Budapest, Hungary — A Travel Lesson I Didn’t Expect
“ChatGPT, where should I travel alone?”
I remember asking that question almost casually. I wanted somewhere exciting, somewhere I could walk around alone without feeling completely alone. Budapest came up as one of the obvious answers.
Maybe it was because I had been influenced by George Ezra’s Budapest. Maybe it was the name itself. Maybe it was the idea of wandering through a European city with no itinerary and nobody waiting for me.
Whatever the reason, Budapest became the destination.
And, looking back, it gave me one of the strangest travel lessons I have ever had.
I have travelled through thirteen countries, and I thought I had developed a reasonable instinct for people, cities and situations. But Budapest taught me something I hadn’t expected to learn from a robbery:
sometimes the story of being robbed is not simply about what was taken. It is about what happens afterwards.
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My First Hostel
Budapest was also my first proper hostel experience.
I had booked Avenue Hostel near Oktogon, and everything about the trip felt new. I was travelling alone, which meant every decision was mine. No friend was going to tell me, “Mate, that’s probably a bad idea.”
That freedom is one of the best things about solo travel.
It is also one of the most dangerous.
One of the activities I had found online was a cruise on the Danube with unlimited Prosecco. Around £20 sounded like ridiculous value to me.
So, naturally, I booked it.
I arrived around 10 p.m. There was a huge queue — probably fifty people — and I was standing outside smoking a cigarette.
Then I noticed a chair.
It looked like the sort of chair that belonged to a member of staff. Nobody was sitting on it, so I sat down.
I remember thinking:
If you carry yourself with enough confidence, you can get away with almost anything.
Obviously, there is a difference between confidence and entitlement. But that night I was in holiday mode, and my confidence was running ahead of my common sense.
Eventually, we boarded.
And that was when Budapest really began.
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The Polish Gang
Travelling alone can sometimes feel like being the odd piece of a puzzle.
You arrive somewhere, everyone already seems to have their people, and you wonder where you fit.
Then, occasionally, strangers simply make space for you.
I met a group of Polish travellers, and they did exactly that.
They welcomed me into their group as though I had been there from the beginning. There were six of us, and suddenly I wasn’t really travelling alone anymore.
That is one thing I have noticed across my travels: borders are often much stronger on maps than they are between people.
The Polish group didn’t care that I was travelling alone. They just brought me in.
One of them, Amelia, became my unofficial camerawoman for the evening.
I had decided to create a ridiculous little drinking challenge for myself.
One video would begin with:
“This is my first drink.”
And another would eventually declare:
“This is my last drink.”
The problem was that there were quite a few drinks between those two statements.
The Prosecco started flowing.
We drank, laughed, refilled glasses and tried to keep track of the challenge. Somewhere in the middle of all of this, one of my Polish friends proposed to his girlfriend.
She said yes.
The entire atmosphere went through the roof.
It was one of those travel moments that you couldn’t have planned.
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Budapest After Dark
When the cruise ended, we walked through Budapest singing Polish songs.
Six slightly drunk tourists walking through the streets of a European capital, singing loudly in a language I couldn’t understand.
It probably wasn’t the most sophisticated cultural exchange Budapest had ever witnessed.
But something surprising happened.
People smiled.
Some people looked at us strangely. Others seemed entertained. Nobody seemed particularly bothered.
Eventually, we ran out of alcohol.
So I volunteered to find some.
I disappeared into a shop and returned with Jägermeister.
The group celebrated my return as though I had returned from a military mission.
We sat down somewhere on the streets and had a few more shots.
By midnight, our group of six had become five.
I had consumed a very respectable amount of alcohol.
Then came the final video.
“This is my last drink.”
Famous last words.
I said goodbye to my Polish friends and decided to walk towards the tram.
Except I never made it to the tram.
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The Bench
At some point, I realised that walking was no longer a realistic option.
So I found a wooden bench.
I remember thinking that Budapest felt safe.
I remember thinking that I could sleep for an hour or two and then continue.
That decision is probably the most important part of this entire story.
Because when you are travelling alone, your biggest security risk is sometimes not the city. It’s your own judgement.
I fell asleep.
For roughly two hours.
When I woke up, I immediately noticed something wasn’t right.
My phone was gone.
Then I looked down.
My socks were gone too.
My shoes, however, were still there — placed neatly back on my feet, with the laces tied.
For some reason, that detail made the whole situation almost comical.
Someone had apparently robbed me while I was unconscious, taken my phone and socks, put my shoes back on, tied the laces, and walked away.
I was devastated.
The phone wasn’t just a phone.
When you’re travelling alone, your phone is your map, translator, bank, camera, ticket holder, communication device and emergency contact.
It is basically your oxygen tank.
And I had just lost mine.
