Budapest to Beirut – The Road with No Return
After the legends, reality always arrives. Here, maps and grand names give way to taxi drivers, power cuts, and questionable decisions. You can understand Lebanon from books — but you understand its present only when you step out of the airport and the smog hits you in the face.
From this point on, it is no longer history, but survival training. The first day is not about discovery. It is about getting into the city, finding something to eat at dawn, and accepting that what feels exotic in legends becomes sticky, dark, and loud in reality.
Lebanon is not a place you arrive in with confidence. But by the time you find your footing in the chaos, you begin to like it almost without noticing — and by the end of the journey, it no longer feels frightening.
Just intensely, unapologetically alive.
Series
This post is part of a larger series. Here you can see where you are – and what’s already done.
Now: Experience
Budapest to Beirut – The Road with No Return
Next: Experience
Beirut – The City of Duality
Show contents
Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
The Fourth Seat in the Car
When we decided to go to Lebanon, the timing came together surprisingly fast. The team, however, shrank just as dramatically. One by one, people dropped out: work, family, sudden obligations — and finally the classic “maybe I’ll skip this one.” In the end, we were down to three.
And three is never ideal. With three people, someone is always the one who gets exhausted, develops stomach issues, or simply burns out halfway through. For a trip like this, that already feels like the lower safety limit.
So recruitment began. At first subtly, then more directly, we started asking around: who would be interested in joining? There was no rush of volunteers. Lebanon is not the kind of destination you say yes to casually on a Friday night after two beers. It is not an easy, comfortable getaway. It is a country whose very name raises questions.
At one point, given the lack of enthusiasm, we seriously considered calling the whole thing off and letting the tour go.
And then someone saw the possibility in it. No dramatic excitement, no long list of questions — just a simple: “Why not?” There was some uncertainty about whether the chemistry would work between the old core team and a new member. But after the introductions, all doubts dissolved. He fit in naturally, as if he had always traveled with us.
He has been part of the adventures ever since.
And that is how the Lebanon story truly began.
Into the Unknown with a Soaked Suitcase
The itinerary looked simple. From Cyprus to Lebanon — and to reach Cyprus, we would fly out of Vienna. So most of the team would first take the train from Budapest to Vienna. On paper, it was a clean, civilized plan.
In reality, less so.
When it came to Beirut, we had no real idea what to expect, so we overthought the packing with honest dedication. Layered clothing, outfits for every possible scenario, constant weighing and rearranging to make sure every “useful” item would fit within the airline’s weight limit.
On the morning of departure, the sky over Budapest broke loose. Naturally, it happened just as I was heading toward the station. I did not panic — as a prepared traveler, I had brought a rain jacket. Or rather, I had brought a jacket I believed to be waterproof. It was not.
By the time the bus arrived, I was soaked through. I climbed aboard, took my seat, and prepared to change — only to open my suitcase and discover that it, too, had surrendered to the rain. Not just me, but my entire luggage was drenched. I was left choosing between very wet clothes and slightly less wet ones.
Meanwhile, tension was rising for another reason: one of our travel companions was nowhere to be found. No answer on the phone. Time slipping away. We started to wonder — are we really leaving as three?
Then, just before departure, we looked up. There he was, slightly out of breath. He said only one thing:
“I made it, didn’t I?”
And with that, the journey truly began.
Zurndorf – The Unplanned Stop
The train rolled smoothly toward Vienna, and we relaxed. The usual departure tension faded — everyone was on board, and from here on, it was a straight line to Beirut. Or so we thought.
We could not have been more wrong.
Just after crossing the Austrian border, the train stopped in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Then it simply… remained there. No movement. No explanation.
We texted our Vienna-based friend that we had a minor issue — we were not moving. Since our friendship is built on mutual sarcasm and relentless teasing, he did not take us seriously. His reply came quickly:
“Yeah, sure. I’m not falling for that. If you’re really stuck, get off and take a picture.”
So we did.
We stepped onto the platform and took a perfectly framed photo next to the sign: Zurndorf — a small Austrian town near the Hungarian border that none of us had ever planned to visit.
That was when things became genuinely interesting. Track closure. Airport departure time approaching. Rising panic. Our Viennese friend, now convinced, began calling taxi companies — about thirty of them — until he finally found one willing to drive all the way out to Zurndorf to rescue four stranded Hungarians.
The taxi arrived. We piled in. Against all common sense — and at highway speed — we headed toward the airport.
Despite the tension, we made it. On time.
But by then we already knew: this would not be a smooth journey.
Smog and Million-Note Bundles
Fortunately, apart from the usual airport rituals, nothing dramatic happened on the way. The classic questions: who gets searched more thoroughly, who is waved through with a smile, and at which overpriced bar to have one last beer while waiting. We boarded, took off, and arrived in Beirut without incident.
