Fishermen's Bastion on Castle Hill in Budapest

Budapest is the baby of Buda and Pest, two cities on either side of the Danube River that merged in 1873 to create today's Hungarian capital.

For tourists, the Buda side is essentially Castle Hill. This collection of attractions resides high above the Danube: the Royal Palace, the National Museum, the National Gallery, Matthias Church, and the Fishermen's Bastion.

Here is the Fishermen's Bastion, on the edge of the Buda side overlooking the Danube River. It's often mobbed with tourists, but here's a look during a quiet moment:

A bronze statue of St. Stephen's holds court in the middle of the Fishermen's Bastion terrace. 

Wind through the towers and steps to get nifty views of the river and the Pest side.

To the right, the Danube River. To the left — try to guess!

Above, the modern building on the left side of the photograph is actually a Hilton hotel. The first fancy (the New York Times called it "American-style") hotel to be built on Castle Hill, the Hilton incorporates part of a 13th century church. Odd, and controversial. 

We found the curiosity intriguing and opted to stay at the Hilton as part of an Expedia travel bundle. The Hilton itself is nice enough, but the location is fantastic. Looking across the Danube River, you can't miss the majestic Parliament Building. (Well, as we learned, unless the dreary fog descends.) 

Here's a view on our lone sunny morning:

A closer shot, just as the heavy fog was beginning to lift:

The view of Castle Hill from the Pest side — the more industrial, typical city-scape — is eye-catching during the day but stunning at night. Here you can see the Fishermen's Bastion lit up, the steeple of St. Matthias Church, and the box-like Hilton complex behind it.

A river cruise in frigid November? I'll wait till spring, thanks!

Bulletin: Winter has arrived in Southern Germany

Despite our heavy reluctance, we must accept the fact that winter is not skipping out this year. Late, like a foreigner unaccustomed to German efficiency, winter nonetheless has arrived. It has been knocking for days now, threatening to bring a potluck of snow, but we've pretended not to hear. Is that the door? Oh, no. It must be the radiators. The fridge. The TV upstairs.

The snow, predicted by weather.com, run by Atlanta-based meteorologists, was to begin at 02:00 this morning in Stuttgart, Germany.

When we awoke at 05:00, the streets were clear, the BMWs and Mercedes and Opals on the curbside faithfully metallic, not yet clocked in fuzzy snowflakes.

It seemed then, briefly, that we may yet be able to avoid this winter.

But by 06:00, flakes were fluttering downward. By 11:00, a film of white coated the rooftops and sidewalks. The white streets were decorated with black curves of tire tracks. Umbrellas appeared like sprouted mushrooms above the walkers' heads.

And then, it was official. The first snow of the year. Winter, inescapable winter, has arrived.

The snow drained all color from the cityscape. The buildings, already dull with dread, dialed back from glassy black and nondescript brown to variants of gray. The sky, endless gray. The clouds are but a gray gauze for the sky.

Even the traffic lights appear dull as they move from red to yellow to green to yellow to red. The brightest color is the motion of the mustard-yellow U-bahn trains, turning on their tracks. Keep moving. The trains always keep moving. The trains are always on time.

The rest of the landscape is still. The trees, long stripped of their lush leaves and autumn brights, are too resigned to even sway in the wind. People hurry about as if the sidewalk isn't slushy, the air isn't cold, the crosswalk isn't icy. They move as if this is how they have always moved and always will move. As if winter is normal, and normal is gray.

The best burger I've had in Europe ... so far

You can only have so many days of goulash.

So when we sat down at Paris-Budapest, a swanky hotel restaurant just over Budapest's Chain Bridge, after a long day of sight-seeing, I was craving familiar food.
 The menu didn't look all so Hungarian or Parisian.

More like ... American.

More like ... a burger.

Now, there's some caution to be had ordering a burger in Europe, just as you should think twice about ordering pizza abroad, especially anywhere near a famous bridge, castle, or leaning tower. Cooks catering to tourists will slap anything together that resembles our beloved American staples.

But I had a hunch this would be okay.

And: yes.

Best burger I've had in Europe, by far.  Cooked medium, with melted, heavenly cheese, and a real bun, and the whole nine yards. A taste of home in Hungary!

Chimney Cakes in Budapest

Hungarians are quite sophisticated bakers.

I didn't expect this, necessarily. Germany had rid me of the illusion that all European nations, by geographical definition, must spin out ethereal, other-worldly sweets. German cookies are stiff, ideal only for dunking or cracking a tooth. The croissants are hit-or-miss. The pastries are drenched with sugary icing and sticky fruit flavors. Each time I enter a Germany bakery (Bäckerei) my sweet tooth winces, pained by the lengthy glass case displaying 20 variations on bread.

Hungarians understand better the full range of the sugar, butter, flour equation.

Hungarian cake slices are striped inside, multiple thin layers of sponge cake alternating with creamy filing, jam, or nut. The chocolates -- and the best chocolate bar I've had in my life -- are filled with marzipan. Nothing is overwrought with dough, even the doughiest treat.

Which may, in fact, be Kürtőskalács. We had been on the watch for this traditional dessert after hearing a travel-show host rave. Kürtőskalács (or "chimney cakes") is created from dough twirled around a rolling pin, sprinkled with sugar, and baked on a spit over an open fire or oven. A cinnamon roll on a wide stick, without the stick.

We ran across Kürtőskalács stands on Castle Hill, on the tourist path from Matthias Church to the Hungarian National Museum and the Hungarian National Gallery.

 

Check out the rolling pins to the left.  Strips of dough get wrapped around each one, then placed in the oven.

The choices included classic (sugar), coconut, chocolate, and cinnamon. (See photo of a similar  lineup.) We went for the cinnamon for 500Ft (forints), or about $2.

The tube of warm, doughy goodness comes tucked in a crinkly cellophane bag. You tear it apart much like a cinnamon roll, except the walls are thinner, more like an Aunt Annie's pretzel stick than a Cinnabon monster. The outside is encrusted with sugar, crisp and slightly crunchy. The cinnamon sugar glaze creates a light sand-papery feel that matches beautifully with the doughy, pliable interior walls.

Clearly, one was not enough for two people.

A few minutes later on our walk, we spied another stand. (Alas, the rules of supply-and-demand dictate that prices rise closer you are to tourist attractions. This one was 700Ft.) I picked the classic version, curious as to what the Hungarians themselves must like. (Coconut and chocolate just seemed to beam tourist promotion.) Shiny and slick, the classic version tasted more like a sweet bun.

Moral of the story: When in Germany, go for the bratwurst and the beer. When in Hungary, go for the sweets.