A step backwards with a net

So I'd sorted out internet, my phone, the heating, food, and my finances. The language barrier was still there, but it was the end of the week and things were progressing reasonably. Of course something had to go wrong, as my phone ran out of credit, and I had no idea of how to top it up.

In the morning I decided to activate my internet banking, since it's now as integral to your money's experience as the zip in your wallet that holds the small change in there. Calling the number the guy in the bank had indicated, I was put through to the usual hold, and heard the Hungarian attempt at replicating the usual fractious messages in English. "Thank you for your anticipation, we will try to connect you". Do you mean patience? "Thank you for your increased anticipation". Are you trying to say continued patience? Do they not get actual English people to check this shit? I mean, if it's a service for English users, it would make sense to pay someone a fiver to at least make sure they were representing themselves in the best light.

Once I got through to someone, they explained the protocol, and I waited for the SMS (they don't say text) to arrive. I could have changed the login page to English, but I trusted all would be well. The text arrived, and I put in the password as the woman had directed; then, on the next page, I tried putting in my new password. It brought up another similar page; new password confirmation I figured, and typed on. Turned out I'd fucked up. There'd been a second text, with another password. God knew what it meant, since the text was in Hungarian. I went back to the login page, tried both passwords, tried to check the text using an online translation. Fail. Error. I'd blocked my internet banking.

Okay, I'd phone up again and start the process once more. Shit, a text message from T-Mobile saying my credit was low. I couldn't even reply to my sister to say I wouldn't be able to reply to her message, let alone calling the bank again. I had to get credit. Unfortunately, Miklos ("the idiot") had not told me how to do this, or at least had miscommunicated. I'd asked him how, whether I could do it online, or in the supermarket, yes yes the nods came. Never ask someone who doesn't speak your language well a question they can say yes to, invariably they will, and it will turn out the real answer was no. As humans we like to acquiesce, and do so even when we've not got a clue what we're agreeing to.

I headed off to see the lovely Iraqi man, he would know what to do. He wasn't in. It was his wife. "Besail Angoloo?", I asked, in my best Hungarian (ie Do you speak English?). "Nem," she replied, flatly (ie No, fuck off), as if I was a piece of shit on her shoe. Heading for the supermarket in the square I stalked around looking for a sign saying 'T-Mobile', like they have in UK supermarkets. In my psychology textbook it said we have schemas of understanding, which we use to navigate the world. Mine told me that tobacconists and supermarkets usually sell top-up cards. Well, in Hungary they don't.

I hurried off to the tourist information centre. It had been my plan to go there anyway that day, because I wanted to get a lovely big map to stick on my wall. I thought they might know. The woman behind the desk was like an old librarian, the kind who helps you but wishes she didn't have to. I think she wanted to be sunning herself on the Black Sea. Still, she gave me the address for a T-Mobile shop, and pointed it out on a map she gave me (I also got a complimentary Time Out Budapest into the bargain), I couldn't really ask for more.

Trotting off in the direction of the shop, I walked vigorously. In spite of what my only Hungarian friend had said about the glorious weather, the day was bitterly cold due to a very strong wind. It ate through my coat, and I sincerely regretted wearing a sleeveless top. On the way I spotted the Opera House (to be visited again later), and an Oxford University Press bookshop (I wondered if they'd have books in English...). Finding the T-Mobile shop with out too much difficulty I wandered in, took a number (like you do at the cheese counter), and waited patiently.

The shop was at least a lot less busy than the one on Monday. The girl who served me spoke enough English to help me top up my credit, which was a great relief. Unfortunately when probed on the intricacies of website logins, her smattering failed her, and she disappeared upstairs for around fifteen minutes, while I waited, as patiently as I could. Her colleague returned, with that classic Hungarian resentment I have come to accept - it's as though my presence, and request that they speak a little English and be helpful is a huge imposition, and how dare I. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate anyone wishing foreigners would learn their language, but when they stand before you looking like frightened kittens, have some compassion please.

As it turned out, Miklos had grossly misled me. The website was for contract customers only, and the only place I would be able to top up was at ATMs. I gratefully thanked her for the information, and set off for home, glad to get out of the cold, and relieved to be in contact with the outside world again. She even told me how to check my credit for free. I was a man of infinite knowledge.

Later that day I met up with my friend Viktor, who put the final piece in the puzzle. The second text from my bank was a security password, and the number to put in on the second page. I called the bank back up with my new credit, set the webpages to English, and breezed through the relative examination of internet bank set up with flying colours. The only nasty surprise was that they'd already put my bank charges through, in spite of there being no money in my account. In one day I'd amassed interest on the overdraft of a princely penny, a lot considering I was only about £10 overdrawn. I decided to never be overdrawn again on the account, and will put myself into the black with them on Monday.

One step back, two steps forward. Just the way it should be.