20 years ago today - Day 176

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Monday, August 26th - Keszthely to Furstenfeld, 9810 km

It’s another pleasant day. Eero and Jan are up early as usual. So is Jochen but Mathias is another story. When Jochen finally does manage to get him to get up he looks a bit like the walking dead. He’s definitely not a morning person. I have learned quickly not to talk to him for the first half hour.

Breakfast at the hostel is followed by a half hour wait while myself and the other three wait for his coffee to take effect. I was a bit like this in Toronto, but never this bad. By the time his bike is loaded up, which is around 10 am, he has as much energy as the rest of us.

Our route from Keszthely is a zig-zag course through twisty back roads that lead north-west through Zalaegerszeg to Bagod, and then north to Kormend. That is where Eero and Jan will split off from the rest of us to continue north to Vienna while Jochen, Mathias and I will go west into Austria towards Graz.

I think straight men have an intuitive sense, much like gaydar in gay men, but for detecting other straight men. Eero and Jan did not react to my presence over the past two days like they do to Mathias and Jochen. Their reaction is a competitive one. We have a long way to go today so I am sure Eero and Jan are anxious about this, but today’s ride has turned into a rather uncomfortable race.

Mathias is quite competitive and stays right up with Jan. Eero has left his shepherding position at the rear to keep up with them and Jochen and I stay close behind. No one will admit to finding the pace too strenuous, for fear of losing face I suppose. It is totally ridiculous and at several points I consider letting them race on without me, but after five months of cycling I am probably in better shape for this workout than they are. We fly along a rough average of 25 km/hr on our little road that rises and drops a bit as it snakes between 200 metre hills.

When we reach Zalaegerszeg we pause for a ten minute break after having kept that hurried pace for two hours. Then the race continues. The road is flatter and somewhat straighter through Bagod and north to Kormend. We are all quite wet from perspiration by that point, which is about 80 km from Keszthely. We say goodbye to Eero and Jan the straight way, with handshakes in place of hugs, and then go our separate ways.

Mathias turns to me as soon as they are out of sight and warns me, “We normally don’t like to ride that fast.” I smile. “Why didn’t you say something?” I ask. He shrugs, “It doesn’t matter,” and sets off in front at a reasonable pace about ¾ as fast as we had been going.

We are following a broad valley of the Feistritz River after reaching the Austrian border just beyond Szenttgothard. It is very flat with distant low hills on either side. They have not said how for they plan to cycle before stopping for the night. The light is beginning to fade as it mercifully dips behind a bank of clouds along the western
horizon. We are at the foot of the hills along the north side of the valley as we pass through the towns of Heiligenkreuz, Eltendorf and Dobersdorf before we agree to start looking for a place to stay. There is no youth hostel in Rudersdorf so we coast on at a gentler pace to Furstenfeld where we find a dorm room in a youth hostel on Haupstrasse, near the central square.

It is already late but the Germans don’t want to go out for a meal anyway. They are definitely the type to live on groceries that they pack with them. We throw together a haphazard meal in our dorm room. They are happy with the progress today, and with the saner pace since Kormend. So am I. I think we should do well cycling together. We have covered 128 km today.


PHOTO 1: Jan, me, Jochen, Eero & Mathias
PHOTO 2: leaving Keszthely
PHOTO 3: synagogue in Zalaegerszeg
PHOTO 4: hills of west Hungary
PHOTO 5: Kormend castle
PHOTO 6: Burgerland, east Austria
PHOTO 7: coming into Furstenfeld

20 years ago today - Day 175

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Sunday, August 25th - Balatonkenese to Keszthely, 9682 km

The boys are up early and setting about the preparations for the day in a very business like way. I get the distinct impression that they have both served time in the military, based on their neatness and efficiency. We are given breakfast at the hotel – bread rolls, coffee and jam. As I am loading up my bike, Eero taps on my shoulder. “Here, have a slice of cheese,” he says paring me off a thick slab of yellow rubber. “One thing I hate about Europe is that they sure don’t know how to do breakfast.”

Off we go around the northernmost tip of the lake, the cliffs above us mostly in shadow still and the sun and breeze behind us. We are riding along at a quasi-brink pace in the same formation as yesterday, with Jan leading and Eero bringing up the rear.

