Day Thirteen: Rocktogon

The heat is ridiculous. Sweat pours down our bodies as we traipse across Budapest to our new hostel. By the time we arrive, we are sodden and exhausted.

The hostel man greets us. What’s that? The room we’re staying is on the other side of the city? By the train station? Where we just walked from…? Cuuuuuuuuuuuuurses…

A free taxi takes us back. This is a small relief. Flights of stairs lead us to our room; one room in a three bedroom apartment. We revel in our victory, then we feast.

Soon, we are introduced to our flatmates. They are a lesbian couple from Paris. We tear muscles resisting the urge to immediately high five.

Braving the heat, we head for the castle by foot. This time, we cross a mighty stone bridge. Matt deadlifts it. I squat it. Feats of strength!!! The heat may be causing us to hallucinate…

No matter. A steep climb takes us to the castle, where an insane violin player scares us off. We stroll the grounds, eventually stopping to relax in a park and take in some Hungarian folk music.

We event try on hats. The day flies by.

Ice cream, dancing in the street and a man blowing enormous bubbles follow shortly. We continue to explore the city, stopping for cakes, before retiring to our apartment to shower before the evening. We shall start our night in Rocktogon…

It is is rammed. There are bands on. They are shit, but there are people everywhere! We find a table and order our beers four at a time. Given the lack of room, it is inevitable that we are joined by other people and soon friendly conversation is buzzing.

We share stories and jokes, exchange travelling tales and festival experiences. Matt and I exchange private words by adopting a broad Scottish accent and using ancient expressions. It is a lovely time until, suddenly, our companions get up and leave. There is no hostility, but they immediately decided they have to go.

Confused – and ten beers deep – we head home. Our accents may not have been as broad as we hoped… Also, constantly referring to one woman as “THE DRAGON” may have been our undoing…

It takes us a few minutes and a foot long Subway sandwich to get back to our apartment. “Ha, Hostel Relax. Who are the winners now?” we think to ourselves, as we clamber into our shared double bed… Who are the winners now?

About the Author
Ed Gamester is a silly man who lives in the United Kingdom. He is the harbinger of Ghost Squad, singer of Gay Bum and author of A Rum Run Awry. He fights, kills and dies for TV and films, and gallivants around the place wrestling, drinking and lifting things for glory and profit. Where Ed treads, there stamp the boots of the Guild. Ed does not wear glasses, but feels this photograph makes him look more intelligent and artistically talented than he is. Feel free to contact him: he is disappointingly affable.

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