The most charming landscapes! Deadly black rubber!

The below-average breakfast at the guesthouse has nothing to do with the delicious food at our last accommodation. The pound cakes I heated up in the microwave were made yesterday and are about to cool down completely. The coffee tastes sour, but we don’t want to let a ridiculous breakfast dampen our renewed motivation.

Looking forward to a new day, we get on our saddles and let our bikes roll towards the Slovakian-Hungarian border. The officials are very friendly and after a quick look at our passports, we are allowed to push our road trains onto the Maria Valeria Bridge, which was destroyed during the Second World War. It connects the cities of Sturovo and Esztergom and thus also Slovakia and Hungary. It’s hard to believe that after just under 1600 kilometers we have already travelled through five countries: Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Slovakia and Hungary. It is indescribable how diverse and varied Europe is.

The bridge linking the two countries was only rebuilt in 2001. At the other end, we rush down its elevation into what one writer called Hungarian Rome. Esztergom has been the seat of the Archbishop of Hungary since the 11th century. The impressive basilica is enthroned on the castle hill and attracts visitors with its beauty. Our destination today is the capital Budapest, so we only have to make do with its magnificent façade.

This place was already inhabited in the Stone Age. The Romans used the strategic site for a fortification to protect their borders. In the 13th century Esztergom was occupied by the Tartars and in the 16th century by the Turks, who stayed for 140 years. After the Turks were driven out, the town was a ruin with only around 400 of the original inhabitants still living there. We leave the pretty little town behind us and immediately find the cycle path that leads on. “Stop!” Tanja’s call warns me. “What is it?” “It doesn’t go any further. The cycle path ends in a steep flight of steps. I almost didn’t see them.” We bypass the dangerous obstacle and find the right cycle path. After just a few kilometers, the path joins the main road. We now have the option of taking the ferry to the quieter left bank of the Danube. “Forint?” asks the ferryman. “No, we don’t have any forints,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. Using sign language, the ferryman tries to explain to me how to change money in the nearby restaurant. Unfortunately, this also fails, so we continue our journey on the main road. At this point we don’t yet know that the luxury of a wonderful cycle path ends for us here.

Ahead of us lies the Danube Bend, one of the most charming landscapes in Hungary. The steep mountain slopes, some of which are made of volcanic rock, were cut in two by the mighty river long ago. “Look how beautiful!” I exclaim happily, pointing to the dark mountain slopes with their romantically shaped rocks. To our right, the Visegrad Mountains and the Pilis Mountains appear, stretching their curved backs into the blue sky. The mountain ranges are densely overgrown with shady deciduous forests. Tree-lined avenues arch their crowns over us like protective hands. We reach the riverside town of Visegrad, which began to play an important strategic role for the Romans as early as the 1st century AD. Visegrad, on the right bank of the Danube, was part of the Limes and belonged to the military fortresses on the border with Panonia. As early as the 4th century, the rulers of the time built a fortified complex on the 180-metre-high Sibrik Hill, which was later to become a castle. “Everywhere you look here, we come into contact with the historical past of the Danube,” I say, sitting thoughtfully on a chair. We made ourselves comfortable in a restaurant to sample the famous Hungarian cuisine. Unfortunately, we are mercilessly disappointed. The meat tastes somehow rancid, and the chef seems to have simply reheated yesterday’s leftovers. We order the bill and are surprised to suddenly have to pay 10% tax. “It is at the discretion of the landlord whether or not to charge the tax,” the waiter apologizes in good English. We pay and are annoyed at having been taken in by this penny-pinching landlord. Compared to Slovakia, it is apparently really expensive in Hungary. A beer here again costs 2 euros and a meal 10 to 20 euros, depending on your choice. “Maybe it’s because there are so many tourists here again?” I wonder aloud. “I don’t know either. We can only hope that Budapest isn’t even more expensive,” Tanja replies.

As it is still a long way to the capital, we can’t pay a visit to this interesting settlement and cycle on. We pass a number of charming little towns. We find it particularly difficult to leave behind the town of Szentendre, where Stone Age settlement remains have been discovered during excavations.

Deadly black rubber. Pure killer!

