Most of us know the quote: “If you do not ask the right questions, you do not get the right answers.”  My wife has been trying to drill that point home. She has not been successful.

I’ll ask, “Where’s your cell phone?” and I always get the same answer.

“It’s in my purse.”

I’m no further ahead because I did not ask the right question.

She has tried and tried to train me but I’m a guy and guys just don’t train well unless there is physical pain involved as there is in the army.

This has been going on for some time. I just keep asking the wrong questions.

“Where are the metro tickets?”

“Where are the keys?”

“Where’s a pen?”

“Where’s the lawnmower?”

Everything is always in her purse and do you think that once I would just ask, “Susan, where’s your purse?’

No. I’m a guy.

Armed with this self-awareness, you’d think I would know better about asking questions.

No. I’m a guy.

But where my wife has failed to teach me the fine art of asking the right questions, Hungarians are succeeding.

I decided to stop in Budapest’s West train station and ask a question. My thought was to find out whether one could take a train to Vienna for a day trip. I was in luck because there was almost no one at the international desk. After all, waiting in line just to ask questions is not something guys do. At least not this guy.

So I got to the counter and asked the woman if there was a train to Vienna.

“Not from this station. It goes from the East train station.”

OK. Did she know what times they left?

Yes, she did.

OK. Did she know when they returned? Yes, she did. It was printed right there on the same piece of paper that had the departure times. How convenient was that?

I was pretty proud of myself and turned to walk away. I got part way through the station when I realized that I had not asked a very important question that Susan would certainly ask me. So I turned back to the international desk only now there was one person buying a ticket that I can only assume would take him half way around the world because it was taking forever for the ticket woman to make his ticket.

But I waited. I needed this answer if I was going to be successful in convincing Susan that we could just hop on a train the next morning and go to Vienna for the day.

So when I got to the counter I asked the one important question I failed to ask before: “How much is the train to Vienna?”

There were two prices. One was for the reservation and the other was for a seat although I couldn’t understand how you could have a reservation if you didn’t have a seat.

I was just about to walk away when I realized I had forgotten another important question: “How much is the train back from Vienna to Budapest?”

There were two prices. One was for the reservation and the other was for the seat although I still didn’t understand how I could have a reservation if I didn’t have a seat.

Questions answered, I went home and happily announced that we could take the train the next day to Vienna. Train left at 7AM getting us in at 10AM and the last train out left just before 8PM getting us home around 11. A long day, for sure, but a spontaneous day trip to Vienna. All I had to do was take the subway to the East train station to get our tickets.

And reservations, of course. So off I went.

When I got there I struggled to figure out where to buy international tickets because all the ticket counters I could see were for domestic trains. I finally found the sign for international destinations but it was on the other side of a gate where you had to show your ticket to be allowed to pass. Did I need to buy a ticket to be able to get in to buy a ticket? Hey, if you could buy a reservation without a seat maybe you had to buy a ticket to be able to buy a ticket.

I finally mustered up the courage to approach the ticket inspectors to explain that I was trying to buy a ticket. I don’t know if they have special psychic ticket inspectors or what because, while they were carefully inspecting everyone else’s ticket, they just waved me through.

I walked into a grand neoclassical hall, complete with gold gilt pillars and painted dome ceilings of warriors and heros engaged in what I assume to be battles that I knew nothing about. It was breathtaking and beautiful. The station itself was in the midst of renovation, being restored to its original splendor. If Budapest is ever fully restored and renovated it will be the most beautiful city in Europe. But there is long way to go as evidenced by the room adjoining that magnificent hall where I had to go to actually get the tickets.

This station, unlike the West train station, had a take-a-number process with a LED display showing you just how long you had to wait. My number was 256. The number being served was 211. Hmmm. I thought about how long it took the woman at the West train station to issue just one ticket and something occurred to me.

I had time for a beer.

So I went to the restaurant in the station. It felt like it was about half the size of Grand Central Station in Manhattan. Although once opulent, it was now dark and dingy, as was the waiter.

I was one of three people in the restaurant. What is it with restaurants that have more wait staff than customers and it still takes forever to get served?

The cold beer I wanted wasn’t but I sat there and drank it anyway, just hoping to kill some time before my number would finally flash on the display.

When I went back to the ticket area, I saw they were now serving number 223.

It had been over half an hour and so I called Susan and broke the news to her. I figured I could be sitting there until the train left the next morning before I’d have a ticket so I gave up. Maybe another time.

I got back on the subway and headed back to the West train station, where Susan suggested we meet so we could get some groceries. Somehow, no matter when I go out or where I go, for some reason I have to go to a grocery store. But that’s another story (I promise).

At the grocery store, Susan asked me a question. It’s all about the questions.

“Did you ask if you could buy the tickets to Vienna here?”

Dammit. I simply didn’t ask the right question. Oh sure, I found out that you can take a train to Vienna, I found out the trains left from the East train station, I found out when the trains left, I found out when the trains came back and I even found out how much it cost to get a reservation and how much it cost to get a seat to go along with that reservation but did I find out if they sold tickets here at the West train station for trains to Vienna leaving from the East train station?

No. I did not. So back into the West train station I went, this time with Susan.

Although it was 10 hours since I had last been there, the same woman was still working solo at the counter. But unlike the East train station, there was virtually no one there.

“Excuse me, can we buy tickets for the Vienna train here?” I asked.

“Yes. For when?”

There it was. Simple, direct and easy. If only I had asked the right question.

So we bought tickets for reservations to Vienna and tickets for seats to Vienna and we bought tickets for reservations back to Budapest and tickets for seats to go along with our reservation back to Budapest.

That was easy.

We got up disgustingly early the next morning to make sure we were in plenty of time for the 7AM train that, as it turned out, almost no one else was taking.

Scurrying around, I asked Susan, “Where are the tickets?”

“They’re in my purse.”

They say learning should be a lifelong experience. I should live so long.