Pedals and Passages — From Paris to Budapest by Bicycle
40-42 EUROPE - PART 1
1
June – 4 July 2011
1,915 Kilometres - 33 Days
MAP
PHOTOS - FRANCE 1
PHOTOS - GERMANY
PHOTOS - AUSTRIA
PHOTOS - SLOVAKIA
PHOTOS - HUNGARY (2)
FLIP-BOOK
Prologue: Departure and Decision
An unexpected twist of fate pulled me out
of the Americas and dropped me in South Africa, where at last I secured the
elusive Schengen visa. I had been drifting from country to country for years,
and my bicycle felt more like a companion than equipment. This time, the route
changed: instead of finishing in the Americas, I leapt across continents. It
wasn’t planned, but the detour brought a fresh, electric thrill of freedom and
adventure.
The visa maze nudged me toward an organised
cycling tour — a month-long ride with a group, panniers transported, meals and
beds included. It was expensive, yes, but the promise of a European visa, the
camaraderie, and the logistics taken care of made it irresistible. Hence, I packed my life into a single bag and
prepared for the journey ahead.
2 June: Paris Arrival
The
journey from Cape Town to Paris felt like crossing a threshold into
possibility. As the plane soared above continents, I gazed out the window at
the endless tapestry of clouds, each one a silent witness to my anticipation.
Abu Dhabi was a blur—a brief interlude of airport lights and distant
voices—before I was swept onward to the City of Lights.
Touching
down in Paris, the air was thick with promise. The scent of freshly baked
baguettes mingled with the hum of traffic and the distant laughter of café patrons.
Paris, cradled by the River Seine, shimmered with elegance and history. Names
like Chanel, Dior, and Louis Vuitton adorned the city’s boulevards, but my
heart beat for something less polished, more raw—the adventure waiting beyond
the luxury storefronts.
At
the hotel, I found my fellow cyclists already deep in the ritual of
reassembling their bikes. The room buzzed with nervous energy and the clatter
of tools. Gergo, our bicycle wizard, moved among us, his hands deft and
reassuring. Panic flickered in my chest as I realised I’d forgotten my bike
lock—a minor oversight, but one that threatened to unravel my careful
preparations. Marion and Barry, new friends from Australia, stepped in with
quiet generosity, lending me a spare lock and restoring my sense of calm.
That
evening, I joined David and Edna, also Australians, for dinner. We traded
stories over plates of simple food, laughter dissolving the exhaustion of
travel. The city outside beckoned, but we turned in early, eager for the
adventure that would begin with the dawn.
4 June: Pedalling the Streets of Paris
Morning
in Paris arrived bright and gentle, the city still half-asleep as we gathered
for our first ride. Excitement coursed through my veins as we pedalled through
quiet streets, the early hour granting us a rare intimacy with the city’s
grandeur. The Eiffel Tower rose above us, a sentinel of steel and dreams, while
the Arc de Triomphe stood proud against the pale sky.
We
paused for coffee, the bitter warmth grounding us in the present. The River
Seine glimmered nearby, its waters carrying centuries of stories. Each
revolution of my bike wheels felt like a heartbeat, echoing the rhythm of Paris
itself.
Back
at the hotel, our guides—Ricardo, Miles, and Gergo—outlined the days ahead.
Their words painted a landscape of challenge and discovery, and I felt the
first true stirrings of exhilaration. A quick visit to a local bike shop for a
new helmet and lock completed my preparations. I was ready to embrace Europe,
to chase the horizon and whatever lay beyond.
Into the French Countryside
5 June: Paris to Chenoise—71 km
I
woke excited; the moment had come. I perched atop my iron horse, surrounded by
cyclists in sleek gear, while I wore shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt—not a
rebellion against convention but minimalistic practicality. The road unfurled
before us, leading out of Paris and into the heart of France.
The
countryside was a living postcard: rolling fields, tiny hamlets, and the
dappled shade of ancient trees. Lunch was a simple affair beneath leafy
canopies, the world slowing to a gentle pace. We arrived early at a farm
campsite, greeted by the soft whicker of horses and the curious gaze of donkeys
and ponies. The farmhouse, with its weathered stone and warm light, felt like a
haven—a place where stories could begin and end.
Castles and Champagne
6 June: Chenoise to Troyes—90 km
Daybreak
came with the chorus of farm animals, their enthusiasm nudging us awake. After
a hearty breakfast, we set off, spirits high and legs eager. A detour led us to
Provins, a town wrapped in medieval walls and crowned by a castle. The air was
thick with history, and I imagined knights and merchants walking the same
cobblestones centuries before.
