Budapest, 22-24 July

There's something vaguely enigmatic about Budapest, a city claiming over a thousand years of distinctly Hungarian civilization, yet having fallen time and again under the opressive thumbs of various other dynasties: the Ottomans, the Austrians, the Soviets.

Perhaps the best way to understand Budapest is to follow the Danube as it churns muddily on its meandering route, linking the two great capitals of the faded Austro-Hungarian empire.

Vienna flaunts her status as the favoured sister, the one who was always lavished with attention and pretty baubles. Vienna glitters as the prized jewel of culture and marbled grandeur, reflecting the pomposity of the imperial Hapsburg past. Today her monuments gleam with a pristine, brilliance, and she is also awash in the sleek trappings of upper class modernity, shining pedestrian malls of chrome and glass, showcasing expensive designer tastes. Her charming gardens are perfectly manicured and painstakingly well-coiffed.

The train from Vienna to Budapest more or less tracks the lazy route of the Danube, winding east through well-apportioned suburbs and then ridiculously charming Austrian villages and countryside of quaint farms and fields and lustrous green forests, all lining the gently swelling, rolling hills.

By the time thepassport checkers board the train, their evidence of border crossing seems incidental, because the actual border is palpable. The landscape becomes flatter, and gives off a general aura of negligence. Things seem unkempt, dusty. The villages seem a vaguely distored refection of their counterparts over the border, harboring the occasional crumbling wreck in their midst.

The Danube chugs along, now paralleling the train, now a few bends away beyond the scrubby trees, casting its swathe of liquid light in the bleak dustiness. Then the sort of desolate industrial outbuildings that signal the outer limits of a big city, and suddenly Budapest rises up, shrouded in her veil of bleak mystery.

That she always stood in shadow of her favoured sister is evident. She was never quite as sophistcated or naturally gorgeous, perhaps she was even considered a bit homely, a wall flower at the ball, though there is also the impression she cleans up surprisingly well and could be a beauty in her own right.

Perhaps sensing this, the Hapsburgs built the great Buda palace to ornament one of the great hills on the western bank of the Danube and, of course, to showcase their own glory. Ornamental gates with the powerful Hapsburg eagle cast a forbidding shadow down on the river below. Yet the Austrian imperials never pulled themselves away from the spell of Vienna, and never occupied their palace in Buda save for the occasional state visit.


Yet for all of the neglect she suffered at the hands of her Austrian rulers, Budapest was always adored by her own. They remain fiercely loyal, proud and only too happy to boast of the many attractions of their city. They evidence their pride with great monuments such as the Heroes' Square, where likenesses of great kings and leaders of the past gaze scornfully down at visitors ignorant of their roles in the history of their beloved folk.


In the 1890s the people of Budapest built their own showcase palace in a park in the eastern side of the city to commemorate 1000 years of Hungarian culture, and they built the iconic Fisherman's Bastion to share the Buda Castle hill, a beautiful structure of white stone arches and turrets resting on remnants of the original city wall.


The Bastion complements the gorgeous neo-Gothic Matthias Church, which mirrors elements of Vienna's own Stephansdom, such as the mosaic-tiled roof.

But whereas Stephansdom is nestled in the heart of Vienna, hidden away in a ring of other structures, the Matthias Church rises up over the Danube in magnificent spires of glory.

Observing the way the Danube so fetchingly bisects Budapest, one imagines that the spirit of the river resides here, rather than in the more stately and formal capital to the west. The Danube seems to flow more freely in Budapest and flit about more willingly, capturing and reflecting the Budapest skyline by day and adding her twinkiling lights to those of the stars at night.



Budapest may have been second rate for those who preferred to dictate from afar, but those who took the time to get to know her sensed her hidden magic. It's still there today, just below the surface, beyond the guide book packaged sights and multi-lingual bus tours, waiting to be recognized by the traveler willing to look deeper, willing to wander her streets and gaze down at her from her hilly heights, willing to meet her gaze, reflected in the sweep of the mighty, loving Danube.