Salzburg to Budapest

The morning of June 18, 2002 started early with a 2-1/2 hour drive to Denver International Airport (DIA) to catch my 9:00 a.m. flight to Frankfurt, Germany. The overnight flight left me refreshed and ready to start my long awaited dream of bicycling from Salzburg, Austria to Budapest, Hungary, a distance of 540 miles.

After gathering my gear and breezing through Customs at the Frankfurt Airport, I set to assembling my bicycle. An hour later I was on my way to the train station, which is conveniently located inside the air terminal.

Trains running on time in much of Europe are part of history, what hasn’t changed, is the three minutes one has to get on and off. This can be a problem when traveling solo with a bicycle that, in many instances, must be loaded on and off the train with its luggage removed. My initial three-minute test took place at my first transfer station in Mannheim, Germany. Heading towards the exit for the second time, this time with my bike, a jovial group of students boarded the train pushing me back through the narrow corridor, making for a very panicky situation. When the last of the revelers passed, I rushed towards the exit, only to have the doors slam shut upon my approach. I frantically looked around for some way to open the doors and to my relief, spotted and pushed a large silver button that magically parted the doors, reuniting me with my panniers (saddle bags) sitting on the platform.

Stepping off the train In Salzburg I was met by oppressive heat of 102-degrees Fahrenheit. Central Europe was experiencing an unusual heat wave that would follow me for most of my tour. By now I’m weary from my travels, but still have to find the B&B where I’d made an on-line reservation. After thirty minutes of pedaling I arrived, dripping wet, at my accommodation for the night, or so I thought. To my utter disbelief, the landlady told me that she had no vacancy as one of her guests was staying on due to illness. She pointed me in the direction of another B&B that she assured me still had a vacancy. Getting there wasn’t as straightforward as she made it sound, so once again, I relied on helpful strangers to guide me to my destination, which was a farmhouse with a welcoming room for the night.

After a sound night’s sleep, followed by a hardy breakfast, I was ready to hit the road for the first of twelve riding days. However, before my departure I needed to inflate my tires with something other than my hand pump. My hostess told me that there was a compressor in the barn but she didn’t know how to operate it, but I was welcome to give it a go. Now, mind you, this is an “Austrian” compressor and is quite different from my “Sears” compressor, but after 15 minutes of persistent turning, pushing and pulling on knobs it thankfully rumbled to life, ready to do its job.

My guides for this trip were pages of information, detailing bicycling from town to town, with points of interest along the way that I copied out of a book written by an American couple. Although the last printing was in 1991, I found that many of their directions were still accurate.

The first leg of my journey, following the Salzach and Inn Rivers to the Donau (Danube), I used a combination of the above along with a recreation path map that I obtained from the Austrian Tourist Office. Once on the Donauradweg (Danube Recreation Path), I used a wonderfully detailed booklet entitled appropriately enough “Donauradweg,” again in combination with the pages I brought from home.

Some sections of this first leg were not always well marked causing me to backtrack due to abrupt dead-ends. The level, well packed, dirt path that is sandwiched between the river and woods made for cool, although monotonous pedaling. There was one instance where the tedium was unexpectedly broken and made for some anxious moments.

While pedaling down a shaded, isolated stretch, with only the serenading songbirds breaking the silence, I was jarred out of my daydream when out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement in the woods. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a patrol of stern-faced, darkly clad, police with German shepherd dogs fanning out in front and behind me as they made their way to the river. Since these were troubling times, my mind started working overtime, hoping that I wasn’t pedaling into the waiting arms of smugglers or worse. Fortunately, my trepidation was unfounded.

When boredom overtook me, I’d climb away from the river and bicycle the secondary roads, which, for the most part, were lightly traveled. By opting for a more sensory pleasing ride I sacrificed pedaling in the shade on level terrain.

My first night’s lodging was at a small hotel in Ach, on the Austrian side of the Salzach River. Here I had an unforgettable experience using the shower. It was one of those vertical pre-fabricated boxes sitting in the middle of my tiny room. I was all lathered up and unable to regulate the water temperature when I noticed that the shallow bottom of the shower was rapidly filling up. So as not to flood the room, I very quickly finished showering with cold water. I later learned that the clerk had neglected to tell me that an automatic pump outside of the shower needed to be turned on to drain the water. Ah, the memory of staying at a 1-star hotel.

Leaving Ach, I encountered the first really steep hill that would put me high above the Salzach River with a grand view of the thousand-year old German town of Burghausen with its picturesque castle stretching across the ridge.

That day’s ride took me across levies, through woods, where to my delight I heard the distinct sound of a Cuckoo, through lush farmland, and across private property between farm buildings.

My second day out I started having derailleur problems, a transport casualty. Not wanting to do further damage to my bent derailleur I started looking for a bicycle repair shop. I, finally, found one a couple of days later in the charming town of Schärding. This town, like so many that I pedaled through, has an attractive main square lined with painted houses.

