Budapest looks like being in a fairy tale. Historical buildings, all the famous features were built in the late XIXth Century. In the local regulations they prohibit to build high buildings, no glass palaces, no skyscrapers. Are they nessecary in a metropolice? I dont think so, though when I was in Shanghai this summer I was totally impressed by its downtown. But in fact not the buildings make a city modern or oldfashioned. Rather the attitude of its leaders and its people.

I love my city with this romantic, historical view. Like in a tail….like in the sleeping beauty. But could you tell to the prince that we are waiting for him to wake up the princess with his kiss?

Having these four churches around my place every day I can hear the peal. Its like a concert. They chime the bells several times but the real big deal is the noon time bell.
In 1456 János Hunyadi defended the fort Nándorfehévár (today Belgrade) from the ottoman (turk) army attack.

Since that year..remembering the buttle they chime the bells every day at noon in Europe. But instead of János Hunyadi and his buttle I rather remember my grandma’s house in the Csokonai street. She had a little kitchen on the yard which we used as a summer kitchen having our meals there from late April till early October. When I hear the sound of bells at noon closing my eyes I can see that little kitchen, my grandma preparing the Hungarian clear soup. The old SOKOL radio is on the fridge and the game starts:

- “Ki nyer ma? Játék és muzsika 10 percben.”

And every day at noon….not sooner and not later….the gossipy old woman Irma arrives.

- “Nem, nem…ne szedjél nekem! Hogy vagytok drága Juliskám?”

He had large hands. Like a father. And he was really a father, a Padre as Livier said. A franciscan monk and priest in his brown frock having a thick rope as a belt around it. Basically I don’t like churches. Neither catholic nor protestant one. Instead of something holy all I see around them is rather like a business and they act rather like corporations.
But this “Padre” and that Franciscan church (the photo shows an other church in Budapest) in Gyongyos touched me. He was so calm and his voice made me calm, too. Writing to the large book registering our datas he used those old fashioned large letters and when he suddenly disappeared he left the door open and from the dark corridor fresh cool breeze arrived.