
Here is the link for you as well to see a 'live' shot over Budapest. Hopefully, by the time you see it, it really will be LIVE.
Many times I've walked through Budapest being struck by something I wanted to share. Here, I do just that. What follows are glimpses along life's path that had touched my heart. Enjoy! Budapest Daily Photos recently moved to its own home. The photos here may be enlarged by clicking on them unlike BudapestResources.com website, its previous home.

The walls are scarred by graffiti and age, the door had a box attached to it in which advertisements can be dropped into rather than in mailboxes inside. Most doors are now locked and one enters by key or electric code. This door has a panel on the left (see red lettering)
Here is Margit Hid, or Margaret Bridge, one of the bridges that connects Buda and Pest. What makes this bridge unique is in its name - in the middle of the river it also touches the tip of Margaret Island. You can walk, bike or ride a tram or bus onto the island. During the summer there are great lawns and ancient trees, flowers, fountain, fish pond, petting zoo, food stands where they even sell beer and benches for lovers and seniors and anyone in-between.
As lines queued up in front of the store and waaay into the mall, us reporters gathered at the couch where Mr. Rushdie was going to sit. The colorful posters are the front covers of the Hungarian translations of the authors latest works. He was late in arriving and so we shuffled.
Whether it was due to my humble Cannon or the others pushing in and my arm not being steady - it really does not matter. Bottom line is, these are the best photos I can offer you of this author with a gentle soul.
He sat down and the others positioned themselves either on his two sides or crouched down to below eye level with their cameras. That left me standing there conspicuously in the middle in front of him. As noone had actually said anything or introduced him - I felt the time was right.
"Good evening Mr. Rushdie - welcome to Budapest. Would you be so kind and autograph this book for my daughter, please." No pen? No problem, I've one you are welcome to. It was a miracle of miracles - never in my life had I produced a pen from my bottomless pit of a purse in such record time! "Thank you Mr. Rushdie."
The picture above is the approach from the Korut to the corner of the Oktogon where Andrassy crosses. Smell of rain in the air and a sense of unusual calm.

The closed off section of Andrassy, the beautiful boulevard, that runs between the Oktogon and Bajcsy-Zsilinszky the Opera a couple of blocks up on the right.
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.