Drinking Amid the Ruin Bars

The ruin bar Fogas Haz in all its pre-happy hour glory

John A. MacDonald, Canada’s first prime minister and a spectacular functioning alcoholic, was reportedly so drunk during an election debate that he keeled over on stage, threw up, then stood up, pointed at his opponent and said that was how sick his opponent’s policies made him.

My friend Tommy and I had a term for getting that drunk: London Drunk. It’s not as pukey as the honourable Mr. MacDonald’s antics, but just as debaucherous. It happened often in London, because it’s our hometown and we were always in good company. Sometimes it happened in Toronto, where a chunk of hearty, strong-livered Londoners have set up shop.

Even though I don’t get that way as much as I used to, Budapest is a place that wholly supports London Drunkeness – as proven by the ruin bars here.

For the uninitiated, ruin bars are apartment blocks converted into massive bars. The courtyards are dance floors or drinking terraces. The rooms of the old apartments are converted into party areas with different themes. The cellars are dancing dungeons of debauchery.

Drinks in Budapest are typically cheap by Western standards. Drinking bylaws are similarly lax, by killjoy Toronto standards. You can close down a bar at 4am, and then stagger blindly into an afterhours dance hole. But the ruin bar remains the heart of the evening.

You factor these circumstances into a situation where you are partying with hundreds of people in a formerly dilapidated apartment block and you have the potential London Drunk.

There's  the usual uncoolness. I had my winter coat stolen at one bar. A friend got into a fight at another. The dance dungeon should have a warning at the entrance for epileptics. But these are fun, cool places. The decor is all weird, the vibe is pretty cool, and there are pretty girls too. It’s tough to put a finger on what exactly makes them so great, but I suspect that's what helps keep people coming back.

Is it an owl? Is it a lady? It's the ruin bar decor at Instant.

The debate about where to go out or, in most cases, where not to go out is eternal. How often has a gathering of friends turned into a debate club about what we’re in the mood for: music or ladies or avoiding that damn bar we go to all the time or a combination of the above.

For some reason that kind of abstract mental math has not entered into the debates about going out. The ruin bars, and all the different sorts of people they attract, for better or worse, make it better places.  

Nobody gets London Drunk anymore, but I cling to the belief that even John A. MacDonald would want to get Budapest Drunk in a Ruin Bar.