'I don't understand what young people like about this place. It is crowded, you can't breathe and there is no nice food to go with your beer. I've just drunk a palinka that was so bad that I decided not to drink here anything anymore'.
I felt overwhelmed by this older man's wisdom, being ashamed about my own apparent contentment. I looked around, and indeed, he was right. Big white clouds were inhabiting the pub and I could hardly recognize my friends' faces. Eventually we had to go outside to smoke, because the place couldn't take it anymore. In the cold dark air I started thinking about our standards; how come we preferred a packed old warehouse over a stylish airy lounge? It gave us the feeling we found the heart of the city, that now, we were part of the gang? The dodgier the place, the more we felt alive. When I had recently moved to Budapest, people took me to garages, gardens and old communist cellars- proud to show me the real stuff, where things were happening. Where it was cold, the glasses wet and each time a so called musician was so generous to give a live session, much to the satisfaction of the customers. They were getting it all. The true life, the vibe of the town, the pulse of the city. Tourists arrived with guide books: relieved they finally found what they had been looking for. After an evening in the dirt, they could finally go home.
And there I was. Longing for my warm neat soft couch and immaculate surroundings. Must be something wrong with me...
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