The Big Swimming Pool

Well, this is the life.

I’ve been fortunate enough to land in another great little hostel – dirt cheap but without dirt, which is the way I like ‘em. I’m currently in the (outdoor) bar, sipping an ice cold beer, which cost approximately 50p. I’ve had to develop a taste for beer on my travels, despite hating it for most of my life, because soft drinks are expensive and nowhere’s heard of cider.

Anyway, I’m sipping my beer, listening to weird but upbeat Hungarian music, fighting off the occasional spider, and congratulating myself on leaving the beach before the sunburn became as horrific as I’ve allowed it to become in the past. Tonight, I had dinner at a little restaurant recommended to me by the hostel owner, who understood my worries about not knowing how to communicate with Hungarian waiters. There’s a nice leetle place on the shore, just over that way, he said, gesturing, which ees very cheap and serves good traditional food. They do not speak Eengleesh, but they have peectures of the food on the walls, so you can just point!

Amused, I set off to find it, and was not disappointed.

As instructed, I pointed at a picture of something that looked vaguely like fish and chips, and was served something unidentifiable but delicious. Not fish… probably not chicken… look, as long as I don’t know, it’s fine.

The earlier part of the day was spent wandering around the villages and sunbathing on the grassy beach. The water is wonderful – it’s like a giant heated swimming pool, and because it’s not seawater, you don’t get the nasty side effects of tasting salt for the next week, or your hair going all matted and dry. It’s the first time I’ve been able to swim properly in such a large volume of water without getting battered back by enormous waves – I swam out for about about 15 minutes, and then realised how far away the shore was, so headed back to dry off in the sunshine. Had one of my “this only happens to rich people!” moments as I lay there basking in the heat, but those are starting to pass much more quickly, these days.

Photos of the beautiful scenery will hopefully follow tomorrow, when I hope to navigate my way to the Lookout Tower (oh, woohoo, more steps!!), as it’s apparently going to be a bit cooler by then. For now: cheers! Wish you were here. Actually, today I was watching a couple of girls chatting to each other on the beach, and had a sudden pang for the company of The Sister. She’d love it here, I thought to myself. When I returned to the hostel room, however, I remembered why I’d realised the previous night that she’d actually hate it here:

There are a lot of spiders and insects in Hungary. Fortunately I’ve learned to become less afraid of such things, so I can quite easily ignore that familar mosquito whine in the dark, brush off the millions of large, bizarre-looking green flying things, and let the multitude of enormous spiders go about their helpful business of building webs to catch them all. I’m trying not to think about how many spiders must be running all over me in my sleep. They’re not doing me any harm… I hope. I may need to rethink things slightly if I suddenly become violently ill.

Proost!

I think I’m in some kind of dreamlike trance.

It cannot be true and real and actual that I spent last night at a BBQ in a huge, beautiful garden in Belgium, drinking champagne, having conversations with people I’d never met before, in a mixture of four languages, singing along with music that ranged from Queen to traditional Australian music to U2, having a go at playing the djembe, and eventually jumping into the pool for a swim at around midnight, splashing around under the stars and laughing with complete strangers who now seemed like old friends.

Even more unlikely is the fact that this is where I’m going to be living for the next month.

I expect I’ll wake up soon, but for now I’m enjoying the best dream I’ve ever had. The people I’m housesitting for are amazing – they’re treating it like it’s my holiday home and have introduced me to friends, stocked the fridge with food, and gone off leaving me to enjoy their beautiful home, garden and pool. I’m just sitting here by the pool with the dog snoring contentedly on my lap, sipping a glass of champagne (me, not the dog) that they presented me with to toast my month of luxury, shaking myself occasionally and looking around in a dazed manner. This can’t be real, can it?!

I’m sure I’ll pull myself together soon and write you some amusing tales about the difficulty I had in getting here due to a misunderstood announcement at the train station in Brussels, or the fact that the parrot managed to let itself out of its cage approximately an hour after the owners left (the beak-shaped dent, blood and swelling on my index finger would describe the situation more clearly than words ever could), but for now please excuse this awestruck, delirious-sounding post.

Hails is happy.

What Hails Did

This weekend….

1. An afternoon’s shopping saw me return home with the weirdest assortment of items ever, including a talking monkey, a bubble party machine, a Thornton’s chocolate plaque and a set of spoons.

2. I accidentally killed Elvis Presley at the swimming pool.

3. I danced with wild abandon at the Spark Party in the Park – in the pouring rain. Drenched, I was.

4. I got up at 4.45am… and on a Saturday, too.

5. On my way home to Ballymena from Antrim, I drifted into a slight daydream, went too far round a roundabout and suddenly realised I was on the M2 heading for Belfast.

6. I played Trivial Pursuit until 1am, eventually giving up and going to bed because the end was nowhere in sight (and I’d realised all the answers were either “Friends” or “Madonna” anyway).

7. I encountered an elderly and slightly barking gentleman in Clinton Cards, who was singing the instrumental parts of “For the good times” as it played on the shop sound system, as well as agreeing with the lyrics (e.g. “Don’t look so sad” Nope, nope! “I know it’s over” S’over… lalalalaaaaa).

8. I got involved in a lengthy discussion about the best methods for inhaling helium.

9. I almost washed my cat in the washing machine by accident.

10. I wrote a list that successfully reminded me that my life is not particularly ordinary – and I love it.

The king was alive!

Getting dressed after my swim at Antrim Forum this morning, I heard Elvis Presley in the cubicle next to mine. It is a unisex changing room, so I wasn’t terribly startled at hearing a male voice, but Elvis? I hadn’t seen him in the pool.

We can’t go on together… with suspicious minds…

He was warbling soulfully. I paused from my furious towel-scrubbing (it is impossible to get completely dry in a swimming pool changing cubicle. No one knows why, but it has always been this way.) to admire his soothing, dulcet tones

… we can’t build our dreams… on suspicious miiiinds…

He was really going for it. I remembered the KitKat advert from the nineties. He wasn’t joking. Delighted and entranced by the king’s reappearance, I resumed my drying routine, his soothing voice continuing with the sad part of the song.

Oh, let our love survive…

I gave myself a quick spritz of deodorant and body spray.

Oh, dry the tears from y…. bleughhhhhh…. arghhhhh…..

I froze to the spot as the singing gave way to coughing and spluttering. The singing stopped and I stared guiltily at the deodorant can in my hand.

I have killed the risen Elvis Presley.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.