I had great expectations for breakfast after dinner the night before. I was more than disappointed when I saw an enormous buffet filled with food that looked inedible. The weirdest item on the buffet was a little tin full of sausage spread. If I hadn't been awake I might have mistaken it for a container of plum jam. Thank goodness I had the wherewithal to avoid it. The day before we'd passed through an enormous river valley and today we'd continue along it towards a town called Martin some 45km down the canyon. The valley became a gorge and we were close enough to the river to hear it roar like a caged lion just below the roadbed.
Soon we joined a busier road with a wide shoulder and the valley opened up once again revealing the fields of grains. At the outset of this day we'd decided that this would be a mixed mode travel day. I was keen on being in Budapest on Saturday so we could go out and have some fun on a weekend. Andy and I agreed to cheat a little on this day in order to make it a reality. In Martin we arranged our train travel and set out to have some lunch while we waited. A walk down Martin's main pedestrian street revealed little of interest for lunch.
We eventually settled on a substandard hamburger and fries. Downing our lunch we watch people ogle our cycles as though they were space vehicles. The train would prove to be more interesting than lunch. First was the drama of getting our bikes on the train. When we went to the baggage office they demanded that we remove our bags and leave the bikes with the baggage handlers. Not satisfied with this idea I enlisted the support of an English speaking passenger to translate for us. It turned out that we would have to pay another fifty cents or so to have the panniers travel with our cycles.
We gladly paid and helped the two aging women put the bikes on the train to the amusement of all on the platform. On the train the only drama was the countryside. All of which would have been great riding which made both Andy and me a little sad that we hadn't relied on pedal power. Transferring the bikes to the second train proved to be as weird as mounting them on the first. After providing amusement to yet another crowd of passengers we found a compartment near the baggage car and settled in to read and write. We met our compartment mate, a young engineer off to do his military service in Bratislava.
He was very opinionated about Hungary. He said that it held little interest for him and that the whole country had \"maybe one town of interest and that is Budapest.\" His main reason for preferring his native Slovakia was its proximity to Austria. We left the train at our destination as he was getting warmed up to dish on the rest of Eastern Europe. From Levice we still had an aggressive travel day ahead of us. We'd planned to do another 80km to the border and hoped to spend the night in Hungary. That would make the day 125km on bike and 150km on a slow train.
Leaving Levice (the ugliest burg in since the border of Poland and Lithuania) was relatively painless. Within a few moments we were on the edge of a large and lovely valley weaving our way along. Every few kilometers we'd ascend the wall of the valley 30 or 40 meters and then roll down to the its floor. Often we'd race through little villages where locals watched us pass with a mixture of curiosity and horror. Dogs barked at us, children fled to the side of the road and their parents glared. As the sun began to approach the horizon we had entered a grape growing region.
We looked across the vineyards to the Danube Valley to Hungary, our ultimate destination for the day. A massive baroque church stood on the Hungarian side that served as a landmark guiding us to the border. (the largest church in Hungary, this town had once been the capital of the nation) Finding the ferry was a little more challenging than we anticipated. Finally a family on bikes was enlisted to escort us dockside. On the way the Father shook his head and looked at his watch. Sure enough, the last ferry had left some time before our arrival. Admitting defeat we set out to find a place to stay.
We came upon a series of signs advertising the Motel Non-Stop and followed them up a side street and down an alley. Soon we came upon an unlikely gate marked with the name of the establishment. We buzzed and were about to give up when the manager came out to find us. Looking at us sort of confused he told us he had a room in a mixture of German, Slovakian, Hungarian and a little English thrown in for good measure. He talked to us constantly in this language cocktail while escorting us through what appeared to be a foundry to an unlikely entry to a hotel.
He reeked of alcohol. Staggering a little he helped us hoist the bikes up the back stairs into the hotel. All three of us had cause to laugh when he pointed out that the front entrance to the hotel was on the mains street. Both Andy and I had failed to see it when we drove by. Against our host's recommendation we decided to go to the much advertised Casablanca Restaurant for dinner. We began to order sitting on the terrace, but quickly decided to go indoors after finding that we were more a meal for the mosquitoes. Once inside we began to order food with fervor.
Two big beers, mineral water, salads, a main course and dumplings (even though our waitress scoffed at the idea of three main courses for two people.) Just to prove our massive appetites Andy ordered another helping of dumplings which we ate with great enthusiasm. Somewhere along the way we'd ordered a second half liter of beer each and both of us were feeling a little drunk. We knew that we had very limited Slovakian currency left and that we were pushing the limit of our finances. Any time we hit a border it is always a fun game to try to spend every last local agouti (bit of local currency).
It is reminiscent of the game show \"The Price is Right,\" where a contestant must buy a goods up to, but not exceeding their budget not knowing the exact price. We knew that we were close to the end of our cash, even so we ordered dessert with abandonment. When the check came we laughed upon finding how close we were to our limit, we had but 19 agoutis left on a 548 agouti bill. We ordered two mineral waters to go and bargained the owner down to exactly our remaining agoutiage. Walking back to town and our hotel we staggered like the manager of our hotel proud of having spent every bit of our currency.