There is no denying that Budapest is beautiful.
The buildings are a mash-up of historical architecture with glossy glass structures peppered in between, Filling the voids that the destruction left behind from World War 2.
It’s steeped in culture and history. Not all of it good, but on paper it’s a lovely place to be.
Ive been in Budapest 3 days now.
And in the 3 days I have been to about 6 or 8 cafes. And in those cafes I encountered my fellow Brits, and this is what I’ve learnt.
Budapest has a homing beacon for stags or hens. I knew that already. But I didn’t consider how that would impact our journey.
Lets start with the fellas.
They are usually spotted in crowds of 12-18 blokes in matching Hawaiian shirts with their mate’s face plastered on them. The guy walking around the square with a Viking helmet on or dressed as a Disney princess.
Now please don’t think I’m the fun police. But these guys start encroaching on all of those around them.
Be it their leering eyes on everything female that walks past like a hungry pack of hyenas or just the volume of how they ask the staff for another round of drinks. And because it’s ‘lads night’ all manners seem to have been left at the airport departure lounge.
They would never dream of acting this way if their partner were in earshot because you know damn well they would feel ashamed.
There are always 2 or 3 ring leaders. Their voices are the loudest. They think they’re a funny fucker and insist everyone participate in yet another round. And for those who don’t, their mission is to humiliate, shame them and call them a pussy.
Within the pack, there are also a couple of lads who are way out of their comfort zone. It’s usually them that are avoiding another shot to be chased down by larger, and if you catch their line of sight, their eyes convey apologies for the thuggish behaviour.
Then there are the girls.
Usually, you would hear them before you see them.
They are dressed to the nines despite it only being 10am. Lycra clings to their bodies leaving nothing to the imagination. They all know they’re gorgeous so their hips sway with sexual energy as they sashay to their table.
From across the street, they seem much calmer. Apart from that one screechy girl whose laugh could shatter glass. But if you get up close enough to see the bubbles in their prosecco you realise their conversations are anything but tame.
Just as the lads clocked them as fresh meat, they too are imagining what the fellas are like. Talking dick sizes and whether they’d let that one into their bed at night.
And you know if they heard guys speaking about them that way they would be oh so offended, and claim victimisation and sexual harassment, but because it’s the other way round its perfectly acceptable.
All of these behaviours I could ignore or forgive. But when you see both parties acting this way within a few feet to the memorial of the men, women and children who were murdered for being born into the “wrong side” its are hard pill to swallow.
By all means travel. But if you do, learn a little of the history from the places you visit, have some god damn respect, and remember you are representing your country.
So don’t be a twat!