Endings and the decline of my pocket book

We whipped through Budapest and left our mark in Forint (the country's currency). Know why? Oh ho ho. Just wait. I shall tell you why. But first the good stuff, which most always outweighs the unexpected:

Budapest is hoppin'. It is large and metropolitan. If I had ever been to New York City, I might try to compare the two. Andrea and I had the pleasure of walking wide boulevards lined with countless cafes and really huge green trees that swept their shadows shyly down on us. People walk around with lots of tiny dogs that don't bark and cones of gelato dripping down the arms. It can really make a girl jealous.

We went to see a ballet version of The Taming of the Shrew. The costumes were flamboyant and of course, the dancing impressive. we also stepped into a small bar for a while to hear some students who were playing traditional hungarian music. we each got a glass of wine and sipped very slowly so that we could listen for as long as possible. it was a homey little place where both families and students and couples sat around chatting in a pleasant reddish light on a saturday night.

And! On our final day in the city, we visited the public baths. they are in this beautiful complex/plaza of a large yellow cathedraly building--somewhere you can picture the elite going to wash during the 19th century. they are warm and apparently come from a natural spring that the baths are built on. every so often, a current would erupt in a circular part of the bath, and oldies and children would be carried around the pool, laughing like idiots. but you really have to laugh like an idiot when you can't control your body 's movements in a circular pool, and you're flung against a flabby brown-hand-bag-looking old man as your whirl around. it's fun, really.

Also. As we've been doing in most cities, we attempted to decode the metro system in Budapest. Up until Budapest, we discovered that, while you're supposed to buy a ticket each time you get on a tram or metro, no one actually checks to see whether you have one, or whether it's been validated. We felt confident in this observation, and sometimes "forgot" to buy passes in our rush to see the cities. But oh, Budapest, how you slapped our hands for these mistakes. Your retaliation--it was smart and great...

The first chastisement came on the second day. Whenever you get off the metro in Budapest, you are greeted by about three or four burly men with name tags, who proceed to check your ticket. Your ticket must coincide with the sort of trip you're taking: do you plan on transferring metros? then you best be in possession of a "transfer ticket," OR ELSE. of course, as i said before, our past experiences led andrea and i to believe that these rules were not really enforced, and sort of a joke. so imagine our surprise when two 4-ft old ladies (yeah--obviously we managed to get caught be the two most non-threatening metro security guards in the city) stop us when we get off the metro and demand our tickets. they look at them for a while and then, with grimey little grins (i swear, they were excited) of power, they each pull out a piece of paper and begin writing us up for not having transfer tickets.

"6000 forint, please. six. thousand. fine. wrong ticket."

Six thoouwhaaa? That's a hefty 30 american dollars that we each had to hand over. and as we're grumbling and digging through our purses, cursing our luck, other normal Budapest folk are slipping off the metro un-checked. perhaps our enormous travelling backpacks gave us away. but either way, it sucks to hand over "6000 forint, please" when you're living off of bread and cheese as a way to save monies. lesson learned. Right?

WRONG. fast forward two days. we think we are clever for getting a head start on catching the metro back to the hostel (the metro closes kind of early). but we're having trouble buying tickets. none of the ticket machines work, and there are no ticket windows open. the place seems deserted, and we're not sure what to do. obviously, we're trying very hard to do things right. we wander around and take the escalator down to the metro stop where they check tickets, hoping to buy some there. however, we are greeted by two of the creepiest looking security guards who immediately begin grilling us.

"where are your tickets?"
"sir, we tried to buy some. none of the machines work. can we buy some here?"
"information desk is open. no ticket, you must pay the fine."
"but SIR. we tried to buy some, honest. we're not trying to sneak on."
"this is private area for ticket holders only. pay the fine."
"but SIR! we'll leave! we were only trying to BUY SOME TICKETS. you can't be serious. we don't have enough money for the fine. can't we just go back up the escalator?"
"passports please."
[at which point we both get really upset. my strategy is to begin crying, and andrea's is to begin arguing.]
"you can't call the police. we haven't done anything wrong."
"you must pay the fine."
"come, ON! we'll leave! this is absurd!"
"we're not paying your stupid fine."
[at which point, burly #1 turns to burly #2 and says ominously, "call the police". ]

after a few more angry attempts at getting out of the fine, they send burly #2 with us to a cash machine, so we can pay their stupid fine. andrea and i continue to freak-out, at a higher pitch. the f-word is thrown around far too often. andrea huffs and yells while i frantically try to calm her down by suggesting the very real possibility that we could get in big trouble over a stupid metro ticket.

finally, we pay the guy, who actually looks really scared and disturbed by our crying and our yelling. it's really weird--one of those situations where you can see on someone's face that under different circumstances, they might let us go. but they have to follow directions. his bottom lip trembles as he gruffly handles our passports.

we hand the money over with a slap, and andrea's parting shot [bless her] is: "look at you. you're not even wearing a uniform. you're wearing a flipping jean jacket."

so much for schooling this metro system. luckily, the long walk home was accompanied by more giggles than tears. it was kind of easy to laugh off, maybe because we had tried to stand up for ourselves. maybe because we hadn't really done anything wrong. maybe because, that's the sort of stuff that happens when you're a long way from home.