Ein Mas bitte! (But if only you're seated at a table)

Then you might be lucky enough to meet a girl like this:

And then join the other orderly Oktoberfesters swaying on the picnic tables to Bryan Adams, Queen and David Hasselhoff played by the lederhosen band.

And check out the sweet fraternity/Nationalist sashes and try to persuade one of them to give theirs to you. No luck there.

Even with the irresistable wiles of charming peasant (if rather post modern) girls.

Meanwhile, some boys seriously Mas-ed up by a tent.

While we remained inside making friends with the awesome waitress who swooped back and forth with ten Mases seemingly perched on her apron.

Pastel dirndls and burly beer mugs - a pleasingly off-kilter sight.

Kissing and dancing with strangers seemed to be the order of the day after the 4th litre. Until the security people threatened to throw us out for doing twirls and dips on the walkway.

Yes, I know.

Raging riots - DOWN WITH...erm...ANYTHING!

Well. They sounded pretty raging from all accounts. Fire bombs, blazing cars, skinheads worried about getting their hair wet. I haven't gone down there myself to look at it. A smattering of overheard Hungarian reactions:

That fucking twat should resign! (the Prime Minister whose colourful tirade lambasting the government's pitiful performance over the last few years got 'leaked')

I'm so ashamed of Hungary.

This is the new REVOLUTION, reflecting the Hungarian people's will!

They stormed into the building and then... what? They decided to steal some money from the snack bar and eat some of the cakes?

I think the PM's made enough money and is trying to do the noble thing now.

I just wanted to go and join in the action man.

Everyone's just gagging for an antithesis to all the pervasive antipathy nowadays. I say, if you want to do the mob thing and go nuts yelling and venting, go to a Rammstein concert or something.

Right now I'm just mad that my weekend hangout has been defaced and will probably be surrounded by police tape.

Budapest is below you

In the Nyugati underpass, there's an aerial map of the city laid down on the floor. It's a busy place, and commuters criss-cross each other over it, zipping through the clumps of people all looking as if they're trying to find their contact lenses. There are little round stickers scattered throughout the map - this dot is me.

Most people clump around the city centre, but some wander off to the green outskirts and shuffle along the edges where the factories are. Seems ironic that the underpass is a place for the homeless to sleep, especially during the cold months, and at the moment everyone's looking for their homes there.

The start of wine evenings again. Did I say the start? I meant the perpetuity

On Wednesday, we went to the wine festival up in the castle district. Every year it's more expensive, and every year it's harder to find decent wines for fewer than 4 tasting tickets (my favourite turned out to be what's considered French table wine - low maintenance am I). But the atmosphere is unbeatable, with sweeping, lit-up views of the city below. Later in the night, a bunch of big-bellied men wearing moustaches and wine glasses niftily hanging from their apron strings broke out into song accompanied by accordion. Singing sommeliers?

Instead of going to the wine festival again yesterday, we opted for a wine bar just below the castle where we had a nice Cabernet Franc grown by two Dutch guys with the help of Tiffan, accompanied by smoked goose, mangalica and trout. A very civilised evening indeed. Which, in keeping with the classy tone, we then followed up with pints of beer and Lucky Strikes.

Now, I can't stop listening to Camille's Le fil. The production quality is amazing, and the clarity and timbre of her voice is mesmerising, especially when she doesn't quite hit the notes at the bottom. There's very little instrumentation - some horns, African drums, bass - the rest of it as a cappella, with all kinds of sound effects. And there's a tone that runs through the whole album; a bit gimmicky, but maybe that's why the album is so lulling.

Deaths in Bratislava!

Just kidding. Because of the recent anti-Hungarian/anti-Slovakian sentiment surrounding the new government in Slovakia, we were duly warned about speaking Hungarian in Bratislava or risk being lynched. Admittedly, we let loose a few stray bocs-es, but surprisingly remained unscathed. In fact, at one point we passed a whole FAMILY of Hungarians and the passing Slovaks were generous enough to allow them to eat their ice creams sans carnage. Amazing.


We almost missed the train, thanks to a marathon and an archaic ticket system (as the guy behind the counter started handwriting the ticket and asked, "Which train?", I couldn't help but blurt out "The one leaving in 5 minutes?!"). We just made the train and spent the trip chatting with a guy in our compartment who's just finished making a film he wrote in English and got translated into Hungarian which he then filmed in Romania, speaking neither of the latter of languages.


The town centre was predictably lovely and swarming with tourists. Highlights included painted toy soldiers and a medieval blade-throwing game. And meeting a perv.


The day ended with beers to fend off vicious mosquitoes.


Even those of us who didn't get bitten at all.