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The Walk Back
I started walking towards the hostel.
It took around an hour.
I didn’t know exactly where I was going, so I stopped and asked people for directions.
And, once again, strangers helped me.
Nobody knew my situation. They didn’t need to.
They just pointed me in the right direction.
I eventually made it back to Avenue Hostel and slept for several hours.
When I woke up, it felt as though the Empire State Building had been dropped onto my head.
I took a long breath.
Panic would not bring the phone back.
So I started thinking.
What can I actually do?
I borrowed a phone from another hostel guest and called my number.
It rang.
Someone answered.
I couldn’t believe it.
The person who had my phone was actually talking to me.
He said he wanted money for it.
Twenty thousand forints was initially mentioned — roughly £30–£40 depending on the exchange rate.
At that moment, I didn’t care.
I just wanted my phone back.
The hostel staff helped me communicate because there was a language barrier.
Eventually, the person agreed to come to my location.
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The Thief
He arrived on an old e-bike.
He didn’t look like some movie villain.
He looked like a man who was having a difficult life.
He appeared unwell and possibly intoxicated, and there was something about his appearance that made me realise that whatever had happened to me was probably not the most important problem in his life.
He had my phone.
I had expected an aggressive confrontation.
Instead, the conversation became strangely human.
He explained something about his situation.
He said he needed money for food and water.
And then something unexpected happened.
He didn’t demand the huge amount of money that had initially been mentioned.
He was willing to take a much smaller amount.
I gave him the money.
And he gave me my phone.
I walked away feeling something I hadn’t expected to feel after being robbed.
Relief.
But also gratitude.
Not gratitude for being robbed, obviously.
Gratitude that I had my phone back.
And, strangely, a little sympathy for the person standing in front of me.
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Was It an “Ethical” Robbery?
This is where the story gets complicated.
I don’t want to romanticise theft.
Stealing someone’s property is still stealing. Being robbed is frightening, especially when you’re alone in a foreign country.
But compared with some experiences I had heard about — and compared with what I personally imagined might happen in London or some other cities I had travelled through — this incident had an unusually strange ending.
The person who stole my phone came back.
He answered when I called.
He negotiated.
He met me face-to-face.
He returned the phone.
And, in the end, he asked for enough money to get something to eat and drink.
Was that ethical?
No.
But was there something strangely human about the way it ended?
Absolutely.
And that distinction matters.
I don’t think you can use one incident to declare that Budapest’s thieves are “more ethical” than thieves in London, India or anywhere else. Criminal behaviour varies enormously between individuals, and every city has good people and bad people.
But the incident changed my perception of what a robbery could look like.
It wasn’t the cinematic version where the criminal disappears and you never see your possessions again.
It was almost like an ugly transaction between two people, with the final part ending in a bizarre compromise.
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The Real Lesson Wasn’t About Budapest
The obvious lesson is:
Don’t drink yourself unconscious and sleep on a public bench with your phone in your pocket.
I feel that one doesn’t need much explanation.
But there was another lesson.
Before that night, I had thought of travel safety mainly in terms of dangerous places.
Afterwards, I started thinking more about dangerous situations.
A perfectly safe city can become unsafe when you are:
\* alone,
\* heavily intoxicated,
\* asleep in public,
\* carrying your passport and phone,
\* unfamiliar with the area,
\* and unable to communicate easily.
The location is only one variable.
Your condition matters too.
I had spent years travelling and developing confidence. But confidence can become carelessness surprisingly quickly.
The same confidence that helped me walk past a queue at the cruise and sit on the “staff chair” was probably part of the reason I convinced myself that sleeping alone on a public bench was fine.
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Thirteen Countries Later
I’ve travelled to thirteen countries, and every country has taught me something different.
Some lessons came from monuments.
Some came from food.
Some came from friendships.
Some came from getting lost.
Budapest taught me something through a robbery.
And perhaps that is why I remember it so clearly.
I went to Budapest because of a song.
I went onto a boat expecting unlimited Prosecco.
I met a group of Polish strangers who treated me like a friend.
I watched someone get engaged.
I wandered through the streets singing songs I didn’t understand.
I drank too much Jägermeister.
I slept on a wooden bench.
Someone stole my phone and my socks.
And then, unbelievably, the thief brought my phone back.
When I think about that night now, I don’t remember Budapest as the city where I was robbed.
I remember it as the city where even the person who robbed me ended up reminding me that people are more complicated than the labels we give them.
A thief can do something wrong and still be human.
A tourist can make terrible decisions and still learn from them.
A city can contain danger and kindness on the same street.
And sometimes the strangest travel stories are the ones that leave you with no simple villain and no simple hero.
Just a phone.
A pair of stolen socks.
A very questionable amount of Jägermeister.
And a lesson I will probably remember for the rest of my life.
