January 18, 2008

I woke up in a tiny room at the Hotel Continental, threw everything into my rucksack, and walked out onto the bustling Damrak for my last morning in Amsterdam. I figured I would kill a few hours drinking coffee, reading the International Herald Tribune, and smoking the rest of my Moroccan hashish before I made my way to the train station. My Eurorail Pass would allow me to go just about anywhere in Europe and I had absolutely no preference one way or another. The plan was to walk into the station, look up at the big board, choose a destination, and go.

The French kid behind the front desk at the Hotel Continental had a suggestion.

"Budapest," he said.

"Why?".

"Because Hungarian women, zey have ze biggest breasts in Europe."

"Well, that's an endorsement. How 'bout the food?"

"Teddible."

"Museums?"

"Waste of time."

"So, it's all about the tits."

"Oui."

"OK, I'm in. Should I reserve a hotel in advance?"

"Just go. You will find a place."

He was right. When I got off the train in Budapest I found the tourist window but it was closed. Taped to the window was a sheet of lined notebook paper that had the words Rent a Room CHEAP! written at the top, and at the bottom of the paper a phone number had been written 20 or so times, each with a little cut next to it so you could tear one off and go call the number.

And I did. The phone rang many times before it was answered by a distracted Hungarian woman who didn't seem happy to hear from a stranded traveler with an American accent and head full of hash. I couldn't tell how big her breasts were but judging by her thick and husky voice I imagined them to be gigantic, likely providing ample nourishment for her flock of nipple-chomping urchins, the lucky bastards.

She gave me the address of a house and the number of the tram I needed to catch in order to get there, and then hung up abruptly as though she had just caught a 2 year-old elbow to the cooter.

After a few mistakes that any stoned, red-blooded American dipshit would make in a strange new city, I found the correct tram, followed the streets with my map, and exited at a station that would put me within three blocks of the house. I found it, knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman with the biggest breasts I have ever seen outside the circus. I don't know why I wrote that. I've never seen big tits in a circus. Well, none that I would write home about anyway. OK, I don't know why I wrote that either. I've never written home about tits. "Dear Mom, you shoulda seen the bazooms on this broad! Great mounds of scorpion shit, what an Earth-shaking pair o' dairy bags swingin' in front of that friggin' dame! I'm tellin' ya, ma, how this chick gets outta bed in the morning without a team of handlebar-mustached, weight-lifting brutes wearing wife-beaters, I don't know!" 

So uh..yeah, she had big boobs.

She invited me in to her home (which places her judgment in question) and showed me where I would be staying. It was the smallest room I'd ever seen. There was just enough space for the tiny bed and about six inches of room to squeeze in beside it. I initially couldn't figure out how they even got the bed in there but I guessed that they had brought in the materials and actually built the bed inside the room. Or maybe they built the room around the bed. Either way, the only way to enter the room was to get on the bed.

Since she spoke no English, and I no Hungarian, she handed me a laminated page that contained the rules of the house written in English. No smoking, no drugs, no loud music, curfew 11pm, and no guests, big tits or not. Then she showed me the bathroom, which was the family bathroom and very much in use by the rest of the family. It was only then that I realized that these people were inviting a complete stranger into their home, some scruffy, whore hopper right off the street, and allowing him to sleep in their broom closet for $10 a night. 

That gave me a new respect for them. They were very old world European and the whole feel and smell of the place took me back a few centuries. I loved these folks. She gave me the key to the house and I threw my rucksack on the bed, bidding them farewell, off to explore the city.

Later that night, after many museums, restaurants, bars, and more tits than you can shake a stick at (if that's you're idea of a good time) I decided to make my way back to the house but discovered that I had left the directions to the house, as well as the address, in my rucksack on the bed. I was lost in a strange city and all my belongings were in a closet in a house that I had no way of locating.

I admit I had a moment of panic. Then, I managed to stumble back into the general area of the city where the house was located. I didn't remember the neighborhood but I felt I was getting close. Figuring, a fresh glass of suds were in order to rekindle the fires of memory (which makes no sense on any level whatsoever), I pulled into a bar, ordered a beer and a bowl of goulash, and spelled out my dilemma to the bartender. He knew of a few people who rented rooms but nothing was ringing a bell. I described the extraordinary size of the woman's breasts, but in Hungary that's like saying she had a head with hair on it. Now if I said she had small breasts, that would have narrowed it down.

Then I mentioned the size of the room and the bed that took up all the available space and it hit him. He knew the house I was talking about because his friend's son had helped the husband of the big breasted woman build the bed, and I was right in my guess that they had built the bed inside the room! Everyone at the bar was howling at this story as it was being translated, and many more drinks were shared before I was sent on my journey home with a map drawn on a napkin.

Once I found the house, I realized that I was violating the curfew. I quietly turned the key, snuck in silently and re-locked the door. There was light coming from inside my room. I slowly opened the door and found a large, round Hungarian man sitting on my bed, leaning on my rucksack. He barked something at me in Hungarian and I shrugged my shoulders. Then he wiggled off the bed and came toward me in the hallway. He pointed to the bed and said something that I assumed meant, "Sit on the bed."

I did. He raised his index finger indicating he'd be right back and he walked away. I had no idea what was coming. It didn't look good. He didn't seem pleased with me, what with my walking in after curfew, drunk, smelling of whore (I left out that part of the story). I imagined him coming back with a guest-beating branch to show me what happens to jagoff tourists who don't follow rules. I only half-jokingly thought this. The other half of that thought was that something was about to go down, so I slid my push dagger from its secret compartment in my rucksack and slipped it into my sneaker, just in case things got ugly. You never really know what people are going to do and it never hurts to be prepared.

I heard him coming back and got ready. I concocted a story I would tell the Hungarian police about why I had to stab this fat fuck to death before he killed me. "The crazy bastard went ape-shit, officer, tried to bone me on the bed, I'm tellin' ya, and I bet I ain't the first down-and-out traveler this twisted poop-shooter ever tried to slip the high hard one to, and I bet I won't be the last. I remember when I was an alter boy.." 

It's amazing how fast your mind works in these moments. I already knew what I was going to tell Larry King. 

The door opened and to my surprise he was standing there with two of the largest bottles of beer I have ever seen. He was smiling now, sat down on the bed next to me and handed me one of the beers. He said something in Hungarian and laughed while we clinked bottles and swigged. Then I told him how I got lost and he nodded even though he didn't understand a word I was saying. Then he said something else in Hungarian and I nodded just like he had. 

And we sat there in that tiny room getting drunk and having a roaring good time in a conversation that neither one of us understood. It's one of those moments from my life that mean a lot to me because it never would have happened had I not just stuck my neck out and jumped into the dark, head first.

Life is short. Turn off your TV and get involved.

Copyright 2008 John Bizarre