The
road carried us past poppy fields and stone houses adorned with bright window
boxes. The villages felt suspended in time, serene and untouched. That night,
we checked into a cosy hotel—a luxurious treat after days of tents and open
air. Troyes, the historic capital of Champagne, welcomed us with sparkling wine
and the promise of celebration.
7 June: The Heart of Troyes
Troyes was a jewel, its timbered houses and
grand cathedrals alive with stories. I wandered the streets, drawn to the tale
of the Knights Templar, who had once called this city home. The air buzzed with
possibility, and I let myself be swept up in the history and vibrancy.
Champagne was, of
course, a necessary indulgence.
8 June: Troyes to Val de Meuse—140 km
The
day began with a shock—Evlyn and Alf’s bikes had vanished from the hotel’s
garage. Their calm in the face of adversity was inspiring as they
dashed off to a bike shop.
While they sort out new bicycles, the rest of us cycled through the idyllic
countryside, stopping for coffee and pastries, the crisp air sharpening our
senses.
When Evlyn and Alf finally
rejoined us at camp, their arrival was met with raucous applause; their
resilience and positive attitude in the face of adversity were truly inspiring. We gathered around bottles of red wine to
celebrate resilience and friendship. The chill in the air was no match for the
warmth of camaraderie.
9 June: Mist and Mountains - Val-de-Meuse to
Plombières-les-Bains—88 km
The
morning greeted me with a reluctant chill, the kind that makes you burrow
deeper into your sleeping bag and wish for just a few more minutes of warmth.
The sun tried to break through the clouds, but the sky remained stubbornly
grey, casting a soft gloom over the landscape. We set out, our breath visible
in the crisp air. Along the way, we treated ourselves to
the renowned French cheeses paired with fresh, crusty bread—an indulgence that
never disappoints.
As we rolled into
Plombieres, the charm of small, upright houses clinging to the mountainside
welcomed us, alongside the promise
of thermal baths. A steaming cup of coffee in a tiny eatery warmed my hands
before the final climb to our campsite. We arrived just as the drizzle began,
tents pitched in a race against the rain. The evening was quiet, the sound of
droplets on canvas a gentle lullaby.
Through the Black Forest
10 June: Plombières-les-Bains to Munster—86 km
The
following day began as the last had ended—cold and misty, the valleys shrouded
in a fairytale haze. We sped downhill, the wind biting at our faces, and found
ourselves in a world of vineyards and hamlets. The climb was relentless, legs
burning with effort, but laughter and shared stories lightened the load.
Lunch
at a ski resort was a welcome respite, the warmth of coffee and companionship
fending off the chill. Munster appeared at last, its streets alive with the
sight of storks nesting atop rooftops—a whimsical touch to an otherwise grey
day. Dinner at the campsite was a celebration of survival, French wine flowing
freely as we recounted the day’s trials and triumphs.
Crossing Borders
11 June: Munster, France to Freiburg,
Germany—68 km
Breakfast
was hearty, fueling us for the journey ahead. The countryside rolled past in a
blur of timeless villages and serene riverbanks. Crossing into Germany, the
change was immediate—neat cycle paths, vibrant farmlands, and architecture that
spoke of a new chapter.
Our
hotel in Freiburg was elegant, almost too refined after the simplicity of tent
life. Sharing a room with Alice, a spirited Canadian, I found myself missing
the open air and the sense of freedom it brought. Alice, under the weather,
retired early, leaving me to reflect on the day’s transitions—between
countries, cultures, and the comfort of routine.
Freiburg’s Charm
12 June: Rest Day in Freiburg
Freiburg
was a revelation. Cobblestone streets wound through the village, trams rattled
past, and sidewalk cafés spilt laughter and music into the air. Children
floated boats in sparkling water channels, while locals basked in the sunshine,
drinks in hand.
Germany’s
beer culture was impossible to ignore, each brew a new adventure. The cuckoo
clocks, with their intricate designs, were a feast for the eyes. Cyclists
filled the streets, revelling in the city’s bike-friendly spirit. The day was a
gentle reminder of the joy found in exploration and the beauty of slowing down.
The Source of the Danube
13 June: Freiburg to Donaueschingen—75 km
A
fabulous breakfast set the tone for the day. We rode through the heart of the
Black Forest, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. Timber houses
dotted the landscape, a testament to the region’s woodcraft.
Challenging
hills tested our resolve, but the exhilarating descents made every climb
worthwhile. Donaueschingen, the official starting point of the Danube River,
greeted us with its unique charm. At camp, I met Tamar and Keith, a British
couple on a tandem recumbent bike. Their adventurous spirit was infectious, and
I was lucky enough to try their unusual ride—a memory that would linger long
after the journey ended.
