Budapest today has been one giant sausage fest.
probably not going to make any jokes about that.
I slept far, far later than I’d planned to, and when I finally bundled up and made it outside, it was colder than yesterday, and grayer. I took a long rambling walk to the Central Market, which is gorgeous. When I emerged from the maze of market stalls, I could have sworn I saw a snow flurry. I made my way towards the city square where the annual festival celebrating the Mangelica Pig was taking place. I saw two flurries, then twenty, and when I got to the sausage festival it was snowing hard.
Fine flurries, too small to cluster and stick, but beautiful nonetheless. I love a city in the snow. First order of business was more warm spiced wine. Let the record show that I avoided the palinka shots. A girl traveling alone should not do palinka shots, no matter how cold it gets. Doubly true if the girl can’t do shots in America anyway. I had a giant sausage. I have no idea what those crunchy things are on top. Animal, vegetable, mineral. I’ll believe whatever you tell me. There were also pickles and some sort of creamy spread.
It wasn’t all sausage, though. There were gorgeous pastries,
and gypsy fiddlers drinking palinka straight out of the bottle,
and a house made of sausages. (Insert your own joke here.)
This carousel with baskets of babies is maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,
unless you count these baby curly-haired piglets keeping warm in the snow under heat lamps.
Speaking of keeping warm, I’m off to the thermal baths. I managed to remember to bring my swimsuit across an ocean, and yet I left it in my suitcase the one day I needed it with me, and am thus am back at the apartment adding layers and re-grouping on a mid-day break. But heck, what’s an extra couple of miles on foot in a steady-but-gentle snowstorm in a gorgeous European city? I’m thinking the baths, if any of the rumors are true, will cure all kinds of ailments and warm me straight to the core. (Failing that, I know where to find the palinka.)