In search of a second wind

The Castle and the Parliament of Budapest are really something to see. The parliaments Neo-gothic, the whole city does look a little like London. I suppose its because they were great at the same time, the Hapsburgs and the Victorians. It took me an age to walk to the citadel, I got disorientated when I got of the underground and walked the wrong way.  All these cities in Eastern Europe seem to be the same, a big castle on hill overlooking the city.

I was walking exploring  some Germans, Kim and Tina, they were on a euro trip. The castle was impressive, but to be honest I’ve seen enough of them, not Germans, castles. The museums are informative, but to be honest, I’d seen enough of them too. I was seeing the sights out of obligation rather than desire, and there are few things in life which are enjoyable under obligation.

I strolled across the bridge to have a look at the parliament, it looked like Westminster but with a dome but that might be because I had read it, or simply because I missed London and wanted to see something that reminded me of home.  That night we got battered and made a meal of salami bread and wine. It was nice,  but the evening rang hollow. Tina and Kim looked like sisters, neither were pretty. They were 25 and 25 respecivly, and respectively a Chef and a sommelier. We had gathered together the last of our Hungarians, about 20 coins coming to a total of just under 4 euros. It was all rather pathetic.

We brought a couple of bottle of wines. I choose a Reisiling and the Germans always wanting a bit of France, went for a Muscat. I'm not really into my sweet anyway.  We brought some bread and Chorizo, Cheese and Bread. It was a personal picnic, and we were ravenous. The wine supercharged our appeteites. I drank the Resiling and went to get a Cabernet Savigon, it was grim stuff, I half expected to pick some leafs out the bottle.

When I came back Kim was arguing with Tina in rapid German about the wine. I couln't follow besides I was drunk.

'Langsmear Bitte!" I chanted, but it did no good. The whole evening was getting a bit much, so I lit up a hungarian cigar, lent back and tried to enjoy myself, but the Hugarian cigar was about as good as the Hungarian wine
.
At some point I must have fallen asleep, when I woke up I could hear the Germans whispering. They had some scissors and were about to cut my hair.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" I cried.

I felt a bit uneven, of kilter, I was searching for a even keel. The situation had all become surreal. I felt groggy with the wine and the cigars. They said in unison.

"We think you would look lovely if you let us cut your hair"

I didn't want them anywhere near me; damn bats. I pulled the last of the wine from the bottom of the bottle with a long slug and a jerk of the head and said.

"Hurrrghhh, Im going to go to bed".

But I didn't though. I was in the doldrums. That night someone was snoring in the dorm and I couldn’t get to sleep. So I went out and brought some night nurse, another bottle of Hungarian wine and drank them. I’d had just about enough of Budapest so left in the morning.

Spirits were down, Id been moving so fast and seeing so many new things that a surly look or smile from a local as I got off a train could determine weather I liked the city or not. The weather could determine my thoughts on the populace, capricious by nature,  transit, and rail transport only compounded my fickle mind. Everything was blurring into one. The cities were becoming similar, the languages the inhabitants spoke all sounded the same and were incomprehensible jibber jabber.

I needed to regroup and re plan, so I headed up to Bratislava chasing a second wind. It arrived , a gust of confidence and Bravado, that was induced by the Sun of Slovakia. I’d meant to be staying for one day, but got a second as the hostel was clean and I was tired. I’d bagged myself a single room for the price of a dorm. As ever there was a castle over looking a city and cobbled streets of the old town were worth a couple of afternoons stroll. I was tightening the budget again so I brought a few packs of salamis and some  bread and had a feast under the castle.

On the second day it was a deluge, the skies  were grey and with the rain the depression descended. I kept meeting travelers who told me horror stories of risky Russians and dodgy poles . I’d met a Australian who had been bottled for his wallet in Warsaw and a Swiss who had had to bribe his way across Russia. I had to man up though, I was being a Pussey. The stories anyone ever tells on the road are the bad ones. The trips which work out fine aren’t interesting.  Still I was a little worried. Id once again built a pyramid of connections to get me up to Riga in Latvia, but this time I could n’t miss any of them . I had to be in Riga on the 9^th to catch an overnight train to St. Petersburg for the tenth and I didn’t want any border issues, so the fear remained; the coward hiding at the back of my mind.