The lake is large--about 14 km across and 77 km long as the crow flies, shaped like tubular balloon, long and rounded at each end --but there is nothing remarkable about it except the few cliffs we passed at the start. Being the only big lake in
eastern Europe, it is surrounded by cabins and vacation tourist towns. We pass through a string of hamlets along the shore, with names like Balatonfured, Balatonudari, Balatonakali, Balatonrendes and Balatongyoruk, as if everyone needs to be constantly reminded that they are by Lake Balaton. Even the road we are riding on is called Balaton.

We see a lot of tartar bread plant, which grows nowhere else in Europe. It has been eaten in times of famine instead of bread.



At the far end of the lake we reach Keszthely, set on the western tip of the lake. It is small, but definitely more lively than Balatonkenese. This town has a history and lots of crafts, especially garments and lace. We ride by the local castle and through the town looking for accommodation. There is a youth hostel here, the only one along the lake we have seen, so we check in. Dinner consists of donairs and ice cream from small shops we find in the town’s centre. I buy some lace for Mom that I will send home from a bigger town, perhaps Graz.

When we return we see two other cyclists signing in, Mathias and Jochen. They are German. Mathias being a small, wiry, determined blond and Jochen being a taller, gentler fellow. They are both in mid-20s, Jan’s age. We chat with them and find out they are headed towards Graz. Eero suggests that they ride with us for the first half of the day tomorrow, before we split towards our separate destinations. I’ve been touring solo each day since Amsterdam except one. Suddenly I have four cycling partners, if only for half a day.


PHOTO 1: Lake Balaton
PHOTO 2: church on bluff overlooking the lake
PHOTO 3: in Balatonfured
PHOTO 4: tartar bread plant
PHOTO 5: wave watcher, near Keszthely
PHOTO 6: Castle Keszthely
PHOTO 7: Keszthely church
PHOTO 9: town centre of Keszthely
PHOTO 10: Keszthely lace

20 years ago today - Day 174

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Saturday, August 24th – Budapest to Balatonkenese, 9578 km

Jan is already eating when I get to the cafeteria at 8. Eero is putting their bikes together and loading on their bags at the rear of the building. He join us at the table before we are finished. We discuss our itineraries. They have invited me to cycle with them to Lake Balaton, 100 km southwest of here. From there, they plan to cycle along the north shore to the west end of the lake to Keszthely, and then northwest towards Vienna. I tell them that if today’s ride goes well I can ride with them as far as Keszthely and perhaps part of a day beyond.

I bring my bags down to the storage room at the back of the hostel and load up my bike as they wait for me. Then we begin the first leg of today’s ride, the exodus from the city. The ride is not that difficult. We follow the esplanade along the west bank of the Danube past the Elizabeth Bridge, the citadel the rises above us, the Liberty Bridge and the Petofi Bridge. Finally, we pass under the Lagymanyosi Bridge and the road turns away from the river at the southernmost suburbs. I have been following the valley of the Danube for 12 days and this is the last I expect to see of it. I cross the 9500 km mark of my trip as I leave the city.

Hwy 7, which parallels an expressway, makes quite a straight line towards Lake Balaton from the south end of Budapest. The Finnish brothers are riding at a steady but not hurried pace, about 17 km per hour. Jan is in the lead and Eero, who is a shepherd by nature, brings up the rear behind me, making sure no one falls behind, though that isn’t likely. We will stay on this road until we reach our destination Balatonkenese and overall it will be an easier day.

We reach the town of Martonvasar sometime shortly after noon and Velence Lake about half an hour later. Here we stop briefly for lunch. Neither Jan or Eero are the type to frequent restaurants. We make simple sandwiches from the groceries we have bought, each of us supplying some of the ingredients. I notice Eero has a gentle, non-intrusive way of looking after his little brother. Jan is very independent and never asks for help. He doesn’t object to Eero’s attentions either, and it is easy to see the love between them. I am fascinated and a bit envious. I have never had a relationship like this with either of my younger brothers. I couldn’t imagine trying to travel with either of them, not that either of them would try this type of travel.