The main road gets visibly worse and the traffic worse. The roadside is barely passable in some places. Dirt, sand and dangerous grooves cause us to swerve constantly. Our trailers rumble into deep holes with a loud crash. The jolt is so great that it sometimes almost tears the handlebars out of my hands. Now we have to be very careful not to get caught in the wheels of cars and trucks. Sometimes the main road narrows so that the drivers behind us have to brake to avoid crashing into oncoming traffic when overtaking. Some of the terribly fast heaps of metal roar past us close, far too close. Tanja suffers from the swirling dust. Your knee starts to lock up from the exertion and the pain increases with every kilometer. “Hold on for God’s sake!” I shout to the back to drown out the engine noise. I’m worried about becoming an insurmountable obstacle, especially for the trucks, if the distance between us is too great. The heavy road trains have to start overtaking at the first opportunity and if something comes towards them they are forced to squeeze between Tanja and me. I slow down to give Tanja the opportunity to stay close in my slipstream. As a concentrated unit, we now rumble over the asphalt strip that is turning into a nightmare. Dead birds, rats, cats and even hedgehogs line the roadside with their frightening faces. Often the frayed tar strip ends abruptly in a steeply sloping edge. If one of the monster trucks gets too close, dodging it requires acrobatic skills. At the last second, we let our heavily laden bikes hurtle down the steep slope. It rumbles and shakes. The frame groans under the strain as my companion clatters into the ditch. Only fractions of a second later, the black, deadly-looking rubber tires of a semitrailer truck thunder past us. “It’s madness. This road is turning into a real killer!” I exclaim in horror, wondering how we are going to manage the remaining 19,000 kilometers of our journey without getting stuck.

“Denis! We can’t go any further!” warns Tanja. “What, why not?” “Look at the traffic sign!” she replies, pointing ahead. I am shocked to discover that bicycles, tractors and horse-drawn carriages are not allowed on this road. After a few hundred meters we save ourselves in a petrol station and think about how to get on. “The main road has done its job for us. Is there another arterial road that leads in the same direction?” I ask thoughtfully and study the map. “Let’s try the path behind the petrol station,” says Tanja, pointing to the narrow strip of asphalt. As I don’t see any other option at the moment, I’ll go along with your suggestion. We are delighted when the narrow road leads us to a cycle path right next to the main road. However, it doesn’t take long before the path suddenly crosses the main road. It looks like we are already in a suburb of Budapest. Due to the dark clouds in the sky, dusk begins earlier than expected today. Almost all the drivers have their lights on. “The Danube must be down there. Maybe we’ll find our cycle path there again,” I say and cross the crosswalk. We now bump along in rush-hour traffic on a strip of asphalt that is in dire need of repair. It is cold. Hunger makes itself felt and we have no idea where to spend the night here. Hotel is written on a sign. “I’ll see what it costs,” I say. While I enter reception on wobbly legs with tired bones, Tanja looks after our bikes. “120 euros a night. Unfortunately, we’re fully booked,” the man replies in a friendly manner. Shocked by the high price for us and the fact that the store is fully booked, we cycle on. “We’ll find something,” says Tanja confidently. Over the next five kilometers, I ask all the hotels and guesthouses. Prices range from 40 to 130 euros for a double room. “Maybe it’s better in the city?” asks Tanja. “I don’t think so,” I reply with a slight nod. On our further way, the traffic tends to increase. We get caught in a traffic jam, push our bikes past it and reach the town. Since I don’t have an exact map, I have no orientation. We meet a cycle path again, follow it to the end and can’t find any hotels or guesthouses for some time. Even the passers-by we ask have no idea or don’t speak our language. It is slowly getting dark. We are now about eight kilometers from the place where the last accommodation was. “We’ll turn back,” I decide, and we cycle the eight kilometers back. “Go to the campsite”, a nice old gentleman seems to say to us in Hungarian. We use sign language to explain where the place is and find it. By now it is dark and the cold of the night is setting in. My thermometer reads 13 degrees. The reception of the almost empty campsite is already closed. The doorman only speaks Hungarian. He shows us the price table. Just under 18 euros for two people and a tent. “I can’t believe it, even a campsite costs a fortune here,” I shake my head in amazement. “What do you think? Should we stay here for now?” I ask Tanja indecisively. “If we want to see Budapest, we can’t leave our equipment, laptop and satellite phone alone on a campsite,” she replies, and the decision is made. We turn around and head to a guesthouse that still has a double room available for three days. Although we also have 52 euros incl. After paying for breakfast, we decide to stay. We carry our equipment into the friendly room. We are allowed to park our bikes under the stairs in the hotel. Exhausted, we sink into our chairs. “What do you mean? I saw a little store not far from here. I could use the time from your notes to buy us a good bottle of Hungarian wine,” Tanja suggests. “A very good idea,” I reply with a smile and am pleased to have arrived here with my skin intact.

We look forward to your comments!