The tarmac at Ferenc Liszt was shimmering. You know that moment when you step out of the plane and the air just hits you, a solid wall of heat that feels like walking into a bakery oven? That was Budapest at two in the afternoon on the first of August. Thirty-nine degrees, the forecast said, and I felt every single one of them. The airport was a blur of exhausted travelers and the specific smell of a place that has been baking in the sun all day. I grabbed my bag, walked through the arrivals hall, and just stood there for a second. This is it. The first step of what is going to be a very long stay.
My first mission wasn't sightseeing. It was paperwork. Address registration, a SIM card, a bank account — the thrilling backbone of any new life. I found a taxi with a working meter, which is a small victory in any city, and gave the driver the address for the immigration office. The drive in was a blur of concrete blocks and then, suddenly, the Danube. The Duna. There it was, wide and grey and absolutely enormous, splitting the city in two. We crossed a bridge, and I got my first proper look at the Parliament building, the Országház, all neo-Gothic spires and stone lacework, glowing in the harsh afternoon sun. It’s the kind of building that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a history book, even while you’re stuck in traffic.
The office for address registration was, as you'd expect, a bureaucratic wonderland of numbered windows and waiting-room chairs. Jó napot, I said to the official, trying to sound less like a lost tourist. The process itself was surprisingly smooth. I had my passport, my rental contract, and a lot of patience. Within an hour, I walked out with a lakcímkártya, the little address card that makes you feel, for the first time, like you're not just passing through. It’s a small piece of plastic, but it’s a tether to this place.
After that, I needed a phone connection. I found a shop for one of the big three providers — Yettel, I think it was — and walked out ten minutes later with a prepaid SIM and a working number. The whole thing was painfully easy. Passport, a few signatures, and suddenly I was connected. I pulled up the BudapestGO app, which I’d been told is the only way to navigate the transit system, and bought a monthly pass. About eight thousand, nine hundred fifty forints, which my brain slowly translated into less than twenty-five dollars. For unlimited travel on the metro, trams, buses, and the little Danube boats. The city just opened up for me, all for the price of a mediocre lunch back home.
With the essentials done, I gave myself a proper welcome. I rode the M1 metro line — the oldest in continental Europe, they say, a proper little museum piece — and got off at Vörösmarty Square. The city was in full festival swing. There were posters everywhere for the Play street-music festival that was just ending, and I could hear a band playing somewhere in the distance. I walked past the famous New York Café, its gilded interior looking like a wedding cake exploded inside a palace. But I wasn't there for that kind of pomp. I was hungry. I found a tiny, unassuming spot and ordered the daily menu. A bowl of hearty gulyás, the soup, not the stew you get abroad, followed by a plate of meat and potatoes. It was about three thousand forints, and it was the best meal I’d had in weeks. Simple, honest, and deeply satisfying.
I spent the afternoon wandering. I crossed the Chain Bridge, the old stone lion guarding each end, and climbed up to the Castle District. The streets were packed with tourists, but the view from Fisherman's Bastion over the whole city was worth every drop of sweat. You can see the whole sweep of the Duna, the Margaret Island floating green in the middle of it, and the endless rooftops of Pest stretching out to the east. It’s the postcard. The one you’ve seen a thousand times. But it’s real, and you’re in it. I tried to cool off in the shade of the Matthias Church, but the heat was relentless. The city was shimmering, all sounds muffled by the thick, heavy air.
The heat is the real story of a Budapest summer, and the city has a glorious answer to it: the thermal baths. I made my way to the Széchenyi Gyógyfürdő, the huge yellow palace in the City Park. It’s not just a spa, it’s a social institution. The outdoor pools were exactly what I needed after a day of walking. The water was the perfect temperature, a little cooler than the air, and I just floated there, watching the steam rise, watching the old men play chess on the edge of the pool, watching the city’s energy in miniature. A ticket is around six thousand forints, about twelve dollars, and for that you get a full day of indulgent bliss. It felt like the city itself was telling me to just slow down and soak.
Refreshed and pruny, I crossed back to the Pest side and into District VII, the old Jewish Quarter. The sun was finally starting to set, and the streets were coming alive. This is the heart of the ruin bar scene, and I needed to see it for myself. I found a place called Szimpla Kert, the original, the one that started it all back in 2002. It’s not a bar, it’s an entire derelict building filled with mismatched furniture, strange art installations, and a thousand little nooks. I grabbed a cold local beer for around a thousand forints and just wandered through it. It's chaotic and brilliant and feels like stepping into someone's beautiful, decaying dream.
Night fell, and the city transformed. The heat was still there, but it felt less oppressive, more like a blanket. I had a late dinner at a place called Mazel Tov, which is another ruin bar but with a garden and a great kitchen. I sat under a canopy of hanging plants, eating great food, surrounded by people who seemed to be a mix of locals and the first wave of festival-goers arriving for Sziget, which is apparently coming to the island in a couple of weeks. The whole city is prepping for the crowd. You can feel the anticipation in the air. Walking back across the river toward my temporary flat in District V, the lights of the Buda Castle were all lit up. The city felt huge and old and full of secrets I intend to find.
I slept like a log. The next morning, I had one more piece of business to finish: the bank. I walked into an OTP Bank branch near the WestEnd mall, armed with my passport, my address card, and my rental contract. It took maybe forty minutes of patient smiling and signing my name, but I walked out with a working bank account. No endless fees, no mountains of paperwork. It was a surprisingly pleasant experience. Coffee here costs around a thousand forints, so I treated myself to a cappuccino and a pastry at a little café on the Andrássy út, watching the city go by. The trams clanked, the fountains splashed, the whole machine of the city was humming along.
I spent the rest of the day just walking. Down the leafy calm of Újlipótváros by the river, up the green hills of the Buda side, getting lost in the quiet, villa-lined streets of Rózsadomb. It's a different world from the bustling downtown. And then it happened. I found my place. A small one-bedroom flat in a quiet street in District XIII, not far from the park. The rent is two hundred thousand forints a month, around five hundred and fifty dollars. It’s not the fancy center, but it has a balcony, the tram is a two-minute walk away, and when I stood on that balcony and looked out over the rooftops, I felt a strange sense of calm. This is going to be home. The city is loud and hot and wonderfully chaotic, but underneath it all, there is a rhythm, and I think I’m starting to feel it.
So that was it. Day one and two in Budapest. The money got sorted, the phone works, I have a card proving I live somewhere, and I found a home. Tonight, I’m going back to the Great Market Hall to pick up some cheese and bread for my new kitchen. I’m told the paprika is a must. The city is getting ready for its big festival, the whole country is counting down to State Foundation Day on the twentieth of August, and I am right here in the middle of it all. I think this is going to be quite a year. Szia, for now.
A quick note for anyone moving: the address registration office was less scary than I thought, but bring your rental contract. For the SIM, a passport is all you need. And for the bank, the same, plus your address card. The monthly transit pass is an absolute steal and pays for itself in a few days. And if you're here in August, my advice is simple: do your paperwork in the morning, and then find a pool. A thermal one. Your body will thank you.
This is home base for now. Next time, I'm heading out of the city, to the lake and the forests, to see what the rest of this country is made of. But for a first taste, Budapest on a hot summer evening is hard to beat. Thanks for listening.