Putting the ‘Pest’ in Budapest
In the beginning…
It normally starts with about four bottles of prosecco on route to our destination, I’d love to tell you this trip was different. But I’d be lying. This was actually probably one of our more obscene flights.
Freya and Clara let me down big time with their hand luggage liquid allowances, this cut into our pre flight drinking time severely.
I don’t want to talk about it. Bellends.
Take home message: Know your hand luggage regulations.
Our plane journey was as eventful as ever. The prosecco flowed freely, there was plenty of giggling over a naughty FOS photo (Flaps of steel- see Glossary) -pretty sure Mr Smith sat behind in 23b enjoyed that too; and of course we talked several decibels higher than everyone else. The flight lasted about ten minutes, no word of a lie. Pilot must have been a ledge.
We were told that you need to stay on the east side of the river for ultimate good times, so that’s where we booked. For a £150 quid three nighter who can grumble? So when we got to our budget beds in the Medosz hotel around 10pm local time, we were pleasantly surprised! Clean, and not an absolute dive! Sweet!
At this point most nice girls would have put their head down for the night considering it was a three-dayer. But not us, we’re FERAL- you go hard, or you go home. We decided to pop into the nearest bar, Cactus top up our blood alcohol levels by sampling the local plonk. Freya and I were keen to continue but Clara, surprisingly wanted her bed. We let this tame behaviour go, got into our beds (Clara always sleeps on the single. She wakes up in the middle of the night and attacks us. Freya and I share the marital bed! This arrangement seems to work for us) said our goodnights and threw out some zeds.
The next day we woke bright and early… Well as early as a feral bird on tour can. Freya attempted to throw a wing liner on Clara – tricky when she basically has no eyelids. I mostly took the piss while this was happening. As soon as we were kitted out in our fancy winter wools, had taken the obligatory mirror selfie and organised the kitty- we were off. We made the decision to go up to Heroes square and the ice skating rink before lunch. We’re not overly ambitious.
We trekked up, understanding no signs whatsoever, just following the map we had been given by the kind fella at our digs.
Heroes square was quite impressive, well as impressive as a load of old, big statues in a square can be- never let it be said that feral girls aren’t cultured. After the standard photo shoot-we walked on and came to a fabulous little courtyard at Vajdahunyad castle with an old Hungarian dude advertising mulled wine! Get the fuck in! We ran over with excitement, so what if it wasn’t even 11am we were getting on this! Three big plastic glasses were handed to us for the bargain price of 60p a pop! (£4.50 in Manchester Christmas markets)…just saying. Clara took a sip and screamed,
“YES YES YES!!”
Repeatedly and I mean REPEATEDLY at the old mulled wine seller. I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack or go deaf to be honest. But what did he expect? It was 10.45 am and he’d basically hit us up with a bevvie for almost free. Nice one. Top lad.
This spurred us on to climb monuments, we generally like getting up close and personal with most statues for photographic evidence reasons. Freya is a photographic genius, it has to be said. Clara and I got a few funny stares as we sat on the knee of what was potentially a very old and very respectable stone man with plastic cups full of mulled wine. We were in fine fettle even after a few sips. What I like to call-loose and limber.
Our glasses empty, we then strolled round towards the ice rink entrance, Clara wasn’t feeling it. While feral to the core, she can be a right old wimp at times. Freya and I normally find a bit of subtly applied peer pressure and well placed ridicule works well in these instances. We paid for our tickets and stood in line. Now us feral lads are as patient as the next one, but this queue was outrageous and the average temperature in there was hotter than David Gandy smothered in fucking chilli paste. We weren’t having any of it- not now the mulled wine had started to take its effect. So we cut our losses and went in search of the real fun.
You can go ice skating in Deeside, know what I mean.
Three rounds later…
We had found our way to the Christmas markets, they were magical. I can’t stress this enough they really did look like Diagon Alley- for you Potter fans out there. I also can’t stress enough how little time we actually spent looking at these beautiful stalls.
We had only two things in mind at this point:
1. Finding scran.
2. Finding a bar with both alcohol and seats.
We achieved both with relative ease. At this point, it’s important that you understand that everywhere ‘feral’ goes we are followed by the ultimate hindrance, Clara’s twat diet. (See Glossary for a full description) Freya and I chose a plate of Hungarian delights while Clara went off in search of something within the limitations of The TD. She came back with a giant hot dog baguette and chips and ketchup, pretty standard. We had a blast as she worked the camera for some pretty risqué hot dog BJ shots, also pretty standard. We were sat on a big table full of shocked Hungarian strangers, but that’s just unfortunate geography.
We found a restaurant Jerney by the river Danube, refusing to sit inside when the views were superb despite the fact we were physically shivering -we ordered three mulled wines, three blankets and the heater on… Oh and…
“Fuck it, throw three large amarettos in too please lad!”
This is when shit got magical.
Mulled wine mixed with amaretto is wondrous.
A few hours and several grape related drinks later we found ourselves outside a fancy little restaurant with a couple of bottles of monstrous wine. We always choose the top one on any menu, it’s cheap and well, tastes like…wine and wine’s wine at this point in the feral game.
