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No more adventures

None. That’s it. Stop reading this shit, I mean it. I’m done. I’m not going to a club tonight. I’m not getting on a train. I’m not going to climb a mountain to a cave that birthed a deity, I’m not going to crash any mopeds. I’m through for the next few days. I’m in dry dock in Budapest, have been since Monday night, and it’s taken me this frakking long to get the wi-fi in my hostel to work. I’m putting in for repairs and recuperation. If going to take in the baths, visit a few museums, not look for trouble for a change.

This place is gorgeous, by the way. If you have any love of architecture, Budapest is a wet dream. You find yourself taking a picture every five minutes. Which is good, because I haven’t found a whole lot else to do in this town (not going to the clubs, not going to the clubs). It boasts something like forty-two museums, which sounds great, until you realize that they’re museums to stuff like…Agriculture! Transportation! Soviet Repression! Seriously, I’m not making this up.

Hungarian is also the toughest language I’ve run into yet. That’s including Serbian, Turkish, and Greek, all of which I managed a few complete sentences in by the time I left those countries. Hungarian, desptite being spelled with the latin alphabet, is some bastard spawn of Finnish strained through Carpathia and a few conquests by Seljuks, Ottomans, Mongols, and every other steppe-inhabiting horde you can think of. It’s freakishly hard, everyone thinks you sound like an idiot (because, let’s face it, you do) and it’s impossible to make conversation with the locals. A perfect town for someone looking for some down time.

One slight problem with applying the improvisation technique to travelling is that sometimes you wind up dragging your bag to three different hostels before finding one that has room available. And when you get there, you find a tour group of 100 French middle schoolers in the lobby.
Yeah.
I like hostels because you get to meet people. I just didn’t think they’d take the word ‘youth’ quite so seriously.

Remind me to tell you the story of my trip to a Hungarian post office, btw. Also, remind me to tell you the story of Jovana, the Serbian princess. Not now, but later. I’m too fried at the moment.

Remind me to post some pictures of Budapest, Belgrade, Novi Sad. I’d do it myself, but it takes freaking forever and I’m beat.

Oh, remember that bit about no more adventures? Well…here’s the thing. Three Irish guys I met on the train from Novi Sad just texted me to come out with the bar to them.

You just don’t say no to a bar invite from an Irishman.

Well…maybe YOU do.

I don’t. Particularly one that owes me 2000 Florints.

One quick drink. Then I’m coming back to the hostel.

I promise this time.

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  1. Tim Foley
    July 15, 2009 at 11:02 pm

    Not to be too biased towards my proud lineage, but go ahead, man! Carouse with the Irish!

  2. Juan
    July 15, 2009 at 11:28 pm

    That “YOU” was directed at me, wasn’t it?! CONFESS! 😉

  3. Ching
    July 17, 2009 at 4:48 pm

    Jeff, pictures!!!

    • nycwastrel
      July 17, 2009 at 7:36 pm

      You have no idea how freakishly long it takes to upload these bad boys. But for you, Ching my dear…

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