Subotica, Serbia to Budapest, Hungary. July 7 to 8.
Before I started cycling, I imagined that I at some point would find company to travel with for a few days or more, and throughout the journey I had felt more than willing to adjust my course to make that happen. I reached out to friends who might be interested, and for a while it seemed that I would be accompanied in the Balkans by a British friend, James, whose life story is most peculiar and a topic for another time.
Being a man of extremes, James had just been on his first foreign vacation in years and had managed to spend more money in three months than I had in the past three years, emptying his budget and then some. I laughed when he presented his sheet of expenses, but my heart sank inside. I had really, really been looking forward to cycle with anybody, James most of all.
But there was one who had long shown interest in joining me, who had been supportive the entire way and reading all my stories. We had agreed on the route Budapest to Vienna, a detour from my intended route toward the Baltics that would mean going around the Carpathian Mountains, which was fine by me. We were to meet in the Hungarian capital on July 9, and ever since James cancelled our joint plans I had been counting days and calculating distance for that very occasion. Obviously, I had to do that in order to be there on time, but I did so gladly. It was a checkpoint, a milestone that gave me purpose. In hindsight, too much of my need to battle loneliness was put into that meeting. Too little of my attention was put into clarifying what that meeting would actually entail. Had I done so, the journey and the story would probably had looked much different.
I exited Serbia from Subotica. I knew I would need one more stop before Budapest, but until the last second I was uncertain of where that would be. Accommodations became increasingly pricey as the holiday season kicked in, Especially since I was now back in EU where north on the map typically also means north in cost of living. Southern Hungary is a wide flatland with very few points of particular interest, so the selection wasn't great to begin with. In the end, I was accepted to stay with local host Adam in Kecskemét. Before I came to his house, our meeting felt like a coincidence. When I left two days later, it felt like destiny. I suppose that is the way things go.
There's much that could be said of Adam and my time with him. I could write about his generosity, his sincere kindness and care. I could write about the tremendous food he cooked for us, or our refreshing swim in the morning. Yet most memorable for me was our talks on his porch where his openness, his curiosity and his depth lay ground for hours of bonding, nurturing, healing, challenging and entertaining conversations.
We were surrounded by the green garden and the tones of Estas Tonne. The track "Internal Flight", a journey on acoustic guitar lasting over an hour, etched in my mind and played as a perfect companion piece to our peaceful moment. It has echoed many times since, on my journey and after.
As deep talks go, we eventually enter the realm of religion and spirituality. My upbringing was about as secular as they come, and I never felt a presence of higher power or subscribed to a set of beliefs. But I have found myself more and more intrigued by what faith gives to people, and how it can direct and guide them toward goodness in life. I was just about to go into a monologue on the topic when Adam said, bluntly:
To do what you are doing, you have to believe in something.
Immediately when the point was uttered I knew it to be true, but couldn't yet say why or how. I was stopped in my tracks and paused in reflection. There are few things that I, and most probably my friends and family too, enjoy as much as me being silenced. Still today, I have no further comment on that statement other than a silent nod.
On the afternoon of July 8, the day before I would meet my friend in Budapest, we spoke on the phone to arrange the logistics. I refer to her as "my friend" because at the time I thought that was primarily what she was for me, even though we had been closer and she wanted more. I had not put much more thought into it in the prior weeks, I only felt confident that we would make a great time together no matter what shape it would take. In this, it would turn out, I was simultaneously very right and very wrong.
As we spoke, there were some vague hints that there was more to her recent times than she let on. An ominous feeling grew inside me, one that I couldn't leave unaddressed. When I probed with questions she spoke in roundabout ways, but the message eventually came across with full clarity: for the past month and more, she had been seeing someone else.
As I faked smiles, gave her genuine well-wishes and lied about my happiness over her new love, the body started to react as a stinging coldness spread all over my skin like a million needles. The call was soon over with a clear plan for our travelling and a withering heart in my chest. I stared into a pillar on the couch.
Fuck. Fuck.
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