Post Script - Day Two

Woke up around 8pm with the "chuck horrors," the trembling of the American used to regular meals. I had sunflower seeds in the apartment and supposed the little grocery store was still open, but I figured one last tourist trap meal couldn't hurt. I'm not spending very much money on this trip, so one splurge meal a day is cool.

They call Budapest the "City of Baths" because they soak you for a huge bill at all the restaurants.

There was a place I've been seeing all trip from the balcony. All dolled up with Chinese lanterns. I figured if it was open, it would be for me.  It was. The lady tout seated me near two German girls and said, "For this table is extra, since you are next to beautiful ladies." I gave a sort of smile and tried not to look at anyone.

A few moments later, I heard her tell the waiter, "So I tell him his seat is extra since next to ladies." The waiter laughed. I guess when your job is to pull people in off the street, you take your kicks where you can get them.

Ordered the goulash (the thickest I've had!) and the chicken thighs (covered in spices and cream! Outstanding) and wrote in a little notebook I bought in the park. Sketched out a 1,000 forint bill while a weirdo cover of "Don't Dream It's Over" played in the background. Strange slow-core version with an accented choir.

Thought about events I'd forgotten to write down. Buying the little book, and… oh, all the guide books said to look out for a weirdo scam where dudes flip cards on the ground and challenge you to find the queen. Or some shit. The old shell game. The sheep shearer.

I figured that info was outdated, but earlier in the day I had seen dudes playing it in the street, and a group of tourists trying to find the queen. I couldn't believe it.  It was like seeing an animal do a thing you've always read the animal does. Cats get in boxes, let's put a box down, and… he's getting in the box!

The only other scam I've seen is people trying to sell me iPhones. They have a box and something that looks like an iPhone and they say, "iPhone," and I walk away, and they keep trying to sell it to me in their Alka Seltzer fizz language. Either they don't speak English or they don't think I do. No idea how much they cost or what the scam is, beyond their surely being fake.  

This place had real coffee in a real cup, so I drank it all up.

Just wrote and sketched and let my thoughts drift. It was starting to become the trip I envisioned. Like, I wanted to see things, but I also want to write and think.  I've front-loaded the trip with activity, and the second half can be anything I like. I can spend five days in the Carpathian mountains if I want to or find a hop house in Bulgaria and bang the gong around. 

If I want a motorcar, I'll pluck one from the trees. If I want Pretty Polly, I'll take it.

The waiters were playing Good Magyar/Bad Magyar and trying to get me to order extra shit. I was just Ophelia floating in the stream. I knew going in it was going to be the old shell game, the sheep shearer, I wasn't tempted to order any beer or desserts. There's some kind of regional favorite here called, like, The Golumpky Pancake. It's like an old newspaper filled with chalk and covered in Hershey's syrup and witch hazel. I'd tried one the night before. No thenk you.

It took them forever to bring everyone's bill. Maybe they were still trying to figure out how much the "seated next to beauty" upcharge was. The German girls smoked and pretended the delay wasn't bothering them, but it was. A man behind me spoke English in the most…sonorous voice. He was saying the most ridiculous shit.

I wrote it all down. I was dying to see what he looked like, but I was afraid he would see me turn around and stop.

"Being a fat man, and he was a fat man, he kept doubling his bet. He was losing badly, but men his size have tremendous capacity. Not just for food, but for losing. He was happy to swallow his losses like we're swallowing these potatoes."

The waitress must have come up with drinks.

"And here is temptation, yes? The serpent in a form of a lady with a tray. No, I'm sorry, none for us. My young friend has no stamina. Few young people do these days. You are tempting him, though. One can picture dozens of paintings with this theme."

"I saw the most extraordinary building today. It seemed of great importance, but there was nothing really to indicate what it was. My eyes searched it for clues, and I saw several stars of David. It could only be a synagogue. The tiles were really quite wonderful, just extraordinary."

Then they brought the bills and spoiled my fun.  Germans left. The Sonorous Scholar left (sneaked a peek - mid-60s but still dark-haired, weathered face with character, pointed goatee, light blue suit). Didn't get a good look at his "young friend."

Paid and went around the corner to see if the 7-11 was open. Sitting next to the girls with the chick having made such a big deal out of it made me self-conscious about my appearance. I bought a razor and some shampoo. Figured I'd make myself nice and clean for Colonel Kurtz, since I'd be heading down the river in the morning.

Got back to the place and decided the box thing I'd been resting the towels on was some kind of Commie washing machine. Opened it up, and it seemed true. There was a metal wheel with a detachable lid, and all kinds of buttons. I figured, fuck it, I'll throw all my clothes in it and have clean clothes.

There was even some detergent in the cabinet.

Put it all in and went to listen to baseball and plan the trip to Cluj. The machine made noises like it was working, but also some thumping noises. I was like, "Europe, right? Can't make a quiet machine," and went back to my business. Found a ticket to Cluj and slept a little.

The thumping from the machine woke me up, so I closed the door. It was creeping up on midnight.

Around two I woke up again and went to check on the stuff. The box wouldn't open. I had to unplug it and twist the dials to make anything happen. Got it open. My clothes were outside of the wheel, sopping wet and mangled to shit. Holes in everything and a pair of socks destroyed.

They were the San Francisco Giants World Series Champion socks I got on Fisherman's Wharf. They rest now in Budapest. They keep the angels' feet dry now.

The lid you open to put your clothes in the wheel had come detached and fallen in, so the thumping I heard was the lid of the washing machine washing itself. Since there was no lid, the clothes came a'tumbling out, and since the exterior of the wheel was spiky, it grated them all up.

They were still intact, and I'm still going to look like a prince in Bucharest where the standards for clothing are supremely ah-low, but pretty sure this is the last voyage for poor old Vintage brown Arrow shirt.

Hit the shirts with a blow dryer, hung 'em on the balcony, laughed at the idea that it was the mummified hand of St. Stephen that slapped the lid off, started to scare myself, and grabbed another cat nap.

Woke up to the alarm. Showered, shaved, grabbed the stuff off the balcony, put on the driest shirt, shoved the rest in a plastic bag. Gathered up my books, locked the door, shoved the keys through the mail slot and made my way to the train station. It looked like a half hour walk from the apartment, so I gave myself 45 minutes.

Headed to a new country with a backpack of wet rags. Just the way I drew it up.