24 September 2008: Budapest, Hungary

An airport security guard woke me up at some point to check my passport, and since I was already awake I figured I might as well go up two levels to the food court, where I found comfortable benches, a host of other backpackers sleeping, and a nice little spot for me.

I woke up at just before 5:00 because the airport was coming to life for the day, and there were a couple girls from Galway sitting across the table from me. Like moths to the light, I tell you.

Of course, either I had left Galway two days too early or they were arriving two days too late, but it was nice to have a little conversation at the start of a long day of waiting. Which, since my flight wasn't until 4:00 and I had gotten to the airport at 11:00 the previous night, would have been a very long day of 17 hours in the airport. Ouch.

After the Galway girls left, I went back downstairs and fell asleep four distinct times over the course of six hours. When I woke up for good I finished the ham and bread, which had been supposed to last me until 8:00 that night but was gone by 1:00.

I checked in at the first possible opportunity just to move around a bit, and when I got to the terminal, who should I see but Tobey. I swear to you, I could recognize that face from a mile away, and I know you would be able to as well even though you've never even seen the kid.

It was Down's Syndrome Tobey Maguire, in flesh and blood.

Tobey was on the phone, so I just walked past him and winked, and when I came back to see if he was still there he was gone. I remembered from the night in Galway that he was flying out of Dublin-- although I had thought it was the day before-- and I was pretty sure he was flying to London. So I checked the flight board and went to all the gates that had flights to London. And, mind you, there are four airports in London.

I was going to find this dude.

As it turned out, he was flying to somewhere in Germany. But, as it also turned out, his gate was literally right next to the last London-bound gate. Again, I knew it was him in an instant-- you can never forget Down's Syndrome Tobey Maguire once you've seen him. The droopy eyelids, the big forehead, he sticks out like a retarded thumb.

Anyway, I was really hoping he'd be incensed, but he just shook my hand and wished me safe travels. Hell, we even jinxed on "small world." I coudn't believe it. I asked him what he said since I was terrified that we really had jinxed, and he repeated himself and then smiled. Like he knew he got me.

Because the thing is, you can't hate a man you've jinxed with, you just can't. And this was one of the most perfect jinxes I've ever been a part of. I mean, it was flawless. I was furious. Hell, I almost did "pinch, poke, owe me a Coke" because I was thirsty, but I stopped just in time. I mean, I literally would have had to kill myself if that happened.

Seriously, I was so mad. But, the more I thought about it as I walked away, Tobey had been the least infuriating of the group. He was just really slow, which might have been because he looked like he had Down's Syndrome. Or maybe because he HAD Down's Syndrome.

Anyway, in all the commotion of trying to find Tobey I must have misplaced my boarding pass. My passport still got me on the plane, since the seating is a free-for-all anyway, but the flight attendant had to get the pilot's approval before he let me on.

I started to walk to the back of the plane, but the flight attendant told me to sit in the second row. Later in the flight, when I was writing in my notebook, he asked me what I was writing and then asked if he could check it. Damn. Now I know what it's like to have my civil rights taken away. All I needed was a Qur'an and a burka. What a demeaning experience.

Sitting in the seat next to me, and clearly not a terrorist, was a woman who I tried to have a conversation with. A conversation which went as follows:

me: Where are you from?
woman: I spend last two years in Ireland.
me: Where were you from before Ireland?
woman: No, I am in Ireland only two years.
me: Not FOUR, where were you from befooooore Ireland?
woman: I don't understand, only two years in Ireland.
me: Yes... Well, where were you born?
woman: No, I am only two years in Ireland.
me: OK, I get that, but where were you-- not four, BORN!

In a ten minute conversation we established the fact that she has spent the past two years in Ireland and that she is taking a holiday in Hungary. It was looking like I might be in over my head for the next few weeks.

I had forgotten to find a flight out of Hungary and a hostel in Budapest, the way I had done in order to get past customs in Dublin, but the procedure at the airport went like this: Get off the plane; show my passport to customs; get my pack; leave the airport. The whole process took ten minutes and I didn't say a word the entire time.

In fact, the first word I spoke in Budapest was to an Irish traveler named David, who showed me where the train to downtown was. We got to talking, and when I told him I didn't have a place for the night he offered the extra bed in his hotel room, because his friend wasn't arriving until the next day. Sounded like a plan to me-- save some money and rest.

And, if you're keeping score at home, this brought my free-sleeping streak to 19 days.

For dinner David and I went to a bar where I had my first monetary difficulty in Hungary. The Hungarian currency is called the forint (ft) and one dollar (there's no dollar sign on the keyboard here) is worth 150ft. The menu at this particular bar, and at many places in Budapest in general, had prices in forint and euro. I knew the conversion rate for dollars into either forint and euro, but I was lost with both prices on the page. So I ended up spending 13 dollars on my first meal-- soup and beer, that was it-- in Budapest. Which was about three days of food in Ireland. Ouch.

And not just that, but David was driving me absolutely nuts. When we first got into downtown Budapest, I must have said "Damn, we're actually in Budapest" about five times. And after each time he said "Why are you saying that, it's just like any other European city." Besides for the fact that, obviously, it's not "just like any other European city," what an asshole, Debby-Downer thing to say within half hour of someone arriving in a new city for the first time. I didn't like him almost from the start, but there was a free bed. So I had to suck it up.

Anyway, while we were eating dinner David was grilling me on why I travel the way I do. He kept telling me that I was sacrificing fun in order to have a longer trip and that I couldn't possibly be having as good a time meeting people and staying with them as I would be by staying in a hostel. I tried to explain that, if I have just as much fun if not more by staying with students, how on earth does it not make sense to do that and, therefore, be able to travel for maybe twice as long? I know that the way I travel isn't for everyone, and I don't mind if it isn't for you. But David was literally trying to make me admit that I have less fun than he does, and he just wouldn't let it drop. It was the most irritating conversation I've ever had.

Which includes, incidentally, the conversation we had at the end of the meal. David had gotten a plate of vegetables or something but had left all the onions. He told the waitress to take the plate away, and I jumped in and said that I would eat the onions since I had only had a tiny bowl of soup and some bread, and he started telling me that it's not such a good idea to eat mostly bread and ham and, in this case, onions. I am well aware of this, and didn't mind him telling me, but then he said "If you're so concerned about eating these onions because you're hungry then when does your morality set in?" I hadn't a clue what he meant, so I asked him, and he said "Well, if you don't like that you're hungry, what about the animals that are killed for your other meals?" Oh boy, here we go...

David then spent the next half hour trying to sell me on vegetarianism. Now, the thing about this is that you don't have to sell me on the merits of vegetariansm-- I know all the reasons why vegetarians don't eat meat, and I can understand and respect people making that choice. Hell, when he said "Animals are on the same level as humans," I chuckled a little but I didn't think he was an idiot or out of touch for thinking that. But then he said "Do you support the torture of humans?" and I said that I don't, of course. So he said, "Then why do you support the torture of animals?"

This, my friends, is where he lost me. I told him that I don't go hunting for sport, I don't go to dog-fights, I don't watch horse racing, and whenever I catch a fish I throw it back. But I like hamburgers. And, while I don't support the torture of humans, I also don't support cannibalism. He still didn't catch my drift, so I gave up. It was pointless. And he was impossible.

So we went back to the hotel-- passing a Hungarian-accented version of John Denver's "Country Roads" coming from another bar-- and I fell asleep. In Budapest.