Staying out until 2 a.m. drinking heavily is seldom a brilliant idea the day before you plan to get up early and bicycle. We could hardly resist going out just one more time before leaving so we showed especially bad judgment on our last night in Budapest. We had to. This city has a contagious energy like New York or Rome and it had infected us. The busy streets filled with Hungarians and foreigners milling about at all hours begged us to come join them. The cafés and restaurants hummed with feverish conversation on this warm September night. The night before we'd foregone the night out.
We were too exhausted emotionally from the movie we saw. David Lynch's \"Lost Highway\" left my brain aching and wondering what David's universe looks like. Similarly, my head was ringing at seven when the sun first woke me in our little Victorian furnished apartment in Shandor's guest house. I'd only had five hours of sleep and the beers and scotch I'd consumed the night before weren't helping. The one saving grace is that I had packed the day before. At least there was once chore I'd been spared this morning. While Andy packed I went to seek breakfast. We both were craving an EggMcMuffin and some delicious Hungarian pastries.
I scored on the pastry front but struck-out on the McDo fare. Seems that Ronald only serves burgers etc., in Hungary. Surprisingly at eight in the morning they had a full house of locals munching this fare in lieu of a real breakfast. Again, the TrainBrats decided to use another form of transportation to avoid Budapest's traffic exiting the biggest Eastern European capital we'd been to. Even so on the way to the train station we had more than one incident. First a bus ran us off the road, not surprising, it was the fifth time for me and I'd come to expect it from the charming horn honking bastards.
Just a little later I stopped my bike to allow a merging motorist to pass. She stopped her smoke belching Skoda and I motioned her to go. She gesticulated wildly insisting that I go in front of her as traffic all around honked. I did as she asked and as I passed in front of her commie car she lurched forward, clipping my rear pannier. I lost control and fell to the ground in the street. Unhurt but shaken up I got up launched into a diatribe against her while she hid her face in her hands. After my drama the rest of the trip to the train station was uneventful through my hangover haze.
As usual it was a challenge get bikes to the tracks, but Andy somehow managed to find a way to sneak up the baggage handlers ramp. Once on the train I dozed after eating a few bites of the nasty sandwiches I bought in the station. In our car a chainsmoking woman grimaced at us and acted angry about our bikes. She changed her seat in the car three or four times before settling in behind us, coughing consumptively and blowing smoke in our direction. Soon we arrived at the huge lake which we intended to ride along. We managed to find quiet little paths along the lakefront for most of the afternoon.
The enormous pale green body of water was obviously the big Hungarian tourist attraction. The beaches and roads were quiet; few tourists remaining this late in the season. All of the signs were in German, sometimes accompanied by Hungarian. This must be where Franz and Hiedi spend there summer every year because it is cheap. We lunched lakeside in a café where you could order in any language as long as it was German. Still suffering from the night before but feeling better after a beer, we decided we'd make it a short day. Actualizing that plan was not as easy as it seemed.
Many of the campgrounds and hotels were only interested in having us as guests if we were interested in staying more than one day. After some search we found a little place advertising tourist information. They tried to refer us back to the Hotels we'd just been to. We pointed to the sign that indicated that they had a \"Zimmer Frei\". A little flustered, the staff finally showed us a tiny cottage just next to the office. It was just big enough for us to fit our bikes downstairs and barely pass upstairs to sleep. I slept poorly even though I was exhausted.
I couldn't have a shower because the water was cold and was uncomfortable as I stuck to the sheets. Andy loved our agouti hut by the lake and slept soundly, dreaming of how cheap it was. (f)** \"Zagreb rocks,\" Andy kept saying. He was overwhelmed by how active the streets of this obvious capital were. Neither of us had ever been in a city where public spaces were so used. Every bench occupied, every square inch of sidewalk stepped upon, each tram full and every café alive. I had the sense that no one wanted to or could go home so they just stayed out all the time.
Unfortunately the streets \"rocked\" with cars on our way out of town. We wove through the town looking for a quiet way out and found none. Our route to Ljubljana began on a four lane agouti highway avoiding ruts and cars while fearing for our lives. After about 25km of nail biting while riding we made it to the countryside. As we did Andy's rear tire blew out just in front of the only Eastern European polo field we've come across. Lucky in some small way, we had been on the wrong road and only realized that we were headed the long way to Ljubljana when we stopped.
The border of Croatia and Slovenia was a bit of a worry. The soldier on the Croatian side was not able to speak in English so he let us pass, but the Slovenian border guard was a little more articulate. \"This border crossing is reserved for Croatians and Slovenians only.\" Our faces dropped as we considered the 40 or 50km of backtracking we'd have to do to get to the border he suggested in lieu of this one. We looked at one another sadly and began to speak as though the border guard wasn't there. \"What a shame it comes to this after ten thousand kilometers,\"
I said. \"Yeah, I was looking forward to seeing Ljubljana,\" Andy retorted, \"guess we'll have to just backtrack and take the train to Rijeka and skip Slovenia altogether.\" That last comment effected the guard's national pride. \"Go ahead,\" he said reluctantly and handed us our passports. I grabbed them and we pedaled as fast as we could before he could change his mind. The afternoon experience was wholly different than the morning. A quiet road took us through our favorite type of terrain, a valley. The only downsides were that it was up the valley and against the wind. Speaking of winded, Andy was from the start and had trouble finding the energy to push on.
He managed, the scenery inspiring him. This valley was as lovely as the one a few days before in Slovakia, the only difference today is that the weather was clear and hot, rendering the views spectacular. Getting Slovenian agoutis proved to be a challenge; the local flavor of cash-o-matics choked on our cards so we exchanged some American agoutis. The drivers here seem nearly as bad as the Poles. They go too fast and pass too closely. However, most appear to have some idea how big their car is unlike their northern counterparts. Our last bit of road was to be on the main highway and neither of us were up to dodging vehicles for the last K's so we decided to train into Ljubljana.
At the train station we were swarmed by curious Slovenian kids out in the country for a hike with their school. A walk about Ljubljana at sunset revealed a decidedly different town from the one I remembered from my travels. The dilapidated old town streets had been treated to new cobbles, spruced-up store fronts and yuppified clientele. Riverfront trottoirs had lost their bohemian atmosphere and now look like a new land at a theme park. Despite the civilized trappings of the new Ljubljana, there wasn't hide nor hair of a cash machine that liked any one of our cards, making currency the drama du jour.
A hotel clerk took us on a bank-o-mat tour of Ljubljana in hopes of ferreting out Slovene agoutis to no avail. We finally settled on exchanging some Croat cash and hit the town. A few beers and a light meal later we were back in our room writing about our day.