07 July 2009
06 May 2009
We Should Have Listened
The following story is true.
A long time ago, in a land far far away, there was a man. His name was Hunter. He had a friend named Jaro, and they saw each other through the darkest, and lightest, of times in their adopted home, named Budapest, Hungary.
Both men were steel headed and knew what they wanted, and said things that they thought were true. Most times, they were true. Some times, they weren’t. But not for lack of trying, or lying. They just did not know all possible meanings to the questions they posed.
One day, they decided something: they would live together in an unbeknownst flat. They figured with all the time they spent together, it would make sense that they should live together, because really, who wants to walk home in the dead of night in the freezing cold when they could walk across their living room instead?
Three weeks into their flat searching, the search was coming up dry. It was stressful, because each knew what they wanted, but they could not find what they were looking for. There was a strict set of rules they wanted to see implemented in this new flat, but each time they went to see a prospective property, it came up lacking.
Finally, a day came that would change everything. It was a Sunday. Hunter, tired of waiting for Szilvi, Jaro’s girlfriend, to find a flat that seemed un-findable, got onto the website that never seemed to fail. Craigslist.
There, upon chance, he saw something that was incredible, nay, indescribable, for the price. A flat in the center of the city, nearest the most expensive street in the whole of Budapest, for a pittance.
He emailed the proprietor immediately, stating that he was interested in viewing.
One day later, Hunter and Jaro, with their girlfriends, Noemi and Szilvi, walked through this flat wondering how it could be so good. And really, how could it be that good? The owner, named Sean, from Canada, seemed like a nice gay man with all the right answers. Everything Jaro and Hunter asked, he seemed to have the answer that both were looking for.
Within 10 minutes, they were negotiating the terms of the lease. It was too good to be true. Everything they were looking for in a flat, in the right neighborhood, for the right price, was placed in front of their face, on a silver platter. Both were ecstatic with the prospect of living in such an area, with such a nice flat, with such a knowing landlord.
They would say later to themselves that they could see themselves hanging out with Sean, kicking it in some unnamed bar and laughing at some rude joke.
One week later, Jaro and Hunter sign a lease, right in their nice new future flat. Everything seems to be working. Sean has all the paperwork, both the leases, in English and Hungarian, that is custom in Hungary.
Two weeks remain before they move in to the flat. Sean states that some things must be re-painted, but neither of the men are much listening. They are admiring the new digs around them. Things are going well for both Jaro and Hunter.
One week before they are supposed to move in to their flat, Hunter finds he must travel to Prague on a business trip a couple days before the set move in date. He relays this information to both Sean and Jaro, both of which acknowledge.
One day before leaving for Prague, and three days before the move in date, Sean tells both Jaro and Hunter that they can move in their stuff, but that they will have to wait until the actual move in date to, well, move in, because they are re-finishing the floors. Since Sean has kept in communication with Hunter and Jaro continually over the last three weeks, and being the nice guy that he is, they agree and thank him for the opportunity.
Hunter leaves for Prague, and waits to hear from Jaro, when he is lounging in the flat without him after moving in. Hunter thinks he will get a call, stating something like this: I’ve pissed in all the corners and now you’ll have to piss in the corners you want. Either way, the whole flat is mine and haha you are not here to stop me.
Or at least, something much funnier than this, but that seems funny in Hunter’s mind.
Instead, Hunter gets a very unnerving phone call from Jaro the day after Jaro is supposed to have moved in. It goes something like this:
I’ve got some bad news. I don’t know where Sean is. He’s disappeared. I keep trying to call him and he’s not picking up. I have no idea whats happening. I’m practically homeless at the moment, but this shit is ridiculous. That flat has all our stuff in it, and we’re not able to sleep in it? What the fuck is this shit?
To which Hunter dutifully replies: Wait, what?
Now both Jaro and Hunter are searching for answers where none exist. What IS going on? The next few hours Hunter cannot think straight, because his mind is trapped in the situation miles away, in Budapest. Still in Prague, he cannot deny the growing helplessness that grips his gut. No…. He couldn’t have.
On returning to his hotel room, Hunter grabs his laptop and proceeds out of his hotel room and into the stairs right outside the lobby. The wifi signal has decided to boycott his room, so he is forced to sit on the stairs and write a thoughtful yet condescending email to Sean while listening for people who are approaching, wary of the looks he might receive while sitting on the stairs outside the lobby, writing an email.
He hits send, and takes a deep breath. This should all be over in a… and then, there is an email in his inbox, instantly.
Send failed. Recipient’s email does not exist.
That was Sean’s email back, because his email was deleted.
Now Hunter is finally seeing the big picture, and just as he drops his hand into his pant’s pocket to call Jaro, Jaro calls him.
You’re not going to believe it, he starts. But Hunter already does, though he is still in shock.
The lease, worth something around $1,400 with 2 months deposit and first month rent, is gone. Sean Kirkham, if that is his real name, has just conned two Americans in Budapest out of a shitload of money.
Later, Jaro calls Hunter to tell him the story keeps unfolding, that there were multiple people who were in the same predicament: They all signed leases and gave over their hard earned money. They all were caught with their pants down.
Later still, Jaro calls again to tell him that now its official, that he absolutely knows they were fleeced. And how is that, Hunter wonders aloud. Because the owner is coming to the flat now to open the door, to let us get our stuff.
For a second, this doesn’t make sense. What do you mean, the owner? Sean owned the flat.
No, Hunter, he didn’t. He never owned shit.
Much later, Jaro calls for the last update. He tells Hunter that their bags and boxes with all their belongings have been ransacked. Some have been stolen, but its still not clear what. Hunter asks about his most important items he knows were stored in his suitcase, but Jaro cannot be sure. All the contents of their bags are strewn across the floor. It’s like carnage, he keeps saying.
Hunter sits in a restaurant, a restaurant from his past, when he used to live in Prague, when things looked peachy to begin with. But as he learned, the life that was supposed to happen in Prague never happened. And as he clicks off the phone, he sits watching all the smiling and laughing faces around him, and wonders about the future.
Ahead of him, there are many things he can see, but what he cannot see, is where he will be sleeping the night he gets back to his home, Budapest. That place, was supposed to be reserved for his new and tidy room in Sean’s flat, but was so forcefully shattered by the enigma that was Sean, a con artist that caught the best of them.
