Journeyman: East to West

It’s 5:30 in the afternoon, and my turquoise-colored cup, full of steaming coffee, is sitting next to me on the bright orange cloth-covered table as I sit typing in our third-story Milanese apartment. Deena is sitting across from me going through a pile of receipts, sighing as she enters the numbers in her ledger. Joseph and Deveny are sound asleep on the sofa bed beside us, wiped out from a 3:00 AM wake-up to catch a 6:00 AM flight to Milan, Italy, out of the Budapest airport. In the streets outside, the Sagra di Baggio is in full, final-day furor with pedestrian-packed avenues, musicians, and vendors squeezing out every ounce of fun before the festival concludes for year number 388.

Sagra Di Baggio

We enjoyed one last adventure in Budapest yesterday as we boarded the public ferry at the Liberty Bridge near our apartment and spent an hour navigating the swift current of the Danube to Margaret Island at the north end of the city. Rain was forecast for late afternoon, but the sun was bright, and the sky was clear blue as we passed the familiar landmarks of Budapest, relaxed in the soft breeze, and enjoyed a fresh perspective of the city. As soon as we docked on Margaret Island, we rented a Flintstone Bike and kicked off for a self-guided cardio tour with Deveny at the wheel. The island is a 2.5 kilometer-long park that sits smack in the middle of the Danube River offering biking trails, medieval ruins, gardens, and a small zoo. I was impressed by the towering, multi-trunked sycamores flanking the bike paths, their leaves already peaking with autumn gold. We stopped briefly at the edge of the zoo’s raptor center and watched massive eagles preen their feathers in their rehabilitative mews.

Yabba Dabba Doo!

We found a quiet spot at the edge of the rose garden near the far end of the island to rest and enjoy our previously packed picnic luncheon. The skies were filling with thick grey clouds and rain was imminent, so we packed up and biked back to the front of the island to return the bike and start making our way home. By the time we hiked to the Margaret Island bridge, the rain was falling, but we made it to the tram stop before getting too wet. We made one last trip to the market across from our apartment before heading back to make supper and start the packing process. We stayed in Budapest for seven days, and discovered the history of Hungary as we walked the streets and investigated both sides of the Danube. The citizens in this great capital are free to live their lives after many years of darkness, and we were privileged to live alongside them for a short time.

The rest of my family chose to stay up most of the night while I played the responsible adult and went to bed anticipating our early wake-up. My few extra hours of sleep didn’t help much as I stumbled around with everyone else at 3:00 AM as we ate a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and apple pastries and then finished stuffing our bags and sweeping the floors. We locked up and made it outside at 4:15 to meet our driver whom the apartment owner had arranged to pick us up and transport to the airport. This gesture by our host was considerate since it would save us some money and the hassle of securing a taxi, and it would have been a perfect plan, but the guy didn’t show up.

At 4:30 AM, Deena walked down the block to the boutique hotel to see if she could get help, and I walked out to the main boulevard to flag down a taxi, hopefully. The two nice young men at the hotel desk worked frantically calling every taxi company in town, but it seems that the bars in Budapest all close at 4:00 AM, and the taxi drivers are all busy delivering drunks to their doors. I had no luck waving my arms on the side of the road, but finally the angels disguised as hotel desk clerks secured a cab, and the driver showed up at 4:50. I figured there was no way we could make our flight, but I took comfort in the thought that at least we would be at the airport, and we could figure out other arrangements. Our taxi driver did his best to get us to the airport quickly, and at 5:15, we rushed inside only to find a security queue that stretched to the middle of the departure area. The line moved quickly thanks to efficient employees, and we made it through to the gate vestibule at 5:40 where we found a departure screen that showed our gate number flashing red for the final boarding call—the gate was at the end of the concourse. We tightened our belts and ran like Achilles to gate A19 where we joined the end of the boarding line and made our flight with five minutes to spare. The plane took off promptly at 6:00 AM, and we looked at each other in disbelief as we settled in for the two-hour flight. The sun hadn’t broken the horizon yet, and the kids had already earned an “A” in Life Skills for the day.

I was too keyed up to sleep on the plane, and spent my idle time watching a giant yellow moon set slowly behind jagged mountain peaks as we flew west toward Milan. There was thick fog on the ground as we touched down two hours later, and we descended the stairs from the plane onto a tarmac slick with moisture to begin the long march through the airport. We couldn’t check into our apartment until 11:00, so we found a cafe near the front of the airport, dumped our bags, and ate a light breakfast. I ordered caffe anticipating a big, steaming cup of Italian java, and was instead served espresso in a cup not much larger than a ceramic thimble. I looked around to see if I might be the subject of a Candid Camera episode, then dejectedly took my meager ration back to the table where I tossed it back like Matt Dillon at the Long Branch Saloon.

We negotiated a taxi ride and soon found ourselves in the ancient suburbs of Milan navigating festival crowds on cobblestone streets in search of our apartment. Thanks to a friendly neighbor, we found our home for next two days, stowed our gear, and walked to the neighborhood market to buy groceries. We were tired from our journey but still enjoyed walking the narrow streets full of vendors, their stalls tight against the ocher stucco walls of the old buildings. The air was mild with a light breeze, and the sky was deep blue against the eight-hundred-year-old church bell tower and the hills beyond the village. We spent most of the midday hours sleeping off the travel fatigue, but Deena and I ventured out for a romantic late afternoon walk as the sun began to set on the revelers in the streets. We spent our honeymoon in Italy twenty-three years ago, and since then, we’ve had a rich life together full of love, adventure, and the blessing of two great kids. From our third-story balcony, we watched the festival conclude with a dazzling fireworks show over the red-tiled village roofs, and we were thankful to be together on this journey.