We go looking for a laundromat. It doesn't go so well.
We wander through half of Budapest, trying every place listed in both of our guidebooks. Some are empty storefronts, some are no longer laundromats. Our favorite looks a lot like a regular U.S. self-serve laundromat, except that "We tell you which machine to put your clothes in and when." Old habits die hard, apparently.
We finally find a small place, hidden in the back of an unmarked courtyard, in which a squadron of friendly women will individually wash and iron each article of clothing. This isn't exactly what we're looking for, but we've reached the point of Absolute Laundry Crisis, so we run with it.
After that, it's sink-washes for us, with our Alpine Tix detergent, two plastic bags for a washer, and bungee cords for clotheslines. I understand now the function of a washboard, and I also understand what a great boon the washing machine was to the housewives of America.