Hunter recalls what should have been a flashing light in the darkness, showing them the way. Fifteen minutes after looking at the flat, and agreeing with Sean about the price and time of move in, Jaro, Hunter, Szilvi and Noemi sit at a small bar on Andrassy ut, the most expensive street in Budapest. What they think is their new flat is just around the corner, and they are all glowing with the discovery that they finally are moving up in the world.
Everything seemed to working. Everything seemed to be right. And Jaro says: It just seems too good to be true.
And we should have listened.
A long time ago, in a land far far away, there was a man. His name was Hunter. He had a friend named Jaro, and they saw each other through the darkest, and lightest, of times in their adopted home, named Budapest, Hungary.
Both men were steel headed and knew what they wanted, and said things that they thought were true. Most times, they were true. Some times, they weren’t. But not for lack of trying, or lying. They just did not know all possible meanings to the questions they posed.
One day, they decided something: they would live together in an unbeknownst flat. They figured with all the time they spent together, it would make sense that they should live together, because really, who wants to walk home in the dead of night in the freezing cold when they could walk across their living room instead?
Three weeks into their flat searching, the search was coming up dry. It was stressful, because each knew what they wanted, but they could not find what they were looking for. There was a strict set of rules they wanted to see implemented in this new flat, but each time they went to see a prospective property, it came up lacking.
Finally, a day came that would change everything. It was a Sunday. Hunter, tired of waiting for Szilvi, Jaro’s girlfriend, to find a flat that seemed un-findable, got onto the website that never seemed to fail. Craigslist.
There, upon chance, he saw something that was incredible, nay, indescribable, for the price. A flat in the center of the city, nearest the most expensive street in the whole of Budapest, for a pittance.
He emailed the proprietor immediately, stating that he was interested in viewing.
One day later, Hunter and Jaro, with their girlfriends, Noemi and Szilvi, walked through this flat wondering how it could be so good. And really, how could it be that good? The owner, named Sean, from Canada, seemed like a nice gay man with all the right answers. Everything Jaro and Hunter asked, he seemed to have the answer that both were looking for.
Within 10 minutes, they were negotiating the terms of the lease. It was too good to be true. Everything they were looking for in a flat, in the right neighborhood, for the right price, was placed in front of their face, on a silver platter. Both were ecstatic with the prospect of living in such an area, with such a nice flat, with such a knowing landlord.
They would say later to themselves that they could see themselves hanging out with Sean, kicking it in some unnamed bar and laughing at some rude joke.
One week later, Jaro and Hunter sign a lease, right in their nice new future flat. Everything seems to be working. Sean has all the paperwork, both the leases, in English and Hungarian, that is custom in Hungary.
Two weeks remain before they move in to the flat. Sean states that some things must be re-painted, but neither of the men are much listening. They are admiring the new digs around them. Things are going well for both Jaro and Hunter.
One week before they are supposed to move in to their flat, Hunter finds he must travel to Prague on a business trip a couple days before the set move in date. He relays this information to both Sean and Jaro, both of which acknowledge.
One day before leaving for Prague, and three days before the move in date, Sean tells both Jaro and Hunter that they can move in their stuff, but that they will have to wait until the actual move in date to, well, move in, because they are re-finishing the floors. Since Sean has kept in communication with Hunter and Jaro continually over the last three weeks, and being the nice guy that he is, they agree and thank him for the opportunity.
Hunter leaves for Prague, and waits to hear from Jaro, when he is lounging in the flat without him after moving in. Hunter thinks he will get a call, stating something like this: I’ve pissed in all the corners and now you’ll have to piss in the corners you want. Either way, the whole flat is mine and haha you are not here to stop me.
Or at least, something much funnier than this, but that seems funny in Hunter’s mind.
Instead, Hunter gets a very unnerving phone call from Jaro the day after Jaro is supposed to have moved in. It goes something like this:
I’ve got some bad news. I don’t know where Sean is. He’s disappeared. I keep trying to call him and he’s not picking up. I have no idea whats happening. I’m practically homeless at the moment, but this shit is ridiculous. That flat has all our stuff in it, and we’re not able to sleep in it? What the fuck is this shit?
To which Hunter dutifully replies: Wait, what?
Now both Jaro and Hunter are searching for answers where none exist. What IS going on? The next few hours Hunter cannot think straight, because his mind is trapped in the situation miles away, in Budapest. Still in Prague, he cannot deny the growing helplessness that grips his gut. No…. He couldn’t have.
On returning to his hotel room, Hunter grabs his laptop and proceeds out of his hotel room and into the stairs right outside the lobby. The wifi signal has decided to boycott his room, so he is forced to sit on the stairs and write a thoughtful yet condescending email to Sean while listening for people who are approaching, wary of the looks he might receive while sitting on the stairs outside the lobby, writing an email.
He hits send, and takes a deep breath. This should all be over in a… and then, there is an email in his inbox, instantly.
Send failed. Recipient’s email does not exist.
That was Sean’s email back, because his email was deleted.
Now Hunter is finally seeing the big picture, and just as he drops his hand into his pant’s pocket to call Jaro, Jaro calls him.
You’re not going to believe it, he starts. But Hunter already does, though he is still in shock.
The lease, worth something around $1,400 with 2 months deposit and first month rent, is gone. Sean Kirkham, if that is his real name, has just conned two Americans in Budapest out of a shitload of money.
Later, Jaro calls Hunter to tell him the story keeps unfolding, that there were multiple people who were in the same predicament: They all signed leases and gave over their hard earned money. They all were caught with their pants down.
Later still, Jaro calls again to tell him that now its official, that he absolutely knows they were fleeced. And how is that, Hunter wonders aloud. Because the owner is coming to the flat now to open the door, to let us get our stuff.
For a second, this doesn’t make sense. What do you mean, the owner? Sean owned the flat.
No, Hunter, he didn’t. He never owned shit.
Much later, Jaro calls for the last update. He tells Hunter that their bags and boxes with all their belongings have been ransacked. Some have been stolen, but its still not clear what. Hunter asks about his most important items he knows were stored in his suitcase, but Jaro cannot be sure. All the contents of their bags are strewn across the floor. It’s like carnage, he keeps saying.
Hunter sits in a restaurant, a restaurant from his past, when he used to live in Prague, when things looked peachy to begin with. But as he learned, the life that was supposed to happen in Prague never happened. And as he clicks off the phone, he sits watching all the smiling and laughing faces around him, and wonders about the future.
