Halloween: I Regret Not Going To Bed

I could have, I should have, I didn’t

Denise Kendig is wondering if we have any Halloween regrets.

Well, since you asked, yes I do. Last night, I joined a “Ruin Bar Pub Crawl with Entry Tickets”. I forgot about it being Halloween, but two Irish girls, two American girls, and odd assortment of others hadn’t. The tour started at 9.30pm and finished at 2.30am! I thought I might make it to midnight.

The one Irish lad whom I came to know as Santa as when I lost everyone else I could still find him - that’s until we reached the last “bar” which is actually a maze of bars, dance floors, and games rooms, on various levels.

It was after 1am when our group descended on Füge Udvar and were escorted straight through thanks to a stamp we had on our wrists. Hundreds of people were queueing outside in a line that snaked down the whole block and around the corner. There must be something good inside!

There wasn’t. More loud “music” and I mean a deafening cacophony — if I listened carefully I could hear the original song, more “dancing” and I mean jumping in one position pumping your arms in the air, but the worst thing for me was the “pushy shoviness”. I was knocked off my feet more than once but didn’t hit the ground due to the close proximity of my fellow pub crawlers.

A young German gentleman took my hand and helped me down some stairs with no hand rail at one point. I thanked him and kept looking for my buddies. Eventually I gave up and climbed up in to a cloak room. I figured if I followed this line in the opposite direction, I’d eventually find my way out!

Out of nowhere, my German gentleman materialised and asked if I wanted to leave. “Yes, please.” He took my hand and steered me to the exit. When we arrived on the footpath, there were a million (exaggeration, but lots) of people getting out of Bolt Taxis. The German guy starts telling me how careful you have to be with taxi drivers. I was only half-listening as I was trying to call a Bolt.

He was asking me how long I was staying in Budapest and what was I planning to do in my remaining days. He advised the Synagogue was worth a visit. He looked at my phone to check the number plate I was looking for. He hailed the correct Bolt and opened the back door for me. At this stage, I thought he was going to hop in with me to “make sure I got back to my room safely”. He was young and clean cut and very good looking in an old-fashioned way. He wore pale slacks (not jeans) and a nondescript collared shirt. A little too much a proper young gentleman? And not inebriated at all! I shut that back door quickly and didn’t worry about the seat belt. He had seen the address my Bolt was taking me to, as it turned out, a couple of hundred metres down the road. I must have walked far from bar to bar because where I was dropped off was at least a couple of kilometres away.

I jumped out of the Bolt, thanked the driver, and entered into the courtyard of my building. I fumbled around with the entry code on the door, and then made sure it locked behind me. It’s easy to sneak in on a still swinging door. I’ve done it on a number of occasions when people have been exiting.

Up to my hotel, the lovely receptionist let me in, gave me my room card, and I almost ran straight to my room. I haven’t worried about pulling the blinds down. I’m not an exhibitionist but I really don’t care if someone’s desperate enough to be a peeping Tom. I pulled both blinds down thinking the courtyard is an open space and if he saw me, he’s know which room to climb up to. No, I wasn’t drunk, not even a little tipsy. I had really put the wind up myself - again - so couldn’t go to sleep.

Why wasn’t I even a little tipsy, you may ask? After all it was a pub crawl. I had paid $33.61 for the tour plus 3800HUF cash (which one of the American girls kindly paid for me as I had no cash) plus I spent $28 buying myself a drink because the only choices were beer or beer. I was looking forward to the “shots” and envisaged Cointreau, Frangelico, Limoncello, or even a home-made plum liqueur, but not the most disgusting homemade vodka I’ve ever tasted. Honestly, I’d rather drink dishwater! So after the first one, I gave the rest away to the Irish girls. Those Irish will drink anything! 😉

So now you know why I should have skipped Halloween and gone straight to bed.