And when you’re looking for your freedom, nobody seems to care

In Donaudorf I stopped for a very bad coffee and observed the happenings in the village. Only the second horse-drawn cart seen on this journey pulled into town. In Hungary these seem to be rare. In other eastern-European countries I know they are a much more common element. Two months ago while hitchhiking in Maramures, which lies on the Ukrainian-Romanian border, I was actually picked up by a family in a horse cart – best hitchhiking experience I have ever had.

The weather changed back to ugly and wet and the wind shifted and I felt as if I were making no forward progress. My calculation was to be at the border within two hours and now it was four hours later and I still did not see it. Finally I arrived at the checkpoint and was a bit nervous about entering Serbia for the first time. 

My country has taken many Serbians since the wars in the 1990s and they don’t enjoy the best reputation, though my personal experiences with them have always been very good. The border guard did not show any expression about someone turning up in the car lane of the checkpoint in the rain. She stamped my passport and I was in. immediately after the border there was a big sign showing the course of the cycling route and explaining the various indications to be found along the route. 

There are two bike options in Serbia, one being paths solely for bikes but not all paved and the other being along less-travelled roads. Because of the constant rain in the last days and the subsequent muddy paths, I chose to stay on the roads. The quality of the road surface was fine to good and with exception of about one hour in which I was riding near the Croatian border, the towns I passed did not look any less well-off than the towns I had seen throughout Hungary. In that portion near the Croatian border the standard of living dropped tremendously and I was very surprised by the difference between that corner and the rest of what I had seen of Serbia.

One difference can be seen in the cars. In Serbia there are many Ladas, Renault 4s, Yugos of various models and I even saw three VW Beetles in the first day. In Hungary I did see quite a few old East-bloc cars, especially Trabants, a huge number of Trabants, but many more new cars than in Serbia.

In the afternoon I arrived in Sombor, about 35 kms over the border. While working on my bike Gordan and his daughter Milena came over to talk to me. He could speak some English and made a really hard effort to converse with me. Milena, 10 years old, found it all quite funny and made funny faces behind his back as he spoke. He told me of the big festival in the town that day behind held in conjunction with the fish-soup cooking competition. 300 cooks were competing for the best fish-paprika soup cooked over open fires in the town square. They left and I went looking for a currency exchange to get some Dinars. In Serbia currency exchange offices can be found about every 50 metres, which is surely a result of the huge number of Serbs living and working abroad and sending hard currencies home. As I was looking at the exchange course a man approached and asked in German if he could help me. Since I wanted to enjoy the festival and the sky was again a threatening grey, I had decided that I would stay there if I could find shelter. I told him that I needed a protected place to put my tent. He said “ich habe Hause, kannst dort bleiben. Möchte nur helfen”. He had to go to do some work and said that we should meet back at that same spot at 20.00. It was then 17.30, which would give me time to look around the town, drink a beer, check out the festival and then meet him. I told him I would be there.

Walking around the town I met a couple from Frankfurt – he a Frankfurter, she a Hungarian from Sombor, which is actually a Serb/Hungarian/German town by tradition – who had come down on holiday and to visit the fish soup festival. We talked for a while and since the town is small, bumped into each other again soon after. I went off to drink a beer near the square, sit outside under an umbrella and watch some of the activities from there. As I sat there again the rain came down again and I had to run out and cover the bike. 

Soon after, Dishan, the Serb man who had offered the house turned up. It was well before our planned 20.00 meeting but he had had to stop working because of the rain and actually went around the town, in the rain, looking for me, which I thought was extraordinarily kind. He lives in an apartment on the other side of town but has a house near the center that he uses only occasionally. I followed him on his bike to the house in the pouring rain. He opened a few beers for us, gave me the keys and said he would come around in the morning to drink a coffee and left. The festival still sounded good and I hoped the rain would let up so that I could walk back into the town center. After an hour it was still coming down, I was exhausted and so I made a picnic in the living room, spread out my sleeping bag on the couch and finally, finally slept through the night. 

Több magyar kedvességét

Next morning I rose early and since I had hardly unpacked my bike the night before was able to be on the road by 7 o’clock. While drinking a coffee in Dunapataj I received email informing that I have been “long-listed” for a UN job in the Middle East and that I should take an online test Monday of next week. I will have to arrange to be somewhere with a wifi that day.

