Binge Traveling

If you looked closely, you could spot them everywhere - little tokens of unity, little insignias, little parts of a crowd, that was scattered around the city at day, but would come together at night, to the pounding beats of music. I would have never noticed them, had I not be wearing one myself - a green bracelet on my right wrist. It was a day when feeling unique was not nearly as good as feeling like a part of a whole. I would have never been included, had I not decided to forego my itinerary and see where the brightest Hungarian city leads me itself.

I was trying to find a place to stay for over an hour, dragging a suitcase over street curbs on Rákóczi street just high enough to make a loud thump, counting each block of pointless search. I was rewarded by the best hostel one could ever find in a city desperately trying to sell itself to tourists: the one without a sign on the door, hidden from the busy crowd, barely reachable by a squeaky spiral staircase. The owner could have easily advertised it as a place with a best map selection in the whole of Budapest: he proudly laid numerous options out for me, like a numismatist proud of his rare collection. I got his attention by telling my story of bravely getting lost in the very centre of the city all alone with my suitcase (he didn't need to know I am used to this type of traveling, did he?), and suggested giving me advice on the places that were really worth seeing. "Well, after the festival, of course", he added, adjusting his huge square glasses. "You did come for the festival, right?"

This was when the city changed for me. I planned on going for a walk along the strand, taking myriads of pictures of the lacy intricate Parliament building, climbing up the hill and try capturing the Széchenyi Chain Bridge in a new way that does not come up immediately after someone googles it. Instead I only returned at night, to an empty, busless city, seemingly only populated by people who wear the green bracelets and sing the same songs with you along the way by the Parliament, the Bridges, brightly lit and enormous from the point of view of a tiny person. From thw point of view that would never be repeated in any photo, only in vivid memories and reflections in the water.