Budapest is fun. What’s also fun is when Lufthansa cancels your flight to Frankfurt on the tarmac, then spends so many hours making you wait in line you miss other, useful connections and wind up on some Air France flight to Paris that is nevertheless still delayed on the runway — again, without explanation — so that you land just in time to be told you’re stuck in Paris without clothing or anyway of crossing the hour’s drive into the city for the next 24 hours.
I slept well. Now I get to try it all over again. For the record, Charles de Gaulle Aéroport is distinctly unfabulous.