There and Back Again - Central Europe

Don’t know if you might have seen the movie ‘Hostel’.
Picture it in your head, and you’ll have a good idea of my next accommodation.

Arrival in Slovakia was fine, with roads better than I had been led to expect, and a plentiful supply of petrol stations.
It took a bit of a downturn when I reached the hotel in Volkovce (Motel Sofa).
The place looked pretty run down, and very closed.
No sign of anyone.
I did get someone on the phone, but he spoke no English and hung up a couple of times.
Eventually I did get access to a room from a guy who appeared out of a workshop.
Pretty sure I was the only guest.
No security for the bike, so fully unloaded and put everything in the room, which was, of course, no-where near Traveller.
It would mean a delayed start the next day due to repeating the process in reverse.

Didn’t look for any night life, although I doubt there was any to be had, as I was concerned about the security of both room and bike.

Have to say I did sleep well though.

And then on to Hungary.

I’d been riding pretty much all day, every day for five days, and that can become a habit.
Before you know where you are, you start to become an authority on service station café’s without really seeing any of what that country has to offer.

You have to slow down on occasion to smell the roses.

I determined to adopt a ‘Slow Down’ plan, effective from when I crossed into Hungary.

The contrast between the potential Chamber of Horrors I was leaving behind in Slovakia, and the accommodation I found in Hungary couldn’t have been more pronounced.
The next day’s digs were like a Rolls Royce matched up against a rusty old Slovakian Jalopy that needs hand cranking.
Secure off-road parking, and an entire floor pretty much to myself.
Should have taken more pictures, since the room pictured below, already made untidy by yours truly, doesn’t come close to conveying the outright luxury I found myself surrounded by.
Massive bedroom, huge kitchen, and a large, empty wooden floored room where you could easily imagine a bunch of guys doing Thai Chi.

The town was busy and felt vibrant, and an entire section was given over to sculptures, which naturally I had to investigate.
Figuring the town must have some connection with dragons, as a number of the pieces were of the fire-breathing persuasion.
The story behind these sculptures would I’m sure have been fascinating, but the brevity of my stay precluded research, so I just strolled and admired.

(How did That one get there?)

Later I discovered the town did have a slight downside.

Down, once again, to poor research on my part, but I have to plead guilty of the crime of assumption, in that such a vibrant town should have an equally vibrant night life.
I expected to trip over a bar or restaurant every few paces.
So firm was this assumption that I didn’t feel the need to actually look for any during my lazy afternoon stroll.
So what did I find, when, armed with an appetite that would be the envy of any one of those dragons I’d spent the afternoon admiring?

Nothing.
Not a beer.
Not a sausage.
Not a potato.
Nothing.
Even the few bars on the high street were closing up by mid evening.

I very definitely went hungry in Hungary.
..bet you’re wondering what cracker That one came out of…
Afraid it doesn’t get any better..

It was back to the apartment, defeated, dejected and devoid of sustenance.

There’s a lesson to be learned there I’m sure…

The following morning was an easy start.
Traveller was already loaded, and all I had to do was pack the essentials and set off.

The cutting out problem while maneuvering in first continued to annoy, but wasn’t hampering anything when I picked up speed, so I settled down to the next few hours in the saddle.

Romania was next on the cards, and a close brush with potential disaster..

That comes a bit later.

For now, catch you again in a few miles.