facebook whilst in Budapest, I’m often confused when my words have any impact on the real world.
Oh than that shelf life thing is something I heard from Biffy Clyro, when they released a massive album. Massive in the sense that it had many songs upon it, one interviewer asked them why they didn’t split it into two albums and take some time off. Their answer, was that music is alive and should be released when it’s ready. It shouldn’t be unnecessarily held back, or at least that’s how I remember it.
Oh and I got a compliment! From Ed, lovely fella, never met him. I think he and I should book a holiday together. There’s precedent, this trip to Budapest was booked prior to Issi and I meeting. And Ed is Issi’s dad. By all accounts a top bloke, and I think I’ve gone on about him enough to make it awkward… Oh and I edited together a pic/gif, and resolved to only release it after writing up the entirety of the day it relates to.
“Where?”
I point, now she sees and says a suitable, aww, naw, oh how adorable.
So that’s the tale of the mouse we saw, after seven glasses of wine, and following an emotional late night viewing of an exceptionally powerful memorial.
Anyway back to my motivation, is to get all this down before it festers and disappears. It happens when you hold something for too long and it warps etc. That’s what I believe anyways, I said it to Issi and prompted her to start publishing pics on facebook whilst in Budapest, I’m often confused when my words have any impact on the real world.
Oh than that shelf life thing is something I heard from Biffy Clyro, when they released a massive album. Massive in the sense that it had many songs upon it, one interviewer asked them why they didn’t split it into two albums and take some time off. Their answer, was that music is alive and should be released when it’s ready. It shouldn’t be unnecessarily held back, or at least that’s how I remember it.
Oh and I got a compliment! From Ed, lovely fella, never met him. I think he and I should book a holiday together. There’s precedent, this trip to Budapest was booked prior to Issi and I meeting. And Ed is Issi’s dad. By all accounts a top bloke, and I think I’ve gone on about him enough to make it awkward… Oh and I edited together a pic/gif, and resolved to only release it after writing up the entirety of the day it relates to.
Day four started with us getting up later than we’d planned to. The wine coupled with all the walking has wiped us out. Luckily we chugged some fake coffee, I think this is the day I made it. Issi instructs me to swirl whilst I pour so as to not get any lumps. I make a real pig’s ear of it, a spoon has to be deployed, I consider writing day four off...
We make it past my coffee faux pas, get ready, and hit the street. Issi tells me there was a point where she considered applying novocaine to her feet. Oh I also forgot the hilarious story of me trying to purchase toothpaste. Issi had been nice enough to share hers with me but alas the sensitivity of my teeth it too much for me to bear.
We hit a pharmacy, I ask for toothpaste, the girl behind the counter looks at me and shrugs, another girl asks me what I want, I mime brushing my teeth. She gives me a knowing up nod and wanders off to fetch something, hopefully numbing paste for teeth. I can see her gathering toothbrushes, but I’m too polite/awkward to stop her. She hands them to first girl I’d asked, I briefly consider buying a brush and abandoning this toothpaste expedition. But I don’t, instead I explain it’s close but not close enough. Blurgh, I felt exceptionally warm, perhaps it’s the three coats I was wearing. A third pharmacy girl asks me what I’d like, I say toothpaste, I may’ve even mimed applying paste to an imaginary brush. She gets it, and hands me box, it looks suitable, I am overwhelmed by a sense of achievement.
Oh and the box had a word that looked vaguely like novocaine on it. FYI the active ingredient in Sensodyne, we will sell out, is potassium nitrate, makes nerves less sensitive. So rubbing it on sore feet may’ve worked. But Issi has reserves of willpower the likes of which I’ve nay seen before.
Back to day four… we’re heading for the central market, at midday, on a Saturday. Can you see the small miscalculation in our cunning plan? Neither could we. Whilst we wander we spot several places that look to be likely breakfasting locations. We decide that a Jewish restaurant would likely serve quite delicious sandwiches, the reasoning behind this decision escapes me. I’m convinced we are off track despite Google’s evidence to the contrary. Issi spots an entrance, what would I do without her?
