For some time, I had been toying with the idea of going completely sober. One night in late September, at a sushi restaurant, after finishing an ice-cold Asahi that perfectly matched the crisp European autumn weather, I decided that would be it for alcohol—for a while, at least. Since then, I haven’t had a drink for an extended period for the first time since I was 18. Going sober is, in itself, an experience worth writing about, as I believe any experience is. What makes mine even more fascinating, however, is that I quit alcohol while living in what is often considered the most alcohol-centric country in the world: Hungary.
Like many in my situation, alcohol and nights out became routine from 18, first with legal drinking and then through university with frequent nights out and boozy 21st parties. After COVID restrictions eased at age 25, a second wave of partying emerged, fuelled by freedom and a higher income, allowing more drinking and exclusive clubs. Over time, however, the enjoyment faded as nights out often ended in ruined Sundays on the couch.
Yet in Hungary, alcoholism is the norm. With 21% of people in Hungary drinking enough to be classified as having an alcohol abuse disorder1. And financially the temptation is hard to resist, when you can buy a 500ml can of Borsodi (Hungarian beer) for 350HUF($1.50aud) at the local Spar (Supermarket) when a Coke or a similar sized bottle of water is more expensive. That’s a long way from paying $17(4000HUF) for pints at the local Melbourne bar.
Culturally the city of Budapest has a thriving nightlife scene, arguably the most vibrant and welcoming place for nightlife in Europe. With famous ruin bars like Szimpla Kert thrown together with a rattle canned ensemble of old bicycles, corrugated iron and disco balls, which is open and welcoming to everyone. It is also one of the safest places to be in Europe as well. There are few barriers to not want to head out to the city at night. Yet with bars and nightlife is often associated alcohol, and I too had spent many nights on the dance floors of ruin bars until the early hours many drinks deep.
However, the biggest reason for Hungary’s alcoholism can be blamed down to one spirit: Palinka. For Hungary Palinka is not alcohol, it has its own special category. Palinka is anecdotally used for everything as a digestion aid, as a reason for celebration, as a cure for when your stomach isn’t feeling quite right. I’ve been with people who have started their day with a palinka shot before breakfast for good digestion.
Palinka isn’t purchased, the culture of Palinka is so strong in Hungary that legally an individual is allowed to brew up to 50 litres of the stuff per year. That’s just shy of a litre per week. Most of the time a Hungarian will get Palinka off of a friend who brews it. Palinka it is as ubiquitous in Hungarian households as paprika is in its cuisine. Removing the barrier to accessing alcohol allows it to be drunk with way less inhibition.4 Talking to Hungarian friends, the common perception is that Palinka is not alcohol, thereby it is not uncommon for people to have had shots of palinka starting from age 14 or so.
So now we have one of the most vibrant nightlife scenes in Europe, combined with alcohol that is either incredibly cheap or freely flowing in most households. Quitting here, at least in theory, should be difficult. And I’m not here to oversimplify alcoholism — whether culturally or individually. But for me, the decision came down to two things: drinking no longer felt meaningful, and it no longer served any purpose in my life.
In Western culture, drinking is often framed as socially desirable — proof that you’re fun, relaxed, and part of the group. Choosing a soft drink instead can feel like a faux pas. But in Hungary, where everyone around you is drinking, alcohol loses its edge entirely. When something becomes universal, it stops feeling distinctive. And once that happened, I started wondering why I was doing it at all.
Second to this I found that I was able to go out to a ruin bar and dance and hang out with mates without consuming alcohol, and still feel entirely integrated. Perhaps part of this is maturing, perhaps part of it is being clear with a newfound belief that you don’t need alcohol to have fun when you’re around the right people? Either way the overarching feeling was that alcohol just was not needed in any situation going forward. This was solidified at my Australian Football Team’s Christmas party where I was sober and stayed out partying until 5am.
100 days into sobriety I can report that generally the reported benefits of quitting alcohol are in fact true. I experience less anxiety overall2, and my muscle recovery is faster from workouts3. And perhaps the best thing is that I won back an extra day in the week with my Sundays. Yet these improvements don’t necessarily feel like superpowers from where I am sitting now, but rather feel like baseline normal functions that I had forgotten were possible after adjusting to a new normal with a life affected by alcohol
I’m not alone in this sentiment. Alcohol consumption has fallen in most countries in the OECD in the 10 years to 2023. This is further reflected by the falling global sales of beer and wine. This trend of people drinking less has been made easier with the increase in the demand for non-alcoholic beer4,5. It’s fair to say that this demand is driven by those wanting to cut back and alcohol and by furthering the availability and diversity of such products would likely result in more people deciding to ditch the booze in favour of an alcohol-free alternative. Is it possible that more globally people are recognizing that the downfalls of alcohol consumption, especially frequently and in excess, far outweigh the benefits?
I am not sure whether this will be a challenge marked with a timestamp, going one year sober etc. But for now, I just don’t see the purpose of drinking. Being in a new place challenged my reasons why I needed to drink in the first place and perhaps with the gaining popularity of sobriety will have further reaching consequences to lower the rate of alcoholism in Hungary itself.
References
The Economist. (2025, August 9). Helles for other people. The Economist, pp. 22.
Kurshed, A. A. M., Vincze, F., Pikó, P., Kósa, Z., Sándor, J., Ádány, R., & Diószegi, J. (2023). Alcohol consumption patterns of the Hungarian general and Roma populations. Frontiers in Public Health, 10, Article 1003129. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2022.1003129
Boden, J. M., & Fergusson, D. M. (2011). Alcohol and depression. Addiction, 106(5), 906–914. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1360-0443.2010.03351.x
Parr, E. B., Camera, D. M., Areta, J. L., & Hawley, J. A. (2014). Alcohol ingestion impairs maximal post-exercise rates of myofibrillar protein synthesis following a single bout of concurrent training. PLoS ONE, 9(2), e88384. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0088384
Babor, T. F., Casswell, S., Rehm, J., Room, R., Rossow, I., & Sornpaisarn, B. (Eds.). (2022). Alcohol: No ordinary commodity: Research and public policy (3rd ed.). Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780192844484.001.00
The Economist. (2026, January 17). A vintage slump. The Economist, pp. 57-58