Boat Parties: Budapest and Barcelona
Whether you’re dirty-dancing down the Danube, or bouncing to bangin’ Barcelona beats, these vessels of nautical naughtiness are de way to make some epic euro-trip memories.
Said ‘memories’ may end up little more than brief flashes; kissing a stranger each time you go under a Budapest bridge, a quick beso below decks in Barcelona, breeze ruffled alfresco hair, slipping on greasy bathroom stairs – but this is what makes a night legendary. There’s a reason ‘the stuff of legend’ is never referred to as ‘hollywood box office quality footage of legend’. It’s a blurry b-roll – and there’s nothing wrong with that.
In Budapest you’ve got amazing architecture, where culture and innovation cover scars from past conflicts (and the communist era). You’ve also got unlimited beer, wine and champagne. Kissing someone new each time the boat goes past a bridge is in no way hindered by a little alcohol, so we recommend it. And be warned, if you don’t engage in this highly-serious, historic tradition, you will be cursed with bad sex for seven years (as opposed to one night, with another horny but ultimately too drunk to perform backpacker).
There are many places to have a cheeky pash, and as no one wants seven years of shitty sex, it’s way less stressful than NYE. There’s the main DF downstairs, with a club like vibe, and an upstairs chillout area where you can work on your nautical hair. While you do this you get a great view of the city, which looks even better lit up at night, truly the jewel of the Balkans.
In Barcelona you have a downstairs dancefloor and tranquilo rooftop area a la Budapest, however upstairs, instead of deep house, there’s live music. Ground pulsating beneath your feet, you’ll look out over the glistening Med towards the world’s most magnificent old world city, think fuck that’s nice, and then head downstairs to revel again in messy madness. There’s amber liquid, sweet spanish cocktails, stoke’s team of sexy sailors, dance offs, lapdances, and the occasional stripper.
And the party never ends – when the disks stop spinning, whether you’re in Barcelona or Budapest, you head out to the clubs afterwards to tell the landlubbers what they missed out on.