The alarm goes off at six, but the city's already humming. I'm not catching a flight today, but this is the last full day of this first Budapest chapter. Feels strange. A week ago I was landing at Ferenc Liszt with two suitcases and a head full of paperwork. Now I've got a flat in District XIII, a bank card that works, a SIM card that connects, and a transit pass that gets me anywhere. Today is about closing the loop, saying a proper goodbye to the bits I'll miss, and pointing the compass toward the rest of Hungary.
First stop, the post office. Not the most glamorous start, I know. But there's a package waiting, a replacement power brick for my recorder, and I've learned the local rhythm: take a number, wait, try to decode the display. The woman behind the counter is patient, smiles at my halting Hungarian. Jó napot. She stamps something, hands me a box, and I'm out in under fifteen minutes. The machine works. I feel absurdly proud.
The sun's already fierce, even at eight. August in Budapest doesn't mess around. The forecast said 28 to 39 today, and I believe it. I duck into a café on the way back, the kind with a fan doing overtime, and order a cappuccino. Around 900 to 1,200 forints, about three dollars. I sit by the window, watch the city wake up, and sip something cold and bitter. This is the pace I could get used to.
But there's work to do. My landlord has been texting about a final walkthrough. The flat in District XIII has been good to me, but I'm just a tenant passing through. I walk back, the heat already bouncing off the pavement. The trams rattle past, packed with people heading to work. I'm heading to paperwork, but it feels like I'm part of the current now, not a tourist stuck on the bank.
The walkthrough is quick. The landlord, a no-nonsense woman named Klára, checks the walls, the taps, the meter. She nods, satisfied. I hand over the keys, but not before I snap a photo of the empty living room. It's funny, a place that was just a roof over my head for five days now feels like a milestone. First Hungarian address. First rent paid, around 180,000 to 220,000 forints a month, by the way, if you're curious. About 550 dollars. Not cheap, but not terrible for the city.
She leaves, and I'm standing in the hallway, a backpack on one shoulder, a suitcase at my feet. The fan is off. The flat smells like cleaning spray and goodbye. I close the door, and the key turns in the lock one last time. There's a small pang, but it's not sadness. It's knowing I've got a whole country to explore, and this city will still be here when I get back.
I drag my bags to a hotel for the night. Not a random one — the Carlton Hotel Buda Castle, a spot I scouted earlier because it's near the river and the views are ridiculous. It's a splurge, maybe 25,000 to 50,000 forints a night, around 105 dollars. But tonight, I want to watch the Duna from a balcony. I check in, drop the bags, and head straight back out. No time to waste.
The heat is brutal by mid-morning. I need a plan that involves water. Not the river, not yet. I need a proper soak. I've been to Széchenyi already, and Gellért is on the list, but today I'm going to Lukács. It's smaller, quieter, more local. I grab a day pass, about 3,000 to 6,000 forints, and I'm in. The steam hits me like a welcome hug. This is the thing I'll miss most, I think. Not the grand baths, but the ritual. The way the water makes you slow down, makes you breathe.
I find a spot in the thermal pool, lean back, and let the heat do its work. The ceiling is high, the light is soft, and the only sounds are the gentle lap of water and the occasional murmur of conversation in Hungarian, German, English. I close my eyes. Five days ago, I was drowning in paperwork. Now I'm floating in a pool that's been here for over a century, and I feel like I belong, even if just for an hour.
After the soak, I'm ravenous. I dry off, grab my stuff, and head across town. I'm told the lunch menus are the way to go, the napi menü, soup plus a main for around 2,500 to 3,500 forints, eight dollars. I find a place called Fat Mama. It's casual, a bit loud, but the smell coming from the kitchen is fantastic. I order the goulash, natürlich. It arrives steaming, rich with paprika, tender beef, and that soft, salty bread. I eat it slowly, sopping up every last bit. This is the taste of Hungary, and I'm already planning my next bowl.
Lunch is done, and I've got one more errand that's been nagging me. My bank card from home has been giving me trouble with contactless payments. I need a backup. I pop into a branch of OTP Bank, the one near the Westend mall, and explain the situation. The teller is efficient, no fuss. Ten minutes later, I walk out with a local bank account opened, a card on the way. I'm told OTP is the go-to for expats, though Erste and K&H are also solid. The process took my passport, my address card, and my rental contract, which I now have. It's done. Another brick in the foundation.
With the boring stuff handled, I allow myself a treat. I hop on the metro, the yellow line, and ride to Heroes' Square. The sun is still high, but the park is shaded. I wander past Vajdahunyad Castle, which looks like something out of a storybook, and find a bench near the lake. The paddle boats are out, kids are laughing, and the noise of the city feels distant. I'm told the Museum of Fine Arts is just there, and I make a note to come back when I have more time. Today, I just want to sit.
But sitting doesn't last long. I promised myself I'd see the Fisherman's Bastion at golden hour, and I haven't been back since that first climb. I take a tram across the bridge, then a bus up the hill. The place is packed, of course, but I find a sliver of railing and lean out. The Parliament, the Chain Bridge, the Duna winding through the city like a silver ribbon. It's the postcard, but it's real. I stand there for a long time, letting the view soak in. This is what I came for.
As the sun starts to dip, I head down to the riverbank. The promenade is busy with couples, joggers, tourists. I walk along the edge, past the Shoes on the Danube memorial, and I stop. The iron shoes are a stark reminder of a darker past. I don't dwell long, but I honor the moment. The city isn't just beauty and baths. It's history, too.
Hunger hits again as the streetlights flicker on. I make my way to District VII, to the ruin bars that started it all. I pick Szimpla Kert, the original, because I want to see it at night. The courtyard is a maze of mismatched furniture, plants, and fairy lights. It's chaotic, but it's alive. I order a beer, about 700 to 1,200 forints, and I find a corner to watch the world go by. The music is loud, but not oppressive. People are laughing, clinking glasses, having the kind of night you remember.
I stay longer than I planned. There's a moment where I'm just sitting, beer in hand, watching a group of friends play a board game in the corner, and I feel this deep contentment. Not the giddy excitement of a tourist, but the quiet satisfaction of a place that's starting to feel like mine. I check my phone. It's past ten. I've got an early train tomorrow.
I walk back to the hotel, crossing the Chain Bridge one more time. The lights of Buda and Pest glitter on the water. I stop in the middle, just to listen. The river, the distant tram bell, the hum of the city. I think about the week: the paperwork, the baths, the goulash, the ruin bars, the caves, the hills. I think about what's next. Szentendre, Visegrád, the Danube Bend. Then lakes, forests, vineyards. A whole country waiting.
Back in the hotel room, I stand on the balcony and watch the city settle. The Carlton is quiet, the lights of the castle glowing across the water. I'm tired, but the good kind. I climb into bed and let the day wash over me. Tomorrow, I'm moving on. But tonight, Budapest feels like home.
Jó éjszakát, Budapest. I'll be back before you know it.