Encountering The Man

First night in Budapest (that did not involve a semi-catatonic state on the Ikea couch caught in a 24 hour satellite news channel trance...yes, it was Groundhog's Day wth BBC World news loops) and we partied like it was 1984 and got shut down by the long arm of the law.

The night started harmless enough at Szimpla Dupla - Szimpla being an a handful of squat culture bars gone hipster that remain great laid back places to go despite being listed in Lonely Planet as must-see attractions. My flatmate ad I got to meet our co-workers and I learned never again to dare confuse German with Swiss German. And that I really need to have an implant with the gene that alows one to make guteral sounds unfamiliar to the delicate American vocal palatte. In short, Eric becomes Errreeecsh. I exagerate. But my linguistical dysfunction is starting to get on my nerves. John Doe, where are you?

Well, if John was anyone who is anyone, he was at the party last Saturday night in Buda. Apparently, house parties are not very common here. So it was quite an event to find an entire flat on the posh side of town jam packed with journalists and other friends of friends of friends. You know that feeling when you arrive really late to a party and feel overwhlemed with your own sobriety? Not only was everyone at the party super tanked, but they had completely dispensed with even the pretense of drinking out of cups and it was like a wino convention of Hungarian's finest red and white. To the off license we went in search of our own bottle to drink from. NOt necessarily to catch up (impossible), simply just to fit in. We split the difference with Rose.

Anyhow, around 2am the police came and were remarkably patient while it took over a hour for the non-obtrusive but clearly inebrieted crowd to disperse. We stayed with our friend who wanted to ensure the party hosts were not taken to the police under any dodgy pretense. Thankfully, they were not. Their only punishment was to clean up after the peanuts, bottles and hangers-on. It was quite the scene, of which only photos and the image of a Hungarian guy who was en route to France and spoke about as much French as I do literally fell into me babbling something about "la vie!" or "la revolution!" as we waited outside for the human rights watch intervention to conclude.

All and all, it was an impressive night that made me feel like the next few months will more than make up for the self-imposed social isolation and house arrest I have put myself under trying in vain to finish unfinished business.