Compared to the hustling Istanbul, Budapest almost seems sedate. Perhaps it was the perpetual thick as molasses low cloud cover, casting a grey tint onto everything. Perhaps it was the quiet calm, even on the busiest streets. The loudest thing i heard all day was the shrill siren of a passing ambulance.
The twin cities of Buda and Pest, separated by the Danube, becoming Budapest in 1873.
Perhaps its the way the city is organized. I’m reminded of blocks of cheese, each perfectly and symmetrically shaped and sized. City blocks are cut in the same way here. Buildings look like each other, as though drawn from the same architect’s blueprints. Over and over.
The Parliament of Hungary, siting on the Danube River.
The New York Cafe, the world’s most beautiful cafe. Serves a mean cup of coffee too.
Despite appearances, there remains a quiet beauty about the place. The type you’d associate with a grand madame, a dignified lady of matured years, a queen majestic on her throne. After all, it’s been here for more than two millennia, outliving conquerors, despots and ideologies. She has earned her right and place.
Strolling the streets of Budapest.