My young, naive self couldn’t seem to appreciate the incredible grandeur that Budapest did possess, as I had been to Vienna a few days prior and then shamefully compared the two throughout my time there. This paradoxical city should have been a true highlight of my adventure, and in retrospect it actually really was. From eating a traditional Hungarian meal in a private, twinkling courtyard with new friends, to cruising along the Danube on a gentle summer’s evening — drinking wine in paper cups beneath the light of a full moon and absorbing the splendour of the glittering parliament building, seated royally on the riverbank; from becoming irritable in the dense market crowds, with hazelnut ice cream forming sticky rivers on my arms; to experiencing the magnificence of a castle on a hill, to falling asleep on the top deck of the city tour bus, to new friends and ruin bars — the memories flood back and how I wish I wasn’t so spoiled in the moment. I suppose what made this experience so memorable was what happened in the one night that I was lucky enough to set foot in a city such as this.
Ruin bars: a must-do in Budapest. Besides the Baths, I’m sure it’s one of the first things that people think of when they hear the name of the city. There is an array to choose from and all of them are uniquely extravagant and eclectic all at once. After slightly stumbling off of the riverboat, we meandered through the streets, absorbing the bright lights, the summer smells and the indistinct chatter taking place all around us. We found our way to an ATM and I withdrew notes, valued in the thousands. I felt rich though I certainly wasn’t. As I naively marvelled at the amount of cash I suddenly had in my possession, I was led to the entrance of our chosen ruin bar for the evening. With ceilings seemingly stretching to the sky, sticky bodies pushing past me, desperate to further lose their inhibitions, and with European electronic pop becoming my pulse, I marvelled. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Exploring the premises led me to an assortment of mismatched rooms, covered in graffiti. A friend and I explored the multi-storey building, stumbling upon a dimly lit room with an ill-placed dining table, another with an empty bathtub and many others. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she appeared: a young woman, dressed in attire not quite suitable for a night out, carrying a wooden basket. She didn’t belong, but she wasn’t here to stay.
“Would you like to buy a carrot?” she asked. Was I hearing her correctly? Would I like to buy a carrot — in a nightclub? To eat? Now? Well, I suppose they were for immediate consumption — they were, after all, peeled with the ends cut off. How could I refuse her? She was kind, yes, but when else would I ever receive an opportunity such as this — to enjoy munching on a carrot in a place of loosened restraints and carnal desires. So obviously I took one. I handed her one euro and she went on her way, off to surprise the next nightclub-goer. I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing — you know those moments where you think that you might be dreaming, and then in fact realise that you’re not? This was one of them, and it remains so. I just wish I had a photo to prove it.