Now considering I don’t like strange people, I got chatting to a couple of lovely ladies from Kent. Let’s call them Mrs E and Mrs C for the purposes of this. They were finishing off a nice quiet meal and a bottle of mid-range wine (fancy!) when my feral friends reemerged from the lav. Well let’s just say we got on wonderfully -we were exactly like the famous five. BFF’s. We chatted to Mrs C’s family and she even had a conversation with my feral mum on the phone. (We enjoy calling my mum between the hours of midnight and 5am- it’s mutual enjoyment. I promise.) Mrs C and Mrs E soon understood what it was to be Feral and had by now downgraded their wine choices and were sitting comfortably having casually binned off their plans for an early night.
That was when Steve emerged. Picture this – a lonely, portly middle aged yank in Budapest on business. Steve totally gegged in our our secret society. Actually, scratch that. If memory serves, he asked to buy us wine and Clara sensing a meal ticket invited him to the party. The famous five became the super six, though understand this- Steve was never really part of the gang. But man, he was good comedy value.
We can be evil cows. We encouraged him to show us photos of his ‘beautiful’ family (we liked his fishing pictures best),he smugly invited us to his holiday home in Montana and we just took the general piss out of his wealth and accent and had all round good bants. He invited us to his hotel bar for a drink when our current establishment closed. We weighed up the danger. Five ferals versus Steve. Pah, we could take him- ferals don’t fight fair.
To sum up- we ended up at a very nice hotel bar playing ‘never have I ever’ with 50% of the participants being over 45 years old. We were in new territory. Freya got involved in an intense boobjob show, touch and tell sometime during this. Mrs E had a cracking pair!
Then Steve asked:
“ Never have I ever sucked a cack!”
(At first we thought he said cat, but read that quote again in a strong American accent and you will understand why we felt the need to move on). As we were running through the lobby, Clara and I spotted Mrs C vomming through her hand. It was fabulous, but we didn’t let on-feral discretion. Freya caught up, and somewhere between the lobby and a horse and cart ride we lost Mrs C and Mrs E.
But for that magical evening, we were the best of friends.
We found ourselves ringing a doorbell…
I don’t know why, someone told us to.
The door rolled back and we stepped into the twilight zone. I’m not shitting you it was a totally bizarre cabaret bar. Fantastic.
An old woman that looked and sang like Liza Minelli was crooning away. We ordered the drinks and sat in awe for about 15 seconds until we could take no more. Clara and I waltzed and jived around that room like morons. No-one else danced, I’m pretty sure it actually wasn’t allowed. But hey, we’re feral.
During this time Freya was having a non-conversation with a headband wearing Hungarian boy. I say ‘non-conversation’ because he couldn’t actually speak one word of English. She was convinced his name was Richard, (I’m 1000% it wasn’t) but we let her have it, she was leathered. We loved it. I ended up snapping his headband shortly after, because I didn’t like it. He was no David Beckham, know what I’m saying.
Some golden seats became available near Liza so we took them (applying the ‘no bags on seat and on your feet’ rule). Thirty minutes later we were being escorted out of that establishment because apparently the bag rule doesn’t apply in Hungary. Terrible misunderstanding really, compounded with the fact that some Hungarian people are particularly rude. Mild mannered Clara put in a good stint as Rocky Balboa trying to defend me as I got bollocked and pushed for….apologising! How odd. Good times though.
By this point Freya was so drunk she was borderline psychopath. I’d lost my scarf and she told me it was shit anyway, repeatedly. (Bearing in mind it was pretty similar to hers and cost the same, no primarni like) then she made up her own story about what happened in the cabaret bar, which although made for fabulous listening was so factually incorrect it astounded us. She continued to ramble to herself angrily for the duration of our cart ride home. For the most part it was hysterical!
We went to bed after Carla bollocked Freya for basically being annoying and I held Freya’s superior scarf out of the window to shut her up rambling on about my ‘shit’ scarf. She told me she would throw me out after it. Heavy stuff.
Freya woke up with the level 20 horrors and we nicknamed her ‘The Cheshire Cat’. It seemed fitting after her crazy riddling the night before. “Riddle me this…”
Carla then realised she had made a level ten currency conversion error and paid £50 out of her own cash (the kitty was dry and I was busy dragging ‘The Cheshire Cat’ into the hotel) for the cart ride home…bearing in mind it was only about £5 (Which is about 2000 Forint- so it’s quite a conversion).
Here’s the lesson kids, get your maths GCSE and these things don’t happen.
It was a morning of extreme howling laughter and hungover heads.
McDonalds for brunch…
It’s always important to us to experience the culture wherever we go, but sometimes kids, only a couple of fuck off double cheeseburgers will do. Freya and I bought an extra one to stash in our rucksacks, because we were bound to need it.
The plan was quite well formulated for that day- we had two firm goals:
1. Survive the rancid feral hangover.
2. Go to Lucacs baths Spa Party- Sparty that evening (Tickets bought cheaper online for about £35 quid- how incredibly organised! You can go in the day too…but Utterly Feral like to go to the extreme.It’s held at Szechnyi baths during the summer too, so watch out for that lads!)