The trail still continued to be marked quite nicely and passed through lovely little villages in Hungarian wine country. This is proving to really be a nice and completely normal country. The first night I was invited by a family in Germany to stay in their house I was informed of a very German community in this area in and around the town of Hajos and I promised I would visit. Hajos is not along the Danube and in that sense it is off my trail, but the country is lovely so no matter. In Hajos I did find an old German church and some of the monuments were engraved in German and in the church the information provided was written in Hungarian, German and even in Schwäbish, which I found really fascinating. Despite looking I did not however find any German-speaking people. I did find two Italian families in their motor homes, spending their holiday visiting the local vineyards. They were from Udine and spoke Italian in a odd dialect, at least one I had not heard before. I then went to the store to buy picnic supplies, including a cold one, then sat on a bench and had a nice meal and then a great sleep in the shade. 

Getting back to the Donau meant riding on the main road back and that meant heavy traffic. The roads are quite narrow and the trucks were coming close. Made out my will in my head a few times during that stretch….. Let’s see, to whom do I leave behind my two bicycles? My apartment goes to the bank, my motorbikes need to be repaired and that will cost more than they are worth so no benefit there….That is it, there is nothing else material to show for all these years on this earth. Maybe that is the way it ought to be. Who wants to collect stuff and then pass it on to others? They have enough of their own stuff in most cases. Maybe they don’t even want it.

Late in the afternoon I arrived in Baja, which lies directly on the Danube and appears to be a kind of holiday town. It has a southern feel, a beautiful town square and a lot of Austria-Hungarian type architecture. It was a Friday night and it would have been nice to stay there and explore the town in the evening but I did not want to take a room and there is no campsite.

About 5-10 kms south of Baja the weather starts to turn ugly again. Since Budapest I have not had luck with the weather. Riding through a small town I see a house down a side street with a nice garden and before the house two old people are working. Turn around and head down the street. Try with German – nichts. Try with Russian – nichevo. Try with sign language, which actually worked. Point to myself for “I”, point to my eye for “look”, put both hands under my head for “sleep”, point to my tent and then make a dome-shape with my hands. They direct me into the gate of their garden. Talking in Hungarian amongst themselves and to me, they tell me just to put my things down for a minute and relax. Then they manage to communicate to me that I should sleep in the house. Nice. They bring me inside and I sit down at the table and they sit down as well. You know how strange it is to sit together with people and have no means of verbal communication? I have experienced this many times in many places - Lithuania, Latvia, Romania when I first started going there, Vietnam, Thailand, China – and it never becomes any less uncomfortable. Nonetheless, with time we began to manage. 

They had introduced themselves with the Germanized names, Stefan and Lisi and I knew Stefan must know some German and Russian. Later he told me that in the past he had studied both languages but not used them for decades. By the end of the evening though he had managed to remember quite a few words. With his bit of German and Russian and the about 30 words of Hungarian I had managed to learn in the last few days, we managed quite well. Lisi cooked dinner for me and Stefan pulled out some maps to study my route. His maps were ancient and still exhibited long-lost political entities such as USSR, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia.

Again I am not sleeping well. The last three nights have been rough, awake for hours or sleeping for short periods and then waking again and again. Considering the days upon days on the bike, I should be sleeping deeply from the fatigue.

I get up early in order to get a good day of riding in but it is pissing down. Stefan tells me there is no hurry and goes to the garden to gather vegetables and fresh eggs. Lisi prepares our breakfast and Stefan pours us both home-made palinca. After Lisi has served the food she gets a fresh bread from the cabinet and did the most amazing thing: before she cut it she blessed it by making the sign of the cross with her knife. That gesture was so profound to me, blessing a simple loaf of bread. Maybe it was simply habit, but I like to think that she did that with a real feeling of gratitude and conviction.

Lisi made me a big lunch with fresh vegetables from the garden and fresh eggs (when she put them in the bag I assumed that they were hard-boiled but later found out that they were fresh and I don’t know what she thought I was going to do with fresh eggs) and I was on my way. The sky was grey and foreboding when I left but it was not raining and within 15 minutes the sun came out. That feeling is like a child on Christmas.

