'dapest I eva had

Buda-buda-best, buda-buda-best. Da pest I eva had, da pest I eva had…

Budalicious. Ridicupest. Budonkulous. BU let the dogs out? Budacris. Take your pick, this trip was unreal.

The weekend adventure really started at O’Malleys the night we were due to leave for The Land of Buda. I wasn’t going to go out—WHY WOULD I GO OUT? We were leaving at 3 am for our 6hr train ride! We’d be out all weekend…with very little convincing I headed out, change jar in hand (ghetto) donning my Malibu sweater (in case barf). I was initially miserable WHY WERE WE GOING OUT!? But then solo-dancing and cute France/Argentinian (wink) and Salzburg Family and making money because change jar and it was a great night…*sentence fragments indicate lazy

Change Jar $$

"Beer Goggles" and free drinks at Shamrock

At O'Malley's

Salzburg Family <3...plus some men

Time to leave for the train station. Cassie Nicole and I are ready, but where’s Laura? I quickly morph into a Golden Retriever to loyally fetch my blonde companion from her room, but she is nowhere to be seen. We have to leave soon…

Frantic footsteps echo up the three flights of stairs to the penthouse, and there in all her sloppy/graceful? glory is Laura, still not packed but determined. In 2 minutes she’s down to her underwear with a toothbrush dangling out of her mouth, 3 more minutes and she’s tying her wedge shoe things (how would I know what they’re called? SHUT UP!) 2 more minutes and we’re walking to the station at once thrilled with our night and bitterly regretting all our decisions.

6 hours later our train arrives in Budapest

Stepping into the filthy streets of Budapest, Hungary-- streets laden with Burger Kings and dog poop, smelling simultaneously of gyros and sewage--Cassie Nicole Laura and I were more than a little wary of this new city that was so dirty compared to Salzburg. All weekend, in fact, I had oscillating opinions on this city, from absolute revulsion at their stupid currency, loathing of their language and abhorrence of their fashion, to a euphoric adoration of their nightlife, a deep and abiding love of their 24-hour subway (veggie delight!) and simple awe at their architecture. This city was so fun but so disgusting (I guess we have that in common…)

BUT WAIT

Our hostel was so. So. Incredible. Cassie had told me it was going to be awesome but nothing could have prepared me for the chilliest, most laidback, international place of absolute magnificence that is RETOX PARTY HOSTEL. Tons of Australians, some Canadians, and various other partygoers were there for the craziest days of their lives. Oh, and I’m pretty sure us four girls made up over half the female population at this hostel, jussayin’.

An Anecdote for Clarification: The F***-up of the week = hostel worker who, well, F’s up. Our first 10 minutes in the Retox bar and this F-up is forced to chug a bucket of dreg…I think it was the third time he stifled his vomit/continued to drink that I realized this weekend could be even more transformative than Oktoberfest—born again in booze. Baptized with beer. A chubby phoenix rises from sober ashes…

Yet another anecdote: TURBULENCE SHOTS. This song, which I have to google as soon as my wifi starts to work, begins a drinking frenzy in which everyone buys turbulence shots, waits for the line TURBULENCE, slams their shot on the table and knocks it back. Music…music…Da-Da TURBULENCE…CRACK!

F.U.N.

This post is impossible. How can I convey the fun…?

OK cut to the mutha-cluckin’ chase: (GAH ‘cut to the chase’ is a TERRIBLE phrase. More on this later)

First Night: Party boat. Down the Danube river after drinks at Akuarium.

Drinks at Akuarium

On the boat everyone got a bottle of champagne. I mean what? Every time the boat passed under a bridge (so, all the time) you were supposed to kiss someone. Leaving it at that. Lots of fancy footwork to avoid leering mouths.

Cassie and I w/ our bubbly

KC...Casey..Kasey...don't ask--Yes, I'm wearing his shirt. No, I'm an idiot and didn't steal it

THE FEARSOME FOURSOME

View of parliament...no big deal

Then we all went to the #1 club of 2011 (forgetting the name/did I ever really know it?) and that is where I DANCED. I cannot tell you how much fun I had dancing with everyone, by myself, with a few people, trying the splits—definitely a highlight. I can’t even tell you…just FUN.

Need I say more?

Slept like a baby in our 12-person room endearingly christened The Love Dungeon.

Google image "Budapest Baths"nothing does them justice. NOTHING!

