Monthly Archives: March 2011

The Brown People Invasion of Budapest: Vampires, Cheap Beer and a Whiff of Communism


You know what, Fuck being prepared.

After reading so much about all the ham fisted tourist cons waiting for me in Budapest, I was terrified. So Shit scared about everything that even buying a cup of coffee needed a reconnaissance mission.

I was all in anal.

Every time I bought a beer, I waited, heart in mouth, for the doors to close and for some truck sized skin head bouncers to threaten us with the Sicilian ‘swim with the fishes’ line.

Well, just like the beautiful blondes who are attractive because-of -brains and-personality-and-not-chest-size who did not materialize, none of the tourist traps came to pass. I still have all my organs.

Blame it on the fear mongering Americans who dominate the internet.

So, what happened in Budapest?

‘This place is dirty.’ That is the first thing ‘Antonio’ said when we got off the train.  (I forgot to mention that I was travelling with my very good Colombian friend.And no, we haven’t started importing cocaine.)

And he was right. But not the live, decaying dirt that plagues many cities not managed by Stepford Wives Union. Budapest (or as we later learnt, the Pest part of  Budapest) is grimy. With years and years of accumulated soot that stains all it’s buildings a dark grey-ish color.

It was like stepping into a weird time warp universe.

The whole place had that brooding, cynical feel that all vampire movies (except for the sparkly pre teen wet dream that is Twilight) seem to have.

Count Vlad's summer home

And then, because we spent time reading about stupid American tourists, we forgot about the weather. Which was freezing.

Like this fellow, at the top of the highest hill in Budapest. perfect time to visit? A windy, -10 degrees Celsius day, of course

And a testament to Stalin’s do it big philosophy:

And of course, the museum…of the World War 2. I might need a citation, but Hungary basically supported Germany in both world wars. During world war 2, the boys at the top realized they had made a mistake again (after grabbing neighboring territories and basically participating in the Facist/Nazi orgy up to 1944), tried to join the winning team in secret. Hitler, like most people, was not very happy with this Judas move. So he taught them a lesson by flattening their city,wiping out  the Jews and setting up a puppet government to keep an eye on the traitors.

Destroy the Minorities. Dominate the world

(Okay, I enjoyed that waaay too much.We all done things we not proud of, okay? Don’t judge.)

2011: Possibly effeminate underwear model. 1940s: blond killing machine sent to destroy the turncoat Hungarians

And just in case you still think the world is a happy place with sunshine and butterflies…..

Apparently all that would remain of you after an explosion.

death by hanging

The height of the human slaughter

Yeah, well, it can’t be  fun and jokes all the time I guess.

Some bad ass World War two artillery

Eventually Budapest stopped sulking at us. And just like in those movies where the rebellious kid is finally accepted by everyone, we warmed up a little bit to her.

We stood on her huge bridges and wondered if we could find our very own non-gay Edward (n my case) and a taste of blonde double d’s (In Antonio’s case). We drank our coffee in brooding silence like the locals and rode the bus stone faced.

We made peace with each other. Especially after Hungarian goulash dumplings,  incredibly cheap beer and this vanity project:

Built for the hell of it

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French Wine, Turkish Kebabs and the descent into FAT Hell


It’s official. I’m a fattie. I’ve joined the wide lane. Crossed over into the universe where eating a pack of chips is a crime. Where having a sandwich is :

Turns out, If you google fat pig, Michelle Obama's picture comes up. How now?


Yeah, I said it, I feel fat.

I’ve never really been the skinny type, except when I was a baby and my doctor had me tested for HIV for ‘failure to thrive’. Turns out that my problem was just that I was just a slow eater with an impatient mother.

Anyway, after the starving children in Sudan episode, I filled out pretty good. Not strictly on the healthy side, but not a quarter pounder with extra cheese either. Let’s call it a little extra cushion.

For a while, everything was fine.

Until France. And this conversation with my friend:

W: Oh Lord, I feel a little heavy…it’s getting hard to walk.

Friend: Yeah, really?

W: been piling on the pounds.

Friend: It’s because you eat a lot of junk. Actually, you are always eating.

W (Saaaay what?): What do you mean?

Friend: Yeah you always eating chips and chocolate.

W: eeerm..right…(because we shared a pack of chips once and a bar of chocolate?)

I feel like this:

yeah..the only thing we are good at is stuffing our faces with junk and wearing inappropriate clothing

I probably look like this:

[Ok, all I could find on google was just lots of pictures of big booties, so I leave it to your imagination.]

That’s when it hit me: In a sea of size sixes and tens, I am officially queen of the fatties. Every bite I take is being watched.

The ‘big is beautiful’ thing doesn’t cut it here. Big is greedy. Big is that bitch who stuffs herself until she can’t move.After all, it is no coincidence that this place is crawling with size sixes and eights. I mean, every one makes fun of the French ‘nouvelle cuisine’, or ‘big plate, three bites and a pretty leaf’ meal plan.

Hence the weird, judgmental conversation about me stuffing my face with chips and junk all day.

And a rambling blog post to bitch about it.

Disclaimer: My self esteem is in no way shattered. My taste buds, however have accepted that they will take a very long walk down the fruit n veg lane. Because I’m not asking for a miracle. I just want to see my toes without breaking into a sweat.