From Budapest to Istanbul

« Return to Turkey

Alarm clock. 7:30am. Three hours sleep. Hung over. Meant to be a quiet one last night. Travel day today, got to be on my toes. Get out of bed, fall over. On my face. Quiet drink with Matt at the Szimpla went to hell. Sam arrived. He dumped his girl Dorka. Dumped her by SMS. Shows me the message. “You’re a selfish, ill-bred peasant whore.” He insists it sounds much harsher in Hungarian. Orders a round of Jagermeister. Then another. Then another. They stumble out my apartment, 4:30am. Beep Beep. Alarm clock goes.

Get up, stay up, pack up, tidy up, wash up. Already late. Lock the door, put keys in the mailbox. What did I forget this time? Catch the shuttle bus to the metro. Two transport tickets, zero forints. Shuttle arrives. Inspector. Shit. Forgot to validate ticket. Whole week of playing honest, now this. Why now? He wants 2000 forints. Show him my empty wallet. He points to a bank machine across the road. No way buddy, not today. “Let me leave Hungary with the a smile!” I plead. I argue. He flinches. Tick Tick Tick. He buys it. Lets me go. Takes my invalidated ticket. Now I’m one short. More games ahead.

On the metro. Last stop and catch the airport bus. Last stop. Where’s the airport bus? Uh oh. Wrong end. Wrong direction, went north, should have gone south. Tick Tick Tick. Tired. Head hurts, mouth dry. Back on the metro, to the end of the line. Old man opposite, looks like an undertaker. Keeps staring at me. I look like death. Try to read. Words dance, get dizzy. Bad idea. Last stop. There’s the bus! Driver shuts door in my face, pulls off. Hungarians. These guys have to be the least friendly people in Europe! Try buying one more transit ticket with Euros. Kiosk woman shrugs, does her best not to go out her way. Getting hotter, later. Tick Tick Tick. Short fuse. One more inspector and I might blow. Bus arrives. Promise myself for hundredth time to leave earlier next time. Always do. Doesn’t help. Always a dash to the runway. Always end up sitting 45 minutes in the plane’s shadow.

Airport. Bus drops me off, wrong terminal. Naturally. No smiles at the help desk. No smiles at the ticket office. Maybe there’s a special room for smiling in another part of the airport. The line grind forwards. Got plenty of time. As usual, hurry up and wait. Counter woman, looks up. “That’s some ticket,” she says. My paper ticket, a novel of agency genius. “Yes, it is,” I reply. It doesn’t mean much, but she smiles anyway. I smile back. She checks in my backpack, wishes me luck. I walk through security. They say a smile makes a difference. Hers did. I leave Hungary, destined for Istanbul, with a smile on my face..

So read the notes from my fourth black Gonzo notebook, in which I desperately scribbled my thoughts to stay awake for the early morning flight to Istanbul. I had spent the last week in Budapest, living next to a pub, making friends with a group of English teachers and budding writers. Everyone came round for dinner on Friday night. Simon, from Wales, was turning 30. Just like the week off on the beach in Corfu recharged my energy, the week in Budapest recharged my motivation to want to travel in the first place. Taking advantage of the free wireless internet in the Szimpla pub next door, I spent two days catching up on some writing, updating the site, shuddering over my finances. Cooking, cleaning, running some errands, it was a taste of normal life. But normal is unproductive, so I went to Sziget, the largest music festival in Central and Eastern Europe.

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