Hungarian Horrors

Turns out Alex was unable to get a half day of work, but there was still a glass of fresh orange juice waiting in the kitchen for me.

Next was Budapest, Hungary.  There I had accepted my first American host.  I was very excited to stay with a fellow American that had been living abroad for some years.  All these questions were developing in my head on the train ride over.  He mentioned he had gone to Kent State (graduated?), so I was hoping for some intellectual conversions.

And was I ever disappointed.

Leslie answered the door wearing an oversized long sleeve polo, beach bum sandals, and a skull and cross-bones ski hat.  He had insisted that I find guys apartment instead of meeting me at the train station.

That's fine.  I've never been to Hungary, but I'm a big girl.

It took me a while to sort out the trolleys, but I eventually made it.

He took my backpack, led me into the sitting room, and told me we had to leave.  Another couch surfer, 60 year old Dave from California was on his lap top there.  Leslie said it was a long story, and we had to leave.  Dave agreed it was a long story but made no move to indicate he was leaving too. 

Leslie ushered me out the door saying he was going to take me to this great little tea shop.

In my mind, I'm going over all the valuables in my backpack still at his flat.

I had all my money, credit cards, my Eurail pass, and my passport on my person.  I could make it okay if I had to bolt for some reason.

He went on and on about the reason we had to leave. 

Mostly what I gathered was that Leslie was a spineless wannabe college student and liked to be popular with the drinking crowd my age.

Apparently two guys were coming over to his flat that he just wanted to avoid.  One American guy had stayed with him for two months (this fact was bragged about on his couch surfing profile), and had become a constant moocher.  Somehow a Turkish guy got thrown in there and acted the same way.  The Turkish guy was also a host on couch surfing.

He liked to choose his surfers based on aesthetics, if you know what I mean.  Leslie maintained that made no difference to him.

We ended up walking for quite awhile.

I tried to calm my worries.  He had many great reviews on couch surfing, including reviews from single traveling females.  Why would he pick a fellow countrywoman to screw over?

We eventually made it to the tea shop.  I'll admit it was pretty cool.  Aztec themed with a basement and an upper deck for hookah.  Leslie mentioned if I was hungry we could get a private tea room for free.

Any appetite I had had previously, left long ago.

No.  No, I definitely was not hungry.

Over tea, he asked me a total of about two questions, one if which was did I like honey in my tea.

No.  No, I don't.

The rest of the time, he spilled his sad life story to me.  His parents were dead. His family was dead. He was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease.

Now, I am not completely unfeeling or insensitive.  A previous host, who will remain anonymous, confided in me his battle with stage 3 melanoma.  But he actually had something to say about the experience.  Leslie said it more to prove how sad his background really was, but that he pulled through just fine.

His parents' Hungarian origins were what led him to Budapest.  He had become a citizen, and spoke a little Hungarian (something he liked to prove whenever he had the chance).  As a Hungarian citizen, he was also receiving money from the government.

Oh yeah, Leslie was unemployed.

Surprise.

As it was only 3 in the afternoon, he offered to show me some of the sights on my list.

We only ended up seeing two of them (one of which was a square we happened to walk through).  I got the feeling he considered all the sites I wanted to see to be mindless tourist things that were beneath him.

He told me about his big plans for a bar crawl website were he would lead visitors through all his favorite bars on Budapest.  He had to show me the pub he planned on starting it at.  It was a cool little hole in the wall. Nothing more.

He bought me a beer while I was in the bathroom.  I didn't take more than three sips.  I didn't trust it.

We eventually ended up in another chill little pub to wait for night fall.

I just HAD to see the city by night.

I'll admit it was beautiful.  I think I would have enjoyed it more had he not insisted I take pictures of what he seemed to think was beautiful.  Even if I didn't want a picture of whatever it was.

By this time it was 9pm.  He had been promising to take me back for almost an hour and a half.

I was exhausted.

Then he decided we wouldn't cook dinner, do we should go get dumplings.

The whole day he had been talking about "when we go out tonight", "when I show you the real Budapest", "when you meet the moochers".

By the time we actually, physically, walked back into his apartment, it was after 10.  It was a three hour train to Budapest, and I'd just been walking for 8 hours.

The last thing I wanted to do now was go out.

I told him this.

Oh no no, its okay. We'll just go out for a bit.

All the while back to his place, he's been on the phone with the moochers saying "I can't make her go out", "She's tired, what do you want me to do", etc.  If there had been a sliver of a chance I wanted to go out before hearing that conversation, it was gone.

I don't like it when someone has a plan for me. A plan for what I'm going to do.  I especially don't appreciate someone talking about it right in front of me.

I make my own plans.

I had said earlier I would need to shower before going out.  It was 10pm, but I was getting my damn shower regardless. 

I said I didn't want to go out at all.

He said a shower would wake me up.

After I showered, I said I still didn't want to go out.

Oh no no, its okay, we'll just go to the pub down the street so you can meet my friends (moochers).

It took everything I had not to tell him where he could shove it.

The small part of my brain that was still rational and not completely pissed off kicked in.  If things got angry and heated, I could lose.

Fine.  I'd go to the pub down the street.

But I'll be damned if I'm putting on makeup or even combing my wet hair.

The Turkish guy would also be bringing his American surfer.

I got the feeling Leslie and the Turkish guy liked to compare their surfers.

I put on the biggest, smelliest shirt I had at the bottom of my back pack.

The American moocher, the Turkish moocher, and the American surfer all meet us at Leslie's place.

Then we walked to the pub.

Leslie asked what I wanted.

I said Fanta.

He bought everyone, including me, a beer and a shot.

And he said everyone mooches off of him.  Really he just liked to buy friends.

I was unimpressed and refused to drink either.

The American girl was nice.  Kind of an idiot, but a sweet heart.  Based on her manner I would have guessed her to be 18 or 19. Ah nope. 23.  Technically older than me.

She was from California, but had been in Amsterdam the past two weeks.  Why? Because she's going to move there.  Oh, job? School? No, she just liked it there.  She'd find a job.  I asked if she knew what it took to get a visa there.  A working visa nonetheless.  Ah, no, she hadn't looked that up yet.  I held my tongue, and just wished her good luck.

As soon as the American and Turkish guy realized that I wasn't going to play along and be charming or adorable, they pretty much ignored me.

I was falling asleep in my chair.

It was after midnight.  Leslie had promised we could go back after midnight.  I brought this to his attention.

Okay okay, after he finished the beer I refused to drink, then we could go.

As we walked out, I realized he was substantially drinker than I had thought.  Stumbling and swaying a bit.  I may have had a pen gripped in my fist in my purse.

Its not that I felt particularly threatened.  He just was unpredictable and didn't take anything I said seriously.

On the way back, he went on and on about how drinking tomato juice before bed will cure your hangover.  I assured him it would be impossible for me to have a hangover, as they typically require previous inebriation.

As we are walking into the apartment, I notice he's holding his mouth weird, and he's uncharacteristically silent.  I change in to my pajamas.  When I come out if the bathroom there's a glass of tomato juice waiting for me.

I am 99% sure there was spit in it.

I know what tomato juice looks like.

This had a floater in it.

I said I didn't like tomato juice (lie).

He said it would cure my hangover.

I said I'd take my chances.

I asked where I was going to sleep.  Dave was already passed out on the couch.

Leslie asked if it would be okay if we shared the bed if he put up a "force field".

Fuck no.

So I said, a bit more eloquently.

He pulled of the top part of the mattress onto the floor in the living room.  I got the bottom half in his room.  There was no doors between the two rooms.

I waited till I heard him snoring.