the hostel can entirely change ones perception of a city. Budapest and me were friends the moment i stepped into the art nouveau architecture train station and spotted the sun low in the sky and hazy through the thick glass.
Also, i didn’t get lost on the way to the hostel! Fate, I’m telling you. I stayed at Madala hostel because the reviews were off the charts and they mentioned yoga in the description. Never managed to get myself to a park or anywhere for yoga in Budapest but the hostel had a zen room with a picture of the Dalai Lama decorating one of its walls. The atmosphere was the most chill and welcoming I’ve ever experienced- my favourite hostel employee took daily naps curled up like a cat on the couch below my loft bed. Of the two cats one deemed me a worthy bed on a single occasion. I will gladly except being drooled on and covered in fur any day.
Throw in some other weirdos including a troop of finish guys and a rad Aussie and robin ends up going out more than once in a week. sleep suffered a lot though and ended up being replaced with chatter and guitar playing except on the first day when i struggled out of bed at 9:30 because i though a 10:30 walking tour was a good idea. I did get to see st Mathias church which was wicked.
Hungaian history is very interesting but man; it would sure suck to be Hungary. until 1989 the country has basically been passed from conquerer to conquerer. Hungarian wasn’t even the official language until the 19th century and it’s one of the strangest most difficult to learn because it has asian roots.
One thing Hungary seems to be very good at is uprisings. When st Gellert converted the king to christianity and the peasants didn’t approve they threw him off a hill in a barrel. full of spikes. now he’s a martyr and an impressive “waterfall” gushes from the places he was thrown from. (Somehow I didn’t take pictures but imagine a ten meter high moss covered rock with a pool at the bottom and if you look very closely there are seven drops of water trickling down from the moss.)
another thing hungary does well thanks to the ottoman influence is baths. I developed a great fondness for sitting in giant pools of warm water while in Iceland and quite enjoyed a chance to prune up again, this time in a bit more luxurious locations.
no photos of the baths. I admired the swimsuited tourists dedicated enough to carry their cameras around the different pools and strike poses sitting on fountain edges but i was enjoying burning my nose and shoulders too much to be bothered. plus cameras in pools. creepy.
The last day we struggled up to the castle after the club closed to try and catch the sun rising. the bastard beat us up to the sky for a second time but a silent city sure does look extra beautiful.