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The sun is blazing and I'm waiting for a tram. Where do I stand?

a) Out in the open
b) Under the shelter
c) Across the road in the shade of a tree

The answer, of course, is either a) or c) but never b). Why? Because there are no shelters at tram stops in Budapest. Well what's that then?

That, my poor fool, is not a shelter.

Shelter is one of man's basic necessities, along with food, water and oxygen. If you had to rely on Budapest's "shelters" for shelter, you'd be in worse shape than if you relied on Jean Michel Jarre's "Oxygène" for oxygen.


I interviewed the Minister of Transport and he explained: "My mate owns a glass and plastics company." *

*Clearly, I made this up.

Andy Sz.

In Budapest almost anything goes. Almost.

It's a laid back city, with ruin bars, people drinking beers in the street literally at all hours of the day (I've seen dudes on their way to work, 6:45, open beer in hand), and enough dog poop and people puke on the sidewalk for people to step en masse. However, there is one place where a plethora of distinct rules presides: THE TROLLEY BUS.

Phantomly smoked cigarettes have been banned from all trolley buses since the '56 revolution.

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Dogs whose noses have just been covered by Spider-Man's web are exempt from all laws and are allowed to board without a ticket.

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If you're trying to transport that car door and you're caught: 1 million forint fine. Shit's serious.

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Farmers are prohibited from drinking from long-neck bottles while the trolley bus is in motion. Cans are okay.

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Single, double, and quadruple ice cream cones are in fact permitted, but three scoops: a definite no-no.

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If a dispute over a seat occurs, the only legal way to resolve it is to do that old baseball bat 'hand over hand' game.

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Kids and cops alike: please silence your walkie-talkies, it's distracting to the driver.

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Runny nose? Don't you dare even think about grabbing for that tissue.
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Don't say we never warned you...



-Jacob P.

Hungarian State Opera
Andrássy út 22 [map] [tickets]
Tel. 331 2550
Pest Centre, Opera (M1), 1 min

Alright? I went to see an Oprah, wiv singin' n'that at the Oprah house. I fought Oprah was well gay an if my mates knew I was goin’ to that kind of thing, they’d say I was losin’ it. But the missus wanted it and so I gave it a go.

So all the toffs and students were all wearing suits and sparkly dresses an that, an I was wearing a t-shirt but it was ok. But the thing was, I had to leave my coat at the cloakroom, an that cost like 140 florints, which they should of just put on the ticket because you have to leave it. Know what I mean?

We was up near the top because the seats up there was much cheaper than in the main bit but I reckon it was better cuz you could look round the room which was well posh: all gold stuff everywhere, like for the Queen or Puff Daddy. Maybe in one of the boxes, she would of sat in there wiv Prince Phillip on one side and Puff on the other. Ha ha! That would be well weird.

But that would of been loads an I reckon it's not much different an even we paid 3500 florints each for a ticket when we could of paid 400 florints - when you could of sat not anywhere but it would of been the same. But don't buy any drinks because wine was like 1200 florints for a glass an you can't take it in with you. Rip off! You're better off getting a coke, which was 350 florints, an then just getting drinks somewhere else later.

So this one was called Anyegin or somethink like that an it was in Russian, which I knew because when the scoreboard said "Nem, nem, nem" the men in the Oprah sang "Nyet, nyet, nyet" which was "No, no, no" in Russian. I didn't know they had a scoreboard like that at the Oprah! Shame it was in foreign.

So I didn't know what was happenin' half the time because I don't read these old stories where people fall in love an then they end up killing each other and that kind of thing. Not exactly modern is it? So it would of been a bit better if I'd looked at the internet before we went.

But the good thing was that they put people in different colours. So there were two couples: a red one and a white one, and the girl in the white one was with this guy in the white and he didn't like her as much as she liked him. But the red ones liked each other but they had a party an the white girl got off with the red guy an then they did a big stand-off, like in a Western, and the red one got shot. But in the end, the white one wasn't happy either because the girl that he didn't like at the start didn't like him anymore but he liked her. She wasn't worth it, mate!

Anyway, so it wasn't that real but they had a big square stage that tilted and moved round, and these bits that kept floating over - so it didn't look the same all the way through. And, of course, they were singing all the time - an they were good singers - if you like Pavarotti or whatever! The orchestra was there at the front too. Imagine if they done that for films.

So it was ok in the end. It didn't go as slow as I thought and it was better than the time we went to the ballet. The room is worth it and it was ok if your girlfriend wants to go. You only have to spend 400 florints each and you can still see. Anyway, I can say I've done that now, an everyone at work's gonna say "You went to the Oprah?" And I'm going to say "Well, man of the world, my friends, man of the world."
Opera
Oik Sz.

What's that? Gyros. Looks like a kebab to me. Yes, it is, they call them gyros here. Have you ever wondered what's in it? Well, it's meat and salad in a pitta, isn't it? Is it? Isn't it?

Gyros takeaways are everywhere in Budapest. They serve at any time. They're cheap. So what's the catch?

You're going to die! (No kidding.)

My name's Andrew and I used to be addicted to gyros. I gave it up about 6 months ago and I've never looked back. [Applause.] I called them gyrosh, for a while, thinking that Hungarians did that. They don't. I never thought they were healthy. It's just, at 4 o'clock in the morning, when the alcohol abuse stops, the stomach remembers its primary purpose, and there aren't that many alternatives.

I gave up gyros because I came to notice that, more often than not, I didn't like it very much. For a while, I thought I was just getting a dud here and there, and it's certainly true that quality varies. But I eventually realised that when I was kind-of sober, and the meat was chicken, it was just too greasy; and if the meat was, well, whatever the brown one is, it was just too... not that much like meat.

Which raises the question: what is the brown one exactly; the 'meat' gyros? I mean, it goes without saying that anything called 'meat' without specifying which meat, could be anything. But perhaps it's not that they don't want to tell you but rather that they can't!

Not surprisingly, I'm not the first to consider this; click here for more extensive research.

The final straw was that Andy T kept going on about this article in The Guardian. Just in case you can't be bothered to follow the link, the key phrase for me was:

"Eating two a week could cause a heart attack within 10 years."

Yikes!

Now, that's a worst case scenario, clearly, and one relating to someone who eats "pie and chips and fried breakfasts as well." Now I'm not that big on pies but I do occasionally have a fried breakfast. How many years does that give me, I wonder?

Sorry gyros, we can't be friends anymore.
Tessék?
Igen, I think you heard me right. I said, "Szeretnék egy falafelt!"

Andy Sz.