Sunlit Cycleways
14 June: Donaueschingen to Sigmaringen—86 km
For
the first time, the sun graced us, illuminating the Danube cycleway and lifting
spirits. Families, children, and fellow cyclists shared the path, their smiles
reflecting the joy of a perfect day outdoors.
Castles
perched on hills, forests whispered secrets, and villages welcomed us with open
arms. Coffee breaks were plentiful, the pace relaxed, and laughter abundant.
Miles, our chef, prepared another delicious meal, and as the drizzle returned,
we retreated to our tents—exhausted, content, and grateful.
The Danube’s Embrace
15 June: Sigmaringen to Ulm—115 km
The
Danube cycleway beckoned, its path winding alongside Europe’s second-longest
river. The landscape shifted with every turn—lush meadows, sleepy villages, and
the river itself, a constant companion. The ride was both a test and a joy, the
terrain more varied than I’d imagined. We crossed the river again and again,
each crossing a small celebration.
Arriving
in Ulm, hunger led us on a quest for authentic German fare. The evening
unfolded in a cosy restaurant, plates piled high with Wiener schnitzel,
sauerkraut, and Swabian noodles. Cold German beer washed away the day’s
fatigue, laughter echoing around the table. In this city of spires and stories,
I felt the camaraderie of the road settle deep into my bones.
Rest and Wonder
16 June: A Rest Day in Ulm
A
day without cycling felt almost decadent. Ulm’s streets invited exploration—its
church, crowned by the world's tallest steeple, soared above the city, a marvel
of human ambition. I wandered through bustling markets and quiet corners,
pausing to reflect at the birthplace of Albert Einstein. The day was a gentle
interlude, a chance to catch up on laundry, emails, and the simple pleasure of
being still.
Detours and Discoveries
17 June: Ulm to Eggelstetten—104 km
Breakfast
was a feast, fueling us for the unknown. The road eastward was full of
surprises—a coffee shop owner, charmed by our “Paris—Istanbul” signs, treated
us to fresh pretzels and homemade sausage. The forest beckoned, and even when
we lost our way, every detour revealed new beauty. The day became a tapestry of
unexpected moments, each one a reminder that the journey itself is the
destination.
Rain and Reflection
18 June: Eggelstetten to Kipfenberg—100 km
A
breeze danced through camp as we set out, the sky heavy with the promise of
rain. I lingered behind, savouring the solitude and the landscape’s quiet
majesty. The rain came and went, a gentle companion rather than a foe.
Eichstatt tempted me to explore, but I pressed on, arriving at camp far too
early.
As
the group gathered, tents pitched beneath a persistent drizzle, the evening
unfolded in warmth and conversation. Hot showers, red wine, and chocolate
chased away the chill. We debated the world’s energy crisis, our words weaving
a tapestry of ideas and dreams. In the soft glow of lantern light, I felt the
bonds of friendship deepen.
Through the Rain to Regensburg
19 June: Kipfenberg to Regensburg—100 km
The
day began with rain, but spirits remained undampened. Coffee and pretzels
became our ritual, each stop a chance to warm our hands and hearts. The cycle
path led us through forests and farmlands, barges gliding silently along the
waterways.
A
missed lunch stop sent me downstream, but the city of Regensburg soon
appeared—a mosaic of spires and cobblestones. That evening, we gathered in a
bustling restaurant, savouring schnitzel and Swabian noodles, the flavours of
Bavaria mingling with the stories of the day.
20 June: Regensburg- Medieval Marvels
Regensburg
revealed itself as a living museum, its medieval heart beating with centuries
of history. I wandered narrow streets, each one a portal to another time. The
stone bridge over the Danube, built nearly a thousand years ago, stood as a
testament to endurance and ingenuity. The city’s beauty was quiet and profound,
a place to lose oneself and be found anew.
Short Rides and Shared Stories
21 June: Regensburg to Straubing—52 km
The
ride to Straubing was brief, the distance leaving ample time for curiosity. We
paused often, drawn by intriguing buildings and the promise of local
delicacies.
The
group splintered into racers and wanderers, each finding their own rhythm. Among
us, Chris was the solitary racer, revelling in the thrill of speed, finishing
his rides hours before anyone else. Francois from Canada, Michelle from New
Zealand, and Jacky from Australia all set a swift pace, while Barry, Marion,
and Alice, seasoned cyclists, kept up with their rhythm. The rest of us trailed
behind, each pedal stroke adding to our shared adventure. The day was a gentle reminder that every journey
is made richer by the company we keep and the stories we share.
