Budapest Day 21

Neither of us was in a hurry to get up this morning. Our original plan was to get an early start so we could retrieve Gila's purchases from the Museum of Applied Arts in the west end of the city and still have time to visit the two art galleries in Hero Square in the east. After being so consistently wrong yesterday, my plan was not even to look at a map. Gila would take the lead.

When we finally left the apartment, Gila tried to find a photograph of the museum on her phone. She was planning to show it to people to get directions. The man in one of the shops on our block said he did not know the meaning of applied arts and so I tried to describe it for him. It was a big building, near a metro station. It had a tile green roof with a dome and needed some renovation. There was some construction around it and it had big wooden doors. The man gently answered that all museums were big buildings. Gila exploded with laughter. My description was akin to asking for the site of a tall condo building made of glass in Toronto. Finally with the help of some buddies, they figured out where we wanted to go and gave us what I thought were good instructions.

However, Gila had not yet had coffee. So before getting on the tram we stopped at a small bakery/cafe for some breakfast, delicious yogurt, a bun and coffee. When we left, we found the tram stop with a tram there. Before getting on, Gila tapped on the driver's window, showed him a sketch she had made of the building we were looking for. The driver pointed to another intersection and told us to get a bus there. We found the bus stop, showed that driver the picture and asked for directions. He pointed back to the tram stop. On the way back to the tram, Gila showed her drawing and asked for directions from five different people, who all pointed to the direction where we had tried to get on in the first place. She was amazed at how many people did not recognize the building. Finally on the right path, we headed towards yesterday's destination to retrieve her purchases. The bag was just where she has left it. It was finally time to start for today's museums. The tram to the Oktagon was no problem. But now it was time to transfer to some conveyance of transportation along Andraissy St

Gila looked for another tram in that direction, but there were no stops. Again, she showed her drawing of the museum we were headed for and again the building was not recognized. Gila had seen a bus stop in the form of a blue sign so we began walking up this elegant avenue. I remember someone telling us that to get to Hero's Square you had to take a subway line, but I was not navigating today so I tried to say as little as possible. Several blocks later we finally found the Autubusz sign. Even Gila commented that this seemed excessively far for the placement of a transfer spot. As we approached the stop, the first bus drove by us. Gila busied herself sketching the area. I was on the lookout for another bus. One stopped right in front of us, but it was a tour bus letting off tourists for some guide commentary. The next bus was a Hop On Hop Off bus. At last the city bus approached and drove right by us. I thought it was because we weren't right at the stop, so we moved the two feet to the sign and Gila continued to sketch contentedly, while I waited somewhat impatiently and cold. When the third city bus zoomed past us, we concluded that perhaps the bus was not the way to get to our destination. Gila looked for a taxi. I looked for the next metro stop. The subway entrance appeared first so descended from the street to the platform. The station was really short in length. Was it because the subway train itself was short? Or was it that the train was short because the station was also short? While trying to figure this out, we continued to add characteristics to the by now imaginary building we were looking for. It had been a former palace. It had peeling paint. It was hard to stop giggling. On the train, Gila resumed asking passengers if we are the way to Hero's Square. At the station Horos something or other, I figured that the first word must be hero and we got off. Seeing the square now void of tourist crowds spread out in front of us as we climbed the stairs was a relief. It is not so easy taking on the navigation!

Of course we could not head directly to the first of the two museums. More photos of the square had to be recorded and our stomachs'' growling was a clear sign that it was already lunchtime. In front was of us was a cafe advertising pizza, so in we went. Both of us had a big bowl of soup before finally crossing the street to the museum entrance. By now it was after one o'clock and we had only just arrived at the first museum. Navigating in a foreign city wasn't all that easy. We purchased our tickets, dropped our coats of in the cloakroom and at long last we were ready to enter the Caravaggio exhibit. I flash my ticket. Gila's was nowhere to be found. She returned to the cloakroom and even emptied her knapsack but that ticket had found its way to the twilight zone. Gila went back to the cashier and asked for another ticket. The woman agreed that she remembered that Gila had bought a ticket, but it being lost was of no concern to her. After a flurry of Hungarian with anther employee, Gila was finally supplied with a replacement ticket.

The exhibit displayed a series of works on the same topic, like David slaying Goliath painted by both Caravaggio and his followers in a similar style. To get in there was an electronic door that led into a tiny plexiglass room with a second security electronic door. It was a little like the decontamination area for visitors to the Starship Enterprise. It was a very long exhibit winding its way through a great number of rooms. When we were both done, Gila was for visiting the second gallery on the other side of Hero's Square, so we headed for the cloakroom, got our coats and bags and headed out the building via the gift shop. I don't think there is such a thing as a museum gift shop that Gila doesn't browse. This was was not to be the exception.

Somehow we then decided to see the permanent collection instead of heading for the modern art gallery and had to descend to the cloakroom once again. We were becoming quite intimate with the lift. We wandered through many rooms of European works from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century and disappointed that there was no work more modern than the nineteenth century. While waiting for Gila outside the WC, I noticed another room labeled the twentieth century. Before I could say a word, Gila disappeared into the gallery without a word, leaving me with our belongings. Even after the announcement that the museum was about to close, there was no sign of Gila. As the cleaning crew descended upon the place, Gila emerged, camera in hand gushing about the work she had seen. Now, at long last we were both done.

Suggestion one was to find a place to eat dinner and then head by taxi for the apartment. With only the cafe where we had lunch at visible, we proceeded to Suggestion two. Go to the Oktagon to eat dinner there. It was now past six in the evening and I had already forgotten that I was taking a break from navigating and led us to the metro. I had to remind myself that Gila who could read maps better than I was in charge. At the Oktagon, she chose the direction we were going to try. After two blocks of cafeteria style establishments and a trendy second hand clothing store. It was time to return to the Oktagon and head in another direction to find a place to eat. There seemed nothing all that appealing until we came upon a seafood place called the Big Fish. You chose the fish and sides you wanted from the counter and sat down waiting to be served. It was both delicious and light.

After a session of therapeutic talk, I proposed a cafe for dessert, Gila was for a taxi home and she was in charge. We both knew we were very close to the apartment, but we got a tour of downtown Budapest. We both commented that we were going in the wrong direction but the driver kept pointing to his GPS and showing us he was following it. We did get back to the apartment although it did take us considerably longer than the day before.

Once we were trying to get into the building, a young Hungarian man asked for the name of the street up ahead. Did I know? Did that stop me? Again no. I explained that I didn't know the name of the street, but pointed him into the Oktagon. Of course, Gila burst into gales of laughter. I spoke no Hungarian, got us totally lost on several occasions but still thought I was qualified to lead the poor man astray!

Enough for one day. Tomorrow Kate will give us a private tour of the Budapest Jewish community. I have promised not to make any attempts to take over tomorrow, our last full day of out trip.