Hwy 7 rounds the south end of the Velence Lake and passes under the expressway to reach the town of Szekesfehervar. It is another hour and a bit to get to the lake and another half hour to follow the northern end of the lake to Balatonkenese, which is a simple resort town. It has several smaller hotels but nothing over a three star variety. The Finns are economy-minded like me so we choose an inexpensive one.

It is only 3:30 so we unload quickly and head to the beach for swim. After the swim, Eero takes a walk along the shore, Jan suntans and I lie beside him writing postcards. I had noted his handsome, youthful face in Budapest but I hadn’t seen his smooth body. Now than he is lying mostly naked beside it s hard to focus on my writing. Thank God, I am lying on my front. Actually, his brother Eero is handsome too but also they both give off such ‘straight’ vibes that I hadn’t given them much consideration. And I was distracted by Daniel then too.

Too many handsome men in this world, and too little sex.

After showering and dressing for the evening (it is getting cool at night again, especially by the water), we go out searching for an inexpensive restaurant for dinner. I talk them into a slightly more expensive Italian one, selling them on the idea of pasta loading for tomorrow’s 100 km ride. I ask them if what I have heard is true, if Finnish is the only language related to Hungarian in Europe? Yes it is, Eero tells me, which is one of the main reasons they wanted to visit Hungary, but they cannot understand any words in Hungarian. He says perhaps the grammatical structure is similar. Jan tells me the people who spoke the original language came from the Ural Mountains in central Russia and they separated about 3000 years ago.

When our meal is done we stroll back to the lake to gaze at the last of the sky’s lavender reflection on the lake. Sigh. The west-facing cliffs outside of town have that lavender glow too. We saunter back quietly to our shared hotel room and undress for bed. I get another pang of envy as they crawl into bed together, leaving me alone in the other bed. They don’t exactly cuddle, but they aren’t the least bit cautious about touching each other either.


PHOTO 1: the esplanade along the west bank of the Danube
PHOTO 2: the Elizabeth Bridge, one of 7 over the Danube
PHOTO 3: Liberty Bridge
PHOTO 4: Martonvasar
PHOTO 5: hay fields near Velence Lake
PHOTO 6: Szekesfehervar
PHOTO 7: nearing Lake Balaton
PHOTO 8: Balatonkenese
PHOTO 9: cliffs behind Balatonkenese
PHOTO 10: Lake Balaton
PHOTO 11: Jan
PHOTO 12: sunset in Balatonkenese

20 years ago today - Day 173

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Friday, August 23rd – Budapest, Day 4

This is my last day in Budapest so I catch the bus downtown after breakfast to continue my exploration of the city core. I walk down Vaci Street, one of the main shopping streets. This is a vibrant city though still wearing the poor man’s clothes from the communist era. I walk past the opera house, the National Museum and the great synagogue, none of which I go into. I am sure Jan would be disappointed in me.

I walk through the parklands around Vajdahunyad Castle, and then to the castle itself, which is another faux-historical piece, built 90 years ago. It is primarily a replica of a castle of the same name in Romania, but with anachronistic Gothic and Baroque touches thrown in. It houses an agricultural museum which I decide is not worth the time to see.
I hop onto a streetcar for another free ride over to Heroes Square (Hosok Tere), which is another recently-built memorial in faux-classical Roman style, honouring the dead of many wars. There are two museums nearby, the Kunsthalle (Palace of Art) and the Museum of Fine Arts. I buy admission to the latter and check out the exhibitions of classical paintings and Egyptian treasures. It is smaller than the Louvre in Paris, but still large enough to be overwhelming. I feel tired when I finish so I catch a bus back to the hostel.

I get caught by a transit inspector this time. At first I try to play innocent, but I give up on that as I don’t want to insult her intelligence. I am sure she witnesses the same bullshit performances every day. It is more embarrassing than punitive—the fine is only equivalent to $8 Canadian. Back home in Toronto it would be several times higher than that.

I check the news again. The Russian coup has definitely failed. Gorbachev has been freed and has returned to Moscow. Most of the coup leaders have been arrested, but it seems Yeltsin is not prepared to let Russia continue as part of the USSR, which means the Russian empire will finally dissolve. These are exciting times.

I have dinner with Eero alone, as his younger brother is late in returning from his latest outing. Eero tells me he has gone with Jan on several of his architectural treasure hunts and found them interesting, but he cannot keep up with him. I like Eero, although he is generally much quieter than Jan and hard to get to know.

