If this weren't redeeming enough, let's remember that I am in Eastern Europe, where every village witnessed, every twist and turn in the road navigated, every sight focused onto my retinas and every sound channeled to my ears is completely novel to me. I am awestruck by the smallest details, the surprisingly pungent aromas carried downwind of foods cooking or by the most colourful wildflowers in bloom, that are rendered spectacular by my mind. I can't speak for others but my mind is sometimes my best friend, allowing me to feel what others seem to ignore or at the least be indifferent to. Even the warm breeze so often gently pressing against my face while riding provides enormous solace for it is a perpetual reminder that I am advancing through space and time -- that I should take neither for granted!
Following the Danube from Vienna to Budapest, with a half-dozen overnight stops en route, is the epitome of adventure, the zenith of pleasure for a recreational cyclist like myself. Consider that I am free to stop anytime the smell of fresh-baked breads charms my nostrils, beseeching a sampling from the local Hungarian baker. Likewise, when riding by a gelato stand, there can be no valid reason for not heeding its subliminal 'come hither' and passing it by. Gelato stops are not optional, they are mandatory. When cycling 70 km a day, counting calories is meaningless, it is impossible to eat too much, and thankfully equally challenging to drink too much. And so I do both, and I do so in abundance, after all, this is a holiday, not a chore! To ensure that I never for a moment forget that I am indeed on holiday, I endeavour at every opportunity to experience something unique, something not as willingly accomplished back home: A cooking lesson in the native cuisine perhaps, or a scary challenge that shouldn't be refused, or allowing oneself to be lured into a local celebration.
The biking along the river is phenomenal, the path is wide and paved, cars are prohibited, it tracks the river which is beautiful, usually deep blue but sometimes steel grey in colour and always about a half-kilometer across to the flip side. There are plenty of river barges, motoring both upstream and downstream along the river highway, loaded with cargo, which only adds to the interesting and unique views of the Danube. Sometimes I see a high-speed boat cruising by which ferries passengers between the same two cities as on my route, but in only six hours' time. At other times there is no cycle path as we share the road with cars, but we bikes own the shoulder and automobiles are obliged to respect a wide clearance and they always move to the left when they pass. And still other times, we are cycling through fields, along a railroad, or perhaps on a grass path along a levee!
What a treat it is to arrive in the next village, ride up to the pre-arranged hotel, and find day after day that my luggage awaits meet in the lobby. Next, a deserved shower, some fresh clothes, and I am shortly again exploring another new town, whose name is unpronounceable in English, teasing out its secrets, encountering its citizens at random intervals for impromptu conversations about wealth, football or politics. You may find it difficult to believe, or you may agree knowingly, that many of these ad hoc conversations with strangers lead to the most remarkable insights into the native zeitgeist. In fact, sometimes I find myself having the most profound discussion about the most private aspects of my life, and of theirs, too, as disclosure begets disclosure. Social psychologists call this 'fleeting intimacy.' I am an aficionado. Of what good can travel be for, if not for a greater understanding of the human condition?
All this jazz is well and good, but I know you've come to read about Budapest. Fortunately for me, the last 25 km of my journey from Vienna is accomplished by riverboat. There can be no better tactic for arriving in Budapest, to witness its beauty, to sense its charm and personality, to breathe in its soul. The parliament buildings, the churches, the statues commemorating past glories, that adorn the city's riverbank are both breathtaking and spectacular, no doubt little changed over the centuries.
There are two impressions that epitomize Budapest for me, now and forever etched into my memory. One is the profound artistic sensibilities that pervade the city, evident in its buildings new and old, in its myriad public sculptures, and in its communications with its citizens. No aspect appears to be left to chance, every message is thought through and is delivered with a sometimes surreal impact. The second is that its inhabitants give me the distinct impression that life is for living, so spending evenings with friends or family in the city's outdoor bars, cafés and restaurants is paramount. They are numerous and always bustling.
Marry my two impressions of Budapest and you get "The Ruins," the area in the Jewish Quarter that is comprised of dozens of bars, carved out of beat up, often abandoned buildings. Even more remarkable is how all of these bars (and restaurants, too) have been so imaginatively, artistically decorated, you wouldn't be embarrassed to think that you stumbled into an art gallery. And yet even one more time remarkable, the decor is always constructed of repurposed artifacts, objects otherwise destined for the landfill, that is to say, garbage, now reanimated for one more cycle of life! Three days in Budapest is not nearly long enough to become blasé, or worse bored, by its vibe. Its natives seem to get it, they are all friendly, eager to help a visitor with directions or suggestions. Maybe this is what happens when communism fails and its void must be filled with something that has promise of a better tomorrow!
Here's hoping for better tomorrows in your future, too!
Barry of Budapest.
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