At the bicycle shop, a delightful young man in his 30’s worked tirelessly for about 45 minutes straightening my derailleur. Our conversation was peppered with German, Dutch and English as he recounted his time in Holland (my birth country) with the Dutch Ski Team and his unforgettable experience skiing at Vail, Colorado, my backyard. There was no charge for the derailleur work but he talked me into buying a very sturdy, reasonably priced, kickstand; a purchase that I have not regretted as it amazingly supported my fully loaded bike.

The Donauradweg, known to many as the trail that runs through Germany, Austria, and Slovakia, is the most scenic from Passau, Germany to Vienna, Austria. It is mostly paved, beautifully laid out, well marked with signage, and popular with European bicyclists, and in-line skaters on weekends. The mostly flat terrain and scenic beauty make for delightful pedaling. However, once again, when one leaves the Donauradweg the pedaling becomes an uphill grind. This, unfortunately, was my experience when I failed to make a ferry crossing at Au/Schlögen and found myself pedaling in my lowest gear up a seemingly never-ending hill in 90-degree heat.

I chose to follow the bike path along the right bank of the Danube until I arrived at Melk where I opted for the more scenic left bank with its picturesque, although hilly, wine towns. The massive hilltop Benedictine Abbey of Melk, founded in 1089, is well worth a visit.

I am a budget traveler who prefers spending nights at B&B’s, or small hotels, for their intimate atmosphere. To remain flexible, I avoid making advance reservations, but instead plan to arrive in a town early enough, usually between 2 and 4, to still find the local Tourist Office open, or spot a house with a sign advertising a room for rent.

Europeans are quite aloof toward strangers, and can be downright rude by American standards. Yet, I soon learned that a smile, along with some chitchat, melted their reserve. In the Austrian town of Krems I asked a woman, who was shopping with her grandson, for the location of an Internet Café; this simple question led to her showing me around the old and historic buildings in the Old Town. The following morning, as I was leaving town, an elderly woman bicycled out of her way, ahead of me, to show me where to get back on the Donauradweg.

After seven days of bicycling, I took a couple of days off to explore Vienna. Rather than deal with the frustration of dodging traffic and trying to find overnight accommodations in a large city, I opted to stay at a B&B in the small town of Kritzendorf; a 20-minute train ride from Vienna’s city center. I found Vienna to be a charming city, great for walking with many convenient modes of transportation. Following a beautifully sunny first day, it poured rain the next, ideal for visiting museums and other indoor exhibits.

My hosts at the B&B in Kritzendorf recommended that once I made my way around Vienna I follow a lightly traveled recreation path on an island in the Danube. Finding this path was no easy task, but once I was heading in the right direction, the only recreationists I saw were people fishing from the banks.

I was happily rolling along, with a strong wind at my back when, after cresting a hill, four young men appeared on the path ahead frantically waving their arms. At first I thought they were joking when they told me that I needed to turn around because just ahead, around the bend, the path ended in the river. However, when it was apparent that they were not pranksters, I heeded their warning and backtracked about 2 miles to the junction where I earlier missed the directional sign.

Arriving on a Sunday in the fortified city of Hainburg, Austria, on the border with Slovakia, I was challenged in finding a place to stay. The Tourist Office was closed so I started looking around for signs advertising a “Room for Rent.” Finally spotting such a sign at the bottom of a very steep hill, I bicycled mid-way up when I decided to stop at a café and ask for help. The owner told me that the town was booked; however, after some pleading he made a couple of phone calls and an hour later a woman drove up in a flatbed truck to transport me and my bike to her B&B at the top of that very steep hill. The following morning, while enjoying the ample breakfast left by my absentee hostess, I realized that I was the only person in that large house.

I left Hainburg enjoying a warm, blue-sky, morning. Pedaling along between fields of corn and sunflowers I met up with a German couple, who were bicycling from Vienna to Budapest. We crossed in to Slovakia together, stopped for coffee at a space needle overlooking Bratislava (the capitol of Slovakia) and shortly thereafter went our separate ways.

I pretty much “winged” my way across Hungary, bicycling lightly traveled country roads, following signs from town to town, destination Budapest. My route took me through wooded areas that opened up to fields of wheat, corn, and sunflowers, and lush rolling hills with houses nestled along the base and in depressions. I bucked headwinds for days on end and continued to bicycle in temperatures in the 90’s. One day the blowing cotton was so bad that I must have looked like a blowfish, constantly blowing it away from my mouth, and wiping it off my sunscreen slathered face.

The roads in Hungary are as well maintained as any one finds elsewhere in Europe. The roadsides are very clean; the only litter I spotted was plastic liter bottles that once held water or soda. As a still developing country, Hungary has many buildings and homes in disrepair. In Budapest I came across buildings that were still pockmarked with bullet holes.

On day 10, after bicycling 70 hot and humid miles, I arrived in Bábolna, a regional horse-breeding town. On the outskirts of town, in a residential area, I spotted a family of Storks in a nest high up on a utility pole. Although I was anxiously anticipating finding a room for the night, I could not pass up an opportunity to photograph these fabled birds. In town, biking down a country lane and not finding the house that advertised a “Room for Rent” I headed back to the main road. Not one to give up too easily I made one more attempt at finding a room by stopping at a closet-sized Post Office in the hope that someone there could help me. Fortunately, one of the clerks spoke a little German and told me to wait while he made a phone call. About 45 minutes later a man drove up and had me follow him to his horse farm and my very comfortable room for the night.