Sunshine and Shadows
22 June: Straubing to Passau—100 km
The
morning greeted us with a rare burst of sunshine, the kind that lifts spirits
and promises adventure. The group set out in high spirits, laughter echoing
along the riverbanks as we cycled through fields painted gold by the sun. The
camaraderie was palpable—stories traded, encouragement offered, and the gentle
rhythm of wheels on pavement binding us together.
But
the day was not without its trials. Midway through the ride, John—our gentle friend
from Canada—suffered a sudden accident. Barry and Marion rushed to his side,
their calm and compassion a balm in the tense moment.
Lunch
became an impromptu picnic, the lunch truck stranded, but our spirits
undiminished. We spread out under the open sky, sharing bread, cheese, and
laughter. By the time we reached Passau, the city’s beauty was a welcome
reward. Our campground offered hot showers and a chance to unwind, while dinner
brought the group together once more—stories flowing, rain pattering on tent
roofs, and bottles of red wine warming us against the evening chill.
River and Reunion
23 June: Passau, Germany to Linz, Austria—100
km
The
next day marked a gentle shift in our journey. Some, including Edna, Sterling,
John (still recovering), Evlyn, and Alf, opted for a Danube riverboat cruise,
savouring the scenery from the water. The rest of us pedalled alongside, the
river a constant companion, its surface shimmering beneath a sky that
threatened rain.
David
and I rode together, our pace unhurried, stopping for coffee and scanning the
river for glimpses of our friends. The reunion near Linz was joyful—waves and
laughter as boat and bikes converged. We pitched our tents just as the rain
returned, the rhythm of droplets on canvas a familiar comfort.
A
public holiday in Austria meant closed shops and empty pantries, but adversity
became opportunity. We dined out, sampling Austrian cuisine and sharing stories
late into the night. The city’s energy was infectious, and I felt the bonds of
our group grow stronger with each shared meal and challenge overcome.
Memory and Farewell
24 June: Linz to Emmersdorf—110 km
We
set out from Linz, the river guiding us eastward. A detour to the Mauthausen
concentration camp cast a sombre shadow over the morning—a stark reminder of
history’s weight. The silence among us was respectful; each person lost in
thought as we walked the grounds.
Afterwards,
the road beckoned, and a strong tailwind lifted our spirits. The landscape was
pure Austria—rolling hills, villages nestled among vineyards, and the
occasional burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Coffee stops
punctuated the ride, fuelling both body and soul.
This
day marked the end of Evlyn and Alf’s journey with us. Watching them pack up
their bikes was bittersweet; their laughter and resilience had become a
cherished part of our group. Back at camp, we tended to John’s leg, Sterling’s
gentle care a testament to the kindness that defined our travels. The evening
was quiet, the bonds of friendship deepened by shared adversity and farewell.
25 June: Vienna Beckons - Emmersdorf to
Vienna—120 km
Our
ride to Vienna unfolded like a picturesque postcard, a feast for the senses.
Vineyards stretched across hillsides, cherry trees and apricot orchards
bursting with colour. Each village we passed seemed to whisper stories of
centuries gone by—cobblestone streets, ancient churches, and castles perched
atop green hills.
Losing
track of the group became a gift; I rode alone for much of the day, savouring
the tranquillity and beauty of the countryside. Muddy tracks and wrong turns
added a touch of adventure, but the landscape was forgiving, guiding me gently
toward the city.
Vienna
awaited—a city of music, art, and history. Our hotel was a welcome sight,
promising two days of rest and exploration. The anticipation was electric; I
could hardly wait to lose myself in the city’s vibrant tapestry.
26–28 June: Vienna’s Heartbeat
Arriving
in Vienna felt like stepping into a living masterpiece. The city pulsed with
energy—the Danube Island Festival drawing crowds to bandstands, food stalls,
and endless entertainment. I wandered the streets, the colossal Ferris wheel
spinning above, the aroma of coffee and bratwurst filling the air.
Solitude
became a companion as I explored Vienna’s grand opera houses, piano workshops,
and art nouveau architecture. The city’s past and present danced
together—horse-drawn carriages clattering alongside modern trams, the spirits
of Strauss and Mozart lingering in every note.
Coffee
shops and pavement cafés invited lingering conversations, while ticket vendors
tempted with operas and concerts. Otto Wagner’s creative legacy adorned the
city, and bicycle lanes wove through parks and boulevards. Vienna was a place
to savour, each moment a brushstroke on the canvas of memory.
Across Borders
28 June: Vienna, Austria to Bratislava,
Slovakia—65 km
After
two days of Vienna’s delights, it was time to move on. New faces joined our
group—Mieke and PC from South Africa, Paul from the USA, Mark from Australia,
and Rudolf from Canada. The excitement was palpable as we pedalled out of
Vienna, the city fading behind us, the border with Slovakia marked only by a
small sign high on a pole.
