Eastern Europe has this specific aura that permeates geography; wherever you are in Eastern Europe, you can tell you’re in Eastern Europe. Particularly in late November when the dark, wet and cold just add to the air of severity that lingers from the Soviet era.
Fisherman's Bastion
Eastern Europe has this specific aura that permeates geography; wherever you are in Eastern Europe, you can tell you’re in Eastern Europe. Particularly in late November when the dark, wet and cold just add to the air of severity that lingers from the Soviet era.
Budapest didn’t feel unique, until I found Fisherman’s Bastion. It’s unexpected, an open aired, castle-like structure at the top of a hill on one side of the Danube.
Turrets, towers, walkways and stone windows overlook the river and the Parliament building, all lit up in the dark of the evening and illuminated coldly but prettily by the shine of pouring rain.
And it’s this dichotomy that’s the mark of these cities - misery and beauty hand-in-hand, supporting each other’s existence. Contrasts between dark rain and white stone, crumbling buildings alongside designer stores, cheap currency spent in five-star hotels, the old giving way to the new without ever losing itself entirely.
And so within this ancient fortress overlooking the city, I stepped into Starbucks to shield myself from the rain and take it all in over a soy peppermint mocha in the warm and dry.