Our Australian friends depart early, and we set off alone into the city. We cross into Buda, and climb the long hill up to the Castle. We explore all its nooks and crannies, gazing constantly out at the city from various viewpoints.

The highlight of this expectation, rising above even the high palace walls, the soaring columns, the glorious copper statues, and the panoramic views, is the Fisherman's Bastion. The history of it I don't know, but it is an utterly splendid architectural triumph of white stone forming vast towers and battlements and beautifully shaped crenelations and rooves that burst jaggedly, yet elegantly from the bluff. It is not unlike Minas Tirith. We can't help staring, and wander up every tower and along every battlement of the impressive fortifications.

We go to the National Gallery, which is inside the castle. The art is uninspiring and relatively uninteresting, but we have great fun messing with the curators. In Budapest, they have developed the strange habit of having curators that follow you around, instead of gazing serenely from a chair in the gallery. Now this doesn't sound like a big deal, but try having a stange old women standing 2 inches behind you every step of the way for 2 hours, breathing down your neck while you try to enjoy, or at least take in, the art. One woman insists on ushering us through the exhibit at high speed, not allowing us to hesitate over a piece or turn back. We cleverly use military-007-like tactics, splitting up and ducking through a side door, so that she is confused and unable to harass us. It is, needless to say, hilarious.

Uninterested in variance, we have another meal of delightful mexican foods at Dos Gringos (we are regulars there now) and return to the hostel to change into our finest attire (which consists of two grubby white shirts worn under our standard layers of coats and scarves and doing nothing to change the image of two rugged and inelegant travelers) because we are going to the Opera! Now you are likely thinking "The Opera? That sounds a bit sophisticated for those two immature, uncultured backpackers." Well, immature and uncultured we may be, but the Budapest Opera House is world class, and tickets only cost 1000 Dollars each! (that would be 2US dollars, by the way). So there we are, incongruously wandering into the brilliant building of great columns, high ceilings of colorful murals, endless gold leaf and magnificent statues. It would be breathtaking even if there were no performance to be seen, and it is made more so by the swirling crowds of elegance that brush past us, fur and satin and jewels and pearls and beautiful girls and haughty ladies and serious men. We make our way to our seats, box seats, red velvet and gold, and settle in as the lights go down.

The opera is called The Queen of Spades (or Pique Madam) and is by Tchaikovsky who, though not renowned for is operas, wrote some damn good ones. The lights come up on a park, where children play and sing merrily while two soldiers gossip about their gambling woes. One, Herman, is obsessed with gambling, and is struggling to keep it under control. He is also madly in love with a girl that he met, but doesn't know her name. His companion talks about his new fiancee, and the fiancees mother, a mysterious old dame who apparently knows the ultimate secret to gambling (earning her the title The Queen of Spades). Enter the fiancee, Lisa, who, it turns out, is tragically the girl that Herman has fallen so hard for. He struggles to keep this hidden from his companion. The next scene features Lisa and her girlfriends merrily singing and dancing, but Lisa is depressed, due to the fact that she has fallen (somehow) in love with the man who she saw with her fiancee today. The friends leave, and Herman climbs through the window and professes his love in glorious soaring amorous chords. She declines and he insists. She declines again, he sings louder. She tries again, but sure enough she is wrapped around him and the lights descend on a scene that cannot quite decide whether it is romantic or disturbing (can we get a female opinion, please?). The next scene is, of course, a masquerade ball (what opera is complete without one?). It is irrelevant to the story, but utterly wonderful. Ballet dances spin across the stage in blue and pink, a golden clad couple of fairy-like creatures dance brilliantly, there are vast gowns and cloaks and little leotards and golden masks and incredible drama and beautiful music and dance. During the ball, Lisa's fiancee sings the highlight aria, a love song that insists that he loves her so much he will let her be taken by another if that is what she wants. It is poignant. And the story resumes. Herman finds himself alone in a room with the old lady (his lover's mother) and, giving in to his gambling obsession, insists that she tell him her secret. She refuses, he pulls a gun (forceful guy, right?) she swoons and dies of fright. Lisa then enters (killer timing, no pun intended) and realizes that her lover was just trying to get to her mom (many girls face this plight). In the next scene, the glorious lights and colors of previous acts are gone. The stage is empty, dark, desolate. Herman stands haunted in the center. Suddenly he hears a voice and the ghost of the old lady appears. Hauntingly (really, it was in fact very well done and extremely unsettling) she tells him that she has returned from the grave to tell him her gambling secret. The cards he needs to bet on are 2-10-Ace. The next scene featues a heartbroken Lisa, who sings a wrenching, mournful aria. Herman enters, and tells her he loves her and everything is ok, but then he begins to ramble about the cards etc and she realizes he is going mad. He takes off to the gambling house and she kills herself. The gambling house is spectacularly designed, with eerie red lights that give it a dirty, sinful feel. The men drink vodka and throw down cards and tell raunchy jokes. The ex-fiancee is the center of attention, until Herman enters. He bets vast money against the man whose wife he stole, and bets on the three cards the ghost told him to. He bets everything. The first card is, as it should be, a 2. The second is a 10. But the third is the Queen of Spades. Seeing the mockery the ghost has made of him, Herman goes truly mad and shoots himself and the stage descends into darkness.

The opera is 4 hours long. It is in Russian. Luckily it has subtitles but unluckily the subtitles are in Magyar. So we have to rely on our knowledge from reading about the story, and the beauty of the music. It is, however, rivetting, and utterly world class. During the intermission, we get drinks at the fancy bar and people-watch. The people are truly splendid, and we both fall madly in love with various super-sophisticated, elegant girls. I also make a friend in my box, an old lady who insists on giving me the best seat and then talks to me excitedly in Magyar until she realizes I can't understand. She also deftly sends me a tissue when I sniffle, but with such silence and secrecy that she seems like she is some sort of operatic secret agent. The applause lasts for ages.

We find ourselves back on Andrassy avenue late at night and, having been cultural and sophisticated enough for one evening, treat ourselves to burgers, cookies and frapuccinos. Midnight snacks are the best.