I’ve always been fascinated by what I started to call transient locations. Places you don’t go to but, rather, you go through: airports, stations, bus garages and all those landscapes rolling by your window whilst you’re en route to your destinations. What’s their story? Who lives there? What do they think about me, skimming past their lives? Am I missing something great by being so focussed on my destination, so selfishly oblivious of their existence?
These are a few pictures from a journey across Western Hungary, on the rolling plains of the half of the country called Dunántúl. Deserted fields, urban peripheries aren’t something that will usually feature on any travel or tourism blog.
I think this is not fair, so here they are.