Budapest is everything I thought it would be minus the touristy bullshit that seems to haunt every major city in Western Europe. I’d post a picture that encapsulates my startlingly poetic walks, the old fat gilded bulbs that bloom like tulips above the cityscape, the ubiquitous bikers, and the fruit markets that spill out onto the stone cobbled streets, except i lost my memory card reader somewhere along the line (my track record so far is stunning).
Like poland, Budapest at least, seems like the cool kid that everybody secretly wants to be like but who doesnt realize they’re cool. Well, maybe it’s just on the verge of self-awarneness- a 15 year old on the hip scene just starting to flex its muscles. But seriously. I often have these really romantic ideas of Europe, of walking old alleyways, and stumbling upon some ancient edifice, of finding an old cafe hidden in walls- and granted this does happen; although maybe I’m getting spoiled, but Budapest was the first place in a couple months where I felt like I could melt into the walls, or stopped lid stride to look up and go, wow.
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