You know I’ve always been a dreamer, spend my life running round

I put the Danube on my right side and headed south. The weather was good but these days it was changing quickly, so I could not be sure what to expect later in the day. After just a few kilometers I found signs marking the Donau bike trail and a well paved path and settled into riding along on the path without having to think too much about where I was going. The land here is completely flat and the day was quiet. I saw few cars and no other cyclists for hours. Late in the afternoon I took a break at one of the information signs along the trail and a couple of cyclists from Munich on their way to Serbia stopped for a talk.  This far down the trail it is rare to encounter other long-distance cyclists and it felt good to know I was not alone on the trail. We talked and then rode together for a little while but they were quite a bit faster than I was and were soon way ahead. Rather than just ride on they circled back and said their greetings and adieu before powering ahead.

The sky was closing in and although it was early and I had not many kilometers I had to start looking for a protected place in which to place my tent. I had not slept in it since the night in the sunflowers and I felt that it was time to tent again - otherwise I might start to become soft. 

By the time I reached Solt, a town of 8’000 persons near the Danube, the sky was black and I needed to find some cover while I considered my options. As I entered the town a young woman and young child on a bike entered the bike path just next to me. I asked about the town center and she responded in English. Thinking that this was a good opportunity to gather some town information without having to use sign language I asked her about a place to put my tent. She responded again in English and it was not hard to notice that her English level was high. It turns out she had recently returned from living 6 years in London. We rode into the center together and met up with one of her friends. They had a quick talk among them and then made a phone call and it was decided that I could stay in a small house in the vineyard owned by the friend’s father-in-law. 

They went to get their car and I followed on my bike. The rain was coming down and by the time we arrived to the house, which was situated out of town among a collection of vineyards and wine cellars, I was soaked. The small house backed up right to a small vineyard and was quite charming, was dry and I was very happy to have it. Annamaria and Hugi handed me the keys and said that we would talk later about meeting up to do something. It was only about 6pm but after the celebration of the prior night and the morning’s continuation, I was wrecked and spent the evening lying around and making notes, but nothing special.

Next morning I re-packed the bike for dry weather and rode about 150 meters before the rain came down hard and I escaped under the awning of the party terrace of another vineyard to re-pack the bike for wet weather, wrapping everything that did not have a rain cover in plastic, and then rode into the town to find a café. The café served great coffee and I stayed there for hours working with the wifi and checking weather reports. The rain was pissing down and showing no sign of improving. 

Late morning Annamaria turned up with Zoe, her 3 year old daughter and we had some drinks and talked. She had lived 6 years in London and returned to Solt 2 years prior and was having a hard time re-adjusting. That is indeed a big change. We stayed in the bar talking and the friend from the night before, Hugi, turned up as well. They were both curious about someone who would ride so far on a bicycle and we had a nice talk. Two Austrian cyclists turned up soaking wet. They had been on the road when the rain hit and this was their first chance to stop and find shelter. They ended up staying about 3 hours in the bar waiting for the rain to stop and left when it let up a little, but it was still raining when they left and their ride could not have been pleasant.

Annamaria and Hugi suggested I stay another night and assured me it was no problem. Considering the weather conditions I was happy for the offer. We had dinner that night at Annamaria’s house – Hungarian style pasta, which was delicious – drank local wine and had some great conversation. Her husband Balazs had lived 7 years in London and also spoke English perfectly. It was a great time and we will surely stay in contact in the future.

Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy

After a relaxing morning in Budapest’s old town and in a nice café, I head out of the city toward the south. The maps I printed at home run out here  because when I had printed them my thought was to travel from Budapest to Debrecen and then to Maramures. Without any map I just have to be sure to stay near the river. Getting out of the city was unpleasant, as it would be leaving any big city. A lot of heavy traffic, industrial areas, bad roads, noise and auto exhaust. After 90 minutes or so I am again in fields and feeling well for it. Budapest was lovely and I was really lucky to find such clean and simple lodging directly in the historical center.

The tourists were annoying, as usual, but what are you going to do? It seems that there are many tourists in Budapest who are making their first visits to the east. I say this because there are still many promotions for “communist tours” or “visit the former communists statues” ecc. It has been a long time since that period in history and anyone who goes to the east knows that all that crap is long forgotten, but perhaps it is still a way to tap the last ignorant tourists.

