There was a gentle slowing-down and I realised we were - perhaps, yards, feet? - from Hungary itself. I had no knowledge of the border procedure, assuming that despite remaining in the EU, at the very least a passport check would be required to enter the former Warsaw Pact (this had been the case at a Poland-Slovakia crossing five years previously). Nothing. We paused, then drove on straight past buildings that were clearly no longer used - as if to emphasise the nature of what had changed here, one of the greatest divides of history was now little more than a cafe. Some indeterminate time later we made another short stop. I remember deciding that a little fresh air would be a good idea and taking a few steps outside the bus in the dark. I was so drowsy the chill of the night air and the breath of traffic going by seemed detached from my senses but this temporarily alleviated the dry throat and cough that occurs after breathing in an air-conditioned environment for too long. People are beginning to feel ill now, which is unsurprising given that there are numerous contributing factors available. Every time I almost sleep my brain wakes me up because it's still aware that there is motion and I am not properly lying down. Hungary is simply darkness beyond the glass, and offers no clue as to how much of herself remains to traverse.
Somehow, at 4am I was not only still alive but was actually at the (metaphorical) gates of Budapest. I rank this amongst completing a Masters' degree, writing The Sun Rising and cooking perfect crispy duck pancakes as one of my greatest achievements. In fact the previous 40 hours ceased to matter at that moment, not so much because we had reached our destination but because of what the destination was, a city I had been aching to go back to for nearly seven years. Driving through the streets of Buda again was enough to restore all of my downtrodden optimism about this trip. I started to recognise with delight places I'd known before - trams in Moskva tér, the great statue high up on the citadel, the Danube river which had shadowed us all the way from Germany (and what a distance that seemed like now) - and with equal delight saw they had not changed at all for the worse but were every bit as magisterial as I has remembered them. Better still, sleep would be coming, hours of sleep after which I would be restored pretty much to full health and ready to consume the glories of the city.
If all this sounds rather gushing, it is partly for dramatic effect. Because what actually panned out wasn't quite so encouraging. We reached the hotel in the north of Buda with no further delay. Looks alright, lots of wood and palm trees in the lobby. And then the plan of what would be happening tomorrow was announced. It should be explained at this point that the becalmment in Aschaffenburg had put us behind by approximately fourteen hours. As the time was now 4.30am, we would have arrived on the original plan at about 3pm, and then had a few hours to sleep, relax and take stock before having a dinner cruise on the river and then a full night's rest. Obviously there was no chance of any of this happening now - but to top that, it was explained that tomorrow's schedule (technically today's, but the sense of what hour belonged to what day had become either blurred or irrelevant by now) had to go ahead as planned. This involved leaving at 9.30 to get to a rehearsal at the Museum of Military History, a rehearsal which cannot be postponed because the Hungarian Police need the building for a ceremony of some kind. There was a largely silent but very apparent collective groan from the orchestra as this was announced. A maximum four hours' sleep was being offered to us after over two days of restlessness. I didn't wait to hear much more and stood in line to get the keys. The room was a little basic with the obligatory mysterious stain on one wall and arcane shower system, but it wasn't a high priority right now. The thin pillow didn't make much difference either.
As in real-time I am sleeping, now might be a good point to take stock of events up to this point. We have reached our hotel fourteen hours behind schedule. Our English bus is still in Germany being repaired and will not be available for us for another two days at best. At the request of Companion, I had been making notes on the times of various events (border crossings, pit stops), knowing that I'd not be able to remember things accurately. Applying as much mental arithmetic as I can manage, I work out that I have been awake for some 45 hours, far longer than my previous effort of 36 going to Hong Kong a few years ago. In addition, Hong Kong was spent on the relative calm of an airliner and ended in a very comfortable hotel. By the second day there I was fully adjusted even for the eight-hour time difference. Here, the fact that I have now actually slept should not be confused with any pretence of feeling rested. It has simply put the level of tiredness back by perhaps a day, similar to how I was feeling in Aschafenburg. In practical terms, this means that I would feel decidedly unsafe about driving, my playing ability will be noticeably diminished and my patience with any irritations lacking. But worst of all, it means I have to delay proper sleep by yet another 24 hours, and arguably have a more strenuous day to get through (although I have long questioned whether travelling, even as a passenger, is ever stress-free). But back to the real world...