If it’s animals great or small, I’m your guy. But if want to function in a foreign land, then equip yourself with Issi. Sounds like I’m pitching some kind of virtual tour guide app, that must surely be a thing right? If not I’m hoarding that idea, no one steal it please... ok?
As we enter there’s a… lidl, I want to say Lidl. Well I don’t want to say Lidl, but I think there was a Lidl on site, it may even’ve been an underground Lidl. Or it could’ve been an Aldi. It’s crowded, Issi leads the way. As she is dainty, and driven, to locate souvenirs, and something to eat. I wander off and buy an apple. It is enormous, at least the size of two regular apples. Is it me or do you look like a real douche if you’re eating an apple whilst doing anything else?
I take a fair few pics of Issi leading the way, if you view them in isolation it appears as though I’m stalking her… let’s move on. Upstairs! It’s where all the food is located, they’ve got all the classics. Langos, soup in bread, burgers, sausage bouquets, and much more. It’s mega crowded, the disparity in our sizes, and ferocity, gets us separated. Issi storms off ahead whilst I sidestep all over the shop. We reconvene and decide it’s too busy and we need to source sustenance elsewhere.
Do you remember when I asked you if you could see the small miscalculation in our plan, a mere 300 words ago? Attending a tourist attraction at a peak time, when both locals and tourists would be out in force. We exit the premises after briefly viewing pastries. I think I turned to google to request food.
We find Anna Cafe, there are blankets. We decide to sit outside, or there were no seats inside. Feels like we decided to and almost immediately regretted it. I spot cocktails on the menu and tentatively enquire as to whether it’s too early. I receive a curt “no, it’s not too early.” This is the first time I’ve experienced Issi as anything other than breathtakingly lovely. She’s also terribly self aware, she explains this is a combination of hunger, tiredness, and an overabundance of inconsiderate tourists are to blame. I can relate, I hate tourists. I am a tourist, but I don’t hate myself. Turns out I’m also a paradox/hypocrite, mmm neither or both.
We order some cocktails, now I regret ordering a cold drink on a not so warm day. We also order a sharing platter. It features, cured meat, cheese, bread, giant radishes, some unidentified leaves, and a single jam tart. We carefully and considerately divvy up the food so we both get exactly half. All the while saving the tart for last. The food was perfectly passable, not mindblowing but better than the first meat experience we had at Cafe Vogue.
I order an espresso to jumpstart my personality. As I discovered yesterday caffeine cranks me up to eleven. I state radishes are more for texture than flavour. Issi disagrees proposing they have a peppery taste. I eat half a giant radish and get nada. As we work our way through the food we decide it was fine. We are super amped for this tiny jam tart, hefting it neatly in twain. The pastry is crisp and the filling is tart, Issi’s face briefly contorts in confusion followed by realisation. She thinks the contents of the tart were supposed to be used as a contrasting flavour for all the rich cheese and meat… we are convinced every alfresco diner at Anna’s had seen us saving the tart for last and were now sitting in abject confusion at the foreigners and their foibles.
We split the bill and bail. The order of events is slightly mixed up in my mind palace, we either went back to the market or we approached liberty bridge. Lets go with the Liberty Bridge, it’s windy, some homeless folks are napping on some benches. I did notice that the homeless populace of Budapest tend to have a broom amongst their belongings.
As we approach the bridge we note a small door that appears to lead to a museum and go through it. It’s crowded. There’s a brief discussion about whether to bail, then we notice there’s an upstairs! Onwards up the stairs, history, building materials etc. We are unable to leave as a girl is blocking the staircase engrossed in photography, we wait politely, she doesn’t move. Someone comes up the stairs she realises her faux pas, we storm out into the daylight, it’s windy, I think I only had two coats on.
Back to the market we go, Issi is on a mission for paprika. Pretty sure it was smoked paprika, as regular paprika adds little to no flavour. Come at me paprika aficionados. We circle round and find many shops peddling paprika, with a teeny tiny paprika shovel! Now comes the time to checking every store to ensure we’re not being ripped off. I’m pretty sure I posited that the paprika peddlers of the Central Market Hall may have formed a sinister cabal… to fix prices and share profits… conspiracy.
