"Get up Gerard. Get. Up," I was telling myself.

I lay there, not awoken by the sound of my phone's alarm, but from the Barcelonian sun, unshielded by curtains or light-softening technology. I check my phone hidden in my pillow case. 8:20am. I had planned to get up at 9am for my 11:20 flight, but seeing as I was already awake, that time could be spent wisely, using the Internet downstairs of the hostel.

There wasn't a need to find cleaner clothes, as I was well convinced everything I owned smelled from my trip to Munich. I only landed in Barcelona yesterday, saying my farewell to Natalia who was the only one who managed to go to Oktoberfest. My farewell to a friend was quick, as she was almost out of time getting to her train to Alicante. I had already seen Barcelona, so my first plan was to have a plan. I grabbed a bed at a hostel near La Ramblas, had a shower, then headed to the computer to figure out where to go.

Nice? Andorra? Venice? I had choices, but had a hard time finding a cheap one. I grabbed a free Europe map and looked further. I always wanted to check out Prague, but even those tickets were expensive until a week down the road. I wanted to leave tomorrow.

Then the ticket hit me. Budapest. 110 Euros. That's a bit of a journey, and for around 180 bucks, it's a great start to go somewhere.

But what's in Budapest? I wasn't so sure, but I knew people have said it to be beautiful. I booked a ticket and six days in a hostel, then went to bed.

I took photos of my reservations as I couldn't print them out, had the free breakfast the hostel provides and headed for the train station down the road. La Ramblas hadn't really started its day yet, so there were no large crowds and performers. I asked the train ticket guy for a ticket to the airport, and handed him 4 Euros. From Sants-Estacio (Barcelona Sants), it cost 2,50, so this was plenty. I think he thought I gave him 3 Euros, because I got 45 cents back. I didn't realise this until I walked through the gate, but at that stage, I didn't care.

I missed the train by about five seconds, but only needed to wait three minutes for the next one. The train is not full, to my relief. Usually lugging a big and small backpack in a train is rude enough with the amount of room you take up, but in a packed train, you feel even worse. To the other side of the train leaning on the opposite door, two guys with similar backpacks. Amigos, I thought. Travellers who are putting in the effort to see more of the world. On my side, three men chatting away, but with peering eyes upon my arrival. The one closest to me, with an Arsenal jersey barely concealing his weight in an acceptable manner was talking to his friend, who was on the other side of the door. His friend had a draped jacket over one arm and looked scruffy. In fact, they were all not so friendly-looking. I kept to myself.

The man with the jacket walks straight up to me, looking at his friend. His proximity with me was strange, considering he could hear from the other side, there was plenty of room, and yet he was close enough to be touching me. In fact, he was touching my pocket, and I quickly covered it up, realising his game was using his jacket to cover vision of the unexpected victim. He looks away in a jolt in a manner that said to me he was caught, and was trying to disguise his attempt.

I had everything. I moved to the other side, where he was initially standing, and had my back to the glass. There was a slight silence, then the Arsenal-jersey man leaned a little forward, and snorted like a pig, looking straight at me. I looked to him, and he did it again. Was he telling me I was being greedy for not letting them steal my wallet? I broadened my shoulders, looked away and looked pissed off. I was pissed off, but more or less shocked that if he was successful,I would've been fairly stuffed.

I see what the Oinker has in one of his hands, dangling between his fingers, and recognised it was one earring with a Hello Kitty picture in a love heart. This wasn't his. He must've swiped it off a kid. How dare he call me a pig.

They get off the train, and I head on to the airport, shocked at how I almost got swindled. I check in by showing the employee my booking number on my camera, and head to security check. Huge lines only appear when in a rush, I noticed. The boarding time was for 10:40, and it was 10:50. I finally came through, sprinted to my gate, only to see they've extended the flight a half hour. Well at least I can start looking for Hungarian phrases in the Lonely Planet books at the newsagent here, I thought.

They're all in Spanish.