Ahead of him, there are many things he can see, but what he cannot see, is where he will be sleeping the night he gets back to his home, Budapest. That place, was supposed to be reserved for his new and tidy room in Sean’s flat, but was so forcefully shattered by the enigma that was Sean, a con artist that caught the best of them.
Hunter recalls what should have been a flashing light in the darkness, showing them the way. Fifteen minutes after looking at the flat, and agreeing with Sean about the price and time of move in, Jaro, Hunter, Szilvi and Noemi sit at a small bar on Andrassy ut, the most expensive street in Budapest. What they think is their new flat is just around the corner, and they are all glowing with the discovery that they finally are moving up in the world.
Everything seemed to working. Everything seemed to be right. And Jaro says: It just seems too good to be true.
And we should have listened.
31 January 2009
the Reservation
Back in December, Jaro’s birthday is days away and I wanted to treat him to something everyone in Budapest must experience at least once: Mongolian Barbeque. It’s a big restaurant in Buda, banquet-style, but instead of cooked food in front of you, they have a large banquet of uncooked meats and vegetables and whatever else they happen to serve. You put everything on your plate, take it to the ‘chef’, and he cooks everything on a ginormous skillet in front of you. I’ve seen variations of this method in the States, but nothing that you pick the marinated meat out yourself and just hand it over to the chef.
It’s all you can eat, and for the measly price of 5,000 HUF (roughly $23), it’s all beer, wine and sangria you can drink as well. This place is incredible. I’ve known people who over-eat and puke by the end, however. My advice: Watch how much you eat and drink.
So there we are, riding the red line of the metro all the way up to Déli pályaudvar, the last stop in Buda. From there, it’s a quick tram ride up the main street, and a 5 minute walk down a small side street to one of the culinary gems of Budapest.
We’re sitting on one of the wide benches watching people (one of the only things you can do on the metro). Jaro nudges me and motions to two girls sitting up the car, and I smile approvingly. Not that they were particularly attractive, but just that there were two of them and two of us. That whole thing like, Well, if I didn’t have a girlfriend I would go over there and start something. You ready, Mr. Wingman? It’s mainly an inside joke between him and I, but I think this is a pretty universal thing between two male friends. Regardless of their relationship status, there is always something about having your buddy around and coming upon the same set of the opposite sex.
But then again, I thought nothing of it and continued to watch the other people around me. We get off at Déli and walk to the tram stop. While waiting we notice the same two girls walking up to our stop.
What do you think? He asks.
What do you mean, what do I think?
Think I should ask them for a night on the town? With that sly smile of his. You know when he’s maliciously joking while he smiles like that.
Yeah sure buddy, why don’t you go over there and do it? Lets see those skills of yours.
But then, he didn’t. We just laughed about it and shrugged our shoulders and swore about how cold it was. The tram comes, we all get on, and jump off at our stop. I turn around, and the same two girls are getting off behind us.
Huh. You don’t think they’re going to Mongolian Bbq? I wonder aloud.
Naw, I doubt it. But that would be pretty funny if they did. Come to our table, ladies. This is fate, since we were on the same public transportation as you.
Yeah that’s going to work.
We turn up the side street and see the restaurant’s sign. I’m salivating just at the thought of entering this place again. Both of us cannot wait to get inside, and then we hear the same click of heels we’ve heard for the last 10 minutes behind us walking up the street.
Shit I think they are going to Mongolian Bbq! Haha!
This is fate man, this is fate! I knew it!
We’re laughing as we walk in, and the smells of the freshly cooked marinated meat hits us like a wall of heat. Oh yeah.
Hello, yes, table of two please?
Shouldn’t we ask for a table of four?
Shut up dude!
I hear the door ding and the pair of following girls walk in and start taking their winter layers off. This is going to be interesting. I turn back to the guy, because he starts to ask me something.
Reservation?
Uh, no.
Oh, I see. His brow crinkles and he goes into the other room.
Jaro and I exchange looks. Uh oh.
The man from before walks back with a friend. The other guy speaks:
Hello yes I am very sorry but you need a reservation tonight. Here is our card. Please have a nice night.
He hands me the card and Im staring dumbly at it in my hand. What? No Mongolian Bbq? Reservation? I’m not eating amazing food? How can this be?
The first host turns behind us to the girls, and they both smile and give him a name. He looks down at his list, smiles, checks something off, and waves them inside. They both walk past us and look at us like we are weak insignificant lost souls wandering through the night.
My mouth is hanging open. I am so embarrassed.
Oh my god. Did you just see that?!
Jaro is shaking his head and covering his face in shame with his hands. Oh god, lets please leave. I cant believe this.
We both walk back outside, and just stand there for a full 60 seconds looking out at the night. Not moving. Going over the last 10 minutes. And the utter fail, the utter embarrassment of getting turned away after acting like the shit, while two girls who we were half jokingly trying to impress, walk right in behind us and see our failure in progress, then flit by like they owned the place.
Oh my god. I cannot believe what just happened. I just can’t believe it.
Jaro is still shaking his head. We were so burned there. So burned, dude.
I try to get over my embarrassment for 5 seconds and take stock of our situation. Well now what?
I don’t know.
C’mon lets find a bar.
We run into a kócsma, which is basically a locals-filled bar that can fit into a small closet. Think Cheers on a vastly smaller scale. And filled with old drunk Hungarians who don’t speak a word of English.
We both sit down and look deftly at our beers. I’m still holding the Mongolian Bbq’s business card in my hand.
After five minutes of just sitting there, its pretty clear we both feel the same way: Totally embarrassed by the situation, and now resigned to our fate of drinking a cheap beer in a total shit hole.
Of course, I should have known to make a reservation. But it was a Wednesday night, and I thought it would have been empty at a time like this. The past three times I had been it was easy to get a table, even when there was a massive group of us. But that wasn’t the worst thing about this. Not eating the amazing food, ok, yeah that sucks. But the looks the girls gave us when they walked by. Jeez. Made the culinary heartbreak and social humiliation all the worse.
By the time we finished our beers, we’ve both vexed considerably about the whole situation.
Jesus Christ that was bad!
I know I know! I just still can’t believe it.
Of all the things! Argh!
Damn. And those looks…
I know! Oh god that was terrible.
We continue to shake our heads simultaneously until a loud CRACK wakes us from our shame. The noise has come from a patron who passed out while trying to walk, as her head smacked into the concrete floor. I look at the time. It’s 7:30 at night. Jesus.
