Week 8: Trying On Different Lives Abroad

Budavári Boldogasszony-templom, Budapest

I left for Budapest on Friday night, the kind of departure that feels slightly unreal until you are already in motion.

Copenhagen has started to feel steady, predictable in the best way. So leaving it, even briefly, felt like stepping out of something I had just begun to understand. But there is also a certain freedom in that. You do not have to know a place to exist in it. You just have to arrive.

By the time I got there, it was late. The city felt quieter than I expected, but not empty. Just holding itself differently. I went to sleep knowing the next day would be full.

And it was.

Saturday felt like three days packed into one. My friend Ally, who is studying abroad in London, met me there, and from the moment we found each other, we did not really stop moving. There is something so easy about meeting someone who already knows you, in a place where neither of you knows anything.

We saw everything. Or at least it felt like everything.

At one point, standing somewhere overlooking the city, Ally laughed and said she did not know it was possible to do Budapest in one day. It became a running joke, but also kind of true. We moved quickly, but not in a rushed way. More like we kept saying yes to whatever was next.

The city itself felt different from Copenhagen immediately. Older in a way that is not just aesthetic but structural. The buildings carry history more visibly. Not polished, not curated, just present. You can feel how much has happened there without needing it explained.

That night, we went on a Prosecco cruise along the Danube. The water cut through the city in a way that made everything feel cinematic. And then the Parliament building lit up.

The Hungarian Parliament Building did not feel real at night. It looked too precise, too symmetrical, almost like a model instead of something that exists at that scale. The reflection on the water made it even harder to process. It was one of those moments where you stop talking without really deciding to.

After the cruise, we went to Szimpla Kert, one of the most well-known ruin bars.

It is hard to describe in a way that makes sense if you have not been there. Nothing matches, everything works. Rooms layered on top of each other, objects that feel randomly placed but somehow intentional. It felt chaotic in a way that still had structure. Like the city itself.

By the end of the night, I felt like we had stretched the day as far as it could go.

Sunday was the opposite, in the best way.

We went to Széchenyi Thermal Bath and stayed for hours.

It is massive. Bigger than I expected, even though I knew it would be large. Outdoor pools with steam rising into the cold air, indoor rooms that kept unfolding into more rooms, saunas, cold plunges, spaces that felt almost hidden. You could spend an entire day there without seeing everything.

After Saturday's constant movement, it felt necessary to slow down like that. To just exist somewhere without trying to see the next thing.

Eventually, though, it was time for Ally to leave.

And just like that, the pace shifted again.

From Sunday afternoon until Wednesday, Budapest became mine in a quieter way.

I fell into a routine almost immediately.

Every night, I got lángos. It became a kind of ritual. Cheap, filling, and honestly one of the best things I ate the entire trip. There is something comforting about finding one thing you like and returning to it. It gives structure to days that otherwise lack it.

I also kept going back to Central Market Hall.

Partly because it was close to my hostel, but mostly because it felt alive in a way that was easy to step into. Not overly curated, not just for tourists. People moving through it with purpose, buying things they actually needed.

The days slowed down.

I stopped trying to see everything.

And in that space, I found some of the most unexpected parts of the trip.

One of them was the Budapest Zoo & Botanical Garden.

I went in the middle of the day, probably on a school day, and it was almost empty. Not completely, but enough that it felt like I had the place to myself.

It was different from any zoo I have been to before.

There were moments where it was just me and the animals, no crowd, no noise, no pressure to move along. I saw kangaroos for the first time. I stood closer to a rhino than I think I ever have before. There was something strangely quiet about the whole experience. Less like observing something staged, more like existing alongside it.

It stayed with me longer than I expected.

By the time Wednesday came, I felt like I had settled into the city in a way that only happens when you are alone somewhere for just long enough.

And then I left.

I took a flight to Prague that night, and the shift was immediate.

If Budapest felt grounded, historic, slightly worn in a way that tells the truth about time, Prague felt almost unreal.

The only way I can describe it is that it looked like a story.

There were moments where I felt like I was walking through something that had been designed rather than built. Buildings in pastel colors, intricate details everywhere, streets that seemed to lead into scenes instead of destinations. At times, it felt like I had stepped into something closer to Beauty and the Beast than a real city.

It reminded me, in a strange way, of Copenhagen. Not in how it looks, but in how it feels cohesive. Like every part contributes to a larger atmosphere. But where Copenhagen is quiet and intentional, Prague felt more energetic. More people, more movement, more happening all at once.

Not overwhelming, just different.

One afternoon, I ended up in a park near the river and stayed there far longer than I planned to.

There were nutrias everywhere.

I did not even know what they were at first. Large, slow-moving, somewhere between unfamiliar and completely at ease in their environment. People around me were feeding them vegetables, holding out carrots and greens, and the nutrias would just walk right up, unbothered, expectant.

I did not have any food.

But for some reason, they kept coming up to me anyway.

One, then another, then a few more. Close enough to touch. And I did. Carefully at first, then more comfortably. They stayed. Sat beside me like it was normal, like I had something to offer even when I didn’t.

I stayed there for almost an hour and a half without really noticing the time passing.

There was something strangely grounding about it. No language, no expectations, no need to perform or explain anything. Just being there, in a city that already felt slightly unreal, having this quiet, almost absurd moment of connection with animals I had never even seen before.

I keep thinking about it like I have some kind of unearned connection to them. No real explanation, just a feeling.

It was one of the most unexpected parts of Prague, and somehow one of the most memorable.

And the people, in both places, were kind in a way I notice more now.

There is always a small awareness when I travel. Of being American. Of how that might be received. I find myself saying that I study in Copenhagen, almost instinctively, like it situates me differently. And maybe it does, or maybe it just makes me feel more grounded. Either way, the interactions I had were warm. Easy. Generous.

That mattered.

But the thing I keep coming back to is something else.

I am 21, and I know what I want in a broad sense. I want to go into medicine. I want to build a life that is structured around that.

But traveling like this makes everything feel more open.

Not uncertain in a negative way, just expansive.

Each city feels like a version of a life I could have.

Not necessarily one I will choose, but one I can imagine.

In Budapest, I felt more independent, more grounded in routine, even in a place that was not mine. In Prague, I felt more creative, more observant, more aware of aesthetics and atmosphere. In Copenhagen, I feel steady. Balanced. Quietly building something.

It feels like I am trying on different versions of myself without fully committing to any of them.

Not because I am lost, but because I am allowed to explore.

And maybe that is the point of this moment in my life.

Not to decide everything yet, but to see what exists.

To understand that there are multiple ways to build a life, and that each place brings out something slightly different in me.

Somewhere between all of them is the version that will eventually feel like home.

For now, I am just paying attention.

Grotta Umělá jeskyně, Prague