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December
1993. See note at the end.
As dawns blue tinge began to lighten to the Buda
hills, a snow flurry swept across the Danube temporarily
separating me from the Finch who plodded on a few
yards behind me. Onwards on a course that those
accustomed to convoy duty would call random evasive.
Bits of snow caught in the Finches stubble and his
cigar held at a high port had long ago been extinguished.
Fifteen hours before, it had all began when the
usual crowd gathered for an early evening drink
at the Captured Male.
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| It had started as a wake in The Fehér
Gyúrú (V Balassi Bálint u. 27).
The Dog and the Duck had called us together for five
o'clock. I arrived promptly with the hosts and other
characters drifted in and the session swept along
until we had all forgotten the reason for the party.
After a few hours some idiot mentioned food and whilst
half the party traipsed off to trough, the hardy waited
for a big yellow taxi to whisk us off to the Small
Warship. The Fregatt (V Molnar u. 26) is not half
the pub it was year ago, before falling customer numbers
led to price increases, which hardly surprisingly
led to further defections. None the less it is still
a jolly spot and we stormed back a few more pints
before trundling off. As we approached the Ink and
Drink we came across Fudj trying to interview a man
sitting on a bollard. Fudj rushed up to us, waving
his arms in agitation. 'You must help,' he exclaimed
'this is a big scoop.' We looked at the pathetic figure
sitting hunched up. Fudj seeing our disbelieve said
' you must do something he is a bomb.' As one we shrugged
our shoulders and carried on to the Ink and Drink
(V. Király Pál u. 6) which is conveniently
located at the half way point between the Fregatt
and the Irish Cat. A quick snort and we headed for
bedlam. |
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| The Irish Cat (V Múzeum Krt.
41) after nine in the evening is not a place for those
of delicate constitution. Excessive volume of the
rather too good music system, ensures that all conversation
has to be shouted. An acquaintance shuffled up to
me and yelled in my ear 'is it true.' I smiled benignly
and shrugged my shoulders. He nodded and went off
to tell his friends. I called the troops together
and we marched out before we started receiving platitudes. |
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| We trundled on down the road to the
'Tilos' az A where a rock band was working out in
the cellar. More noise to avoid conversation. Suddenly
we saw Kevin sitting in the corner looking morose;
his head was slouched over a bottle of brown ale.
I wandered over. 'Ail up lad,' I encouraged. He looked
up with half a tear in his eye. 'Say nothing' I said,'
its over.' Kevin nodded. I wandered back to the others
who ordered more whisky. The band precluded any further
conversation as the set climaxed and we drank in a
noise drowned silence. Kevin had put the mockers on
things. |
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| The Blues Pub just down the road revived
spirits as Lacki greeted us and thrust drinks into
our paws. We quickly recovered from the meeting with
Kevin, and even managed a few Essex girl stories,
like the one about does she have the light on during
sex, the answer is only if somebody opens the car
door. |
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Once more onto the cold pavement. We
kept failing to catch a taxi as we were not prepared
to be ripped off so we were not prepared to hail a
cab until we were sure of it origins. City, Fó,
Volan was good, Buda and Unmarked were not. Thus we
wandered down the Korut, staring at each taxi and
when it was to late all chorusing 'that one's all
right.' Jones and I laughed at each other, we had
done this before. For the saving to be made it was
silly, but we would not be conned. Thus we arrived
at the neon red high heeled shoe advertising the Gong
Bar (VII Erzsébet Krt. 13). Outside we were
amazed to see a mass of people struggling to loose
their money on the shove half penny machines; people
shovelled coins of all descriptions into the machines
in a desperate effort to dislodge the pile of inferior
coins hovering on the brink, of the chute back to
the punters. A stupid game at the best of times but
well past midnight on a wind and snow swept Korut.
I could not help thinking 'Mad dogs and Englishmen
go out in the mid day sun, but Magyars spiel at midnight
when the snow lays round about.'
Inside the action revolved around a group of relaxed
persons downstairs and up the stairs an overworked
dancer displayed the reason she was working. She needed
cosmetic surgery to get a job in the next bar that
we planned to visit. |
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It did not take long to realise that
the Gong was a rather poor stopping off point, so
despite the protest of the boss, Antal, the Duck,
The Dog, Jones, a couple of well healed consultants,
Curruthers and myself yomped off down the Korut in
search of the end. The end of a wake, a person or
an era only time would tell.