Now all the patrons are swarming around her, trying to wake her up. Her husband (or father, I can’t tell) is holding her head up from the floor and telling the bartender (in Hungarian) to get her a glass of water with sugar. But before she can get this, another tells her, No get her a glass of orange juice! The bartender is searching through her bar. There’s no orange juice! Fine then, any juice! She pulls out pineapple juice, pours a glass, and brings it to the lips of the girl who looks to be having a minor seizure on the floor.
Jaro and I look at each and nod. Ok, let’s go. We get up and walk out the way we came, away from the craziness of the locals and their drunken woes.
At least something was able to make it clear to us that, really, a little embarrassment was the least of our worries.
It’s all you can eat, and for the measly price of 5,000 HUF (roughly $23), it’s all beer, wine and sangria you can drink as well. This place is incredible. I’ve known people who over-eat and puke by the end, however. My advice: Watch how much you eat and drink.
So there we are, riding the red line of the metro all the way up to Déli pályaudvar, the last stop in Buda. From there, it’s a quick tram ride up the main street, and a 5 minute walk down a small side street to one of the culinary gems of Budapest.
We’re sitting on one of the wide benches watching people (one of the only things you can do on the metro). Jaro nudges me and motions to two girls sitting up the car, and I smile approvingly. Not that they were particularly attractive, but just that there were two of them and two of us. That whole thing like, Well, if I didn’t have a girlfriend I would go over there and start something. You ready, Mr. Wingman? It’s mainly an inside joke between him and I, but I think this is a pretty universal thing between two male friends. Regardless of their relationship status, there is always something about having your buddy around and coming upon the same set of the opposite sex.
But then again, I thought nothing of it and continued to watch the other people around me. We get off at Déli and walk to the tram stop. While waiting we notice the same two girls walking up to our stop.
What do you think? He asks.
What do you mean, what do I think?
Think I should ask them for a night on the town? With that sly smile of his. You know when he’s maliciously joking while he smiles like that.
Yeah sure buddy, why don’t you go over there and do it? Lets see those skills of yours.
But then, he didn’t. We just laughed about it and shrugged our shoulders and swore about how cold it was. The tram comes, we all get on, and jump off at our stop. I turn around, and the same two girls are getting off behind us.
Huh. You don’t think they’re going to Mongolian Bbq? I wonder aloud.
Naw, I doubt it. But that would be pretty funny if they did. Come to our table, ladies. This is fate, since we were on the same public transportation as you.
Yeah that’s going to work.
We turn up the side street and see the restaurant’s sign. I’m salivating just at the thought of entering this place again. Both of us cannot wait to get inside, and then we hear the same click of heels we’ve heard for the last 10 minutes behind us walking up the street.
Shit I think they are going to Mongolian Bbq! Haha!
This is fate man, this is fate! I knew it!
We’re laughing as we walk in, and the smells of the freshly cooked marinated meat hits us like a wall of heat. Oh yeah.
Hello, yes, table of two please?
Shouldn’t we ask for a table of four?
Shut up dude!
I hear the door ding and the pair of following girls walk in and start taking their winter layers off. This is going to be interesting. I turn back to the guy, because he starts to ask me something.
Reservation?
Uh, no.
Oh, I see. His brow crinkles and he goes into the other room.
Jaro and I exchange looks. Uh oh.
The man from before walks back with a friend. The other guy speaks:
Hello yes I am very sorry but you need a reservation tonight. Here is our card. Please have a nice night.
He hands me the card and Im staring dumbly at it in my hand. What? No Mongolian Bbq? Reservation? I’m not eating amazing food? How can this be?
The first host turns behind us to the girls, and they both smile and give him a name. He looks down at his list, smiles, checks something off, and waves them inside. They both walk past us and look at us like we are weak insignificant lost souls wandering through the night.
My mouth is hanging open. I am so embarrassed.
Oh my god. Did you just see that?!
Jaro is shaking his head and covering his face in shame with his hands. Oh god, lets please leave. I cant believe this.
We both walk back outside, and just stand there for a full 60 seconds looking out at the night. Not moving. Going over the last 10 minutes. And the utter fail, the utter embarrassment of getting turned away after acting like the shit, while two girls who we were half jokingly trying to impress, walk right in behind us and see our failure in progress, then flit by like they owned the place.
Oh my god. I cannot believe what just happened. I just can’t believe it.
Jaro is still shaking his head. We were so burned there. So burned, dude.
I try to get over my embarrassment for 5 seconds and take stock of our situation. Well now what?
I don’t know.
C’mon lets find a bar.
We run into a kócsma, which is basically a locals-filled bar that can fit into a small closet. Think Cheers on a vastly smaller scale. And filled with old drunk Hungarians who don’t speak a word of English.
We both sit down and look deftly at our beers. I’m still holding the Mongolian Bbq’s business card in my hand.
After five minutes of just sitting there, its pretty clear we both feel the same way: Totally embarrassed by the situation, and now resigned to our fate of drinking a cheap beer in a total shit hole.
Of course, I should have known to make a reservation. But it was a Wednesday night, and I thought it would have been empty at a time like this. The past three times I had been it was easy to get a table, even when there was a massive group of us. But that wasn’t the worst thing about this. Not eating the amazing food, ok, yeah that sucks. But the looks the girls gave us when they walked by. Jeez. Made the culinary heartbreak and social humiliation all the worse.
By the time we finished our beers, we’ve both vexed considerably about the whole situation.
Jesus Christ that was bad!
I know I know! I just still can’t believe it.
Of all the things! Argh!
Damn. And those looks…
I know! Oh god that was terrible.
We continue to shake our heads simultaneously until a loud CRACK wakes us from our shame. The noise has come from a patron who passed out while trying to walk, as her head smacked into the concrete floor. I look at the time. It’s 7:30 at night. Jesus.
Now all the patrons are swarming around her, trying to wake her up. Her husband (or father, I can’t tell) is holding her head up from the floor and telling the bartender (in Hungarian) to get her a glass of water with sugar. But before she can get this, another tells her, No get her a glass of orange juice! The bartender is searching through her bar. There’s no orange juice! Fine then, any juice! She pulls out pineapple juice, pours a glass, and brings it to the lips of the girl who looks to be having a minor seizure on the floor.
Jaro and I look at each and nod. Ok, let’s go. We get up and walk out the way we came, away from the craziness of the locals and their drunken woes.
At least something was able to make it clear to us that, really, a little embarrassment was the least of our worries.
