Travel Tips

Hungary. What do I know about Hungary? Wasn’t Arkright’s errand boy Hungarian?

As we rode onto a high bridge demarking the border between Slovakia and Hungary, I felt certain manacing border controls awaited us beyond.

As we reached the apex of the bridge I saw a colossal building ahead, as if standing guard. A monstrous architectural bulldog forewarning the intruder of what lay in store ahead.

Across the front, in ten foot high letters, was written T-E-S-C-O-S.

Now it was just starting to get a touch annoying.

After a night near the border we plunged into the centre of the country and found a beautiful campsite at Valence alongside a lake.

On our first evening, as Juliet slept off the rigors of the day, I joined a group of Hungarian holiday makers when invited to try a traditional local soup. Then the local beer. Then shots of Jaegermiester. Then numerous tumblers of ‘palinko’, a truly terrifying home-brew spirit that dissolves the lining of the asophogus before exploding in the stomach like an incendiary device. But what could I do? They were such lovely people.

To blaring gypsy music on the stereo Amý tried to teach me to play the spoons. He was quite the expert, making me look quite useless. But there was lots of laughter and the continual cry of “Ompah!”

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Was I ill that night. Lying half in and half out of the tent I kept crying out to Juliet that I was dying. She didn’t know whether to worry or laugh. We had to pick our way around the tent somewhat tentatively the next morning. Pulling puke out of grass is near impossible!

Now, I should point out that Juliet compelled me to enter the above confession under duress and I feel that it is only my prerogative to exert a rightful retribution.

Juliet has the bladder capacity of an incontinent dormouse. On the road not an hour goes by without the squeal of, “STOP! I need the toilet!”

No matter where we are, she screeches to a halt, jumps off Mybike, does a little jig in the road before diving behind the nearest tree, bus stop or discarded flip-flop to squat. Invariably, she emerges minutes later with the now familiar whine of “Ive weed into my shoes again!”

Naturally, I find this quite hilarious. Until she brings her shoes into the tent at night, that it.

All the Hungarians we met were so hospitable and kind. On our last night by the lake a sign appeared on a tree near our tent wishing us luck on our journey. Saying goodbye to everyone was tough.

A few more days of easy cycling, despite the overwhelming 38C heat, took us to Hungary’s eastern border.

Oh... and about that little roadside jig of Juliets. Do you want to see the video?

Of course you do!

Juliets jig

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