Issi disproves this theory with a succession of varying prices. I point out a giant white vegetable that I do not recognise, Googs tells me it’s daikon, a giant white radish from Japan. We find the place with the best price, I hold the purchases so as not to feel surplus to requirements. The lady shopkeep says “Every woman needs a strong man” We laugh/smile awkwardly. She reassures me that her husband is the same way when they go shopping… we make for the exit.
It was now that we made a beeline for the opera house, enroute to the Columbo statue. Again the order of events is awfully shuffled in this loosely stacked heap of paper I call my mind. Once more we find ourselves on Andrassy, the Champs-Élysées of Budapest, it looks fancier today, we get to the opera house. Now that I think about it I think we approached the opera house from a different direction… we must’ve hit Columbo first. Not to worry I shall circle back to the opera house, but first, COLUMBO!
We walk on, it’s just about 3.5km to the statue of the legend. A brief 45 minutes from where we are now. We walk past the train station, and chew over where to get a pastry. Nowhere seems quite right. We cross the street as BITE Bakery looks to be busy and awesome. We queue, a word that Issi taught me how to spell. Well, I knew the letters involved, does anyone else have a word that they have been unable to conquer well into their “adult” life? I was trying to spell the word “queuing”, she spelt the word “queue” before eliminating the “e” and adding in the “i-n-g”. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I finally committed the word “queue” to memory. Aren’t you glad you now know that tale too?
Back to the bakery, there is a hold up with an order, hence the queue. I spot an adorable baby boy snuggling into his mother, I have to point him out, we briefly stare. Then back to the serious decision of what to get! See their dizzyingly delicious list of products here. I know I’m going for an espresso but what form of roll, it has to be a roll. I think I went for peanut butter, because I love peanuts and butter. Issi gets a… I want to say she went for a cinnamon roll with a latte. But it appears as though the detailed memory was not focussed beyond peanut butter, damn my myopic peanut loving mind. One of the staff starts kneading some dough, now this is a proper bakery.
I grab my order and move upstairs to secure seating, it’s limited, a girl is sitting by herself on a four seater table. I consider asking if it’s ok to sit with her, but then I spot there is an empty table with several half finished beverages and related paraphernalia. Talk to a stranger or sit at a table whose, potentially former, incumbent diners may or may not have vacated the premises. I boldly lay claim to the table, and gingerly sweep the discarded half finished drinks and paraphernalia to one side. Issi comes and sits down, again I am once more struck by how dainty she is. I take a pic, halting our imminent consumption, briefly. The rolls were most excellent, soft, sweet, and generously filled. Filling was delicious, nutty, rich, I’m having a bit of a moment here… and I’ve recovered. We discuss caffeine content, the latte has the same as the espresso, but the espresso has a higher caffeine concentration.
Energised we hurtle towards Columbo, 700m away. There he is standing there, looking confused. Issi get’s in position and I capture a very natural picture of her looking at the legend with genuine adoration. Now comes the turn of the awkward, oddball, wearing two coats. I opt for an accurate as possible physical mimic, of the statue’s pose. In the first pic Issi says I look too angry. Then from out of nowhere a hoard of tourists start walking past. I am now very self conscious, but my stoic facade does not falter, I maintain my statue copying posture. She confirms I’ve managed it.
Now we never did figure out why there’s a statue of Columbo in Budapest. But since then I’ve jumped on google. Here’s a slightly cut down version of the popular thinking on the matter:
It was installed in 2014 at an estimated cost of $63,000, the bronze legendary P.I. was part of a rejuvenation project in the area. Exactly why he was chosen is still a bit of a mystery. According to those involved, Peter Falk, the actor, may have been related to 19th-century Hungarian political figure, Miksa Falk, after whom the street is named. But they also admit that this connection has yet to be proven. Falk is known to have had Hungarian roots on one side of his family. Some have also questioned the timing of the statue’s installation given that Peter Falk passed away in 2011, meaning that it is unlikely to commemorate his passing either. Many believe that it was unveiled in time to garner votes in an upcoming election, although this seems to be a strange way to go about it.
