A Tale of Two Utcas (Ootsawsh): Part 1

St. Michael's Church, Váci utca, 47b

Budapest, like Prague, like many European cities, prides itself on its ability to make music, to make it beautifully and to offer it widely. Each year Budapest hosts a two-week (mostly) classical music festival with performances scattered about the city in basilicas, churches, and concert spaces large and small. It's kind of like Hungarian March Madness, minus the competition, frenzy, and basketball.

Before I came to Hungary I had known of and began anticipating The Budapest Tavaszi (Spring) Music Festival. Last month, I purchased pairs of tickets to five performances. Regrettably, I did not foresee the travel logistics to the Berlin Fulbright Conference last weekend, and so I had to forego the first two concerts (though I was happy to have made a gift of them to two of my very hospitable Hungarian colleagues). 

Last night, then, was the first concert I was able to attend, an all-Mozart program featuring several of his oratorical pieces. The concert was to be performed at Inner City St. Michael's Church, Váci utca (street), 47/b. Interior views of St. Michael's

I had invited Nora, a friend of friends, to join me for dinner and the show. Nora is Hungarian, a Budapester of 20 years, though she has spent some time in the U.S. as an au pair. Her English is, by her own measure, not good, though compared to my Hungarian, she could work at the U.N.

Through a series of comical emails, we arranged to meet outside St. Michael's at 5:30. Then, we would head off to the renowned and nearby Central Káváhaz -- now more an upscale restaurant than a traditional Hungarian coffee house --, have a meal, and return back to St. Michael's for the show.

The last time I was to have met Nora, when I first arrived in Hungary at the end of January and was in Budapest for the Fulbright orientation, was at Kálvin Tér, a metro stop not far from where I was staying near Blaha Lujza Tér. 

According to the map I was given gratis upon checking-in at my hotel, Kálvin Tér wasn't far. Definitely walking distance. Turn left on Rákóczi utca, keep going, take a left on Múzeum körút, and boom, I'm there. Can't miss it. So I decided to walk and not take the metro, which would have gotten me there in two stops.

I left the hotel and made the turn. 

I walked.

And walked.

And walked. 

According to the map, I had walked enough blocks to have long ago crossed the Danube, perhaps even the Austro-Hungarian border. I was in the dark in a dark neighborhood with few signs of help. I saw a Chinese restaurant. This should be interesting, I thought.

I entered and asked the eager to help waiter "Kálvin Tér?" He shook his head, and, either in Hungarian with a Chinese accent or in Chinese with a Hungarian accent, he directed me where I needed to go. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, it was all Greek to me. Whatever he said, I was sure he was mistaken. Kálvin Tér was close. It had to be. If only he spoke better English.

I asked somebody else on the street, equally eager to help, but we were mutually incomprehensible. 

Finally, a young woman walking her dog was able to help as the dog did its business alongside a tree. 

The Chinese guy was right; I was way off. It turned out that the first turn I made coming out of the hotel was fatal. I turned left; I should have turned right. The destination originally so close was, thanks to my footwork, now far, far away. 


I located a phone booth and dialed Nora's cell. I got the Hungarian equivalent of the three-tone shrill when, in the U.S., you dial a number which is no longer in service or misdial and the phone company figures to damage your hearing for trying, along with a Hungarian operator-droid informing me of something about the undialability of the number. Screw her/it. I dialed again. Same result. I grew frantic. This was the only number I had for Nora. Plus, I was already late, and far away in Nora-time from where I needed to be. 


Picture Dustin Hoffman as Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate after his Alfa runs out of gas and he tears off to reach the church before Elaine (Katherine Ross) says "I do" to Biff. Ben on the run

By the time I got to Kálvin Tér, somewhere around 8:40, I was sweating. A mess. 


Nora, sensibly, was gone. 

There was a pay-phone in the station, and I tried -- desperately -- to call her. Again, three squeals and a strikeout.

Sure that I was continuing to grow as the biggest loser Nora had never met, I felt an acute need to get in touch with her. I found two women chatting by the entrance to the subway escalators and, showing them the written phone number, asked them what possibly could be the problem. They conferred for a second and pieced together the answer that because I was calling from within Hungary, the initial calling code was 06, not 36, as the number I had been trying (which would have worked outside Hungary, say, in Austria). 

I dashed back to the payphone and dialed 06 instead of 36. Nora picked up. She said, with audible edge, that she had waited half an hour for me. I apologized profusely, and sincerely. That night was shot; could we at least meet for a glass of wine the next? She agreed, we did, and with rose in hand, I had redeemed myself, somewhat.

So, I was determined not to have a replay of that inanity leaving Nora at the church door. I had the address. I had a map. I had google. Google.

***

Do you think you know where this is heading? Well, sorry to disappoint your CSIQ, but you don't. Come back for part two, to see what happens next.