13 January 2009
The Illusion Can Only Last So Long
I’m standing in the concessions line at the movie theater at MOM Park. The Park is a shopping complex in the hills of Buda. It’s hugely popular among expats, probably because their million-dollar homes are a stone’s throw away from it. I rarely hear Hungarian, and I often times forget for a split second where I am, thinking I’m wandering through an American mall. But something always brings me back. The illusion can only last so long.
MOM Park is also one of the few (or last) places to find films in their original language. In other words, American films released in English. I could go on and on about how much I hate the dubbing (or ‘synchronizing’ as these Magyars call it) practice in film, and even more that most Hungarians somehow believe the film is better when dubbed than in the original language. I only see red when I encounter these people (most happen to be my friends).
Films were meant to be in their original language. Period. That’s why it’s called the ORIGINAL language.
The movie theater in MOM Park is one of the last havens for these. Dubbing has become the norm, and I see no end in sight to this terrifying trend. Magyars just love their speech pasted over the lips of American actors. So I get to the Park often, because this dubbing manifesto seems to be gaining strength of iron and will.
Which is somewhat ironic, because I’m there to see a Hungarian film. With English subtitles. One of the other reasons I love MOM Park: the only place in Hungary with Hungarian films subtitled into another language.
But back to the concessions line. Noémi needs water so we’re there. I never get concessions. I never buy stuff at movie theaters. I can’t stand the way they over price the stuff. I might think twice if they sold beer, but then I would have to pee half way through the film, so I shake that idea out of my head. Plus, I’m more interested in mentally swearing at the guy in front of me. Really, what is this guy doing? We’ve been standing here for 5 minutes with NO change. Argh!
My eyes wander the faces around me, and settle on a man a couple yards away from me looking at the movie posters. He’s not so imposing, but I notice people are keeping a wide berth around him. I mean, there’s no one around him. It’s really crowded too. And everyone is staring. And pointing.
Wait, what’s going on here?
The guy turns around and I realize why the people are staring. He wears a sweater and jeans, glasses and this funny half smile. Like he knows something we don’t. And he probably does, or is putting on a half-assed display to make people think something that may or may not be true.
After all, this is the same guy that got caught (via secret recording device) telling his colleague Hungary was broke, and that he had lied to the people to win an election. The same guy who stood fast in 2006 as some of the worst riots since the Soviet invasion of 1956 occurred, watching as angry Magyars chanting for his resignation ripped up the streets and laid waste to anything that lay in their path. The very same guy who shrugged his shoulders as Hungary’s currency went from strong to such a devaluation that the IMF immediately approved an emergency $31 billion loan to help the struggling country to its feet again, wary of the Iceland economic disaster.
This man is Ferenc Gyurcsány, the Prime Minister of Hungary.
And he’s now standing not ten feet away from me, looking at movie posters.
At first I don’t really know what to think, because this is such a strange occurrence. Gyurcsány is Bush’s equivalent, and hated almost as much by his own people (possibly more so, as Gyurcsány’s approval rating among the 10 million people across the republic of Hungary is slim to none). That being said, he’s still the PM. He’s famous. I’ve seen him speak once before (never understanding a word he said), but still, that was up on a stage in front of the Parliament building. This is me standing across from the man in the lobby of a movie theatre.
With everyone staring. Or no wait. Glaring. Yeah that’s it. Eyes boring into his skull.
I poke Noémi and motion behind her.
Look, isn’t that…?
Oh. Yeah. Weird, it is.
People are staring.
They should. That guy fucked our country over.
And that’s the opinion I’ve encountered among most, if not all, the Hungarians I’ve talked politics with. They’re all Victor Orbán supporters, the leader of the opposing party. But I see no difference between either of them. They’re both part of the Old Guard, something I try to explain to every Hungarian who happens to express an interest in what I think about their country’s political situation. The conversation usually devolves into a shouting match about why Hungary sucks politically, but before that happens, I try to tell them that the Old Guard is dead. The economic and social situation will not change once Orbán takes control in 2010 (he has previously held the PM position). Hungary is fucked until they usher in the next generation.
The country will never change unless the New Guard rises up out of the shit their older counterparts left behind.
This view/arguing point usually leads to dejected faces and statements like, ‘Well, what can I do?’ or ‘I’m just one person, how can I do anything to change a whole country?’
And it always makes me laugh, which only makes things worse.
For a people who are so proud of their revolutions, they seem to forget their history. But then, how can they look past the centuries of occupation, border re-structuring and bad decisions made over the years? That would make anyone a cynic.
And these people are the mothers, fathers and children of all cynics.
Meanwhile, back at MOM Park, Gyurcsány, the most hated man in Hungary, turns around and walks into the same theater Noémi and I are just about to make our way in to. I still am a little shell shocked, seeing a major political figure, with absolutely no secret service crawling up the walls, and about to watch the same film.
It’s like a joke: The American professional with his Hungarian girlfriend walk into a movie theater in Hungary. The film is Hungarian, with English subtitles, with the Hungarian Prime Minister in attendance, in a Cineplex devoted to those foreign expats who control all the money in the country.
But what’s the punch line?
MOM Park is also one of the few (or last) places to find films in their original language. In other words, American films released in English. I could go on and on about how much I hate the dubbing (or ‘synchronizing’ as these Magyars call it) practice in film, and even more that most Hungarians somehow believe the film is better when dubbed than in the original language. I only see red when I encounter these people (most happen to be my friends).
Films were meant to be in their original language. Period. That’s why it’s called the ORIGINAL language.
The movie theater in MOM Park is one of the last havens for these. Dubbing has become the norm, and I see no end in sight to this terrifying trend. Magyars just love their speech pasted over the lips of American actors. So I get to the Park often, because this dubbing manifesto seems to be gaining strength of iron and will.
Which is somewhat ironic, because I’m there to see a Hungarian film. With English subtitles. One of the other reasons I love MOM Park: the only place in Hungary with Hungarian films subtitled into another language.
But back to the concessions line. Noémi needs water so we’re there. I never get concessions. I never buy stuff at movie theaters. I can’t stand the way they over price the stuff. I might think twice if they sold beer, but then I would have to pee half way through the film, so I shake that idea out of my head. Plus, I’m more interested in mentally swearing at the guy in front of me. Really, what is this guy doing? We’ve been standing here for 5 minutes with NO change. Argh!
