Ellátó Kert / Cool Tour

We make our way back to our hostel by the basilica medium lit after 5-6 rounds at Szimpla Kert and Karavan. Still early evening so we take a zigzag detour through the surrounding streets looking for a place to buy some gin. A little hole in the wall place fixes us up with a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Back to the giant wooden door of the apartment building, “Do you remember the code?”, “Haha nope. Uhn, guess I do”, up the spiral stairs and over to our mini kitchen to mix up some stiffies. We’re sticking to the lemonade train we’d started at Karavan. Oooh yeah, that’s nummy.

I hit up Emil on the wizzles to see what his status is. He reports that he’s just getting settled at a hostel nearby and wants us to let him know where we end up. McBurger remembers the Chilean Chica from check in told us about another ruin bar she liked in an old meat packing plant. Alrighty, things are coming together. Think I’ll freshen up with a tiny Rammstein concert.

Fresh flamed and a few Bombades, we’re feeling spry. Dust off the ol’ kickers and spiral back to the ground floor. Our route takes us by the ferris wheel we’d seen from the roof of the missile silo.

Not too many people out and about. It’s a Tuesday and a hint of mistiness in the atmosphere. We find the ruin bar CC told us about, Ellátó Kert. You have to walk through some plastic meat curtains to get into the place.

We strut through the plastic and into a large open courtyard. Holy fuck, they are cranking Rust in Peace era Megadeth in here. Well well, Hangar 18, I know too much. We take a brief look around and then straight over to the bar. An Aussie rocker dude hooks us up with some devastatingly stiff G&Ts. “There y’ar boys!” Ooof, there w’ar indeed.

Grab a seat and start yell-singing to Run to the Hills. I get a message from Emil. He wants to join up but is afraid he might not get in because the drinking age in Hungary is 18. Ahhh those days of sneaking into places and drinking underage… “May I come join you?”, “If course man <Giant thumbs up>”, “Let’s try if they let me in”, “Yep. Just walk in. No bouncer or anything”, “Nice! I’ll be right there.”

MacKay gets another round of G&Ts before the kid shows up. Three this time. Pheewf! Themz strong. This Aussie bartender is not fucking around. Emil busts through the packing curtains and we call him over, “Hey Ass Antlers! Over here!” He’s laughing as he walks up. MacKay hands him the drink, “Ahh you guys are legends!”

We drain some drinkins, mean mugging and singing. What up playaz?

Emil is a good lad. Smart and funny. A good mix of dorky and wannabe-dangerous. Kind of naive, but he’s all young with tons of time left. MacKay and I give him some top shelf advise for free because we’re old and wise and drunk and know everything.

We get a couple more rounds of insano Aussie gins and Emil is having Hostel Blues flashbacks, “No no this is crazy. Are you guys like this all the time?”, “Only on Tuesdays!” Actually he’s right, we are fucking gooooooned. Got enough ginergy to power the Elektrotecknikai Muzeum.

We also haven’t eaten anything since the Langos at Karavan. Why the hell didn’t I demolish that Goulash Station?! “Wanna move on to the next place?”, “If are able to move, sure.”

We start to aimlessly ramble. Hard to work the digimap in this state. Ohhhh pizza. Pizza? Oh yeaaah, pizza.

This girl is totally out. Maybe she’s on the same path as us, just an hour ahead.

We dump pizza in our pie holes and drain some Heinies. We’re trying to line up the next spot but there aren’t many options available. It is late on a Tuesday. Emil is plastered, “What should we do?”, “Flip on the Bardar”, “Flip on the Bardar? Does that mean something?”, “Nope, follow us.”

We’re back outside and there’s nobody around. The boys are blundering about but still the Bardar blips us to a cocktail club called Cool Tour. It’s small and lame and not worth mentioning. But it is also open, filled with locals and serving drinks. Three G&Ts pretty please.

So mugly

Two rounds of these and we’re about over Cool Tour. Could be the lame adult contemporary tunes. Could be our slurry and tangential conversations. Eyes and minds out of focus. But Emil still has some spunk left in him and a bead on a possible late night club. Fuck it, we’re in. 

McBurger and I wobble through the streets slopaturated with gin, following an underage 17 year old Austrian we just met in Slovakia to an after hours club in Budapest #LivingOurBestLives

It’s closed. “Noooo fuck! Sorry guys”, “Ahh good try Ass Antlers. It is a Tuesday”, “The site said it was open”, “No worries. More pizza?”

Yeah fuck it, let’s get more pizza. At least this place is still selling beer.

The Track Suit Pizza Girl really works the sauce for us. I don’t even know what it is but I ask her for a shit ton of it.

The moon is high, the streets are dead and we’re full of gin and pizza. We thank Track Suit Pizza Girl and flurff our way out.

“My hostel is just down here”, “Alright we’ll walk ya”, “No, no it’s ok guys”, “It’s on the way dude”, “Yeah and you’re an underage drunk hahaha”

We get to the hostel and give Emil a big hug/tickle fight goodbye. “Thanks guys, that was fun!”, “Ya man. Let us know if you’re up for anything tomorrow”, “I don’t know if I actually ever want to see you crazy Canadians again”, “Fair enough. Tomorrow then.” Swell little fucker.

Walking the empty streets home and we’re the last ones up in Budapest. We track the dome of St Stephen’s Basilica back to the giant wooden door to our apartment building. “You remember the code?”, “Nope”, “Ha! Me neither.”

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