Budapest or bust

John McFadzean’s 2022 trip from Bratislava to Budapest.

Words & photos: John McFadzean

“Just one more beer for me,” I said to Willy Bravo, an English-speaking, Slovakian surf instructor, as he made his way to the bar. “I’m going on an adventure tomorrow.”

My 2021 solo SUP trip on the Danube – 360 kilometres from Passau in Germany to Bratislava – ended at the Mark Twain Bar on the outskirts of the Slovakian capital. It seemed appropriate that my 2022 trip from Bratislava to Budapest should begin at that same spot. It was perhaps less appropriate for me to visit the Mark Twain Bar the evening before my big adventure and certainly less appropriate to remain there drinking beer until well after midnight. But I did have a good excuse – I was there to meet a new friend. It was a SUP version of a blind date. 

This year I wasn’t paddling the Danube alone. A random social media conversation with a friend of a friend of someone I didn’t even know, introduced me to Luděk Kocourek, an adventurer from Moravia, a region of Czechia. There was only one problem: Luděk spoke almost no English, and my knowledge of the Czech language was non-existent. Luckily, Willy Bravo was there to translate. After the fifth pint of beer, I believed myself fluent in Czech. It’s surprising how easily you can speak a foreign language after a few drinks!

I wasn’t feeling quite as fluent the following morning when the alarm went off, and I hit snooze for the umpteenth time.

A challenging first day
The first day of an adventure can set the tone for what is to follow. Day one was our most challenging day, with two tough portages to overcome, and I was embarrassed to start late with a sore head. However, my mood brightened as we paddled under the bridges of Bratislava, especially the famous UFO Bridge, so named for the flying-saucer-shaped restaurant which sits atop the bridge.

We were running late all day. Carrying our boards and heavy gear from the main channel to the Old Danube at Cunovo and then again to bypass the weir at Dunakiliti was exhausting — an effort that left us doubled over and breathless. As day one came to a close, Luděk and I found a secluded grassy area to wild camp on the riverbank. 

The following day we put 65 kilometres on the map and still had time for a two-hour break in the riverside Hungarian town of Gönyű for lunch and a catch-up with Hetti of SUP Gönyű. 

Day two was when the language barrier finally caused a problem. After lunch, as we continued downstream, I assumed that Luděk had a wild camping location planned, and he assumed l did. We kept paddling, each waiting for the other to call a halt until almost nightfall. As the sun sank lower in the sky, we had no alternative but to overnight on the beach at Komárom, which was close to road and rail bridges. The sounds of traffic and trains disturbed my dreams as paranoia at camping in a busy neighbourhood set in. Huddled inside my tiny tent, I could hear strangers walking on the beach, gravel crunching under heavy boots. Male voices were talking in a language I didn’t understand. Was it the police coming to arrest me? Or a mad axe murderer? I barely slept. 

Paddlers’ telepathy
That incident apart, language wasn’t a problem. Our paddlers’ telepathy was finely tuned; we each seemed to know the mind of the other because we were kindred spirits, fellow adventurers on the same epic journey. Of course, we also had Google Translate.

Day three was our shortest, just 25 kilometres to Eden Campsite, but it was the day I struggled. Too focused on reaching the next camp, I forgot to look up and enjoy the experience. Checking my tracker every few minutes to find that we were scarcely any closer to our destination, I heard my inner child shouting, “Are we nearly there yet?”

Negative voices in my head were telling me to quit. My calves were like stone, and my thighs begged for respite. My shoulders burned. My lower back reminded me that it had supported me for 58 years, and my head was down. Perhaps the night of insomnia at Komárom was a contributing factor. I fell back on the traditional adage for long-distance paddling, “One more stroke, John. Just one more stroke.”

On any long SUP trip, you can decide to quit at any given moment, or you can decide to take one more stroke. I continued taking one more stroke until the negative voices in my head faded.

Because Europe had record-low rainfall during the months leading up to our trip, we got less assistance from the river flow than we might have anticipated. However, the weather was kind, with a gentle tailwind every day. Warm, daily sunshine energised our bodies, and there was only one spell of heavy overnight rain. 

Why I enjoy SUP
It was plain sailing the following days, and I remembered why I enjoyed stand-up paddleboarding. I chose to look up and around: beautiful bridges and brilliant white cruise ships with pointed bows and passengers waving; gently sloping, sandy beaches filling the gap between the tree line and the water; children splashing; and a blue-domed basilica at Esztergom with gentle hills in the distance. 

We eased our way towards Camping Domos and into the enchanting Szentendre Loop, a flat-water, tree-lined side channel of the main river. 

Budapest
I felt excitement and sadness as we departed from Szentendre on the final morning. SUPing through central Budapest had been a dream for a long time, and it was about to come true. But soon, it would be time to say goodbye to my Moravian SUP buddy.

A few short hours later, after floating under Margaret Bridge, we sailed in triumph past the instantly recognisable facade of the Hungarian Parliament Building. The magical moment of my dreams had arrived, a fitting reward for many hours on the river. As we drifted under Budapest’s famous Chain Bridge, I turned to Luděk and caught his eye. We had achieved something exceptional, and we both knew it. My paddling companion had spent seven days on the Danube, covering 294 kms from Vienna to Budapest, and I was pleased to paddle with him for six of those seven on my 232km odyssey. 

Luděk raised his paddle in celebration. “This is the money shot,” I told myself as I pointed my camera. Shortly afterwards, our journey was over. 

Postscript
There was an amusing postscript to our adventure: we inadvertently exited the Danube at Sho Beach, an upmarket private venue catering to trendy revellers. The stylishly dressed manager generously allowed two scruffy, slightly smelly paddleboarders to pass through his immaculate establishment. I hope we didn’t distract any clientele from their piña coladas.