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The train pulls out of Budapest Déli and the city just falls away. I mean that literally, the buildings thin out, the hills rise, and then suddenly there it is, the lake. Flat, grey under an overcast sky, stretching to the horizon. Two hours and forty-nine minutes, two changes, and I'm in a different world. The air smells different. Green, wet, a little bit like summer holidays.

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I step onto the platform at Balatonfüred and the first thing I hear is the gulls. Then the rumble of a ferry pulling away from the pier. The station is small, old-fashioned, with a tidy flower bed and a sign that tells me I'm 13,138 people deep in Veszprém county. I lug my backpack down the ramp and onto the main road, and the lake is right there, across the street, behind a row of plane trees.

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I'm here for the rest of August. This is the classic Hungarian summer base, the north shore's elegant resort town, before the crowds thin and the autumn wines start flowing. And the timing, I'm told, is perfect. The water is at its warmest, the town is packed, and the Tagore Promenade is about to turn into an open-air wine-tasting strip. The Balatonfüred Wine Weeks, apparently, open tonight, with a concert and a 'City Wine of 2026' award. I can already hear the faint bass thump of the soundcheck from somewhere near the water.

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First things first, I need a room. I've booked a few nights at the Pastel Guesthouse, a small place I found online, set back from the lakeshore in a quiet street. The room is simple, white walls, a wooden floor, a window that opens onto a small courtyard where someone is slowly watering geraniums. The owner, a woman named Ildikó, hands me a key with a wooden fob shaped like a fish. The room costs about 18,000 forints a night, which is roughly fifty dollars. It's not fancy, but it's clean, and the location is perfect. I drop my bag and head straight back out.

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The Tagore Promenade is the heart of this town. It's a wide, paved walkway along the lake, shaded by enormous plane trees that were planted, apparently, starting in 1926. And the name, I learn, comes from Rabindranath Tagore, the Nobel laureate who was treated at the heart hospital here and planted the first tree himself. There's a statue at the port end, 'The Fisherman and the Ferryman', and the whole strip is lined with benches, ice cream stands and low-key restaurants. Even on an overcast day like this, it's buzzing. Families with prams, couples holding hands, splashes of bright swimwear heading for the beaches.

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I walk past the Kisfaludy beach first. It's a long stretch of sand and grass, with the usual summer crowd laid out on towels, the lake stretched out before them. But I notice something. The water's edge is further out than it should be. There's a strip of muddy shore exposed, a few metres of brown sludge between the sunbathers and the actual water. I'd read about this, the lake is visibly low this year, and it's affecting the beaches. At Esterházy strand, apparently, the receding water has left an even bigger muddy strip. It's a bit of a shock, to be honest. The 'Hungarian Sea' looks a little... deflated. Still, people are swimming, kids are splashing, and the lifeguards are on their towers, so it's not stopping anyone.

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I'm hungry. I've been on trains since early morning, and the smell of fried dough is drifting from a beach buffet. I order a lángos, the classic Hungarian deep-fried flatbread. I go for the full works, cheese and sour cream, which sets me back about 2,400 forints, around six or seven dollars. It's a massive, greasy, glorious disc. I sit on a bench, drip sour cream on my t-shirt, and watch the world go by. A family next to me is sharing a plain one, like four people on one plate, which feels like a very Hungarian approach to portion control.

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With my hunger sorted, I wander into the old town. The cobblestoned streets around Jókai Mór utca and Blaha Lujza utca are a world away from the beach. Elegant, slightly faded, with 19th-century villas and the neoclassical Kisfaludy Gallery. I stop at the Mór Jókai Memorial House, the summer villa where the novelist wrote some of his most famous works. It's a small museum now, with his desk and personal belongings, and the garden is a calm, green pocket in the middle of the summer bustle. I pay the entrance fee, about 1,500 forints, and spend a quiet half hour imagining him working here, looking out over the same lake I just walked.