As many tourists as there were, I had expected many more. Probably, hopefully, the financial farce of this world is starting to have its effect. The majority of shops have adverts for sales and discounts, which one would think would not be the case in the high tourist season, but maybe this is now required. People will only buy their rubbish if it is marked 50% off. A better idea would be to reduce the number of shops by 50%.

About 40 kms out of Budapest I stop in a small village, find a bench in a small park near the railway station and lie down for a sleep. It was a good sleep and the bench was extraordinarily comfortable, but at some point I was awoken by the sound of many kids around me talking and not really caring that this gypsy was trying to get some sleep in their town. I woke and saw that they were interested in my bike and set-up. They were also on bikes. The adult male accompanying them addressed me in Hungarian, which I obviously did not understand and then switched to perfect English. Zoltan and I quickly fell into discussion. He has a fascinating story to tell: is the personal translator for the Hungarian PM, lives in Budapest and as the son of a diplomat spent his youth in Ghana, Indonesia and Belgium. I think we could have talked for hours but he had to return to Budapest. He rang up a colleague who runs a bar near his summer house, about 15 kms down the road and asked him to provide me a place on his grounds to set up my tent. Zoltan and I exchanged contact info and agreed to stay in touch.

This area of Hungary seems to be a weekend destination for Budapest residents and it is lovely. The Danube branches out into various segments and along one of them there are many summer houses, swimming areas, restaurants and bars. Another piece of good news is that the bike path seems to have returned. Suddenly I started seeing signs again and even some information points. Hungary is getting better and better.

The bar I am looking out for is directly after a pension and restaurant called Neptun, which is well known, so as I go down the road I ask directions to it. I am amazed at the fact that the youth I meet don’t speak any foreign languages, no English and no German. Considering the history, the geographic location of the country and the high standard that one associates with Hungary, I expected different. In Romania, in contrast, I am always amazed at the language capability of the people. In any case, passing one garden with two elderly men I ask about Neptune as I roll past and the one responds in German that it is a few kms down the road. I notice their car has a Bern number plate. Schwiezer? I ask. Turns out they fled from Hungary in 1982 and sought asylum in Switzerland. I was invited in for cognac and then beer. We had a good talk for about an hour and since the man in the bar was expecting me, I carried on. In the meantime clouds had accumulated and I rode off in a light rain, which very soon became harder. 

By the time I saw the bar ahead of me it was pissing down and I rode directly under the terrace. I greeted Jöszi and his dog, Boris. Since there was nobody there I thought that perhaps I could sleep under the terrace, which was made of wood and beautifully hand carved. Either he did not understand or did not want that so he walked me across the way to where I could place my tent. Since it was really coming down I had no intention of standing there in the rain and setting up my tent. Ordered a beer in order to buy some time and gauge the situation.

Very soon a bloke named Laszlô turned up and sat down at the table with me. In the 80s he had worked in Vienna and could still speak German quite well, even with an Austrian accent. It also seemed that he was quite happy to do so, which was fine by me. He invited me for a shot of palinca. Another Laszlô then turned up with Alex and before I knew it we were all fast friends. The first Laszlò, I will call him ‘tattoo-Laszlò’ because his entire upper body is covered in tattoos, interpreted with pleasure. We were laughing a lot, which considering that Laszlo 2 and Alex don’t speak anything but Hungarian, is quite a feat. The rain continued and the tent was really no longer an option. Laszlo 2 and Alex were visiting the area on holiday and were staying in a house down the road with some people from a sport club or something – really I did not understand too much – and they invited me to sleep there. Tattoo-Laszlo came along also, which was great because there was really no possibility of communication otherwise. We sat down in the front room of a strange wooden house directly on the lake. It was a strange house but this front room was all in wood and also very beautifully done. They pulled out a bottle of home-made palinca. Bloody hell, I think they had made it in their bathtub and I thought of those stories of people going blind from drinking alcohol from home distilleries. It also had a completely different taste from the palinca I know. They then laid out a spread on the table and said ‘haam, haam’…eat, eat. The problem of vegetarianism raised its head again. They were really going out of their way for me and I did not want to be rude in rejecting the food they offered, especially because they prepared the sausages themselves and were telling me in full body language about how they slaughtered the pigs, mixed the meat with spices, and made the sausages. Either it was their super hospitality or the extreme amounts of palinca, but that night I broke 14 years of vegetarianism.

