Assisting with tourists (18 rating)

Okay, so I guess I gave the game away already, but the point of a story is getting there, not the ending. And as with all the best tales, you'll have to wait for the surprise ending.

One of the few benefits of being a nonlocal, is that any other nonlocals who arrive in your city are instantly more attracted to you than to the locals. They assume you will be able to see all the other crazy eccentricities, and have invaluable advice about how not to get ripped off by taxi drivers. Tourists who come looking for a little extra-curricular fun, though, are a mixed bag. Most will also demand your advice about bars, clubs, and the rest. But some will split off, hoping to bag themselves a new, fresh nationality for the bed post.

And so it was that I got chatting to a nice Frenchmen, who, as it happened, was living in Stockholm. He was visiting for a few days, as part of his extensive travels, and I was very pleased that he seemed happy to meet up, since he was very nice looking. So we went for a drink in a crazy little bar I know. I tried to slowly make my move, but wasn't exactly fighting him off. At the end of our slow drink, I offered to pay, joking that he could get the drink the next night.

We wandered off into the night, and back to mine. After a few hours talking, and further slow movement towards physical contact, something managed to happen, and I ended up with a boy in my bed. In spite of the single duvet, and the still chilly weather outside (this was back at the start of April), it was very nice to doze off with someone's arms about me.

Come the next morning though, I detected a different vibe. "Oh no, I've been here before," I thought. Boys have this gift, whereby after they've slept with someone on a first night, they decide the other boy is such a whore, and how could they possibly see them again. Oh the hypocrisy. No kiss at the door - okay, it was Budapest, and perhaps it was a tad too romantic a gesture - before we went our separate ways.

I thought I'd risk a text though, and to my pleasant surprise he agreed to meet again that evening. We headed to Jelen for some grub, and I was happy once more. Tea at mine, but this time the Frenchmen decided to use his hotel bedroom for his sleeping, and the nearest I got was forcing a foot massage on him. He didn't even have his socks off!

Never overlook an enjoyable evening, though, even if it doesn't become exactly what you wanted it to. I am happy to say that we are still in touch via Facebook (somehow more legitimate than Gaydar!).

Back with the nightbus

First time on the nightbus proves a Saturday night out is exactly the same wherever you are.

I woke up early, ready to go to the flea market, but instead had a text from my friend who wasn't prepared to get up. So I popped on an episode of Seinfeld, then another. Before I knew it it was 11am, and the day was wasting away. I grabbed my bags and decided to do something practical, so went off on my merry way to Ikea. Sad to say, but on days when I'm not feeling so chipper, a bit of shopping certainly does the trick.

And so it was that I arrived back home, hands laden with goodies: a mirror, a standing lamp, a fruit bowl...

My favourite was this nifty set up I made with a light attached over the stove so I could actually see what I was cooking, similarly over the kitchen sink - hurrah, clean dishes you can see! Unfortunately my housemate decided she didn't want to go in with me on most of the bits and pieces. It's a sad fact that I've noted in the past, people don't want to pay for nice things they invariably use, but say they wouldn't have got.

I wasted the afternoon away with more tv, before heading out to a friend's birthday party, a colleague from work. On the way I made use of the time with a trip to the supermarket, picking up my weekly goodies, as well as a screwdriver set for the shower, and a LAN cable for the computer - practicalities.

The party was ok. Andras and I chatted, whilst everyone else talked in Hungarian, occasionally dropping over to say hello. And so we stayed for a couple of hours before heading home - Andras had a flight to catch the next morning. So we found the nightbus. And I sat there, with my shopping, while revellers jumped on. One girl asked me something in Hungarian, "Angol vagyok" (I'm English), I responded, she smiled and let me be.

Boozing at the British Embassy

After a less enjoyable week at work, I was looking forward to a party Zsuzsi had invited me to at the British Embassy. The early evening sun was still out, and extremely pleasant, as I met her at Deak Ferenc Ter. After a short catch up we walked over to the Embassy, not five minutes away.

After getting through security, a member of the staff pointed us to what was a rather crummy bar. Zsuzsi were both a little surprised, having expected rather more opulent surroundings, and a slighlty swankier crowd. The bar was currently being propped up by several old men, happily talking amongst themselves. Zsuzsi introduced me to her friend, who worked behind the bar, and organised us with our drink tickets.

The system at the bar was that you bought a 2000Ft token, entitling you to drinks up to that value. It was perhaps a bit of a swizz, since it forced minimum payments of that amount, but the drinks were very cheap, and there were free crisps, so who can complain. Zsuzsi and I chatted away about everything from politics, to culture, to men, and she agreed to accompany me the next morning to the flea market I'd been wanting to go to.

We even chatted with one of the guys on staff their, who gave us his email, and said if we ever wanted to come back, we just had to let him know, and he'd put us on the list.

Into the night with a double bass

Sally, Jane and I met at Castro Bisztro for some chatter and grub. The place has a great buzz, with eclectic music, including a fair bit of American 50s rock'n'roll. The food was dead tasty too.

There was some confusion with the waitress over whether Jane ordered a bottle or a glass, because apparently the words sound very similar. The matter was finally sorted though.

After a couple of hours of banter, we headed back to Jane's, where Sally showed clip after clip of Eddie Izzard sketches on YouTube, for the purpose of Jane's education. The man is most amusing.

