Breakfast in Budapest

Spring of 2001; two guys at late 20’s, feeling as Patrick Bateman & Co were packed to kill, on their way to Budapest. Me and my friend G were proud tourists of male pleasure, full of self-confidence and “in case of emergency” cash, boarding Malev flight from Bucharest. We both have been in Russia for 3 years before arriving to Romania in 1999 and had few terabytes of visual memories that we would never be able to share with our beloved ones or with our grandkids. (Our “World War LXIX” or to be more explicit, our “Call of Duty: Easterners on Flames” hasn’t been as sad as the stories we were told by the Oldies. We did not wait long queues for our daily share of Jack Daniels’ and Red Bull)

We were lucky that Malev does not charge for excess libido and quickly took our seats. The pleasant weather, very smooth flight and surprisingly delicious catering were all indicating a nice long-weekend.

G, already in the mood for a quick win, decided to fancy the stewardesses (now they are called “flight-attendants” and if you dare to call one as “stewardess” you risk to die of thirst during the flight). He pushed the red button to call one of the ladies and when she arrived to our row he asked, “Hi honey, how do you say “Thank you”?”

She squeezed her eyebrows and answered “Sank yu!” Probably she wasn’t delighted that her conduct of English being tested by two Gollum heads. But actually we were trying to learn saying “Köszönöm”. Sink-sank-sunk in the seats…

Easy landing, fast trip with a taxi to the hotel that we have arranged through an agency in Bucharest and considering what was supposed to be expecting us we have mentioned several times our choice of 2 rooms with French-beds.

The receptionist, a middle aged gentle male, announced us deliriously that they could offer us the Executive Suit, with a 3-meters by 3-meters waterbed instead of two separate rooms, also for the half of the total price. He was so excited about his own offer; we had to cut him short to request 2 separate rooms before he had an orgasm on the reception desk. Moved to the rooms, unpacked, quick shower and... Budapest, here we come…

When passing by the reception on our way out, the receptionist shouted a restaurant’s name for us to try out. It was already on the list we have gathered through internet, so decided to give it a shot. Arcade was one of the cousy looking but cool places where you normally couldn’t enter without a days-earlier reservation. Thick wood stools and tables, few mediaeval weapons hanging from the ceiling together with Starck design lamps, drinks served in geometry-forcing glasses. The emergency cash stack helped us to find a decent table on the spot. The waitresses were chosen from the remains of the last Victoria’s Secret show, each of them proving the existence of God. We were hardly talking but staring at the female aurora serving our food and drinks. Great food, great spirits and great sprits ended up with a bill below 100 EUR and we decided that it was the place to come again. I followed the girl who served our table while she was walking to the kitchen, she suddenly turned back at dazzling me “Very nice, can I have the phone number…” Before I was able to say “the phone number of the restaurant to make a reservation for another day?” she started shouting at me “Do you think that I needed to serve food to smocks like you if I dated each tourist coming to Budapest?” I presume they never had same client twice, thanks to her.

We left for a walk on the crowded streets. The streets were full of same gender competitors; probably the after-match crowd of a football derby had had caught us. Instead of forcing through the crowd, we entered a pub on our way. While sipping our drinks, a kiddo came, confusedly offering a red rose to one of us, he couldn’t decide to whom, we ignored and he left. Few minutes later a violinist came, with a large grin on his face, playing a futurist version of Love Story…The bar was also packed with a dozen guys, the only single girl was the barmaid and she seemed to belong to one of the bouncers, keeping an eye on him regularly. Decided to hit the road again, maybe the first night was just a warm-up curse.

I was running up the few stairs from the bar’s exit to the street, G remained behind checking the local tourist guides and brochures on the shelves. I was hoping that he could discover a decent club to go where another 100 EUR could make wonders but he started shouting as if a boa bit him,

“Shit!! Shit!!!, Shiiiiittt!!”

“What happened? What happened?” I was panicked thinking that his wallet or passport has been stolen.

He threw one of the booklets to me; I couldn’t grab it and skipped on the floor. On the cover there was toothpaste commercial, I was quite surprised that the dental hygiene concerned him so much and wanted to assure him that I am ready to lend my toothpaste. After 10 years of brotherhood…He was kicking the tiles, waving his head disapprovingly and showing me to turn the page. I did so and faced the soar truth. With large pink letters reading “Budapest Spring Gayfest-2001”… We had chosen the weekend for YMCA’s happy nation…

Rest of our trip? Hungarians do have very interesting movie channels on satellite.

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Patrick Bateman: I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.

(Don’t watch the movie but do read “American Psycho”)

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Nouriel Roubini, the economist who forecasted the current crisis and thus being named as Dr Doom, has announced the second wave of the global crisis is on its way to our doorsteps and it will have deeper socio-economic impacts, even on the world peace. Don’t forget your umbrellas when leaving home then…