Just one more thing… At the foot of the metal lieutenant’s feet is a bronze basset hound modeled after a local dog named Franzi, who even showed up for the unveiling. This is of course supposed to be Columbo’s droopy-faced pet, “Dog.” Unfortunately, the dog does not seem to provide any further clues as to the decision-making process behind the statue’s bizarre existence. Maybe if Columbo was still alive, he could have solved the case.
Full version here.
After that I think we headed for Margaret Island, a leisurely 2.5km away. As we approach we have to dodge tourists on the bridge, ruddy tourists. We get there and construction is underway. It appears to be a big old park, akin to Central Park. It’s nice, we sit for a while, I notice I’ve got a text from Jamie, a dude I work with. There’s a boisterous small bird bouncing around, I point it out. We walk on, there’s a playground, I spin Issi on an spinning thing, she asks if I want to be spun, I politely decline. Question is can you fathom the reason/s as to why I declined?
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| The only photo of us together in Budapest |
We walk on, through a gate that we only managed to get through by utilising all of my Grimsby wideboy nous. We are now on the running track that circles the island. As we follow it towards the bridge we see a sea of people in costume. They are day drinking and in high spirits. We theorise that some form of drunken, costumed fun run is about to take place. If such a thing does break out we shall stick to our strengths, Issi’ll handle the running and I shall drink, like a hero. We navigate through the sea of people, and cross the bridge back. We did have to scramble up another slope, this one was smaller, softer earth, zero coats in my hand.
Now we walk back to the opera, but we’re approaching from a different direction. Parliament is close so we decide to circle past it. I recognise a big symbol, five rings, she says “The olympic rings?...” Yup I’d forgotten what the olympic rings were the olympic rings. As we approach there are all sorts of statues, a lion fighting a snake, some badass looking politicians. We take pics, the buildings are awesome. There’s a police presence. We approach the bathrooms but lose our bottle and flee to the opera.
Now we walk back to the opera, but we’re approaching from a different direction. Parliament is close so we decide to circle past it. I recognise a big symbol, five rings, she says “The olympic rings?...” Yup I’d forgotten what the olympic rings were the olympic rings. As we approach there are all sorts of statues, a lion fighting a snake, some badass looking politicians. We take pics, the buildings are awesome. There’s a police presence. We approach the bathrooms but lose our bottle and flee to the opera.
We approach from another direction, it’s confusing. We enter and the place is brimming with tourists, urgh tourists. We sidle through the crowd to a desk, the wrong desk. We wait patiently in line to talk to a woman through a tiny window. She holds the tickets, we enquire and find out that only the pricey seats are left. We look at each other, it’s one of those polite stand offs. Neither wants to adversely influence the other and we stare, trying to decipher what is going on in each other’s heads. At least that’s what I think was happening. Turns out neither of us wants to pay for pricey tickets to something we may or may not enjoy.
We exit the opera house and head home, it’s home now, both of us are calling it home.
Issi soaks her feet and we research other things we could do instead of the opera. We settle on a symphony that’s playing as part of the spring festival. We gear up and head out, we wander into a quieter part of town and find the building. It does not look like somewhere a symphony would operate. We furtively ask a man at the front desk, he shows us a map and tells us we are not where we need to be, 10 minutes walk and we’ll be there. We nod, well Issi nods as she’s taken charge on this particular social interaction. I stand and look suitably pious.
Once outside we start walking to where the dude had instructed us to, we are then filled with doubt and resort to google. I boldly assert that I have found the path and we stride forth. The journey takes a little longer than we’d been told it would. But the building is suitable old looking and has the feel of somewhere a symphony could be found. The doors are stiff, a lady is talking to a dude at a reception window. They pause and look at us, the guy says something. I tell him we want to buy tickets to the symphony, he looks confused. He then says “This is the University of Finance…” I apologise, Issi laughs, we leave.
Once outside we start walking to where the dude had instructed us to, we are then filled with doubt and resort to google. I boldly assert that I have found the path and we stride forth. The journey takes a little longer than we’d been told it would. But the building is suitable old looking and has the feel of somewhere a symphony could be found. The doors are stiff, a lady is talking to a dude at a reception window. They pause and look at us, the guy says something. I tell him we want to buy tickets to the symphony, he looks confused. He then says “This is the University of Finance…” I apologise, Issi laughs, we leave.