When I woke in the morning I had to actually put my hands to my head and force concentration to understand where I was and what had happened. I stumbled outside to my bike to dig around for aspirin. In my stupor the night before I had actually had the wherewithal to cover all the bags with their rain covers, which for some reason really made me proud of myself. Digging around for the aspirin I removed the rain covers and was in too much pain to put them on again. Laszlô 2 was up and putting the front room back in order. I thought about just forcing myself onto the bike, riding for a while, then sleeping and recovering in a park somewhere further south. Instead Laszlo said we should go for coffee. Another two guys had shown up, one also called Laszlo (so now there are three) and another guy, whose name I did not catch. He was a Roma, so I’ll call him gypsy-guy.

We piled in the car and drove a few kilometers to a café. Tattoo-Laszlo was there, having a few drinks before going to work. The clock in the bar read 7.05. Laszlo 2 ordered café and wine…..the coffee was needed, about the wine I was not so sure. Nonetheless, three rounds of wine later I was feeling quite fine indeed. All evening and all morning these guys had not let me pay for anything so I insisted on paying next round. Walked inside the bar to order another round of wine, the fourth already, and saw the clock – 8.45 in the morning. Bloody hell. The weather was awful, the rain coming down in torrents and gusting so that at times it was coming from the side, which meant that I could not go anywhere anyway. We then drove to another bar for beer, then back to their house for haam haam and palinca, of course. While we were eating the rain had stopped and the clouds had opened and the sun was shining wonderfully strong. When one is on a bike and so weather-dependent, this is such a wonderful feeling that it is hard to explain. In my hangover I had not re-covered the bike and everything was soaked.

It was time to leave and I was preparing to go but they insisted on taking me on their boat. On the one hand it was time to hit the road, but on the other hand how often would I have an invitation to go on a small boat on the Danube with Hungarians? With this reasoning I chose the boat. Laszlo 2, young Laszlo and gypsy-guy and I pile into the small boat that was already half-full of water and set out up-steam. It was a beautiful day and it was a beautiful experience, something very simple obviously, just sitting in a small boat on a river, but the whole experience of making new friends, sitting with them in the bar and meeting their friends, being somewhere in Hungary and not really sure about where, the whole experience had a profound effect on me. Sometimes I think that these unusual and special moments that I experience – and there are many – is the universe’s way of making up for the rest of my life that just does not seem to work.

We visited a house that apparently was also a sort of unofficial bar because the old woman running the place brought us all more wine, for which one of the lads paid. An old German man turned up who was from the Donauschwaben community and he could still speak some German. The sun was wonderful and it had turned into a beautiful day. I guess we sat there in the garden for about 2 hours and drank a lot of wine. When it was my turn to order – 7 glasses of wine for the whole group – I gave the women 2’000 Forint and she returned with my change of 1’600 Forint. That means I paid 400 Forint, or the equivalent of CHF 1.80, for 7 glasses of wine. Then back to their house for lunch, after which I passed out for a while on the couch. I woke at 15.00 and the boys really wanted me to stay, but I had to go and I set out on the bike to the south. It had been a crazy experience and I am glad for it. We had a good time and maybe one day I can return the hospitality. 

Ideje hogy megteszi a többi

Hoy empieco con algunas palabras a mis amigos en Argentina, que estan sequendo mio viaje del su pais, muy lejos de aqui. Queridos amigos, muy bienvenidos. Estoy muy contento que Ustedes esten aqui conmigo en esta aventura. Saben que les pienso siempre y un dia estoy seguro que nos veremos de nuevo. Ahora mismo estoy viajando en bicicleta desde mi pais hasta el Mar Negro, pasando por nueve paises. Una vez llegado al mar, quiero pasar por la costa al nord para llegar al fin del viaje en Odessa, Ukraina. Inicialmente seguir el Danubio fue facil pero con cada pais los desafios aumentan. En cualquier modo voy a llegar a mi destinación. Despues del viaje puede ser que empiezo un trabajo nuevo, que estoy buscando ahora, o sigo viajando. Vamos a ver. Claramente es una vida particular y unconvencional, pero al momento es todo que tengo. Me manden noticias! Suerte y abrazos.

