Fast forward 15 years. I am back in Europe in Budapest, Hungary watching the world speedskating championships. As always, I do a lot of research and buy the guidebooks about the area I’ll be visiting. Repeatedly and in all CAPS, I am warned about the kind of scam I had faced 15 years earlier - about Russian Mafia controlled nightclubs where tourists were repeatedly victimized for hundreds - even thousands of dollars just for showing up.

On my second night after the skating competitions, I was bored and not tired and so I walked out of the hotel, at perhaps 9 pm, hailed a cab, and told him, can you take me to a popular place where there might be some people? But I DO NOT want a strip club or any kind of ladies club, just regular people, and close by. He says, “of course - I take you to best spot here!’ We drive for like 15 minutes which was farther than I wanted to go and then he dropped me off in front of a bar/club. I walked through the entrance which was a long-ish hallway. I didn’t like this and my spider senses were tingling but I walked to the end where it was a normal looking bar. The place was mostly empty though except for a couple of guys looking bored, I sat down and asked the bartender “will it pick up? Am I too early?” He smiled and says, “Oh yes the ladies’ show will start shortly,” and gestures to the curtain behind me hiding a stage.

I said, “Oh, no, I was just looking for a regular place, not a show or anything,” and I start to get up to leave.
Immediately two burly security guards come up to me and demand a $50 cover charge. I protest saying I didn’t know there was a cover, that I don’t have that kind of money, and perhaps imprudently that “even if I had it I wouldn’t pay it.”

One pushes me. The other pushes me back toward the first. And again. Then they again demand the $50. The pushing resumes a second time. I yell “stop, stop!” For some reason I am not afraid - I am experiencing this weird feeling of “being right” which means that I can do anything I want. I pretend to investigate my pocket and pull out a few Hungarian bills worth not very much. I turn towards the light pretending to count it and ask, “if I stay for the show does that cost extra?” “Can I use a credit card?”

Suddenly the burly guards pretend to be friendly, “Yes, show is included - you just need buy two drinks - we have credit card - no problem.” I smile and turn and say, “well then, OK!” and casually take two steps towards the curtain, while putting my wallet away.
Seeing their relaxed demeanor out of the corner of my eye and calculating my trajectory, I suddenly reverse course, lunge backward and to the left, and make my break for it.
Grunt #2 runs for me but he is too big, too late, and too slow, and I sprint down the tunnel. As I ran I could hear them cursing in Hungarian behind me but I knew that, absent another hidden security guard, there was no chance they would catch me.

I banged through the exit doors and ran like hell traversing different alleys but eventually made my way all the way back to my hotel by foot perhaps an hour later. I was too full of adrenaline and distrust for taxis to enter another cab.

And then, as I jogged up to my hotel, there he was, the same damn taxi driver who dumped me at that Ruissan Mafia joint, now parked right casually right in front of the hotel with his window open smoking a cigarette. I was pissed and walked right up to his car, shouting, “you nearly got me killed! That was some sort of Mafia club you asshole!” He quickly rolled up his window and pealed away as I pounded on his trunk. Too bad I didn’t have a brick…

Why Am I Still Alive Pt. 13: Bordellos and Beatdowns Part 2