Munich - Budapest: The Race Out Of Western Europe

Thursday 15th – Wednesday 21st May

Munich was my kind of place. Steeped in history, warm people, ample beer, cycle friendly and naked sunbathers (no, really). It’s fair to say that for 2 days it was a good home to me, but dear god was it expensive. I’d looked at how much I was spending and in short it was too much, it wasn’t like I was splashing out either. I’d been camping for the last week and whilst the hostel was an indulgence, it was used as my motivation for getting there in the first place.

Something was very clear; I needed to get out of Western Europe. But the problem was that for the first time since I’d left I didn’t want to get on the bike. I’d had a good 2 days, met some great people and as I left all the safety behind I was stuck with the realization that I needed to get used to being on my own. I’d had to have the last of my inoculations in Munich, and by the time I’d left the city it was already close to 5 and the roads were packed.

I wasn’t in the mood but knew I had no choice. The target was the Danube, as I knew that after the harshness of Germany’s hills this would be an easy relaxing ride to Budapest. Of course, not wanting to make things to easy I decided on saving some money by not bothering to buy a map. I was following a river which had a famous cycle path, how far lost could I get?

With flawless logic like this I was racing towards the river, like a beady eyed child looking for the sea when driving near the beach, I finally got my target after a day and a half of up and down roads. I would do my best not to lose sight of the river until I got to Budapest, and along the flat tarmac roads I was in my element. Entirely level, well maintained cycle paths, busy with other cyclists but not over crowded and some beautiful scenery. My average speed was also up, which was nice and when an old guy on a mountain bike started racing me it was a good chance to test the legs. Neither of us spoke to each other, but we exchanged the occasional smile as we passed each other several times: Me on Tullula and her 18 kilos of luggage, him on a mountain bike. Neither of us had the equipment to race, but I knew how fit I was and judging by the size of his calves he was fit as well and over the next two hours we enjoyed a sporting rivalry and what felt like a blisteringly fast 32 miles. Racing random old men along Europe’s longest river: I think I’m going to like it here.

More of the same for the next day, the only distractions being the beavers that were moving around a bit to close for my tent for comfort before, at around 30km from Vienna, it rained. From having not seen a cloud for 2 weeks, my god did it rain all of a sudden, and it wasn’t going to stop. I’d got caught and didn’t get my waterproofs on in time, feet wet, legs wet and feeling along way from home, the final straw was falling off coming over a bridge towards Vienna. I’d had enough and I’m happy enough to admit I wussed out and went to a hostel for the night. It was a good chance to dry out (I also got a free beer with my booking, can’t complain eh?) but in truth I felt like I’d failed. The first day of heavy rain and I’d ended up in a hostel, in a city I didn’t want to be in.

Vienna is, and always will be, my ‘Pulp Fiction’. Everyone else loves it, will rant about how great it is and at times will never shut up about their love for it, but whatever it is has bypassed me. I’ve been twice now and didn’t enjoy the first time, and this time, whilst really not being in the mood, I didn’t find it much better. I didn’t see the beauty that others do, I saw rows of shops that I could get in most European towns. I didn’t see the fantastic buildings people talked about, instead as I’d come on the bike I’d seen, not to mention smelt, the eyesores that were on the outskirts. Vienna didn’t seem to like me whenever I’ve been, and in turn I don’t like Vienna.

What was even worse was trying to leave Vienna was even harder. The signposts on the cycle path had disappeared 10km before I’d got to the city, and leaving Vienna not only had the signs disappeared, so had the bloody cycle path. I spent the morning and early afternoon going down tracks that led to nowhere, paths that led to private fishing huts and roads that would stop without notice. I eventually gave up on the river, hit a main road, my frustration summarised by a sign which told me Vienna was 34km away. I looked at my odometer, I’d traveled 63.

Frustrating? Yes. A problem? No. I was on the road to Budapest where I was spending time with my friend Sophie, but she was currently studying to be a vet and had exams all week so we’d arranged for me to get there on Friday. In Vienna I’d realised I was more likely to get there on Wednesday, so I’d tried to go as slowly as possible and my main aim upon leaving Vienna was not to get to Bratislava. Even after wasting an entire morning, I was still going to fast and in the end decided to stop just 11km from Bratislava still on the Austrian side of the border.