The trail did not prove to be much better in Hungary. There are a few paved stretches but a lot of dirt trails that are not suited to anything but mountain bikes. The wonderful signage in Germany and Austria marking the trail at every intersection and crossroads is completely gone. Now it is comprised of a sign strategically placed roughly every 15 to 20 kilometres with an arrow roughly pointing in the direction of the Black Sea. It is as if the sign is saying to me “the sea is that way somewhere asshole, find it yourself”. Today I gave up on the trail completely. Underway I met another Polish family on the road. They had started in Donaueschingen and informed me that to that point they had ridden 1’412 kms. Add the 100 I did to arrive at Donaueschingen and I have done more than 1’500. These Poles had planned on going to Serbia but were also disappointed by the lack of infrastructure and found it too dangerous to ride on the road and thus decided to break off the journey at Budapest.

By mid-afternoon I had arrived at the outskirts of Budapest and then needed another two hours to make it to the center. I found a wonderfully cheap and clean hostel directly in the old town and booked myself in. After 17 days and 1’500 kms I am tired and decided to make it a two-day stay in order to write, sleep, wash, shower and recharge my energy.

Today I am off, feeling well and recharged. It is time to move on. Budapest is great but there are too many tourists and too many shops and restaurants. I ask myself how much of this rubbish do we need. Not much is the answer. Despite there being many tourists, I must say that there are fewer than I would have thought and I assume that the disastrous economic state of Europe is forcing many to reconsider their superfluous travels. Sooner or later the whole house of cards will come tumbling down. I used to think it would happen sooner, but probably it will still be a while. In any case, I am looking forward to being back in the small towns and villages and in the nature.  

Welcome to the Jungle

In the morning I woke early and stayed in my sleeping bag, observing at the sky and the woods and contemplating Chris and his story. I wondered how many of us would do something similar or at least something very out of the ordinary if we would know how much time we had left in this life.

Not having to break down the tent, once I was up I was quickly on my way. Soon I came to a town and looked for coffee. Since I don’t speak Slovak, I approach people in this part of the world first asking if they speak German and then Russian. In broken Russian I was directed to the town café. This café was so typically east that it could only be described with photos, but it was 8.00 in the morning, I was clearly foreign and different and it would have been offensive to begin photographing. I wanted to blend in as much as I could, observe and enjoy the atmosphere.  The bike rack before the café was lined up with old, rusting bicycles and the men were all drinking beer and were wearing whatever seemed to have been the first thing at hand in the morning. One was in disco shirt that would have been in style in 1977, another was wearing black shoes, black socks, green shorts and a red t-shirt and a few gypsy women passed by going to the small grocer next door. I write these words not to be disparaging in any way, but simply to paint the picture. This is what I love about the East, its simplicity. The interior of the café was so typically East that it made me smile and gave me a feeling of not being so far away from that what I know, not being so out there and alone. When I say so typically East, I mean that I think a person could travel to small towns from Tallin to Sofia and from Prague to Volgograd and would find the same atmosphere in every village café. I love it and it felt good to be back in that simple and real environment.

Some of the men left and it seemed that the remaining ones changed from a Slavic language to Hungarian. I don’t speak any Hungarian but have heard it enough to recognize it. Indeed when looking around the village later I saw that everything was printed in both languages. This is common in central Europe because Hungarians are everywhere. There are areas in Romania, huge areas, in which the inhabitants don’t identify themselves at all with the nation-state in which they live. They are Magyars, speak Magyar and live Magyar lives. Hell, they hardly even speak the national language and even in last few months made a motion in parliament to secede from the Romanian state. They are proud people and don’t believe in adapting to the lines that were draw on the map in the course of history. I like that and wish I could speak their language. I will be in Hungarian speaking country for a least a week and will make an effort to learn some of it.

Today marks two weeks since I woke the first morning on the road after the night on the hay bales. It seems like ages ago. In the meantime this journey has become less of a man on a bike riding toward a destination and more of life on the road, meeting people, seeing sights: just a man living in new places who just happens to have a bicycle with him. I feel the journey becoming part of me and I am becoming part of the journey.