After dinner, I rest, shower, and pack for tomorrow, and then head out to look for Daniel at the club where I met him two nights ago. I arrive early, as I won’t be able to stay late. I am leaving with Jan and Eero right after breakfast and I need to be rested. The club is fairly empty when I get there, and neither Daniel or Alexy are there. I am not in the mood to cruise or meet new acquaintances so I nurse my beer slowly at the spot where we first met and watch the door.

The club fills up fast on this Friday night, and soon it is too full to see who is arriving at the door. Suddenly, I see Daniel’s face in the crowd. He is watching me, just as he did the night we first met. I walk over and greet him, feeling uneasy about his strange behaviour. When I ask why he didn’t come over to say hello when he saw me, he just shrugs bashfully. After a minute or so he warms up to me again, hugging me and snuggling against me. I ask if he would like me to buy him a drink. He says yes, but when I return from the bar he is gone. I wait for several minutes but I know there is no point. He cannot handle goodbyes and being near me was making him sad. I leave without finishing my beer.

On the bus ride back to the hostel, I think about him a lot. He has had a difficult time the past two years and has needed to hold his world together tightly. I think my affections exposed his loneliness and threatened to pull his world apart, and he cannot afford that. Our brief time together has exposed my own loneliness too. I feel a cold wind whistling around my heart. Perhaps I shouldn’t court emotional ties, but I can’t seem to help myself.


PHOTO 1: Vaci Street
PHOTO 2: Budapest Opera House
PHOTO 3: National Museum
PHOTO 4: the great synagogue
PHOTO 5: Vajdahunyad Castle
PHOTO 6: statue to 'Anonymous' near Vajdahunyad Castle
PHOTO 7: Heroes' Square
PHOTO 8: Kunsthalle
PHOTO 9: Fine Arts Museum
PHOTO 10: inside the Fine Arts Museum

20 years ago today - Day 172

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Thursday, August 22nd – Budapest, Day 3

I eat breakfast with Jan and Eero again. Jan invites me to check out some architectural treasures on the outskirts of the core, but I haven’t yet seen the main attractions in the core of Pest so I opt to go it alone.

I steal a free ride on the bus over the Lion Bridge to walk around the Parliament Buildings and to explore St Stephen’s Basilica. There are great views from the basilica of the area around it. I walk to the main post office to see if there are any letters waiting for me at the poste restante counter. There is a letter from my mother and one from Mike Silk, who has left the lowlands and has just arrived in Koblenz. He has climbed the steep hill up to the youth hostel in the castle on the east bank. “So that is what 18% grade feels like!” he writes. He is heading east to Berlin, Prague and Budapest. He hopes that we can meet again further along. I will write to him in Berlin to say I will be in Istanbul if he wants to meet me there or to write to me.


I return to the hostel for lunch, and then quickly grab my bathing suit and head to the Lion Bridge to meet Daniel. He’s there looking terribly bored and perhaps a little anxious. When he sees me he looks relieved. I am greeted with his warm hug. We walk together chatting as he leads me to the Kiraly Baths. They look small and grungy from the outside,
nothing like the other larger, more commercial-looking pools designed to accommodates large numbers of tourists families. Kiraly, with its moldy, aged exterior and its men-only clientele, is probably the most authentic of the Roman baths left, though no doubt the average tourist would find it, and the gay men in it, to be rather disgusting.

Daniel gives me a tour after we check our clothes into our lockers. We walk around with only our bathing suits and towels. You would not find gay men in other gay baths, but Daniel warned me it would be different. The upstairs is a mezzanine, with balcony looking down on the reception area. Around the balcony are a series of roomettes, which in another gay sauna would be rented for a higher price than a locker. Here, though, the roomettes are used whenever two or more guys want to have sex and the door is left open when they leave for the next users.

We go downstairs to an adjoining room where the pool is. There are a couple dozen men relaxing in the pool, which is large enough that this isn’t causing any crowding. Daniel and I move around the pool and chat with others. I seem to create an immediate interest with a couple young men bathing there when they realize I speak English. They ask where I am from and where I heard about this bath house. They seem to be satisfied knowing that I learned of it from the Spartacus Guide, which reassured them I must be gay. They are not much interested in me after that.