She asks if we should just go for a nice meal, I concur. We walk home and chill for a bit whilst looking for places to eat. My mental wheels spin whilst I ineffectually look for somewhere suitably up market. Somehow I find Araz Etterem, a combination of French and Hungarian cuisine. There are still things on our list of Hungarian things to eat so this place is ideal. We lounge around in bed for a bit before Issi declares she’s going to get ready. I drift off briefly. I hear her walk back in and I was wholly unprepared. Now you all know that I think she’s ever so pretty but in that dress… I stare, realise I’m staring, scramble for something to say, find nothing to say, and make a joke about doing some push ups. Smooth, right? I swiftly flee to the safety of the bathroom to brush my teeth. I gather myself and resolve to say something expressing how lovely Issi looks. But I don’t want it to come across as being creepy, so it ends up sounding sterile.
I throw on a black shirt, tan trousers, and shoes. I’m a little worried as the trousers are rather form fitting and the unnerving musculature of my legs is visible. They are stretchy though, Issi doubts my ability to bust one of my trademark lunges in them. I bust out my deepest lunge to date… let's move on.
Into the night. Walking, because that’s what we do now. As we head down the street towards ARAZ we spot Meatology, one day I shall return to feast upon your undoubtedly delicious wares… It takes about 20 minutes, Issi enquires what I want to do if we get there and it’s a 30-45 minute wait for a table. I reply with, then we wait, right? I’m a simple man and the thought of trying to find a backup restaurant had not occurred to me. We have not booked, so the tension is real. As we arrive the place is positively empty, phew. But also, have we made a mistake?! Somewhere with outstanding cuisine should be packed, right? I file that worry to the back of my mind as the… host? Dude who hangs near the entrance and seats you?! There’s an official name for this I’m sure. Like concierge, gah.
Anyhow this guy takes Issi’s coat and I’m next. Now I’m wearing two coats, because I’m peculiar. Lets not beat around the bush, I’m not wealthy so this isn’t eccentricity, it’s plain peculiarity. I manage to hand him both, he almost drops one and awkwardly hangs them on a single hook. We get to our table and sit down, the waiter asks if we’d like and aperitif, I dart Issi a quizzical glance. She orders a kir royale, I follow suit. She asks me if I frequent fancy restaurants, I shake my head. I like good food but this is not my wheelhouse… the table arrangement is complex. I capture an image, our drinks arrive.
I throw on a black shirt, tan trousers, and shoes. I’m a little worried as the trousers are rather form fitting and the unnerving musculature of my legs is visible. They are stretchy though, Issi doubts my ability to bust one of my trademark lunges in them. I bust out my deepest lunge to date… let's move on.
Into the night. Walking, because that’s what we do now. As we head down the street towards ARAZ we spot Meatology, one day I shall return to feast upon your undoubtedly delicious wares… It takes about 20 minutes, Issi enquires what I want to do if we get there and it’s a 30-45 minute wait for a table. I reply with, then we wait, right? I’m a simple man and the thought of trying to find a backup restaurant had not occurred to me. We have not booked, so the tension is real. As we arrive the place is positively empty, phew. But also, have we made a mistake?! Somewhere with outstanding cuisine should be packed, right? I file that worry to the back of my mind as the… host? Dude who hangs near the entrance and seats you?! There’s an official name for this I’m sure. Like concierge, gah.
Anyhow this guy takes Issi’s coat and I’m next. Now I’m wearing two coats, because I’m peculiar. Lets not beat around the bush, I’m not wealthy so this isn’t eccentricity, it’s plain peculiarity. I manage to hand him both, he almost drops one and awkwardly hangs them on a single hook. We get to our table and sit down, the waiter asks if we’d like and aperitif, I dart Issi a quizzical glance. She orders a kir royale, I follow suit. She asks me if I frequent fancy restaurants, I shake my head. I like good food but this is not my wheelhouse… the table arrangement is complex. I capture an image, our drinks arrive.
The bread and butter at this place is next level.
