Places have to be different by the one you know already. Lacking of superior talents in seeing and understanding, the average tired tourist --like I am being here-- should be at least compelled to search for anything that is different from what is already known. The more different, the better. Because cities and cultures have many strategies to organize themselves, so why assuming that one is better than another?
I don't appreciate very much all the things that make a city like Budapest similar to a city like Milan. Turkish Kebaps, Pizzerias, traffic, supermarkets, fashion brands, cell phones, sedan taxicabs, FIAT cars, the mafia of the public pissoirs raising money from your peeing, etc.

But among the things that are different, the most sweet in Budapest is the language. The sound of Hungarian language is so particular it is hard to find anything similar to compare it with. At first it may sound similar to a Slavic idiom, but it is a completely different thing.
Some syllable, here and there, sounds even Italian. 'Italian' is 'olasz' in Hungarian, by the way. Don't ask me why. It may come from 'oil', you know, olives. I don't know.

My first day in Budapest I bought a Magyar-Olasz vocabulary. I always feel obliged to at least try to stammer some word in the local language, just to let them know I don't take it for granted that they speak English. I studied two or three of those words walking around looking for a hotel on my first day.

Now I can say "Jó napot" to say good morning, "Jó estét" to say good evening, and, most important, "köszönöm" to say "thank you" (see if this is similar to any language you know). "Goodbye" is still too difficult to pronounce for a simple dyslexic like me. 'Viszontlátásra' is beyond my reach.
Anyway, it's a pleasure to hear this language spoken, maybe by two women chatting at the tram stop. Very often they seem to have a tender and caring attitude one with the other, very affectionate. And their language is the better music possible to this.

** what I really wanted to talk about in this post was the round sweet profile of Hungarian women's hips that so perfectly complete their long legs as they elegantly walk by, chanting for you their mute song as you walk by, but, you know, I reckon I must be a little too much fixated here. All right, I want to be loved by some Hungarian woman, what do you want. I can't help it.