We’d try to go to Hegyeshalom to “make fuck” and get strung up in a lamppost by the locals.
True story: This go-around the locals clocked my wife as a local due to her uh, size, perpetual tan and a habit of dressing in mostly purple and gold. This is funny to me because the first time I was over I wore a lot of purple and a hat, and old guys were like coming up to me in the streets and talking to me like I knew them.
One thing I will admit is interesting and clearly veering perilously close to wrongthink is how whenever someone tees off on Hungary for not being open to the wonders of multiculturalism or whatever, I immediately think “Hm, wonder if they’ve ever been there?” Because, much like in Minsk the reality on the ground and whatever everyone says is mind boggling.
This trip also had the wonderful Kodak Moment of seeing an overly aggresive and intoxicated British man get absolutely brutalized by a police officer on account of his behaviour outside a club. Justice.