Breakfast is ample enough; a big cup of coffee (but disappointingly weak and of poor quality for Hungary; read more about this later), bread and the cold cheeses and meats typically offered on the continent. Let's be honest, I am functioning - meaningful conversation is possible and I feel as if I will just about be able to play today's concert. The early start is offset by news that a previously scheduled sightseeing tour being postponed to another day, so that we can at least return here and rest in the afternoon. This makes things work a little better. We are also told that the rehearsal will be like a good haircut - short and efficient - and that we will have a little leisure time afterwards to get lunch. I have the impression that the orchestra is generally unperturbed by all the disturbances and lack of sleep and is prepared to just go at it and see what happens, but I can't be sure.
Still, we have to go and rehearse now, because it's our only opportunity to do so. Stepping out into the bright daylight of Budapest for the first time, we find that the stature of our transportation has shrunk still further, as we now have a squat red bus that's basically the same as those in service round the city (although markedly younger and rust-free) which makes fitting the entire ensemble and all hangers-on even more of a challenge. The cello goes next to me by the window; it's survived six years of being carried in a Corsa and the worst of Austrian roads in it's case; it will cope with this. Predictably, we get 100 yards and have to turn back for somebody who ignored the departure time, but it's little matter. We swing out again onto a wide avenue with dense trees in the island between roadways and the railway on the far side. I can see far more detail and character of Budapest than in the dark a few hours ago. We come out of the northern suburbs, past the amphitheatre and colonnades of Aquincum, Budapest's Roman predecessor, and the green-painted stations of the HÉV suburban railway, over a junction where yellow trams (the same Soviet-era models that had been rumbling along the streets for ever) crossed under road viaducts, and then onto the riverside. Over the water is the unmistakable umber dome and Gothic pinnacles of the Parliament building, and beyond it the suspension bridge and, where a gap in the skyline allows a view, the castle mount where we are headed. I'm already trying to take pictures from the bus window, albeit with limited success, so take in the more immediate surroundings. The landscape is a pleasing mixture of the Germanic and also something more Eastern: churches have yellow walls but also onion domes at the base of their spires, signage is ostensibly in the Latin alphabet but spelling words and vowel sounds that are baffling and exotic in equal measure. Not only do I remember the correct pronunciation for all the diacritic marks, I actually learn a few new words in Hungarian just by reading shop signs and street names. I am starting to love this city and culture.
We make a sharp right turn at another place I remember well: the Buda end of the Chain Bridge, which leads either over the water, further along the riverside or into a tunnel under the Budavári-hegy (vár means castle; hegy a hill), but we are going on neither. Instead we make the climb up a switchback road that ascends above the rooftops into the castle district. The final turn brings us past Fisherman's Bastion and onto cobbled streets, crowded with visitors and officials for whatever ceremony is happening later. It's a jolting ride for the last few hundred yards and then we shove each other off the bus as soon as the doors are open. The Museum of Military History is at the far end of the elongated hilltop, and occupies three-and-a half sides around a courtyard, with the far wall partly open above a sunken garden to reveal a panorama of the city. Last time I played here the venue was an outdoor stage, but this is no longer in evidence and we are shown into a hall with a high roof and a long and somewhat romanticised painting of a cavalry charge by a Magyar army of antiquity. It is impressed on us that speed is of the essence and we waste no time in setting up a semicircle of chairs and unpacking. I'm relieved to see that my instrument is none the worse for the journey; in fact it's even (almost) in tune.
I try to set out that I'm taking care of my section, making sure they have sufficient room to play (something that should be instilled into everyone who ever sets out a stage) and are comfortable. Our Conductor has brought along our fixer, and briefly introduces him, to much appreciation by the players. We now have one hour - exactly - to rehearse the entire programme. We breeze through the Beethoven Prometheus overture (a short and easy piece) and then I finally find out the reason why we have brought such a huge amount of trumpeters for the repertoire we are performing - eight in total. it is this: as a prelude to the Haydn symphony (the Clock, No.101), they will be performing an arrangement of the Tuba mirum for Verdi's Requiem. By the time all the players have entered, it is biblical in volume and spectacle, the mighty force of the sound amplified and swept around in the hall's reverberating space. The redundant string players gazed in delighted awe until, as the last chord rolled away, the Conductor readied us to start the symphony - a unlikely transition that turned out to be utterly convincing. It also worked wonders for confidence about our performing ability - if we sounded like that even now, then clearly sleep levels weren't too relevant. And so through the Beethoven symphony (No.7) right up to the hour. With five minutes to go, the coffee wore off.
Next time: we climb across some boats, and how things started to go bad again...
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