Our accommodation in central Budapest was on the 5th floor of an old apartment block. At some point in time, a little elevator was installed. We joked about it being the world’s smallest lift. By the end of our trip, it wasn’t a joke. These photos are my attempt to show how small it actually was.

On our first night, we were amazed at the tight space, and had to decide whether we could both fit with our bags. We made the tight squeeze, but only just. On the second night, we complained that the lift had broken down and was not working, forcing us to take the five steep flights. While complaining, we made the comment that as bad as it was to have to climb, it was still better than being stuck in the lift. On the third night, we were indeed the ones that were stuck.

It was late in the evening, and we’d been out for a late walk around the nightspots. Halfway up, the elevator squealed and squeaked and shuddered to stop between two floors. I pressed the comms button and waited. We could hear a phone ringing over the intercom. I wondered whether it would be answered. I wondered how I would be able to communicate with a Hungarian. The phone rang and rang. I wondered whether it would be answered. Finally it was, and while not competent in English, at least I could be understood, and reported the problem. Then we waited. And waited. Tried to sit down, but the space was actually too small to sit in. We were able to lean against one wall, and relax into a squat, and so waited quietly. After about half an hour, two workmen with no English forced open the doors, peeked in, and then disappeared. About 10 minutes later, the elevator car started to move down, an then stopped. Shortly after, the doors were forced open again, and we were released. This was probably the most stressful event of our whole trip.