My eyes wander the faces around me, and settle on a man a couple yards away from me looking at the movie posters. He’s not so imposing, but I notice people are keeping a wide berth around him. I mean, there’s no one around him. It’s really crowded too. And everyone is staring. And pointing.
Wait, what’s going on here?
The guy turns around and I realize why the people are staring. He wears a sweater and jeans, glasses and this funny half smile. Like he knows something we don’t. And he probably does, or is putting on a half-assed display to make people think something that may or may not be true.
After all, this is the same guy that got caught (via secret recording device) telling his colleague Hungary was broke, and that he had lied to the people to win an election. The same guy who stood fast in 2006 as some of the worst riots since the Soviet invasion of 1956 occurred, watching as angry Magyars chanting for his resignation ripped up the streets and laid waste to anything that lay in their path. The very same guy who shrugged his shoulders as Hungary’s currency went from strong to such a devaluation that the IMF immediately approved an emergency $31 billion loan to help the struggling country to its feet again, wary of the Iceland economic disaster.
This man is Ferenc Gyurcsány, the Prime Minister of Hungary.
And he’s now standing not ten feet away from me, looking at movie posters.
At first I don’t really know what to think, because this is such a strange occurrence. Gyurcsány is Bush’s equivalent, and hated almost as much by his own people (possibly more so, as Gyurcsány’s approval rating among the 10 million people across the republic of Hungary is slim to none). That being said, he’s still the PM. He’s famous. I’ve seen him speak once before (never understanding a word he said), but still, that was up on a stage in front of the Parliament building. This is me standing across from the man in the lobby of a movie theatre.
With everyone staring. Or no wait. Glaring. Yeah that’s it. Eyes boring into his skull.
I poke Noémi and motion behind her.
Look, isn’t that…?Oh. Yeah. Weird, it is.
People are staring.
They should. That guy fucked our country over.
And that’s the opinion I’ve encountered among most, if not all, the Hungarians I’ve talked politics with. They’re all Victor Orbán supporters, the leader of the opposing party. But I see no difference between either of them. They’re both part of the Old Guard, something I try to explain to every Hungarian who happens to express an interest in what I think about their country’s political situation. The conversation usually devolves into a shouting match about why Hungary sucks politically, but before that happens, I try to tell them that the Old Guard is dead. The economic and social situation will not change once Orbán takes control in 2010 (he has previously held the PM position). Hungary is fucked until they usher in the next generation.
The country will never change unless the New Guard rises up out of the shit their older counterparts left behind.
This view/arguing point usually leads to dejected faces and statements like, ‘Well, what can I do?’ or ‘I’m just one person, how can I do anything to change a whole country?’
And it always makes me laugh, which only makes things worse.
For a people who are so proud of their revolutions, they seem to forget their history. But then, how can they look past the centuries of occupation, border re-structuring and bad decisions made over the years? That would make anyone a cynic.
And these people are the mothers, fathers and children of all cynics.
Meanwhile, back at MOM Park, Gyurcsány, the most hated man in Hungary, turns around and walks into the same theater Noémi and I are just about to make our way in to. I still am a little shell shocked, seeing a major political figure, with absolutely no secret service crawling up the walls, and about to watch the same film.
It’s like a joke: The American professional with his Hungarian girlfriend walk into a movie theater in Hungary. The film is Hungarian, with English subtitles, with the Hungarian Prime Minister in attendance, in a Cineplex devoted to those foreign expats who control all the money in the country.
But what’s the punch line?
26 December 2008
Chance Progression
With the coming of the New Year, I thought it was time to make a couple updates to this site. The layout is slightly different, but mostly the same. The title picture I snapped somewhere in Budapest. Where? I have no idea. There is so much graffiti in this city its hard to keep track.
The most noticeable change is the name. The evolution from 'Praha in Life' to 'Budapest in Life' was a natural (and obvious) progression. As I embrace more of the culture and language in my adopted city, I thought something in Magyar echoing my sentiments in life and love would be a fitting tribute to my journey here.
Szerencsevadász translates from the Hungarian into 'Soldier of Fortune'. However, literally translated it means 'Hunter' (vadász) of 'Luck' or 'Chance' (szerencse). I'd like to think my journey from the States to the economic wasteland of Prague, and finally to the fruits of Budapest, is an example of chanced opportunity with a lot of luck thrown in. And to think this is only the beginning, that chance (and hopefully luck) will take me to new places, with new opportunities and relationships: this is what I look forward to.
For now, Budapest is my home, and I am happy to be living in such a city. I'm not sure how long I will stay, or whether I will leave at all. But that's the journey, and its good to keep the future free of restraints, and let chance infiltrate the road ahead.
I hope that goes the same for all of you.
The most noticeable change is the name. The evolution from 'Praha in Life' to 'Budapest in Life' was a natural (and obvious) progression. As I embrace more of the culture and language in my adopted city, I thought something in Magyar echoing my sentiments in life and love would be a fitting tribute to my journey here.
Szerencsevadász translates from the Hungarian into 'Soldier of Fortune'. However, literally translated it means 'Hunter' (vadász) of 'Luck' or 'Chance' (szerencse). I'd like to think my journey from the States to the economic wasteland of Prague, and finally to the fruits of Budapest, is an example of chanced opportunity with a lot of luck thrown in. And to think this is only the beginning, that chance (and hopefully luck) will take me to new places, with new opportunities and relationships: this is what I look forward to.
For now, Budapest is my home, and I am happy to be living in such a city. I'm not sure how long I will stay, or whether I will leave at all. But that's the journey, and its good to keep the future free of restraints, and let chance infiltrate the road ahead.
I hope that goes the same for all of you.
Tales from Wroclaw: The Toilet
It’s the morning we have to leave, and we’re walking around in the streets of Wroclaw, swearing about the drizzling rain and worrying about how long we have before our train leaves. I’m clutching my stomach because my bowels feel like someone just set off a small nuclear bomb down there. I need to find a bathroom in the next five minutes or I’m finished.
Jaro Jaro Jaro we need to find a toilet dude really I mean really first place you see lets go in ok?
He’s staring at me like I’m insane and I might as well have been at that point. I’m looking around wildly for the Holiday Inn that saved us the first time, but it’s nowhere to be found. Uuuuugggghhhh.
The train station comes into view, so at least we have that going for us. Earlier, we had no idea how to get back to the station, so we just started walking up a main road that looked like the road we had begun walking down the first night. As luck would have it, it was, but I was much more worried about the fact I didn’t have an extra pair of jeans to change into if things got much worse.