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The other anchor of this town is the State Hospital of Cardiology, which I can see from the promenade, a grand, sprawling complex right on the lakeshore. That's what made Balatonfüred a health resort in the first place. People have been coming here for the mineral water and the air since the 18th century. I stop at the Kossuth Spring on Gyógy tér, the spa square, and fill my water bottle from the public pump. It's carbonated, naturally, and tastes strongly of minerals, a bit like a flat, salty fizzy drink. Free, which is a nice change after the lángos.

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The marina is the next stop. And this is where the town really shows off. The harbour is packed with yachts, from sleek modern racing boats to classic wooden cruisers. There's a constant clinking of rigging, the smell of diesel and varnish, and a general air of organised chaos. And it's not just for show. This weekend, I'm told, the Hungarian Sailing Federation's national big-boat championship is racing out of the Kékszalag Port. Ten fleet races across the lake, from here to Alsóörs, Siófok, Zamárdi and Tihany. The harbour is full, the water is full, and the whole town is talking about it.

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I stop at the Vitorlázeum, the sailing history museum in the first sailing club building by the port. It's a small, interactive place, and I learn about the Kékszalag, the Blue Ribbon, the round-the-lake regatta that's been run since 1934. It's Hungary's biggest sailing event, and the record time, apparently, is just over 10 hours for the 180 kilometres around the lake. That's impressive. I'm not a sailor, but I can appreciate the skill, and the obsession. The museum entrance is about 1,500 forints.

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By late afternoon, the clouds are starting to break, and the lake turns a milky blue. I walk back along the promenade towards the Wine Weeks, which are setting up for the evening. The stalls are being stocked with bottles, and the smell of grilling meat is mixing with the lake air. I find a spot at a table outside a small wine bar, and I order a glass of Olaszrizling. This is the local grape, the white wine that put the Balatonfüred-Csopak district on the map. The glass is crisp, dry, with a little bit of minerality that I guess comes from the volcanic soil. It costs about 800 forints, and it's worth every fillér.

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I sit there for a while, just watching. The crowd is a mix of tourists and locals. I overhear a conversation about the low water level, and someone else talking about the renovation at the Club Hotel Füred, which is apparently a big construction site these days, with only a small, adults-only wing still open. It feels like a town in flux, dealing with the pressures of tourism and climate change, but still clinging to its belle époque charm.

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As the evening wears on, the music from the main stage gets louder. Tonight, apparently, there's a concert to kick off the Wine Weeks. The singer is a woman named Janicsák Veca, and the crowd is gathering, bottles in hand, on the lawn by the stage. I'm not going to stay for the whole thing, I want to get a good night's sleep and be up early for the lake. But I stand at the back for a while, listening to the sound of a Hungarian pop song over the lapping of the water.

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I grab a quick dinner at a casual place near the marina called DOCK Bistro. I get a burger, a proper one, with bacon and cheese, for about 2,800 forints. It's good, satisfying, and the view of the yachts bobbing in the harbour makes it taste better. I wash it down with a local craft beer, and I'm done for the day.

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On the walk back to the guesthouse, the lake is dark, and the lights of Tihany, across the water, are just beginning to twinkle. The air has cooled, and the smell of the lake is stronger. I stop on the promenade, near the statue of the fisherman and the ferryman, and I just stand there for a minute. The water is so calm. The only sound is the gentle lapping and the distant music from the festival. I think about the day, about the long train ride, about the lángos, about the mineral water, about the wine. And I think about how good it feels to be here, in this place that so many Hungarians call their summer home. I'm not just visiting. I'm living. Jó napot, Balatonfüred. See you in the morning.

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Tomorrow, I want to swim in that lake. I want to taste more of that wine. And I want to explore Tihany, the peninsula that's been sitting there all day, looking mysterious and green. But tonight, I'm just going to enjoy the sound of the lake and the feeling of summer. The festival will go on without me, but the lake will be here in the morning.