Daniel takes me upstairs after a half hour soak in the pool. We pick a room and make love there for the rest of the afternoon. His slender, muscular body is as hard and smooth as and a marble statue. The little hair he has is on his legs and the slender trail that leads south from his navel to his pubes. It feels soft and vulnerable.

He projects to outward impression of a young man, stronger, wiser and more self-assured than a man his age (25) should be, and he probably is in much of his life, but he has been through many stressful times and living in the underbelly of the street frequently since fleeing Romania as a refugee two years ago. He seems to like me a lot. He snuggles comfortably against me. A significant part of him that needs shelter and rest and some strong arms to keep him safe. The warrior in him also wants to find a lover he can defend and nurture. A friend I know in Vancouver would say he has “wolf” energy – fiercely independent and wanting to mate once for life. We share this in common but even our most romantic sides can see how ridiculously star-crossed a relationship between us would be in our respective situations in life. This afternoon’s sexcapades are the finest gifts we can give each other at this time.

He walks me slowly back to the hostel and becomes awkward when we are saying goodbye. “I wish I could stay,” I try to comfort him. “No,” he says softly, shaking his head gently, “I wish I could go with you.” Now, I feel a lump in my throat and look away so that my eyes won’t start to water. My discomfort amplifies his and he says he has to go. “Can we meet at the club tonight?” “I can’t tonight,” he tosses back. “Tomorrow night?” I call to him as he turns away. “Sure,” he says, turning around and walking backwards away from me, smiling.

Back at the hostel for dinner, I get into a conversation with Jan and Eero about their lives in St Louis, their search for their Finnish roots, cycle touring and architecture. That takes most of the evening, and takes my mind off Daniel. Jan also tells me about the architectural sites he has been visiting around town and shows me some pictures he has taken. A rain shower has just started outside. I am not going out tonight.


PHOTO 1: the Lion Bridge
PHOTO 2: St Stephen's Cathedral
PHOTO 3: Pest from St Stephen's
PHOTO 4: the Parliament Buildings
PHOTO 5: Museum of Applied Arts
PHOTO 6: Buda, as seen from the Pest side of the Danube
PHOTO 7: waiting for Daniel at the Lion Bridge
PHOTO 8: the Kiraly Baths
PHOTO 9: entrance to baths
PHOTO 10: inside the Kiraly Baths
PHOTO 11: the Lion Bridge at sunset

20 years ago today - Day 171

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Wednesday, August 21st – Budapest, Day 2 – 9469 km

Everyone is watching Sky News this morning. The hostel uses the English channel as it is the language most of the patrons speak. There has been no attack on the Russian parliamentary building overnight but the situation remains tense. All the news anchors say this unexpected development may mean that the coup is falling apart.

At breakfast in the cafeteria, I meet Eero and Jan, two American brothers from St Louis. Both are of Finnish extraction and their parents are leaders in the Finnish-American League, or something similar. Jan, the younger one, is in his late 20s and has been working in Helsinki as an architect’s assistant for months, and brushing up on his Finnish. Eero is in his early 30s and has come over from the US to join his brother on a cycling tour in Hungary. They suggest I join them the day after tomorrow as they leave for Lake Balaton south of here. This is very exciting. I had planned to have three days off from cycling in Budapest but I would prefer to ride with them. I will have to cram in as much as I can today and tomorrow.

Jan has a fascination with architectural treasures in Budapest. Jan gives me a list of several attractions to check out this the morning. He has a list that he has been seeking out one by one over the past few days. Most of them are in serious disrepair, he says.


The first attraction is the Buda Castle, 50 m up at the south tip of Castle Hill, or the Varnegyed. I cycle there and pay my admission, spending an hour walking around inside and the Castle District to the north of it, both of which are very new in comparison to many historic sights in Europe. The castle has been destroyed many times in various sieges of the city since it was first built in the 14th century. Now it is now like a palace, started in 1870 and finished just before WWI. It is a hazy day and the view over the city is not too spectacular. Apparently, the Romans built fortifications here in the second century, partially because there are several hot springs at the base of the hill for which to build their baths, most of which are below the castle on the west side of the river. I buy lunch at a sandwich shop while I am in the Castle District.