Next week the wake will end.(This was published in
2 parts) |
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| So the wake continued. We trooped off
up the Korut and then down Wesselényi utca
until the twin pink orbs of the sign out side the
Pink Pussycat (VII Wesselényi u. 58) came into
view. With howl of anticipation we upped the pace
so that it was at nearly full gallop that we swung
through the upstairs bar and clattered down the stairs
to the action area. Our party of eight overwhelmed
the small bar area, but despite the protests of the
management we insisted upon staying the bar area and
peering around the corner into the main arena where
scantily dressed ladies dances for a few minutes in
the centre of the room before giving there full attention
to one of the assorted suckers sitting around the
outside, the girl will then perform exclusively for
the gentleman selected. The description of lap dancing
is remarkably accurate. |
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We were peering into the room in turns
when suddenly a voice says 'it's the fat man.' We
all crammed into the gap peering into the corner,
where sure enough we could see the Fat man. He could
not see us because no more than three inches from
his nose the exposed upper body of a well endowed
female gyrated. With his eyes firmly to the front
and his smouldering cigar held firmly down and away
from his side the Fat man clearly was only interested
in one thing. 'My god,' said a voice 'she has got
nothing on.' 'Wrong,' retorted the Duck impersonator,
who was staring fascinated at the scene, 'she's wearing
shoes.' I retired back to the bar and slurped at my
drink. One of the consultants, who had been concentrating
on the scene, came up to me and apologised. 'I've
got to to,' he announced 'this is an emergency.' Off
to October hot, are you,' suggested the dog. 'The
Dolce Vita,' he added to nobody in particular. The
consultant nodded and rushed off up the stairs. The
infantry officer appeared with his glasses steamed
up. 'Well that is something new,' he exclaimed, '
but just as I was enjoying myself she went away.'
'Did you try tipping her?' I asked. 'Yes I gave her
a couple of hundred forint, and she was really quite
sniffy.'
We quickly drank up and all headed for the next spot,
all that is except for the Infantry officer who we
left muttering, 'well how much then.' |
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| So we trundled back to the Korut and
continued northwards falling into bars, often after
a long haggle with the doorman about entry. But normally
once we had persuaded the Neanderthal on the door
that there was no taxi involved and we were a large
party silly door prices were dumped. However each
bar seem to take it's toll and somebody fell in lust.
So by the time we gave up the topless bars in favour
of a little jazz at the Doo-Bop Pub (VI Dessewffy
u./Teréz Krt 38) I was down to a sole companion,
The duck. The final set wailed to a halt. So there
seemed no alternative we headed for the Piaf (VI Nagymezó
25). On the way the Duck kept muttering something
about a step ladder but I ignored him. At the door
of the Piaf the only female bouncer in town greeted
us warmly and gave the Duck a particularly warm smile.
Inside another jolly party started and it was as the
dawn started to lighten the streets outside that we
were gently eased back onto the cold streets. I left
the Duck, but the Finch, who had joined the party
in the Piaf, insisted upon coming with me, for breakfast.
And thus I had headed for Lanchid. |
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| The snow flurries continued as I headed
for the centre of the bridge, The Finch bringing up
the rear finally gave up following me and shouted
something about breakfast. I acknowledged with a wave
and trudged forward. At the centre of the bridge I
looked down at the cold Danube and shivered. I stared
up at the castle and back to the Corso. Not a bad
final view I thought as I climbed onto the side of
the bridge. |
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It was over the Fat man had killed me.
Now it was up to me to complete the process, how could
I live without my alter-ego? I took a deep breath
and braced myself. At that moment from high in the
sky came a scream. I looked up. It was my friend the
tern, from Balaton. He dived down towards me. He passed
so close that involuntarily I ducked. As the tern
swept passed he shouted ' Sam there's no need.'
When I had ducked, my balance altered and then a gust
of wind caught me and the next thing I knew is that
I was heading for the water. I suddenly found myself
looking at the Varkert Casino, outside was a forlorn
looking Fat man; it seemed his luck had run out there
too.
When I disappeared below the surface I contemplated
the restaurants and bars there must be on the other
side. Upon reflection life looked good.
Then just as I was considering the natural urge to
seek the surface, something started to push from underneath
me and I was heading upwards at an alarming rate.
As I broke the surface the Tern dived down 'Sam Sam
the other bank,' he screamed.
I looked towards the Forum and the Corso and there
was another Fat man, but this one beckoned me. Beside
me a large fogash began pushing me towards the bank,
where there was a saviour, dozens of bordellos, hundreds
of restaurants and thousands of bars, maybe mortal
life would be better after all. So until we meet again
(Somewhere else.)
C YA
Note
Budapest Week had been taken over a year earlier
by a Hungarian American. To say things did not work
out well would be an understatement! I had ceased
working as a manager in the middle of the year.
And now he decided he wanted me, arguably the most
popular columnist, to leave. I moved to the Budapest
Business Journal, a move he attempted to stop. Needless
to say he was not impressed with this final article
which ridiculed him in his own paper! |
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