So once Clara had pretty much bought every pack of Marlboro lights in the tobacconist shop near Maccies, we set off on our quest to cross the River Danube.
That walk, with a blood stream full of last nights alcohol was really quite dreadful. But we got on with it, braved the elements and that. Bear Grylls ain’t got shit on us!
We did toy with the idea of visiting the some fancy castles and the parliament buildings, going on a wine tasting trip and various other things. But in reality, we couldn’t be arsed so we just took some fabulous shots and set off for somewhere warm for a drink.
We urge you not to be lazy feral bitches though! I’m no Bob the builder but I think Budapest’s architecture is amazing!
We hit a sexy little café on the other side of the river after a treacherous hour of hell on earth. We jumped straight through the doors into the warm and inviting atmosphere. It was a cosy little joint so I thought I’d put my feet up on and have a snooze. All three of us were flagging and I couldn’t see a light at the end of our hangover tunnel. I was just drifting off nicely when I heard Freya say,
“Right, time for a foundation”.
My arse actually fell out.
A foundation wine was probably the last thing on earth I felt like at that time, Clara was firmly in my corner but the idea had taken root with Freya. Hot chocolate would have done me really, at 11.30am with a minging hangover.
The acid laced beverages arrived and we took a sip..
……Waited for a few moments for the miraculous transformation to take place…
…..Another minute passed by in shared silence, sourness and torture.
And then with God as my witness, the transformation occurred- it was a praise Jesus, Hallelujah, slap my thigh miracle. I swear a gospel choir popped out and rejoiced with us in that happy moment, but I can’t be sure.
The next couple of hours passed fabulously in a fuzzy haze of relief and hysterical recollections of the drunken night before. We got loose and limber quite quickly and in the late afternoon decided to trot along the river and find somewhere else to go!
We soon found a charming little pub, walls lined with bottles and bottles of some dangerous looking alcohol. This place was no bigger than your average sized bathroom, but it suited us just fine, we copped ourselves a smashing little corner table and started ordering willy nilly shots of the local rocket fuel, Palinka. We mostly picked out the ones with the highest alcohol content. Palinka varies between 36-86% and when they say it’s strawberry flavoured… Trust us, the only flavour you will get from an 86% Palinka is fire. We took it in turns to take sips of the shots so we could fully experience eachother’s reactions and had the best time ever! Clara can get pretty loud, and I’m not exaggerating when I say we were the only ones left in the pub after a couple of hours. But it’s ok the barmaid loved us and we kept her in good company until we waved our goodbyes, cold cheeseburgers in hand in search of the ‘Sparty’. Thanks for a blast Castrum Caffe –Bar!
The Sparty was in the middle of nowhere and actually a pretty fucking spooky walk. But as you know, us feral girls are hard as nails so we did not shit ourselves…promise.
We were about to enter, E-confirmation in hand when..
They told us that the e-ticket we had was not the correct one, and that I had to log back into the website to get our booking number.
..I hear you cry. No not so easy, my battery had literally just died and I couldn’t access my hotmail account from any other phone; coupled with the fact that my charger wouldn’t work…sound that. So I spent the next hour arguing the toss with someone about whether we could go in or not, Clara wanted to pay again to go in…and while I’m not tight when I know I’m right -I won’t take no for an answer. To be fair we would have paid again because we just couldn’t spend our money in Budapest, we came home with a wedge; everything was insanely cheap!
It worked anyway, I was that much of a pain in the arse they sent us in with a free changing room to boot. Score.
Bikinis on, drinks card topped up to the max we set off shivering in the direction of the music. We could not believe the spectacle. Picture this, a giant disco hot tub of pissed up teens/twenty somethings, funky music, bright disco lights and three thirty year old Brits!
There were plenty of raver types bouncing about and a serious amount of heavy petting going on from what we could see. That’s of no consequence to feral friends; we take in our surroundings, but we never follow the crowd.
While most of the young, attractive girls were still fully made up with perfectly curled hair, we were like drowned rats and loving it. Clara and I spent a lot of time flying room the ‘zoom lane’ as we called it; there was a fast current in that bit occasionally and we just let it carry us round cans of sweaty, disgusting beer in the air and mouthfuls of dubious Sparty water aplenty. Freya sat the zoom lane out after nearly drowning. Which was fair enough.
Clara also wanted to find out if the canoodling couples were having sex so she barged me into people pressed up against the edge of the ‘Zoom lane’ and just asked them outright. Normal. They said no, but let’s face it…they were lying.
We had such a random but amazing time at the Sparty , we totally recommend it. But it’s not for the faint hearted!
So after a strange tampon incident, a furious taxi struggle and a naughty Hungarian kebab we found ourselves back in the hotel hitting the mattress hard and dreaming happily of the fantastic time had by all in Budapest.
You must visit! Happy travels.
Lots of Love,
Quotes created with Typorama. Own photos edited with ‘Animal Face’ app. Sparty image taken from Facebook- link included. Cheshire Cat image copyright free.