On the corner beside the station, is a small bar. There! I’m saying, and Jaro is already walking in, with me hobbling in behind him.
Ok, we have to order something first. Damnit. Uh, two beers please, I’m saying, ignoring the clock on the wall that says its 10 in the morning. Jaro slips into the bathroom first, for some unknown reason, and I sit at the table with two beers in front of me, none of which look appetizing. I try to think about something else besides my bowels, and finally notice the bar around me. It’s a small room, dirty, with one wall filled with slot machines, and two or three patrons, taking drags of hand rolled cigarettes and sipping their beers. All of them are staring unnaturally at me.
I shift in my seat, thoroughly disturbed by the situation around me, and inside me.
Jaro sits down beside me. He’s smiling at me. Uh oh. Something’s up.
You’re not going to be happy.
What? Why? Is there no toilet paper?
Just trust me.
Jaro’s ambiguity would usually arouse my curiosity, but I am way too mentally and physically fucked up at the moment to wonder what he is talking about.
I’ll be right back, I’m saying, approaching the bathroom door, and passing the bar, I notice the bartender watching me. Her eyes follow me all the way to the door. She looks sixty but is probably thirty-five.
I open the door, and immediately understand Jaro’s smile.
There’s no toilet seat.
I ponder my situation for about 5 seconds, and close the door behind me. I remember my first encounter with a Bosnian toilet, where it was just a hole in the ground and you had to squat and pray you didn't fall in. This was the same situation, wrapped in a deceiving Westernized package. Damnit.
Five minutes later I walk out, and Jaro hasn’t touched his beer.
This place is weird, he’s telling me.
No shit? Really?
I’m just shaking my head and trying to forget the awkward situation of the last five minutes.
Let’s drink these and get the fuck out of here.
Jaro Jaro Jaro we need to find a toilet dude really I mean really first place you see lets go in ok?
He’s staring at me like I’m insane and I might as well have been at that point. I’m looking around wildly for the Holiday Inn that saved us the first time, but it’s nowhere to be found. Uuuuugggghhhh.
The train station comes into view, so at least we have that going for us. Earlier, we had no idea how to get back to the station, so we just started walking up a main road that looked like the road we had begun walking down the first night. As luck would have it, it was, but I was much more worried about the fact I didn’t have an extra pair of jeans to change into if things got much worse.
On the corner beside the station, is a small bar. There! I’m saying, and Jaro is already walking in, with me hobbling in behind him.
Ok, we have to order something first. Damnit. Uh, two beers please, I’m saying, ignoring the clock on the wall that says its 10 in the morning. Jaro slips into the bathroom first, for some unknown reason, and I sit at the table with two beers in front of me, none of which look appetizing. I try to think about something else besides my bowels, and finally notice the bar around me. It’s a small room, dirty, with one wall filled with slot machines, and two or three patrons, taking drags of hand rolled cigarettes and sipping their beers. All of them are staring unnaturally at me.
I shift in my seat, thoroughly disturbed by the situation around me, and inside me.
Jaro sits down beside me. He’s smiling at me. Uh oh. Something’s up.
You’re not going to be happy.
What? Why? Is there no toilet paper?
Just trust me.
Jaro’s ambiguity would usually arouse my curiosity, but I am way too mentally and physically fucked up at the moment to wonder what he is talking about.
I’ll be right back, I’m saying, approaching the bathroom door, and passing the bar, I notice the bartender watching me. Her eyes follow me all the way to the door. She looks sixty but is probably thirty-five.
I open the door, and immediately understand Jaro’s smile.
There’s no toilet seat.
I ponder my situation for about 5 seconds, and close the door behind me. I remember my first encounter with a Bosnian toilet, where it was just a hole in the ground and you had to squat and pray you didn't fall in. This was the same situation, wrapped in a deceiving Westernized package. Damnit.
Five minutes later I walk out, and Jaro hasn’t touched his beer.
This place is weird, he’s telling me.
No shit? Really?
I’m just shaking my head and trying to forget the awkward situation of the last five minutes.
Let’s drink these and get the fuck out of here.
25 December 2008
Places to Visit: Miskolc-Tapolca Cave Baths
I needed to get out of Budapest.
Sometimes these things happen. The walls start to close in, and the world feels like it will snap if something doesn’t change. Soon. Like right now. So I decided to leave the next day. Just go somewhere. Anywhere. I just needed to get out of Budapest.
The next day I’m rushing, trying to get everything together for the train ride. Ok, do I have everything? Yes, I think so. Fuck the train leaves in 25 minutes! Gotta go! The plan is Miskolc-Tapolca, a place famous for its baths located in caves.
Baths + Caves? Oh I am so there.
Two hours later, I’m stepping off the train into the wintry air, and that sinking-I-forgot-something feeling hits me right in the gut. My swim trunks. God damnit! I even brought my towel! The most important piece of clothing on this trip and it slipped my mind!
Note to self: pack the night before. Not 5 minutes before you have to leave.
So I had one more thing on my day’s agenda. Find cheap swim trunks. I’m in a town famed for its baths. How hard can it be?
Three hours later, I’ve walked through the main streets, which are remarkably reminiscent of Poland, and gone to every main shop and chain store I can find, with no luck of finding swim trunks. I even went to a sport shop, and was looking at soccer shorts until the woman behind the counter told me to stop.
What?
Women only!
I look down at the shorts in my hand, and then around the rest of the small store. These are the only shorts in the entire place.
Uh, I don’t care. I need shorts.
No, women only! You are man.
Ok, yes, I’m quite aware of that. But I need to go swimming and I don’t have swim trunks!
All this does is confuse her, which seems to frustrate her, because she comes over to me, takes the shorts out of my hand, and puts them back on the rack.
Women only!
Uhh…
My quest was not going well. My next plan of action was to buy non-descript boxers or briefs and just say fuck it and go in those. But again, no store had any type of underwear. I mean, none. I spent an hour in a mall and nobody had a basic tool of human nature: under garments.
What the hell is wrong with these people?!
I’m at the point that I’ll wear my boxers that I’m currently wearing. They have little hearts all over them. I’m already imagining the looks I’m going to get.
At the last store, the last chance, I walk in and find not only boxers, but swim trunks. On sale! Holy shit, this is amazing. Only problem, they’re all two sizes too big.
Well, better then my heart boxers.
At the baths, I walk in and make an unfortunate discovery: inside the main lobby, on the left, is a sign above that says ‘Swim Suits Available Here’.
