Budapest...A Pest for the Rest of Us.

I just returned from four days in lovely Budapest, and unfortunately my Festivus joke hasn't really panned out the way I would like it to.  After a lot of champagne, imported Budweisers and chants with Spaniards of "Yes we can! Yes we can!" the eleven hour train ride left me trying to sleep next to a crazy old Bosnian man who rambled at me in his native language and broken Italian, mostly about his non-functioning bicycle, which was, in reality, nothing more than two spoked wheels wrapped in plastic. He would often wave the wheels in my face for emphasis, while baring his nine crooked teeth.  He told me I was a good amigo for listening, and presented me with a beer, an orange, and a kiss on the forehead before getting off the train in Zagreb...Don't worry, pictures will be on Facebook and Picasa shortly.

Budapest itself is quite the place.  My first departure from the Euro left me feeling like Bill Gates, walking around with 22,000 Hungarian Forints in my pocket, dropping two or three hundred on every beer (actually only about one or two dollars, Budapest is incredibly cheap).

We visited castles, churches, and synagogues, hiking up to the citadel to get the best view of both sides of the Danube.  The most moving thing I saw was the terror museum (www.terrorhaza.hu), located inside the old Nazi and then Soviet headquarters and prison.

Every young American should be forced to go to a place like this.  

Sure we learn about genocide and oppression in school, but I think it's difficult to relate until you find yourself inside a windowless prison cell, staring at real torture equipment that was actually used on everyone from political dissidents, to free-thinking journalists, to Catholic priests. It's remarkable how recent all these atrocities are, with the last Hungarian prisoner being returned from Siberia in the year 2000.  I used to think that America spreading democracy and being a beacon of hope for the world was sort of bullshit, but after seeing how much Hungarians love America and what our country represents, I'm not so sure anymore.

The highlight of the trip was of course the Sparty in the famous Rudas bath house (setting of a scene from 1988's Red Heat starring Governor Schwarzenegger and Jim Belushi, and featuring the fantastic tagline: Moscow's toughest detective.  Chicago's craziest cop.  There's only one thing more dangerous than making them mad: making them partners).  We waited in line outisde, receiving endless energy drinks from absurdly gorgeous Hungarian women.  Once we entered the party, which had a "dry disco" in the first room, we were handed sealable money pouches by yet more absurdly gorgeous Hungarian women.

The Sparty itself is where dreams come true.  Imagine a naturally hot pool filled with scantly clad Europeans dancing to techno music while surrounded by crazy lights and giant screens featuring trippy animation.  When water droplets splash into the air and mingle with the strobe lights, they seem to fall back down into the pool in slow motion.  The effect is amplified by the inflatable red balls dropping from the ceiling to be happily batted around by the spartiers.  It felt like a cross between an American pool party and a Flaming Lips concert...only with considerably more Spaniards.  They took over the place, many of them sporting Looney Tunes floaties and riding around on noodles, they led the entire place in rousing renditions of, "Yo soy Espanol, Espanol, Espanol! and "Campiones d'Europa, Campiones d'Europa!" the second song to the tune of Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes, allowing everyone to join in and help celebrate their Euro 2008 soccer championship.

Drinks were insanely cheap, and when my money floated away in the pool, I didn't care. When my friend Keith told me that our clothes were gone, I didn't care.  I was having the time of my life.  Somewhere around 2 am, a team of synchronized swimmers gracefully dove into the pool to entertain us while bearded Hungarian performers majestically spun and tossed flaming sticks around like toothpicks.  

At some point, the Sparty began to take a serious turn for the orgy, drunk boys and girls making out all over the pool, with pruny hands diving into the water to find genitals.  To top it all off, when the thing ended, well after four in the morning, they had sandwiches...fucking sandwiches! It was as if they knew we would be hungry while partying in Hungry.  It turns out, my friend Alberto somehow found my clothes, and I was able to stumble back to the hostel, thankfully, with a shirt on.  My only fear is that I have peaked and will never be able to enjoy myself again...although on December 12th it looks like Sam Simon and Noah Nielsen will be reunited in Prague,  so I can't exactly give up hope yet, especially with the time melting away until an Obama administration takes over in Washington...yeah I think I like the sound of that.