One morning of head-down riding took me from Vienna over the Slovakian border to Bratislava. The marshmallow-esque art neaveau Blue Church was a highlight, as was the still, peaceful Slavin Memorial of WW2 dead overlooking the city.
The ride on towards Hungary and Budapest was painfully hot. My thermometer read 42°C one afternoon. Cycling in a temperature that would kill you if it reached your vital organs is a pretty unpleasant experience and requires perspiration of such a force that you worry passers by might be caught in the eyes. I’d help the process by wading into the Danube up to my neck wherever possible but after a quarter hour back on the bike my clothes would be cupboard-dry once again. The air tastes like the stuff that hits you in the face when you open the oven door to check on long forgotten pizza and the sunlight feels like someone sitting on you. One hand would be permanently occupied wiping away the sweat trying doggedly to fill my eyeballs and every now and then I’d have to stop to scratch the dried salt from the lenses of my sunglasses.
Rant over, here are some pictures.