7 kms before Komarnò I stop for refreshment. A half liter of delicious Zlaty Bazant cost me the equivalent of CHF 1.12…This could be trouble…Earlier this year I visited a wonderful physician in Spain, where I was living, and she advised me that I have too much yeast in me, prescribed some natural cures and told me to stop drinking beer. I managed quite well with that for a while. The whole time I was in Spain I made the switch to red wine quite easily. That was Spain and this is central Europe, the home of beer. Now, it might seem to my readers that beer plays a big role in my life, and it does, but it does so for the quality and experience of the beer and not the quantity. I enjoy the experience of beer as wine experts enjoy wine. For example a Pilsner Urquell in Pilsen or a Mythos in Thessaloniki or an Ursus in Siebenbürgen. That is a part of the environment and should be enjoyed as much as the local scenery and historic sites. I can never understand the over-globalised morons who visit a new country and order Heineken or Carlsberg. I have left restaurants on occasions having learned that they only serve such imported global brands. Globalization sucks and fortunately it is slowly reversing.

In regard to the cycling, the famed Danube bike trail that allegedly stretches from the Atlantic to the Black Sea has quickly turned to hell. It is no longer paved, is now largely made of gravel and is very poorly marked. In the late afternoon I get directions – in Hungarian mind you – in a village and find the trail again. At this point the trail is made up of concrete blocks laid end to end and each time I pass over one of the joints the bike and the gear rattle and shake. A brilliant writer who in the 80s entered Afghanistan and travelled with the mujahedeen described the Soviet roads being made in this same fashion. As he wrote, even in those enormous Russian Kamaz trucks it was an unbearable ride.

After a few kilometers it is so bad that I am worried that something on my bike will break. Earlier in the day I had given up on the bike trail and ridden on the road. At some point I stopped for water in a bar and realized that everyone was completely drunk and assuming that at some point some of these drunks would be driving, I thought it better to stay on the trail, as awful as it was. I carried on and on, not seeing anyone and hoping to arrive at a town in order to get more water for the night because earlier in the day I had bought pasta and sauce and was very excited about cooking hot food that night. The bloody trail just ran out, finished at the gate of a power plant. Perhaps that gate is open sometimes and the trail passes through the grounds of the power plant, but tonight it was closed. That did not put me in a pleasant mood. Damn if I was going to return the entire way I had just come. I look around, walked around in circles for a while cursing this phony and imagined Danube bike trail. Out of stubbornness I refused to go back as I had come. I estimated one more hour of daylight and decided to try going overland to arrive at a road. In the setting sun I could see some buildings a few kilometers away. I pushed that overloaded bike through at least a kilometer of grass and weeds as high as my knees stopping regularly to look around and ask myself what the hell I was doing. Daylight was running out, I only had half a liter of water and I had no idea what I would find on the other side of the field.

One of the things that I like very much about traveling like this or walking the Camino de Santiago for example is the idea of having everything I need with me, being completely self-sufficient and independent of society. So, overcoming my anger and frustration and trying to follow my own philosophy of enjoying the moment I decided to set up camp and stay out here tonight, lost in the field. Once I calmed it actually turned out to be quite nice. At the edge of a sunflower field I found an open and flat space large enough to pitch the tent, which I finished just as the sun fell behind the horizon. I could not use the little water I had for cooking and had to eat bread and vegetables and nutella, but that was ok. Soon I was asleep and had a fitful night, waking early in the morning to millions and millions of sunflowers all around.

I left the campsite on foot and went out to find a way out of the field. It was via a train depot not far away and though it would be hard to get the bike down the embankment and across the dozens of tracks, it was the easiest way out and by doing so I would avoid returning the way I had come. Seems silly even to me, but I did not want to succumb to predicament in which I found myself and have to return the same way I had come. I wanted to persevere and move forward.

 Once out and on the road I found a strange little village that had a nice café and it even had wifi and I ordered a few coffees and worked on this blog. Thereafter I crossed the bridge into Hungary and the Slovak portion of my adventure was done. I hope that there is a real bike trail in Hungary………..