Whitney Almost Spends The Rest Of Her Life In Hungarian Prison

To clear up any worries, the title of this blog post includes the word "Almost."  I am not, in fact, typing this blog entry from a dirty Hungarian prison cell that I share with a toothless drug dealer named Angyalka.  Thank goodness.  But it was a close call.

(And lest you think the following episode made me dislike Hungary, it's just not true.  I had a lovely time, and we looked at castles and parks and statues and giant sand timers, and we ate bread and cheese and apples and played with dogs and fell asleep in the park.  It was truly fantastic.  My camera battery also died, but I took twelve pictures!)

Baaaaasically, here's the story.  We spent the weekend in Budapest and were getting ready to schlep ourselves to the train station to go back to Vienna on Sunday night, but our 24-hour transportation passes had expired about an hour earlier.  So we found the nearest ticket machine, bought one-way tickets, and took the subway to the train station.  We were kind of surprised that no one checked our tickets before we got on the train (there's usually someone at the entrance to the subway station), but we didn't think much of it.  

Before I continue, let me tell you a little something about the subway stations.  They are really, really, really low underground (the Hungarians being understandably paranoid about nuclear bomb attacks when they were building them), so the escalators have to be really long.  They are also incredibly steep and incredibly fast-- riding them is slightly terrifying.  I am always scared that I am going to misstep on the first step and tumble all the way down to the bottom, or fall backwards from the top and cause a domino-effect disaster of epic proportions.  Only adding to the sense of vertigo is the posters, which are posted sideways on the wall.  Plus, the escalators are brown, loud, and smell like Communism.  

So imagine my surprise when I found out that, after this terrifying escalator ride, there were still trials left to endure.  Turns out, the clever little Hungarians like to issue surprise attacks at the top of the escalators.  When we finally got to the top of the massive beast, there was a line of about four Official Train Ticket Checker People doing what they do best.  I, naturally, showed my (completely legitimate, purchased, and non-expired) ticket to one such Checker Person and went on my merry way.  Well, I tried to go on my merry way.  

"Honknknfnyz!" he said in his scariest Hungarian accent, frowning and holding out his hand in the international sign for "STOP OR I WILL THROW YOU TO THE GROUND."  "Prhhynnra!  Oxnyghyh fihkl marhphhrwek."  

"Um," I responded.

"Kzkzkkzkzsszzskks!  Kduiuhfhkfkllk flkjrij pqowjjjrij, fljyzyloffhhf qoppkplk marhhhfrphwlk!" he growled.

There are simply not enough vowels in the Hungarian language.  "English?" I whimpered.  

"YOUR TICKET MUST HAVE VALIDATION WITH VALIDATION MACHINE!" he barked.

"Oh, I'm really sorry, I wasn't aware," I said.  "I just bought this, though."

He was obviously sympathetic to my excuse.  "IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN THE DIRECTIONS ARE CLEARLY MARKED!" (Editor's Comment: Not true.)

"We must have not seen the validation machines," I said.  "I'm sorry."  

"IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN THE DIRECTIONS ARE CLEARLY MARKED.  FINE OF SIX THOUSAND FORINTS!"  (This actually sounds a lot more hardcore and expensive than it really is.  6000 Ft is like 20 Euros.  But still!)

"Well, can I--"

"ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN. CLEARLY. MARKED.  SIX THOUSAND FORINTS."

I was obviously pretty close to arguing my way out of this one.  Seriously, though, I tried everything.  I made puppy eyes.  I showed him our 24-hour pass.  I made my lower lip tremble.  I showed him the date and time of purchase of our most recent ticket.  I blinked rapidly.  I told him we were about to leave his godforsaken country and he should just let us go in peace.  I apologized multiple times.  I sighed sadly.  I finally told him that I had just exchanged all of my Hungarian money for Euros and I simply couldn't pay him.

Hungarian Official Train Ticket Checker People, conveniently, take Euros.  

Just in case you guys want a picture of my Potdijelismerveny (no, really):