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Shares
Day starts when at 4 am people storm in drunk and stumble upon the door waking me up. Then same with next group at 5 am. They feel like sharing the story of the club they went to with the rest of the city apparently, judging from the volume. Then 6 am. All these roommates’ efforts and I still manage to wake up late. I drink my sad instant coffee as people in the kitchen discuss a toilet paper shortage. The consensus is to add ass hoses everywhere in the world, as when all is said and done you wouldn’t wipe peanut butter from a carpet with paper either ways. Today will be a good day. Time to decide what to do today. There is no plan, there are no rules, the merits of traveling solo. There are also no friends there to talk to, but that has been my story since elementary school, nothing new here. After some personal contemplation and indecisiveness, I rush to St. Stephen’s Basilica to see the panorama. The elevators until up are like a Deadalus construction but, I manage to find the way to the view. They spoke the truth when they said Pest is the flat half of the city. Quite possibly also the best half, contrary to Buda inhabitants’ opinions. Some skyscrapers in the long horizon break the balance of flatness that only the Parliament and Basilica were supposed to break with their 96m symbolic height, rising with a sense of superiority between other peasants-buildings. I head for some fried dough delight called Langos and some hot mulled wine. If they ask, I am fighting the piercing cold. I cross the bridge to Buda. In St. Matthias’s church you can admire among else their porcelain tiles. It does make for some unexpected colorful rooftops and nice fountains that you will not see elsewhere. The porcelain, thermal baths and Empress Sissy are hot topics for every visitor. The same cannot necessarily be said about the ugly big hotel buildings, the political games behind monuments and what happened in WWII. I take another mulled wine and head back to the hostel. Here it costs much more. I run past the formed groups of people smoking on the road and I storm inside the hostel, almost bringing down that inhabitant that walks in zigzags outside, dead drunk at 8pm. On the third graffiti I turn left, then right on the 2nd, and carefully rush in the toilet, passing the toilet with the condom drawing and using the one with the advice on how to cure a hangover. Some of the greatest minds of our times do leave their wisdom on those doors. Common room is full of people getting drunk already so I hop in. A guy is telling us a story on how some drunk peed on him last night and the guys next to him are taking shots chanting “Boat Party, leeesssgo”. Lured by the chants and the “it’s a f*king boat” full proof argument, I hop on. Soon enough, we sail up and down the Danube. It’s middle of the night but close to the bridge and the parliament it becomes like day from the lights. Energy Consumption huh. I chase the parliament along the deck. This hilariously ambitious building meant for a bigger country, this ingenious work of art, this under-guarded gem is one majestic m***cker and I will always associate it with the city. Around me people are dancing and drinking their way into a hard hangover for the next day. I am chilling (and literally chilling) on the deck with my beer. I have not a single care in the world apart from having no hopes, no skills, no money, no better coat, no degree yet and no job. It’s only me, the top of that boat, the drunk guy asking me 567th time my name, my hunger and this magical night. Outside of my boat roof the world is swarming with alarming news of a new virus outbreak. Little do I know this will be the last trip for a long time.