Entering the country, however, was a different league altogether.
Long lines. Slow progress. And just when we were about to reach one passport counter, it simply closed — and we were redirected to another. At immigration, everything felt like a lottery. In front of us, a French student was thoroughly examined: questions, documents, facial checks. The biometric system did not seem fully convinced by his face, so he was escorted away for further inspection. We, on the other hand, appeared to be more welcome.
The process dragged on so long that our driver outside nearly gave up on us.
Stepping out of the airport, the smog hit like a wall — thick, acrid, and impossible to ignore. It would accompany us for the rest of our stay. We got into a taxi, only to spend nearly an hour just trying to exit the airport parking lot.
Our first real act in Lebanon was exchanging money. At the time, due to the country’s severe financial crisis and currency collapse, the Lebanese pound (LBP) had lost much of its former value. For 100 US dollars, we received roughly 3.4 million Lebanese pounds — handed over in thick stacks of banknotes. Our pockets filled with bulky bundles, and we could only hope we had not been given a series that had been withdrawn from circulation years earlier.
Exhausted and hungry, we finally reached the hotel — richer in paper, poorer in certainty.
Dark Street, Bright Hotel
At first glance, the area around the hotel was not particularly reassuring. Beirut does not have what most Europeans would consider “classic” public street lighting. The streets are often illuminated mainly by shop windows and private generators. Add to that the regular power cuts — sometimes lasting an hour or more — and light becomes more of an occasional bonus than a default setting. It was not exactly the comforting “we’ve arrived” feeling.
Then we stepped inside the hotel — and our jaws dropped. It exceeded every expectation. Polished floors, calm atmosphere, professional staff — a completely different world from the street outside.
While waiting for our room to be prepared, we decided to take a quick look around the block. The moment we stepped outside, locals approached us. At first we were unsure what was happening. It quickly became clear: they were offering drugs. That was the point when we started seriously wondering how exactly we were going to survive the coming days.
Soon our room was ready, and we retreated upstairs to claim our unexpectedly luxurious suites. From the balcony, we scanned the surrounding streets from above — just in time to witness a street vendor being robbed. That did little to improve our sense of calm.
In the end, however, fear was replaced by something stronger: hunger.
The journey had been long. We were exhausted. And in that state where caution starts to lose its edge, a decision was made.
Whatever happens, happens.
Let’s go find dinner.
The Floor Sticks, But We’re Alive
Back at reception, we asked whether the kitchen was still open. It wasn’t. The young guy at the desk, however, was helpful and recommended a place a few hundred meters away — Barbar Barbeque — assuring us that they served food even at dawn.
We exchanged a brief look. Then, pushing fear aside, we set off. A hungry person does not negotiate.
We found the place easily enough. The moment we stepped inside, we realized that from this point on, our shoes and the floor would develop a close relationship. It was sticky. Very sticky. But there was no alternative. They had food. We were hungry.
We effectively glued ourselves to a bench, scanned the menu, and eventually chose an Aleppo-style gyro wrap — it felt like the safest possible decision at that hour.
It was not a life-changing culinary experience. But at dawn in Beirut, the goal is not refinement — it is survival. We ate what we had ordered, and the hunger subsided. In that moment, that was more than enough.
Afterward, we returned to the hotel. The bed was finally soft, the walls felt solid, and we let sleep take over.
All we could do was hope that the initial culture shock would settle — and that we would survive the rest of this adventure without major incident.
We fell asleep with a trace of unease, hoping this adventure would remain just within the limits of what is still worth seeing through.
This was not yet Beirut — only the antechamber, where you learn to pay attention and adapt.
For the experiences of the next day, turn the page — this time in daylight.
Where next?
Continue the series – pick the next stop.
Now: Experience
Budapest to Beirut – The Road with No Return
Next: Experience
Beirut – The City of Duality
Show contents
Prologue
Quick post
Experience
Itinerary
Epilogue
Sources
- Personal travel experiences and first-hand observations.
- Lebanon
More Tales
Epilogue – Lebanon
Epilogue – Lebanon Luxury and crumbling walls. Mediterranean lightness and a quiet political tension. Lebanon does not allow itself to be described in a single word.…
Olvass tovább / Read moreBeirut – Day 2
Beirut – Day 2 The second day in Beirut is best explored on foot. This itinerary focuses on the city’s dense, layered inner spaces, where historic…
Olvass tovább / Read moreAuthor
Gábor Lengyel – Storyteller and Traveler
Part of the Tales from the Middle East series by Absurd Empire.
