After a day of mooching about in the Slovakian capital, it was time to hit the road again.

Bratislava is an interesting place. It feels quite small because it is, and there’s a very clear divide between old and new. Then to top it all off, Brian May (PhD in Astrophysics don’t you know) turns up for a gig with Jean-Michel Jarre (bloke who wrote that ditty you hear at arcades all the time) to kick off an intellectual festival about futurism.

In the middle of Slovakia.

Very random.

Sadly, we were leaving before the free concert on Sunday evening. We had business in a new country.

The border with Hungary is only about 15km from Bratislava which we unceremoniously crossed on an excellent cycle path that followed a canal out of Slovakia.

Ludo stopped to spot a Nightingale. He didn’t see it. But we did see a Reed Warbler. Win some, lose some.

I had never been to Hungary before so I had no idea what to expect in terms of cycle-friendliness. But I was apprehensive.

First impressions at the border town of Rajka seemed to confirm my suspicions. No cycle path and also a lack of designated cycle lane on the roads.

The drivers also seemed to be noticeably less happy about having bikes around than the Slovaks. Jeremy Vine would be tweeting about a “close pass” every five minutes, let’s put it that way.

Our goal for the day was to reach Györ, a town that unevenly split the difference between Bratislava and Esztergom.

It was like it had been for the past few days on the bike, forgiving terrain, often favourable winds and light sunshine.

We rattled along country roads and stopped in Mosonmagyaróvár, or Óvár for short, so I could join a Zoom call with my family.

It was really sweet to speak to everyone even though I’d only been away for two weeks. For some reason, it seems a lot longer than that.

Óvár is a strange place. It is a bath town like Bath in the UK that has a highly upmarket feel. And there’s a reason for that.

Apparently, it has the highest dentists-to-population ratio in the world. People from as far as the UK and USA fly in especially to access the cheap dental services. The hospitality businesses in the area are entirely reliant on this form of tourism.

It begs the question; is it better to wait a few eons to access a dentist in England or fly to the middle of Eastern Europe for a check up?

Ludo said he had the best Flat White of his life in Óvár. A man of culture.

We wolfed down some pre-made sandwiches and got back on our way, weaving through small Hungarian towns with not a lot going on in them for another 50km until we reached Györ at a very polite 3pm.

Then the most annoying thing that could happen to a bike tourist happened; the hostel we had booked wouldn’t let us take our bikes into our rooms.

That meant taking all of our bags off (therefore forcing us to put them all back on again in the morning) and locking our bikes up outside on the street.

Risky business but Györ seemed like a very pleasant town with lots of families attending a local beer festival. We’d also met a fellow cyclist heading to the Serbian border who was staying at our hostel, so we all locked our bikes up together. We felt confident that nothing bad would happen.

I slept well. Ludo didn’t. Par for the course.

Back downstairs and ready to go by 10am. All good, until Ludo noticed that I had forgotten to take my tiny saddle bag off overnight.

Now, if I told you that inside that bag was some Alan Keys, a spare inner tube and an emergency £20 note left by my Dad, what would you steal, if anything, as an opportunistic Gyorian?

Turns out there must be a wild demand for bike maintenance gear in Györ because the money was the only thing left.

One bemused trip to a bike shop to pick up new Alan Keys later (the guy in the shop had heard about Southampton and not Pompey, just for the record) and we could finally leave.

All of this came before an intimidating day. 97km to Esztergom, a town to the north of Budapest.

Thankfully, it was flat but the cycle lanes were intermittent and we were often riding on roads which is never pleasant.

Some drivers, including some in lorries (!), seemed to enjoy the challenge of overtaking whilst oncoming traffic flowed in the opposite direction. If you want to crash your car, this is a good way to improve your chances.

As the day wore on, our knees, hips and arse cheeks began to complain. 97km is a long way.

We stopped for a Fanta refuel with about 25km left to go then made a laboured push for the finish line.

We rolled into our (very lovely and affordable) campsite in Esztergom with very little left to give.

A baby Bull snake greeted us on arrival as the sun sank lower in the sky. The Danube, right in front of the campsite, glistened in resplendence as midges danced before dusk.

It was beautiful and all, but not as beautiful as the pizza and beer we got through at the campsite bar. Well-earned is an understatement.

As a side bar, Esztergom is a lovely place. It was the old capital of Hungary in the 9th century and houses the largest cathedral in the country which also happens to be spectacular. We spent the evening post-pizza exploring the hill-top cathedral grounds and bathed in the tranquil vibes.

The next day continued the sunny theme. On paper, it looked like a light 55km stroll into Budapest. In by 2pm, feet up, easy peasy.

We were wrong.

After leaving Esztergom, the route takes you into a very hilly national park, verging on mountainous.

The first real climbing of the trip hit us hard. It was about 12km of uphill at an average of 7% gradient. That’s bloody hard on a bike with the weight of a second person on the back!

We had to walk up some bits but eventually got over the top and thought it was all downhill to Budapest from there!

We were wrong. Again.

It turns out that Budapest is split in two in more ways than one. Famously, Buda rests on the West side of the river and Pest on the East.

What they don’t tell you is that Buda is full of very annoying, short but snappy hills. The final 10km to the Airbnb felt like 50km.

We staggered up the stairs to our apartment, dragging fully-laden bikes along with us, and slobbed out in exhaustion.

Knees shot. Hips shot. Feet stank like we’d both had two rotting sardines and slices of Lyburn Gold cheese (shout out New Forest) in our shoes all day.

Only four things for it; goulash, stroganoff, beer and wine.

We instantly liked the vibes of Budapest and decided stay an extra day.

There’s a massive amount of very complex history that ties in uncomfortably with the country’s present and you can really feel the tension it creates in certain areas of the city. Most notably when attending sites related to Jewish history.

We often felt unsettled by the juxtaposition of what was happening in the country now and what had happened before. History repeating itself.

We filled the rest of our time with lots of food to replace excessive calorie loss (at least, that’s what we told ourselves) and watched the footy at a disgustingly tourist trap-y bar. What more could you ask for.

Of course, there was an obligatory trip to a Bourdain gaff, the review of which you can read here.

One major recommendation if you’re ever in town, go to the Flippermuzeum. It’s so epic. £10 and you get endless free plays on over 200 retro pinball machines and arcade games.

Me and Ludo played Guitar Hero on easy mode to Coldplay’s Yellow and got genuinely heckled by some English blokes stood next to us. Not our finest moment.

We’ve throughly enjoyed our time in Budapest. I’d definitely like to come back for a more romantic break (soz Ludo) when my legs don’t feel like they’ve been replaced with sledgehammers.

And it seems like we’re leaving at the right time, a Thursday, just before the raucous weekend hits.

That sounded like an incredibly boring thing for a 26-year-old to say. Maybe it’s all the cycling.

Onwards to Belgrade, via lots and lots and lots and lots of farmland…