Not wanting to bicycle in to Budapest, I decided to stay in the attractive little town of Szentendré, a short bus and train ride away. Upon my arrival in Szentendré I followed a “Room for Rent” sign up a steep narrow back street to a large fenced property. The proprietress, who spoke a little English, was, at first, reluctant to rent to me. Only after some discussion and a commitment to stay at least four days did she relent. My accommodations turned out to be a completely furnished apartment for which she asked $11.00 per day, including breakfast.

I spent two full days walking from one end of Budapest to the other. Hilly Buda rises over the right bank of the Danube and is crowned by the medieval Castle District and the magnificent Royal Palace. Buda is the more scenic side and, therefore, very touristy. Pest, the economic and political center of the city, is spread out in the flatland on the left side of the river. Here there are many beautiful buildings built before the turn of the 20^th century. Budapest is registered a World Heritage site by UNESCO.

My priority that first day in Budapest was to go to the International Train Station to secure my way out of the city [and back to Germany and Holland]. Walking half way across the city to the train station, I learned to my total disbelief that I’d have to wait five days beyond the date that I wanted to leave before there was room on a train for my bike. Left with one other option, I hailed a taxi to the boat dock on the Danube. Here the news was better; I confirmed a seat and transport of my bike on the 9:00 AM hydrofoil to Vienna on my planned departure date. With a confirmed reservation I could now enjoy the rest of my time in Budapest.

That evening, after a nice dinner and conversation with an American I’d met, I was very late catching my rides back to the apartment. When the bus stopped at my stop in Szentendré, a group of young men wouldn’t let me out the back door, and before I could make my way to the front, the bus had pulled away. I managed to exit the bus through the front door at the next stop and very nervously walked down the eerily quiet and dimly lit streets back to the apartment. My hosts and I had become very friendly and when I didn’t arrive home at a reasonable hour they worried about my safety. When I finally came through the gate at 11:30 PM they were waiting for me in the garden.

Gypsies apparently are a real problem in Hungary. In the town of Tát, one stop before Szentendré, the manager of the hotel where I stayed told me about the “must see” outdoor market in Esztergom, a very scenic town in the Danube Bend, but warned about pick-pocketing Gypsies. Then as I was ready to leave he suggested that it would be better if I skipped the outdoor market; I heeded his warning.

My hosts in Szentendré told me that Gypsies had twice robbed their home. Their decision to get a dog put an end to the burglaries. After I heard their story I couldn’t help but notice that all the homes in the neighborhood had locked fenced yards with protective breeds of dogs roaming the properties.

The morning of my departure, my hostess insisted on bringing me breakfast at 4:30 AM, then seeing me off. Not knowing how long it would take me to bicycle from the train station to the boat dock, I arrived an hour before the office opened. Other early birds were a German couple, who had discovered as I that the Hydrofoil was the only way out of the city with bicycles.

In Vienna, my new friends invited me to their home near Munich. Bicycling across Vienna to the train station, we just managed to catch the train to Salzburg, Austria and later another to Rosenheim, Germany. A friend picked us up at the train station with a large modified van that accommodated all of us plus the three bikes and our gear. After a stop for Pizza and beer we arrived, exhausted, at their house around midnight.

After a memorable two-day stay at my new friends’ farm that included a day of bicycling around the Chiemsee and skinny-dipping in a secluded wooded body of water, it was time to say good-bye. I still needed to visit my relatives in northwestern Germany and Holland.

Given my train travel experience with a bike, I was a little nervous about the many trains I needed to take in order to reach my relatives. Again, people were very helpful, and as long as I planned ahead things went smoothly.

On the train, leaving Germany for Holland, I realized that my German Railpass would expire at the border and I somehow needed to purchase a ticket for the Dutch leg. At the last stop before the border I had 13 minutes to buy a ticket before my train departed. (In Holland, unlike in Germany, one cannot buy a ticket on the trains without being fined.) I briefly debated what to do with my bike and baggage while I went downstairs to the ticket office. The two Dutch policemen patrolling the platform decided for me. I left my bike, taking a chance that it would still be there when I returned, and literally ran down the stairs to the ticket office. Both clerks were waiting on people and there was one person in front of me who, when it was her turn, was kind enough to let me go ahead and buy my ticket. I ran back up the stairs and happily found my bike and baggage where I’d left them.

The obligatory visit to my relatives in Germany is always hectic. One good intentioned cousin always insists on racing me around to visit as many of our relatives as possible. That’s probably were my immune system finally failed me. A visit to the doctor, a week after my arrival home, confirmed a Sinus Infection.

Although I’ve traveled extensively throughout Europe, with and without my bike, I would rate this trip as one of the most enjoyable. What made this trip different from so many others was the fact that I was doing something I dearly love; the friendly and helpful people along the way, no flat tires and only one day of light rain. I look forward to doing more bicycling in Europe and repeating part of this memorable bike trip that is now planned for June of 2010.

Happy Travels!

Maria Anjier

Revised: July 31, 2010