As I had already done the "dress rehersal", had no problem taking the Paris metro to the correct station for the Beauvais Airport bus. It was only 13 euros, and I caught it in plenty of time, about 11:30. It was supposed to take about 1 1/2 hours, but as traffic was light, we got there in an hour.
Beauvais airport is waaaaaay smaller than the other Paris airports, and a bit out of the way. But some of the European budget airlines use it, so a good option.
Arrived at the airport, and it was little. Probably about the size of the one in Penticton. There was a single Ryanair 737 on the tarmac, with one arriving later, then my Wizz Air flight, an A320.
You walk out on the tarmac, and up the stairs, the old fashioned way. Security was quite easy, as there are only 3 flights at the time. Overall, quite a pleasant experience.
And Wizz Air, again, very nice. The A 320 was brand spanking new, with nice deep burgundy leather seats. Very smooth flight, took just under 2 hours.
Arrived at Budapest Terminal 1, and it was here I started to feel that I did not know what the %^&*$% I was doing. I had pre-booked a bus, and asked the lady at the information counter where I would find it. She looked rather annoyed (probably a distant relation of the Paris metro lady), and waved her arms indicating the bus was outside - well duh!
Waited around a bit, then went back into the terminal to call my EBAB host. Got an answering machine in Hungarian, and left an English message. People think I am crazy not to be carrying a cell phone, and I think they are right.
Finally hooked up with the bus driver, and into Budapest we went. Central Budapest may be very beautiful, but the outskirts leave no doubt this was once a Soviet Block country. Got my bearings from the sunset direction, and the hills ahead (I had read on the plane that the Buda side was hilly).
Traffic was horrendous, and finally the driver just gave up, and dumped us off. I had grabbed a map at the airport, and actually thought I may have found the street my apartment was on.
Found a metro station, and guess what, they don't take Euros. I have no Hungarian money, so what do I do. Tried a bank machince with a Plus logo on it, and no and no to both Royal Bank, and CIBC. Yikes!
Started to walk in the general direction of the apartment, but I knew it was miles away. And yes, my feet are still killing me (started using polysporin right away in Amsterdam, Laurie!). I was also very tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and oh yah, its about 10 degrees outside, typical November weather I heard some locals say. So, I am also freezing!
Bumbled onto an exchange place, and exchanged 50 euros for Hungarian Forint. Bought a metro ticket, and was promptly accosted by a guard telling me I must validate the ticket. Now remember, I don't know a word of Hungarian, and nobody here seems to speak any English.
Got off at the correct metro station, and actually found the street name I was looking for. But the street numbering system made no sense. I was looking for 13, 34???? Asked directions in a store and from a couple of strangers on the street, I just pointed to the printed address on my confirmation. No one had a clue where it was. If the locals could not figure it out, how could I?
Walked alone up a very dark creepy street, noticing the ugly Soviet style apartment blocks - scary. Came to the end of the street, and found the odd numbers on the split side of the street. Found 11 and 13A. 11 had a list of buzzer numbers, but 13A had no such thing. Walked into some even scarier alleys (makes Dwayne and my Santiago nightmare look tame). Was feeling so frustrated and down, what was I to do.
Hobbled along and found a payphone. Now you have not forgotten that I am cold, hungry, thirsty, tired and my feet hurt, have you? The stupid phone would not work, even though I now had Hungarian coins. Now what.
I still had a feeling I was close, so went back to the really scary alleys, and looked into an equally scary open doorway. There appeared to be a janitor in there, so I pointed to my address - 13. He motioned that is was around the back of the building on another street. Bingo! The name on the enter code corresponded to the proprietors name, and it was also number 34, and on the ninth floor as stated in my EBAB information.
It was a big Soviet style building, with a very scary ancient elevator. I buzzed 34 and someone buzzed me in.
I was never so glad to see a friendly face, and a cute little room of my own. Grabbed some cheese and crackers, a huge sprite from the supermarket (very cheap), and sat down to tell my tale.
Feeling better now, but it has been quite a day.
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