My next stop is the Fisherman’s Bastion, a decorative terrace that is a faux-historic piece built less than a hundred years ago but made to look much older. Seven pointed towers represent the seven original Magyar tribes who settled here in the Carpathian Basin around 900AD. The Fishermen’s Guild was entrusted with the defense of the city, which has been destroyed many times since, but the city still wanted to honour them. The Mathias Church is in the area and is beautiful, as churches go.


I return to the hostel before dinner. The news is still tense. Apparently, tanks controlled by forces behind by the leaders of the coup tried to move through a tunnel to attack the forces defending the Russian parliament and found it blocked by a barricade of streetcars and street cleaning machinery. Several youths tried to climb on the tanks and blind them by covering their slit windows and three of them have been killed. That seems to have been enough to cause the coup forces to back off. New correspondents are saying it is beginning to look like the coup has lost heart and is unraveling.

After dinner, I am feeling rested again. Having stayed in last night, I am in the mood to check out gay clubs listed in my Spartacus Guide. I ask Beno directions on how to get to a certain street where my there is supposed to be a popular dance bar. I mention its name in the off-chance that my non-gaydar isn’t working properly, but he unfortunately has never heard of it. He tells me there’s a bus that goes over the Lion Bridge that will take me in the neighbourhood, almost to its door.

The Budapest streetcar network works on the honour system. I steal a ride without paying to get to the bar. It’s a medium sized bar with a half-decent dance floor with disco lights, et al. It isn’t crowded but it’s busier than I expected for a Tuesday night. As I expected, much friendlier than the Why Not in Vienna. The men here act like it is a pleasure to meet me!

One of them is a fellow a bit younger than myself named Miki Alexy, a blond who works in a restaurant somewhere downtown. He takes a great interest in me at first, asking about my trip, etc, but with other things on his mind. He introduces me to Daniel, a young friend of his who has been standing behind him staring at me. Daniel greets me with a smile and a hand shake, and then steps back to let Miki continue his questioning. Daniel resumes staring at me with his dark smoldering eyes. They distract me from Miki very effectively. Eventually, Mike either catches on or else gets distracted himself, and he drifts away to greet new friends arriving.

Daniel is classically beautiful. That is, I mean few men would question that, even if steamy, slender, muscled 25-year olds are not their type. He has barely said a word to me up to this point, but he moves right into Miki’s place. He is clearly relieved that Mike has moved on and afforded him this opportunity to speak with me alone. Daniel’s English isn’t quite as good as Miki’s but that doesn’t deter him for long. He is from Romania, having come here as a refugee two years ago.

His reception in Budapest hasn’t been all wonderful as the city took in too many refugees and Romanians are generally assumed to be gypsies. He works as a gay hustler, a Gypsy profession for sure. Are you working now, I ask him, and he says ‘no’ with a tone of disgust. And then, more bashfully, he adds that he really likes me and just wants to spend a night with me. I am sleeping in a hostel dorm and he has roommates so we have no place to go. I lean over an kiss him and he responds passionately, uncaring of any reactions around us. He sticks with me the rest of the evening, sometimes holding me from behind or wanting me to hold him. As uninhibited as he is, he has a sense of decorum too, and won’t let me have more than a couple gropes of his hard crotch. He sneaks in a couple discreet gropes of his own when he gets the chance.

Ah, sweet sexual frustration—the story of my life. I catch the streetcar back to my dorm in Buda on the west bank after kissing Daniel goodbye for ten minutes. He really wants to meet me tomorrow and take me to the Kiraly Baths, a gay Roman bathhouse that he says is nothing like other gay bathhouses. We set a 3 pm time to meet at the west end of the Lion Bridge. I lie in bed in the darkened dorm room listening to my roommates snore, and dreaming of things I could so with Daniel.


PHOTO 1: courtyard of Buda Castle
PHOTO 2: gate to Buda Castle
PHOTO 3: Fishermen's Bastion
PHOTO 4: Fishermen's Bastion
PHOTO 5: statue of King Stephen
PHOTO 6: Castle Hill near Buda Castle
PHOTO 7: Holy Trinity Square in Castle Hill
PHOTO 8: Castle Theatre
PHOTO 9: St Mathias Cathedral
PHOTO 10: more of Castle Hill