Upon arrival we (Amber and I) were by the lack of signs in English. Most countries thus far have catered to tourists assuming English as a second language or have at least had similar stem words.
Without any form of direction Amber and I jumped on the incorrect train, heading away from the city rather than into it. If we had not gotten lost we would have missed cinder block buildings which have been turned into massive tagging sites. We would never have noticed the carbon-coated windows and scooters smeared with red, blue and green spray paint. We would have left the country thinking of Western Europe, never dreaming of the slight campfires interspersed between rubbish piles. The hovels made of fabric strips and ragged plastic sheeting would not shield a thought from the world. But the people staring at the train as we passed were beautiful. Dressed in brilliant hues what were obviously original styles were clearly functional as well as a status of standing. We hopped off at the first opportunity and darted across the tracks to catch the inbound train; for a second in that confusion I channeled National Geographic in my mind-for one slight girl looked up from the fire she was poking and stared me directly in the eye. Her eyes looked violet.
Once in the city we ran into a group of Canadians who were going caving in the hills of Pest. There was no option but to join them. Our guide was a lanky man wearing a flaming helmet. Follow the flame he told us, and if it goes out back track as quickly as you can because it means we have run out of oxygen. As we crawled along he would call out directions as we army crawled through the slippery wet limestone at the 100% humidity saturated air under the city. “Turn your head about 45 degrees to the right and now slide foreword..” he would call as the ground surrounding us shoot when a train or lorry passed overhead. My eyes told me that it was impossible for my body to fit through such crawl spaces so many times I wanted to despair. Yet each timeI would find myself slithering through, amazed that I was still finding space to inch forward, often propelling my entire body weight with a single hand. Claustrophobia was also a good incentive. The faster I got through these tunnels and to the center, the sooner I could see the sky again. Amber had the time of her life, being short she was able to clamber up places I had to by-pass. She even went through the famous birth-hole at the center of the caves. She was reborn in Budapest.
Once outside I insisted we find the highest point accessible, the battlements in the pouring rain to shake all the dirt off our skin. While there I found a life friend, a hawk. He stepped freely from his trainers arm onto mine, surprising us both. I grit my teeth as his talons bit into the glove on my arm. He balanced well, for I know my arm was not steady.
intrepid trekking 