The heavens opened again but this time I toughed it out and felt pretty good about it. I got to Slovakia at around half 9 only to find no-one on the border, and at the risk of sounding a little Daily Mail Slovakia was the 6th border I’d crossed and I still hadn’t had my passport checked. And what’s even more annoying is that most of the countries didn’t even want me to know I’d arrived. When leaving home I’d imagined ‘my trophies’ as such, being photos of me and the bike in front of big signs saying “Welcome to …..” I reality most of the countries I’d been to didn’t seem to care to much that you’d crossed their border. Belgium didn’t have a sign, Luxembourg had a sign that had the letters peeled off so you couldn’t read it and entering Slovakia cyclists were sent down a side path which meant you weren’t exactly sure where the border was and what country you were in. Come on world, I want some pride in your country (or at least a sign it looks impressive to stand next to), not a sign that’s smaller than the one you see for crossing counties at home.

After the disappointment of the border crossing, Slovakia at least, I liked. I was only there for the afternoon but the first 30 miles were spent along the river and some of the more bizarre tourist destinations I’ve seen on the trip. The River Danube Museum was housed in an odd building about 50 metres away from the road and out on its own little pier. It looked as depressed as a building can look, with absolutely no customers and housed in the battering wind and rain my only thought was ‘they’ve nicked this from the Craggy Island tour guide’.

After crossing back over I lost the river (its easier to do than it sounds), hit some roads and all the time Slovakia was growing for me. It felt that for the first time, if I shut my eyes and opened on them again I could tell I wasn’t in England. The roads were different, the cars were different and the buildings were different. It was a country that also seemingly didn’t bother with nonsense. You want to advertise a bike shop? You put up a picture of a semi naked girl on a bike. You want to advertise beer? You put up a picture of a semi naked girl drinking beer. You want to advertise a Spar Supermarket? You put up a picture of a naked girl in a shopping trolley with her nipples covered by duct tape. For the first time, coming through small village’s people didn’t seem interested and I in turn enjoyed being left alone.

In the village of Cicov, the no-nonsense approach continued. I’d sat down for a rest at a bus stop and out came a guy from a guest house opposite. He must have been around 60 and walked with a limp, smiling with his 3 teeth. He came over and started talking to me in Slovakian whilst gesturing towards his guesthouse. Obviously my Slovak isn’t great, so I said the only words I knew how to say: No thank you. This clearly didn’t register, and the fact I didn’t speak Slovakian clearly didn’t matter as for the next 5 minutes he stayed out, talking at me in Slovakian, always with the genuine expectancy in his eyes I knew what he was saying. He eventually gave up, went inside, only to return moments later and start talking in Slovakian again. Surprisingly I hadn’t learnt the language in the moments he’d been gone, he looked pretty disappointed by this. But as opposed to giving up he just stared at me. Starting to feel a bit uneasy I managed to leave, and when I got to the town of Komarno I realized just how badly my plan for not getting to Budapest was going when I found out I was 65 miles away. Hmm, can I make 65 miles last 3 days?

The answer was probably not. I called home as I knew my Dad had a friend out here and he put me through to Tibor, my Dads coworker who’d stayed with us whilst I’d been away at university and he offered to let me stay with him until Friday. I crossed another border (no sign, no pass port checking – poor show Hungary, especially as the passport control guys were huddling in their office waving people through to avoid the rain) and with the knowledge I had somewhere to stay lined up I just had the simple task of finding somewhere to sleep. I settled for going down a quiet village road thinking it’d be easy to get in and out unnoticed. Very wrong. Every house in the street had a guard dog, some had 2 and the sight of someone cycling down a dead end street at 10 at night was enough to set them all off as I went further and further down before finding a field and spending a very wet night camping (it hadn’t stopped raining since Vienna) being barked at from 50 metres away and in the morning I was on the final road to Budapest.

By now it was easy. I knew where I was going and by lunch time I had met with Tibor and was free to spend the afternoon asleep in a comfortable bed with a nice warm shower before we went out for a meal.

This was 3 days ago and it’s been good to be off the bike, letting the body recover and for the first time in over a month, having a celebratory night out (3 weeks constant exercise has done something to my alcohol tolerance levels though). Its also been good to recap as well: In just 23 days I’d made it from Banbury to Budapest, around 1,400 miles. I’ve lost 7 kilos in weight and my body is as fit as it’s ever been.

But the reality is the real challenge starts here. So far I’d been to most of the countries I’d visited before, and as far as Budapest goes this is my 3rd time here, but up next is Serbia and Macedonia, and then after that Greece and Turkey. Countries I’ve never been to before, countries I don’t know what to expect from, countries where I don’t know any of the locals. Who knows, they may end up all being the same, but stepping into the unknown is why we travel, and that, for the first time in a while, is exactly what I’m looking forward to doing next week.

Pictures!

I'm pretty sure it never stops raining in Austria



Austrian Sunset



American Tourists who thought I was German...



Bratislava



Budapest - familiar ground



I'm staying out of the argument as to whether the lions have tongues or not...