15/03/2005

The Ferihegy National Airport is pretty small for a city as big as Budapest. It lies about 24 kilometres southeast of the city centre. Travelling here from Sturovo takes a couple of hours. I’ve counted the days. Since yesterday I’ve counted the hours. My beloved is due to arrive at twelve.

A Danish couple approaches me. Do you speak english? I do. They sigh relieved. None of the taxibusdrivers want to take them to the centre of Budapest. The deskemployees pretend not to understand any English. How to get to Budapest? Is there a bus? I explain them there is, but not a straight one. Next to me some German travellers curse. The ticketmachine for the bus only takes coins and the busdriver doesn’t want to sell them a ticket in the bus, even though he should. I change their money, they buy a ticket, but the busdriver slams the door shut in front of their faces and hits the road. I leave them with their anger and go for a cup of coffee. I order a normal cappucino and get an extra large and extra expensive one. I get the feeling they don’t really like tourists here.

The plain is delayed. I wait. I enjoy the waiting. There is a flowermachine to look at, you throw in money and you get a bunch of flowers to give to your beloved one. Some people actually buy the flowers. There are people looking for somebody they only know by name. I regret I didn’t bring a big sign saying “ALBERT”. I trie to buy a sandwich but can’t get myself to pay the prize I wouldn’t even pay in Amsterdam for a sandwich. I get lost when I walk to the other terminal and get unlost again. The plain arrives. I stand among the waiting crowd. I don’t need a sign. The name “Albert” is written all over my face.