We talk about the dynamic between the live singer and the man on the keyboard. There’s also a disgruntled looking girl seated not too far from them. We conclude they know each other and the girl has been dragged along as one of them is giving her a lift/is her parent/ partner/ something. Issi requests I take a nice pic of her. Now my views on posed photography are unyielding, photographs capture moments in time, a posed moment is not genuine and therefore it’s not a thing I do.
Please place your bets as to what I did next, have you placed them? If not GTFO...
Of course I acquiesce, I’m monstrous but I’m nay monster. Issi smiles, I swiftly snap a pic, I succeed in cutting out the top of her head. The next pic is spot on and I tell her so. She stops posing and starts to retort. I take three more pics, she laughs. The last three maybe some of my favourite photos to date.
Now I stare at the menu. There are several menus smashed together in a big menu, akin to a collection of short stories. I leaf through them, I’m assuming with either a furrowed brow or a look of utter bamboozlement. I say this because Issi asks me if I’m ok, I’m not. I’ve looked through the menu a bunch of times I’ve not retained any of it. She says she’s starting with a salad, I want goose liver. Then we agree the soup with truffle oil is a must. I’m torn between the lavender duck and… something. I think it was a steak, I go for what Issi’s having. Partly because I’m a little scared of overbearing lavender and partly because she generally picks better food than I do. The desserts don’t grab us.
We order and I’m handed a wine list, because I’m the man. Now whilst I’m male I’m not 100% sure I am a man, yet, probably. I hand it off to Issi, as I’m clueless with wine. Scotch I can bluff my way through. Perhaps even vodka, gin, cocktails etc. But the mysterious ways of the grape remain beyond my comprehension. She describes two wines, I nod. I’m then pushed to pick one, I nod. Somehow we pick a wine. Issi warns me I’ll likely be called upon to determine whether the bottle is suitable/corked. I nod once more and stifle laughter. The waitress does indeed pour me a tiny bit of wine, I sip and nod. Issi points out she’s left me the cork, in case I wanted to smell it. I did not.
Issi’s not a fan of the central island in the restaurant, glasses, wine, etc. are stored there. She’d prefer them to be hidden way, no one wants to know how the sausage is made. The thing is I want to know how the sausage is made, but then again I am no one. We clink glasses, does this have an official name? Cheersing, toasting, dinking, you get the idea. Issi enquires as to whether I believe in it or not, I have no idea what she’s talking about. She explains, I exclaim “that explains all the bad sex…”
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| The subtle red arrow indicates where we were seated. |
The starters arrive, mine is liver three ways. Lightly fried, pâté, and something confusing in a tall glass with jelly. Issi’s salad looks almost as elegant and dainty as she does. There are three pieces of fried bread, I love fried bread, I love fried everything. I try to spread the pâté on to the bread, this fried bread lacks backbone. Now generally before you fry your bread you should toast it, looks like this hasn’t been toasted. I trade some pâté for salad, delicious.
Now for soup, it’s hot, I think it was mushroom. There is no truffle punch, we’re both disappointed. There’s way more soup than either of us was expecting, and now we’re teetering on the edge of being slightly too full to enjoy our main course. We slow our role.
The duck arrives with shredded carrots, cornbread, and loads of gravy. As is my way I try each element individually and proclaim the carrots are “well/over seasoned” or. Issi shoots back with when eaten together it works. I try, not sold. The gravy is the answer, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t billed as gravy, but it’s gravy. There’s way too much gravy, especially after all that soup. I power through it, oddly I tend to eat with a sense of duty. Like I’m on a mission to consume. I realise I’m playing catch up on the wine so I catch up. We talk about how I don’t feel thirst like most people and my irregular fluid intake schedule.
Once done we sit and sip. The staff really want to foist dessert on us, we decline and hang. I can feel my energy levels dropping so I counter with coffee. It arrives with many a accoutrement. The waiter hears our surprise and is kind enough to explain the many sugars on offer. Brown, white, crystals, and french! At least that’s what I heard, turns out the french variation is small spheres of chocolate with a crisp shell, think knock off M&M’s. We snack on them. Issi takes a pic of me with my tiny espresso cup, I try and recapture my look from day 2, I fail. I also become increasingly animated as the caffeine enters my system, I declare “you’re not gonna sleep tonight!” By which I meant I’ll likely carry on showing her stuff on YouTube, but I know what you were thinking.