We left at about 11pm, Jane hobbling down the street with her double bass braced against her. It was a special one, meant for the kind of folk music she was going to play at Gödör. She accompanied the band already playing, and it was terrific fun watching her.

Believe it or not, folk dancing is extremely popular in Hungary, even amongst the young folks. At these kind of events, the best male dancers show off, and are encouraged to do so by grateful applause. Hungarian folk dancing is one of those rare things, where the men do all the fun stuff, and the girls just get to twirl under their arms. That's not entirely fair, because the, often very very quick, couple dances require both the boy and girl to be extremely light and certain on their feet.

Working without chocolate eggs

That's right, while the rest of you got both Good Friday, and Easter Monday off, I worked both! Hungarians aren't savages like us Brits, and don't celebrate the day Jesus actually died. We are supposed to get the Monday off, but sadly the world of accounting chose not to see it that way.

On the plus side, the city was pretty damn empty (everyone goes out to see their family in the countryside for the weekend), which suited me very well. The day at work was stressful - as it was for the whole month-end week - because the girl who's supposed to be training me was stressed, and snapped whenever I asked anything. In fact, she kept doing everything herself, and left me feeling like I was asking too much to actually take things off of her, like it wasn't my job.

Oh well. I escaped for half an hour to get some fresh air. The miserable weather was adding to a pressure/stress head ache, and fortunately the time away from the office, pleasantly free of people on the streets, cleared it up rather.

Rearranging with ancient Chinese energy

The day was not nearly as productive as I'd hoped it would be - a fact I find all too common at the moment - but at least I managed to do some Tai Chi.

When I got home the previous night I checked the living room to see how the new sofa look, and discovered a mess, where Alexa had tried to drag it across the room, only entangling it in the rugs. So the next morning I agreed I'd help her move things around. Lots of lifting later, and compromising on exact positions, and the room looked decidedly better.

So next I put up a shower curtain, and did the washing up.

And finally headed off to try out my new Tai Chi book. I did all the warm up exercises, but found that those alone took over half an hour. How warmed up do you need to be Mr Tai Chi!?

(The book's not been opened since....lazy John)

Warming up with a fair few hands

The day (Saturday 3rd April) started later than I'd intended it to. I was waiting for Alexa to get ready, which invariably took a while, her dashing in and out of my room to check herself in the mirror. I got so bored I ended up taking the doors off my wardrobe, and replacing them with the curtains I'd taken down earlier that week.

We headed out, and passed a fun looking green sofa on the street. Checking around we decided it didn't belong to anyone, and attempted a feable lift. I had an apple in my mouth at the time though, and didn't want to put it on the street-fresh sofa, so we decided to leave it till later, and see if it would be there when we got back. So first we went to TreeHuggerDan's coffeeshop, which also sells secondhand English books. I didn't intend to buy anything, but of course I did, finding a book on Beginner's Bridge in the discount section. After picking up some back copies of the Budapest Time Out, we stepped back out into the sun. The shop's behind the Operahouse, which also has some cute flower shops nearby.

At the second bookshop, on Csengery Utca, I bought a book on Tai Chi, hoping I could mix it in with my yoga. I pondered while Alexa gave close examination to the Gender Studies section. The books here were better, but invariably more expensive.

Walking up Andrassy Utca, the sun was still shining, and I pointed out the spring buds. The biggest surprise was seeing pink forget-me-nots. Definitely a variety I'd like to see more in England. At Heroes Square, we popped into the shops of the two art galleries, and mulled over prints and diaries.

After a quick lunch in the park - during which we slipped a little set of salt'n'pepper shakers into a bag - we headed home. Or at least, Alexa headed home, because I was meeting a new Hungarian friend. He took me to a cute little hot chocolate cafe, which served various concoctions. I ordered the marzipan one, and was surprised to find, not some essence flavouring the chocolate, but actual pieces of marzipan floating on top. Finally I too headed home, with Andras in tow, not failing to pick up another little houseplant on the way back.

That night we were having some friends over, because Alexa had wanted a house warming. I popped out to buy a bottle opener and some plastic glasses, forgot the bottle opener, and came back with some glass glasses and a jug. A result of limited selection, rather than my ineptitude. Still, it did mean later that we had some fun opening the bottle of red I got.

After a few people had arrived, it was decided that we'd make an attempt at the sofa. Myself and four friends descended upon it, slightly intrepid (at least they were) towards the venture. It quickly became apparent that the sofa was far heavier than initially it had looked, and I'm afraid brows quickly furrowed. Fortunately when we were half way up the stairs a big American dude I know grabbed one end of the sofa, and the two of us carried it the rest of the way. The sofa was dumped, and we duly got back to the booze.

Without a bottle opener, alternative methods had to be found. These started off with pushing the cork in with a wooden spoon: FAIL. Banging the bottle's end against the wall to force the cork back out: Moved back to starting position, but ultimately FAIL. Then Tom managed to squeeze the cork in using the wooden spoon, and a teaspoon: HURRAH.

I ended the night by going to Szimpla with some of the guys, and trying to convince one that perhaps it wasn't a good idea to try kissing his female friend. On the way home Lovisa and I picked up a Lángos, the Hungarian equivalent of a late-night kebab. Yum.