Stepping off the train into Pesht, you quickly see what is meant by "Budapest is the new Prague". True enough, there are more natives, fewer tourists. It's dirtier, with frequent blasts of sulfurous vapors or sewage fumes wafting up from the grates. And today is not a cool day.

So you walk west, check into your hostel, then westward still. And slowly all that falls away. Before long, you are in the shopping hub of Pesht: Fancy stores, glittering lights. Further westward, you come to the Danube. Crossing the Danube into Budai, the schmutz of the suburban Pesht is a distant memory. Follow your instincts upwards, and you leave the bustle behind for a moment, stepping into a peaceful hillside grove.

Virag ("Flower" in Magyar) entertained my conversation for some half hour. I confessed to having come here knowing nothing of Budapest or Hungary, essentially. I know that a scotsman borrowed Transylvania to set his story "Dracula" in. But that legend was British in origin more than local. If it came from anywhere near here, it would be from Vlad Tepes of Wallachia, not Transylvania. Beyond that, I know that this is where one still finds gypsies. That drew a laugh from Virag. "Don't tell people that's what you know us for. I don't mind gypsies, but most people... Tell them that the girls here are the most beautiful, or that the food is good, instead." And Budapest does have more than her share of beautiful girls, this is true.



That hill you've been climbing is Castle Hill, and if there's a more relaxed, carefully architected place to set down your worries for an hour in Budapest, I'll be impressed. The air is sweet and the colors sedate. A few blocks more and the sights blur into a terraced community of residences. A grandfather walks his laughing granddaughter through the streets, dogs wait to be petted, and trails flow beneath a canopy of leaves.

Budapest is a most musical city. In Budai, a restaurant is an excuse to host a violinist and his accompaniment; a place to dine while listening to them play. In Pesht, violin duets break in between traffic noises, taking up residence in rail stations or streetside. Nearing Castle Hill, you move from song to song, never standing in silence. Many of these performers are quite good, whether playing folk, gypsy, or intricate classical tunes.

So farewell for tonight. It's been a long, good walk. There are still caves to explore here, and famous baths, and a labyrinth I missed on Castle Hill the first time. But for a couple days now I think I'll set up in a teahouse and get some writing done. This is a good place for that, too.


More pictures here.