It is now that I decide to smell the cork, it’s most definitely… a thing I smelt. We smuggle it out for Issi’s memory box. I’m unsure what a memory box is, as my memory is an endless box of… things. But apparently you keep stuff in it to look at at a later date and reminisce over. How lovely, I was going to say twee but does that have negative connotations? I mean it in the best possible way, but if you have to specify then you’ve already failed. Right? You know like someone prefacing something with “I’m not racist but…”
And we’re back to Budapest. One of us asked for the bill, we pay and make our way out. The… maitre de? Is that gender specific? Sounds french, I was no good at french, German on the other hand, I passed comfortably. Anywhat the dude who seats you helps Issi with her coat and then tries to do the same for me. The problem is I’m rocking two coats, like an bonafide weirdo. I have to put one on then the other, it’s awkward, he or I made a joke and we leave.
Onwards to Fuge Udvar, it’s a ruin bar. It’s day four and we are yet to source our first Martini’s! There are two bars, we try the less crowded one and they tell us they have gin at the other bar. We go and order, the dude hands us two short glasses, not the elegant stemmed glassware we were expecting but ho hum. We toast and take a sip, it’s straight gin. We resolve to mix our own martini’s and ask for vermouth, we are directed to the other bar. We head off determined to complete our martini quest, there’s no white vermouth only red. We order a shot, much to the barmaid’s confusion, who orders a shot of vermouth?! We mix, toast, and sip, whilst maintaining eye contact. There are too many rules to this toasting game.
I think we sat outside, or it felt like it was outside. We talk nature and nurture, genetics, the discretionary evolution of man. That last one I threw in because I’m sure I would’ve brought it up. Issi talks, I listen. Time to move on, the vibe’s not great. Onwards to 360 bar. On our way out Issi points out a dog, I pet it and smile like a goon.
We wander about a little and some tourists ask us for directions. We explain we are fellow clueless tourists and are relying on google to get us anywhere. They ask if we know where Szimpla Kert is. I get a little too excited as we were there only a few days ago and tell them as much. I seize their phone and Issi orients us with the street names of the corner we are on. We succeed in giving them directions. They shake our hands, wish us well, and head off into the night.
We are filled with all sorts of pride, we were lost and now we have successfully given directions to tourists. We’re practically locals. I realise that our directions may or may not’ve gotten them to their desired locations.
It is now that I decide to smell the cork, it’s most definitely… a thing I smelt. We smuggle it out for Issi’s memory box. I’m unsure what a memory box is, as my memory is an endless box of… things. But apparently you keep stuff in it to look at at a later date and reminisce over. How lovely, I was going to say twee but does that have negative connotations? I mean it in the best possible way, but if you have to specify then you’ve already failed. Right? You know like someone prefacing something with “I’m not racist but…”
And we’re back to Budapest. One of us asked for the bill, we pay and make our way out. The… maitre de? Is that gender specific? Sounds french, I was no good at french, German on the other hand, I passed comfortably. Anywhat the dude who seats you helps Issi with her coat and then tries to do the same for me. The problem is I’m rocking two coats, like an bonafide weirdo. I have to put one on then the other, it’s awkward, he or I made a joke and we leave.
Onwards to Fuge Udvar, it’s a ruin bar. It’s day four and we are yet to source our first Martini’s! There are two bars, we try the less crowded one and they tell us they have gin at the other bar. We go and order, the dude hands us two short glasses, not the elegant stemmed glassware we were expecting but ho hum. We toast and take a sip, it’s straight gin. We resolve to mix our own martini’s and ask for vermouth, we are directed to the other bar. We head off determined to complete our martini quest, there’s no white vermouth only red. We order a shot, much to the barmaid’s confusion, who orders a shot of vermouth?! We mix, toast, and sip, whilst maintaining eye contact. There are too many rules to this toasting game.
