As a Paraguayan who lived in Hungary for six years, between 2018 and 2024, many things that once seemed unusual eventually became part of my everyday life. It was only after leaving the country and returning to South America that I began to see some of those ordinary experiences differently. Distance made me realise how much I had learned to appreciate the small details of life there that I once took for granted.
Author: Fabiola Sosa Torras
Emerging at Kossuth Lajos tér
It is an ordinary day in Budapest. You get on metro line 2. As usual, the atmosphere is quiet: some people are reading books on the distinctive red seats, others are listening to music, and a few tourists are staring intently at the route map above the doors. In the background, you hear a deep Hungarian voice announcing the next station.
Once at Kossuth Lajos tér, getting out means taking escalators so long and steep that you are not quite sure whether they are taking you to heaven or hell. But when you finally reach the top and walk through the exit, there it is, as if it were nothing unusual: the most majestic Parliament building in the world. These days, I would not complain about having to be patient on those endless escalators again.
The luxury of silence in Hungary
I remember that, at first, I found it quite surprising how quiet Hungary was compared with other places I had visited before. One Saturday afternoon, I was on my way to a park with a basketball, bouncing it as I walked along the pavement. Seconds later, a man appeared on a balcony and angrily went, “Shhhh”, while gesturing at me to be quiet.
Now, on the other hand, I sometimes go to certain places hoping to relax, such as a café, only to end up finding out why a complete stranger got divorced or even why they changed their shampoo brand. Apparently, silence can feel uncomfortable simply because some of us are not used to so much tranquillity.
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When Christmas began to smell different
Dressed in your warmest coat and the biggest scarf you own, you leave home while, if luck is on your side, a little snow falls outside. It is your first Christmas season in Hungary. At some point, a curious but unfamiliar smell catches the attention of any foreigner from a faraway land like mine. Wondering what it could be, you follow the scent wherever it leads, like the rats that blindly followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin.
Eventually, the trail leads to a traditional Christmas market, where familiar Hungarian dishes are everywhere. As the exploration continues, several large black cauldrons come into view, filled with liquids in different shades of burgundy, mixed with spices and slices of orange.
They look suspiciously like magical witches’ potions because, at that moment, you have no idea that the aroma you have been following, and which will come to define Christmas over the next few years, is called mulled wine.
In my country, Christmas is in summer, and the scent that represents it is the coconut flower. I am not complaining, because it is wonderful, deeply representative of this time of year in Paraguay, and brings back beautiful childhood memories. However, since returning, I sometimes wish that when I leave my flat, instead of enduring 40-degree heat and tropical humidity, I could feel a cold breeze while hearing the call of that divine substance.
Bars with tiny entrances
There, I discovered something I had never seen in any other country. Imagine being invited to a bar by a Hungarian friend and walking down the street together until, at some point, they say, “We’re here.” Confusion sets in as there seems to be no bar in sight, to the point that you start wondering what date it is just to make sure it is not April Fools’ Day. But no, it is not.
Then they point to a tiny entrance, explaining that getting in requires crouching down. For a few seconds, you wonder whether your friend really is just a friend and not a kidnapper, but decide to trust them and go inside. Suddenly, it feels less like entering a bar and more like stepping into another dimension.
Read another reader’s letter: Living in Budapest: Why a Swedish expat chose Hungary as his home
Sitting by the Danube with a beer
When I think about the summers I spent in Hungary, the first image that comes to mind is of me sitting by the Danube, drinking a plum-flavoured Szent András beer, my favourite, while watching the colours of the sunset and listening to the river flow as if it were ASMR for my body. On the surface, it was neither an expensive nor an elaborate activity.
Although I can still visit other rivers, none of them makes me feel quite the same as the Danube. If I ever returned to Hungary, I would no longer be able to have the same beer because I am now gluten intolerant, but I could definitely relive some parts of those moments, which were among the happiest of my life.
Thank you for these eloquent thoughts. Having also left Hungary I recognise some of what’s written here, I found that Budapest can get under your skin quite easily, it’s a special sort of city. I sometimes pensively wonder if I could move back but I’m not sure I could afford to live there any longer. It is however great city in which to live if you work remotely for a foreign employer but finding any work locally that affords even a modestly comfortable standard of living is (and always was) a tall order unless you’ve inherited a property.