Great. That makes sense.
The baths, though. Oh, the baths. They are incredible. It’s a pretty large network of caves, with crazy ceilings of stalagmites or –tites or whatever they are, and most of the time I was wading through the water gazing at the ceilings, expecting to see a drove of bats at any moment.
I can’t really explain these baths. You just have to go. You have to see them, because its one of those things that you need to see to believe. Amazing might be too strong of a word, but they are very cool. After a time, however, I started to notice something odd.
There were couples everywhere. And not just young couples, as per usual in Budapest. This place had couples ranging from the young to the very old. And each couple weren’t just holding hands and exclaiming their amazement at the place they were swimming through.
These couples were going at it. Young and old. The water was like a sex lubricant. Nobody was physically fucking (though I did hear suspect moaning in the Star room), but they might as well have been. I had never seen anything like it. And considering you were swimming in the same water as they, well, you get the idea. Of course, this place is romantic, and would be the perfect place for a couples romp. But I was alone there, and this is during my lull in relationships. Not exactly the right time to see other people, happy as all get out, and going at it like rabbits.
So I waded past an old couple making out under a waterfall, slipped past what looked like two models grinding against each other, and ignored the couple who was doing whatever they were doing while I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to have my own girlfriend in a place like this.
I saw a young family start going up a particular passageway, and I wished I spoke Hungarian. I wouldn’t go up there if I were you, unless you want to teach your little boy about sex early, is probably what I would say. But I let them slip past, and wondered what it would be like to be that little boy again, innocent and not understanding the natural world around me.
There were also thermal baths, which were around 35 degrees Celcius, which is basically a hot hot tub. These were not part of the cave systems, but it didn’t matter at that point. You could release the stress that built up in your muscles just by sitting there, looking up at the tiled ceiling. The couple across from me was releasing something else, however.
After a time, I decided it was time to go, but the place left a mark on my mind. Come back here. With your significant other. I told Jaro and Szilvi about it when I came back, and they took my advice. On their own return from the cave baths, they were glowing.
I suggest you come out here and do the same.
Sometimes these things happen. The walls start to close in, and the world feels like it will snap if something doesn’t change. Soon. Like right now. So I decided to leave the next day. Just go somewhere. Anywhere. I just needed to get out of Budapest.
The next day I’m rushing, trying to get everything together for the train ride. Ok, do I have everything? Yes, I think so. Fuck the train leaves in 25 minutes! Gotta go! The plan is Miskolc-Tapolca, a place famous for its baths located in caves.
Baths + Caves? Oh I am so there.
Two hours later, I’m stepping off the train into the wintry air, and that sinking-I-forgot-something feeling hits me right in the gut. My swim trunks. God damnit! I even brought my towel! The most important piece of clothing on this trip and it slipped my mind!
Note to self: pack the night before. Not 5 minutes before you have to leave.
So I had one more thing on my day’s agenda. Find cheap swim trunks. I’m in a town famed for its baths. How hard can it be?
Three hours later, I’ve walked through the main streets, which are remarkably reminiscent of Poland, and gone to every main shop and chain store I can find, with no luck of finding swim trunks. I even went to a sport shop, and was looking at soccer shorts until the woman behind the counter told me to stop.
What?
Women only!
I look down at the shorts in my hand, and then around the rest of the small store. These are the only shorts in the entire place.
Uh, I don’t care. I need shorts.
No, women only! You are man.
Ok, yes, I’m quite aware of that. But I need to go swimming and I don’t have swim trunks!
All this does is confuse her, which seems to frustrate her, because she comes over to me, takes the shorts out of my hand, and puts them back on the rack.
Women only!
Uhh…
My quest was not going well. My next plan of action was to buy non-descript boxers or briefs and just say fuck it and go in those. But again, no store had any type of underwear. I mean, none. I spent an hour in a mall and nobody had a basic tool of human nature: under garments.
What the hell is wrong with these people?!
I’m at the point that I’ll wear my boxers that I’m currently wearing. They have little hearts all over them. I’m already imagining the looks I’m going to get.
At the last store, the last chance, I walk in and find not only boxers, but swim trunks. On sale! Holy shit, this is amazing. Only problem, they’re all two sizes too big.
Well, better then my heart boxers.
At the baths, I walk in and make an unfortunate discovery: inside the main lobby, on the left, is a sign above that says ‘Swim Suits Available Here’.
Great. That makes sense.
The baths, though. Oh, the baths. They are incredible. It’s a pretty large network of caves, with crazy ceilings of stalagmites or –tites or whatever they are, and most of the time I was wading through the water gazing at the ceilings, expecting to see a drove of bats at any moment.
I can’t really explain these baths. You just have to go. You have to see them, because its one of those things that you need to see to believe. Amazing might be too strong of a word, but they are very cool. After a time, however, I started to notice something odd.
There were couples everywhere. And not just young couples, as per usual in Budapest. This place had couples ranging from the young to the very old. And each couple weren’t just holding hands and exclaiming their amazement at the place they were swimming through.
These couples were going at it. Young and old. The water was like a sex lubricant. Nobody was physically fucking (though I did hear suspect moaning in the Star room), but they might as well have been. I had never seen anything like it. And considering you were swimming in the same water as they, well, you get the idea. Of course, this place is romantic, and would be the perfect place for a couples romp. But I was alone there, and this is during my lull in relationships. Not exactly the right time to see other people, happy as all get out, and going at it like rabbits.
So I waded past an old couple making out under a waterfall, slipped past what looked like two models grinding against each other, and ignored the couple who was doing whatever they were doing while I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to have my own girlfriend in a place like this.
I saw a young family start going up a particular passageway, and I wished I spoke Hungarian. I wouldn’t go up there if I were you, unless you want to teach your little boy about sex early, is probably what I would say. But I let them slip past, and wondered what it would be like to be that little boy again, innocent and not understanding the natural world around me.
There were also thermal baths, which were around 35 degrees Celcius, which is basically a hot hot tub. These were not part of the cave systems, but it didn’t matter at that point. You could release the stress that built up in your muscles just by sitting there, looking up at the tiled ceiling. The couple across from me was releasing something else, however.
After a time, I decided it was time to go, but the place left a mark on my mind. Come back here. With your significant other. I told Jaro and Szilvi about it when I came back, and they took my advice. On their own return from the cave baths, they were glowing.
I suggest you come out here and do the same.
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