Borozó a Szaszához

Dékán u.

Buda North, II, Moszkva tér (M2), 2min

How many tourists find themselves in Budapest and think: this place is just too clean? One in a thousand? One in a million? Well, for the one in however many, there's a place at up at Moskva ter where you can fester.

Most of the clientele are working men, ‘fresh’ from a hard day’s labour, still in their overalls. Others are alcoholics, smiling docile, lobotomised smiles, as the sympathetic barmaid pours another generous Unicum. I should feel out of place, being the middle-class Englishman that I am, but somehow, I don’t feel in the least bit conspicuous. The reason: no one is giving me strange looks. I can’t imagine such a lack of hostility in a British working men’s club.

The room is lit by several wall lamps, some with their hard plastic covers still intact and others down to their bare phosphorescent innards. Flowers in small vases, hide behind a fan, and are rather less noticeable than the large gas canisters that are sharing my table. The fruit machines, sitting opposite, are quite popular and I watch the nearest swallow six thousand forints, without recompense for the hand that fed it.

How can a room with a helicopter fan and air conditioning be quite so hot? It isn’t even particularly warm outside. These things must somehow generate heat themselves, and, now that I look more closely, I can see by its off-kilter sway, that it might not be the most efficient of coolers. I also note, as I look to the yellow-stained window that the extractor fan is all motor and nothing much else, which goes some way to explaining why my skin is turning yellow.

Hence, it is something of a relief to step back outside, to the relative cool. The smoke though, has attached itself to my clothes and will remain with me for some time yet. It is difficult to see how this place will have any tourist appeal beyond the most dedicated anthropologist, but, if you happen to be seeking an unapologetic working class drinking hole, look no further.