Last night was the first night I started to feel a little bit at home. I sat outside on the cobblestone street that boarders the ruins of Buda Castle and watched as about twenty tourists took pictures of the wild cats. And by wild cats I don’t mean Hungarian Jaguars or anything like that, but being that I’m not a cat kind of gal, I don’t know what to call house/wild cats that now live in the ruins of Prince Stephen, Duke of Slavonia’s medieval masterpiece. Royals?
Anyway, I was sitting there in my jeans and Barak ‘n Roll teeshirt eating a granny smith apple (yes, they taste the same), just watching the evening set and everyone stroll slowly by. The fact that it is getting dark here does not encourage people to head home. In fact, it’s the second life of the city and district. It’s when the cafes are serving night kávé and people are emerging after big dinners to walk down the alleys. Go out at midnight and you may see three or four couples hand in hand admiring the way that the moonlight accents the statues of famous Hungarian princes and generals. In my case, I was on my way toward the National Gallery and a better view for a Lánchid Bridge photograph. In the course of my time here, I’ll probably post too many pictures of this bridge. But please forgive me. It’s like living next door to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica or the Bridge of Sighs and not taking a photograph of it every day. It asks you too. It’s real, living history.
After the dark had set on the river, fireworks started to zoom up from one of the boats docked on Duna (which you can see on my previous post). As they crackled in the sky, there was not even one July 4th sensation bubbling in my throat. I didn’t feel like an American at all, actually, but rather a well, yes, I live here gal and yes, this is the kind of thing you see here, and yes, this is why we love it.