Bratislava
welcomed us with open arms. Our accommodation—a cosy boathouse—was a pleasant
surprise, spacious and comfortable. Marion and Barry joined me in exploring the
city’s vibrant streets, climbing hills to discover castles and wandering
through the old town’s hidden gems.
Dinner
on the boat was a highlight, with divine food and warm company. Later, a stroll
into town led to a glass of exquisite red wine, courtesy of PC—a perfect ending
to a day of discovery and connection.
Into Hungary—A Birthday on the Road
29 June: Bratislava, Slovakia to Komarom,
Hungary—116 km
The
morning air was thick with anticipation as we bid farewell to our floating home
in Bratislava. The group splintered into its familiar rhythms—some surging
ahead, others lingering to savour the scenery. I found myself cycling alongside
Mieke and PC, their laughter and curiosity a welcome soundtrack to the day.
The
border crossing into Hungary was so subtle it almost slipped by unnoticed—a
modest sign, a gentle shift in the landscape, and suddenly we were in a new
country. The road unfurled before us, lined with fields and small villages,
each with its own quiet charm.
Today
was special: Mieke’s birthday. We celebrated in true cyclist fashion—pausing
for cake at a roadside café, toasting with red wine, and sharing stories that
grew more animated with each kilometre. Francois tried to teach us French
phrases, but the words dissolved into laughter, the joy of the moment eclipsing
any need for perfection. The day was long, the sun warm on our backs, and by
the time we reached Komarom, we were sun-kissed, but content.
The Last Ride Together
30 June: Komarom to Budapest—94 km
There’s
a bittersweetness to final days, a sense of savouring every detail. The
Hungarian countryside rolled past in waves of green and gold, the road rising
and falling beneath our wheels. Lunch was a simple affair at the food truck,
but the company made it a feast.
As
Budapest’s skyline appeared on the horizon, excitement and nostalgia mingled in
my chest. We rode into the city as a group, laughter echoing off the buildings,
the bonds of the past weeks palpable in every glance and gesture.
That
evening, we gathered for a celebratory meal—Hungarian cuisine, cold beers, and
stories that tumbled over one another in a rush to be told. I watched my
companions prepare for the next leg of their journey, a wave of melancholy
washing over me. Yet, beneath it all, there was gratitude: for the miles
shared, the friendships forged, and the adventures yet to come.
Budapest—A City of Surprises
1–3 July: Budapest
Budapest
was a revelation. I wandered its grand boulevards and hidden alleys, marvelling
at the city’s architecture—ornate facades, soaring bridges, and the
ever-present Danube. Each evening became a culinary quest, searching out the
best local fare and discovering the city’s famed ruin pubs, or Romkocsma. These
hidden gems, tucked into abandoned courtyards, pulsed with life—music, art, and
laughter spilling into the night.
One
evening, I watched Gergo’s band perform, the music weaving a spell over the
crowd. My friends, PC and Mieke, surprised me with a goody bag—cup-a-soup,
instant noodles, sweets, and a tiny bottle of wine—a gesture that warmed me
more than they could know. The morning of July 3rd brought bittersweet goodbyes
as they set off for the Romanian border. I lingered in Budapest, updating my
blog and reflecting on the journey that had brought me here.
Packing for the Next Adventure
4 July: Budapest
With
fresh laundry in hand, I wandered the city one last time, PC at my side as we
navigated bustling markets and historic monuments. The city buzzed with energy,
a fitting backdrop for the end of this chapter. Back in my room, I began the
familiar ritual of repacking my panniers—each item a memory, each fold a
promise to carry these experiences forward.
As
I zipped my bag and prepared for the next leg—by train to Basil, Switzerland,
then west to Lisbon—I felt a quiet certainty. The journey had changed me, each
day a brushstroke on the canvas of my life. The road ahead was unknown, but I
was ready, heart open to whatever awaited beyond the horizon.
Epilogue
Reflection
Thirty-three
days and nearly two thousand kilometres later, the trip had been more than a
route on a map. It was a study in small kindnesses and sudden challenges, in
the way strangers become companions and how landscapes shape mood and memory.
The Danube taught me patience and perspective; the Black Forest taught me the
joy of quiet; Vienna and Budapest taught me how cities can be both grand and
intimate.
I left
Europe’s first leg with a head full of images — castles at sunset, mist in the
valleys, the clatter of trams, the warmth of shared wine — and with the steady
certainty that the road would call again. My panniers felt lighter for the
memories they now held.
