Our guide met us at the Deak Ferenc Ter. Metro station.
Tall, with a scraggly ponytail, this dude had rugged scars running up his left
cheek. He seemed friendly, but at 5’3” standing smushed on the tram next to
him, I couldn’t stop looking at the empty piercing clear through his nose, in
between his nostrils. We got off the tram in a far, far away place, seemingly
beyond city limits, where the air echoed of angry dogs barking and everything
looked gray between the snow and the dozens of factory stacks billowing out
soot.
Welcome to Budafok. Yes, Budafok. Pronounce it however makes you happiest.
After a half hour hike through misery, –
I mean, snow – I felt more unhappy than I have in weeks. Every step in my
soaked-through boots felt like I was squishing tiny icebergs with each of my
angry toes. When we finally arrived at the wine cellar, I wanted to call a cab
immediately to the hostel. I wanted out. I was a broken woman. Thanks to some
really great friends, a vest, and a mysterious Hungarian lady who stole my
boots and returned them dry, all is right again in the world. I even vaguely
enjoyed the tour through various wine mazes, deep under limestone bedrock.
Mold everywhere, different flavors age in the musk, the tour only further
proved to me that wine is somewhere between art form and really dirty, old
stuff.
We were seated in a beautiful but rustic cavern for a lunch
prepared by a chef who reminded me of the Beast mid-transformation to a prince
from Beauty and the Beast. He also poured us each five glasses of wine during
this meal, each explained by our original tour guide. We looked at the lines
and legs and whiffed the scents and swished the taste and pretended to kind of
get it. I sat with a cool crew of sophomores and enjoyed the bonding experience
as I ate another portion of fried cheese, the main vegetarian food of this
great beefy nation.
When we cabbed back, five hours later as promised, I set
myself on a mission to buy new boots. A kind freshman agreed to shop with and
ultimately spotted the killer deal at the North Face store that led me to
purchase a pair of everything-proof boots that will make me indefatigably adventurous
in my continued adventuring. Or so I’d like to think.
On some level, these boots proved magic because some
comrades noticed my mood was remarkably better, possibly opposite the broken
woman of the early afternoon. Shoes can literally make or break a woman. A
worthwhile investment, no doubt.
We took a beautiful boat tour of the Danube, complete with
silly voiceovers on an audio guide and champagne. The lights and monuments and
bridges connecting Buda and Pest make the dynamic duo a true contender for prettiest
at-night city.
After the cruise, we were in need of some grub, but 11 p.m.
dinner is a bit late even on the European mealtime watch. Luckily, the
TripAdvisor app helped nine of us locate a new-age Hungarian spot near an
intensely touristy main drag. I had some salmon, my first major protein of the
day, along with a delightful pumpkin-spinach soup. And, I yummed all the way home, into my
pajamas, and into my bed to catch up on four days of blogging.
I’m halfway through this leg of the trip and almost home.
Home is a funny thing. Today at our endless lunch, we were
singing a folksy indie song with lyrics I sometimes nomadically and poetically
feel the lyrics are true: home is wherever I’m with you – my travel buddies
have made this trip so amazing and I can only be excited for the rest of the
week’s adventuring.
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