I think we sat outside, or it felt like it was outside. We talk nature and nurture, genetics, the discretionary evolution of man. That last one I threw in because I’m sure I would’ve brought it up. Issi talks, I listen. Time to move on, the vibe’s not great. Onwards to 360 bar. On our way out Issi points out a dog, I pet it and smile like a goon.
We wander about a little and some tourists ask us for directions. We explain we are fellow clueless tourists and are relying on google to get us anywhere. They ask if we know where Szimpla Kert is. I get a little too excited as we were there only a few days ago and tell them as much. I seize their phone and Issi orients us with the street names of the corner we are on. We succeed in giving them directions. They shake our hands, wish us well, and head off into the night.
We are filled with all sorts of pride, we were lost and now we have successfully given directions to tourists. We’re practically locals. I realise that our directions may or may not’ve gotten them to their desired locations.
We walk down Andrassy once more, you know what it is, don’t make me say it. I spot a hilarious delicatessen sign - Hungaricum Delicatesse. I capture the image as I know baby bro will find it hilarious. He would later tell me it sounds like a spell from Harry Potter “Hungaricum delicatesse!” used for summoning specialist cheeses, meats, chutneys, etc.
We are close to 360 bar, but there’s not obvious entrance. It’s a rooftop bar… some ladies latch onto us. Not literally. They too seek 360 bar. We loop round and there’s not obvious entrance. But alas we need to find a bathroom, there’s a light on at the end of a steep staircase, Giero Pub appears to be open. We duck in, an old lady asks if we like traditional hungarian music. We say yes. Issi heads off to find the facilities, I buy two glasses of wine. I sit and sip as this lady’s family laugh and joke. It’s nice but I feel like a spectre at a feast. Issi returns, she asks if I’ve read her message. I say nay and check my phone “What have we let ourselves in for!” We chat and drink our wine, before politely making our exit. There was no traditional Hungarian music, I feel a little misled.
Issi spots Beckett’s pub and we head in. It’s now that we manage to get vermouth mixed with gin, not in the stemmed glassware. But it’s a Martini alright. I try and explain how Beckett’s called to us… Issi busts out the dove from above hands and I capture the moment. She vito’s my first pic and get’s it spot on, on the fifth attempt. I think I wouldn’t stop trying to make her laugh, my fault. We talk future trips, I was worried that post Budapest we’d never see each other again. Alas my insecurity. She asks me where’s on my list, my list requires lots of saving. Australia, America, South Korea etc. She starts researching, I sit and watch.
We finish our drinks and walk back home, I rib her about calling it home, she explains that it is home now. As we walk past our local, it’s about 200 yards away from 42 Zichy Jeno utca, Issi asks if we can get one last drink. I say sure and we go in. Orgazmus for the lady and I stick with the ever masculine pina colada. Issi wanders off and I stand at the bar like a lemon. She returns and we sit in the plushest chairs in the room. She talks it’s intense, I listen. It’s now I realise how inebriated I am. I can’t articulate my thoughts I offer a hug, we hug. We talk some more.
The barman asks if we want one last drink before they lock up, I decline and we head home. Once back it’s a storm of questions, wing manning, rehearsal, accusations, and an unexpected mermaid impression. I drink 2 litres of water, I fear it may not be enough to counteract the copious alcohol in my system. Issi hugs me and I fear she had fallen asleep mid hug, not the case, phew.
Remember when I told you about that gif I made way back when? This is it! So I smashed our two photos together, the only problem is that in mine I am slightly closer to the camera, making me appear a veritable giant compared to the pixie-esque Issi. And that ladies and gentlemen is the inspiration for my gif.
The Other Days...😖
Day 1: Backstory, Burgers, Airport, Arrival, Bus, Metro, Unicum
Day 2: Builders,Terror Haza, Andrassy, Hosok Tere, Danube, Ruin Bars, Karavan
Day 3: Signature Stance, Buda Castle, Chimney Cake, Labyrinth, Wine Cruise
Day 4: Central Market, Columbo, Symphony, Araz Etterem, Giero, Martini
Day 5: Thermal Baths, Souvenir, Langos, Packing
Day 6: Bus, Plane, Pizza, EMA, Embarrassment, Yes