The most awful of shirts

 Next Day: THE BATHS. Beautiful weather, awesome pools natural and manmade, sauna with ice baths…Nicole and I may have borrowed some French guy’s swim caps so we could race in the laps pool. It was a tie, and according to Laura our performances were incredibly pitiful. But I thought I was Michael Phelps…? Food.






Shopping. I may or may not have bought the.dumbest.shirt.ever. I HATE IT. So stupid, if anyone was wearing this shirt I would make fun of them mercilessly, and yet I purchased it for 5,995 farts, or sighs, or whatever the stupid currency is there. This shirt will live in infamy forever, and I’m sure it will make appearances in future blog posts so BE PREPARRRREEDD!



Then we went on the Pub Crawl with our hostel. So many awesome pubs with so much personality and incredible layouts, and am I really talking about the interior design of a bar right now? But seriously, turf covered walls and funny artwork, models of racing rabbits and giant owls…just awesome. Lots of nice guys and cool girls, free drinks from various gentlemen and great conversation with handsome Aussies. One of them, Luke—aka the most beautiful, intelligent charmer I have ever seen-- riddled me this (GAH STUPID PHRASES):

Luke and I

There are two doors in front of you, one leading to Heaven, the other to Hell. In front of each door is a guard—the guard in front of the hell-door will always lie, the guard in front of the heaven-door will always tell the truth. You get to ask one of the guards one question concerning the doors. What question must you ask?

I’ll post the answer in a comment later, in case you want to think it over like I did.

Cool people, laughing, music, fun, lots of drinks primarily gin&tonics which this guy (whom Cassie and Laura HATED) bought me, let’s not talk about it, and new friends and singing Sympathique with this French girl until I was forced to crawl toward a new bar…

Crawling to a new pub

4 pubs later and I see the perennially sloppy/graceful Laura head out. Morphing again into a chubby Golden Retriever, I follow closely behind her, stealthy and agile, until she says, “I know you’re there.” …Uncanny. Then French boys.directions.WAIT!Kissing.Trying to cop a feel? NO! Run to laura. Hide and subsequently sleep behind a dumpster until parking garage man asks us to leave. *If I type in sentence fragments it doesn’t count. Holding Laura’s hand and her disregarded shoes, I follow the hiccupping blonde back to Retox (note that though I am the soberer of us two, I still rely on her basic sense of direction which I lack entirely). Retox. Laura passes out. Cassie appears—her night, too, had been one for the books. Not even going to relay her successes because a) they far outweigh my own and b) this post is already going to be obnoxious in length/that’s what she said.

Leaving was bittersweet. As the workers applauded us four girls on our way out, and I shot a victorious fist into the air, we realized we would be home in Salzburg, but this meant missing another crazy retox night. *a single tear slides silently down my face while flashes of  Turbulence shots are reflected in my eyes

I am stopping these short weekend trips for a while because they’re expensive and I need to budget…BUT IT’S SO FUN! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!! ONE OF THE BEST WEEKENDS OF MY LIFE!! I can justify debt, I can justify a beer belly! What if I died in a week—wouldn’t I want to die at RETOX PARTY HOSTEL surrounded by wee Nicole, Cassie (Queen of ESP) and the unfailingly sloppy/graceful  Laura?

Some of the bracelets from this weekend...did I really just post this

Oh! I gave a homeless woman some Poofs, Queefs?, Darfs? (STUPID CURRENCY)—this was incredibly wise and incorporated great foresight as the resulting good karma
granted us great weather, crazy fun and absolute safety. Wee Nicole used the most karma this trip, but we were all dippin' into the fund. ...what?

BEAUTIFUL weather <3

Of late, colloquial English phrases have had an unnerving affect on me. Things like ‘bold as brass’, ‘all the rage’ and ‘riding his tailcoats’ just sets my teeth on edge—AH! Even when describing my loathing for phrases I use a terrible phrase. It was on the train back that I realized why I LOVEHATE Laura SO much, she had chanced upon the KING of God-awful phrases: Flying by the seat of your pants.

This post has come to an end because I am so distraught by this terrible, terrible phrase.

Sorry it was such a long one/so centered around alcohol and dancing/literally void of cultural commentary/sorry not sorry <3

I think I know what it's like to have divorced parents now--Budapest was like our dad's house, and Salzburg is like our mom's house--obviously you're going to your dad's for the weekends to get spoiled and eat pizza, but your home is really at mom's, near school, by all your friends.