Brno (Death and Decay)

Austerlitz (Boney's Finest Hour)

Bratislava (More Tales of Brothels)

Dodo (Cheap Watch Rep. and Motorcyclist's Friend)

Gyor (3 Weddings and a Burger Bar)

Budapest (All Day Closing Mondays and Tuesdays)

Nove Mesto did not have much more to offer and so we set off in good time in the morning to be able to call in at Telc on our way to Brno. The roads were fantastic, but the weather was once again misty precluding the shooting off of large amounts of film. Telc town is rather beautiful and although it is yet another of the baroque centres, there is a larger open space rather than the linear centre common to many of the others we have visited. The castle is quite charming and houses a fantastic collection of hunting trophies along with more serious historical exhibits. I found the huge Carp with transplanted deer horns quite impressive. Helen less so! My theory was that if you can have a stag beetle...

On to Brno and the customary search for the centre to find the tourist office and so cheap accommodation. Most of the budget offerings in Lonely Planet guides are based on people travelling during the summer and so tend to be student dorms which at this time are not available to us. October is a popular time in Brno for expos and of course we had not done our homework. The all-Czech computer fair was under way and all of Brno's rooms were booked. The charming girls at the tour info rang up dozens of places for us and the price gradually increased. I began to worry just as they found an out of town hotel with Lake Views that was not too extreme. Here, the advantage of having ones owns transport comes into its own. A couple of Ossies in the shop had given up hope and were taking the night train out.

The hotel lived up to its reputation for situation and was on the comfortable side of basic. Moreover, although the kitchens had closed, they provided us with gratis chauffeur driven transport to their sister restaurant which turned out not to be hugely expensive. We had a difficult bit of soul searching at the meal about our goals for the trip and my (Pat) hogging of the journal writing. We arrived at the conclusion that Hippy should do more writing so that emotional matters will be laid bare to our public. I will of course continue to inject the sarcasm and vitriol.

We braved it on the tram the following day. This of course perplexed Pat, who is a devotee to independent transport. Avoided the computer exhibition on the basis we have nowhere to put one and besides that they would not let us in without an invite. Bit of culture some parks and art galleries and on to the second most bizarre place of the journey.... The crypt of a monastery, where it had been the practice to embalm rather than buried their deceased monks. In amongst the monks where the paper-thin bodies of local dignitaries who no doubt thought that embalming was somehow superior to communal garden burial.

It was, in an odd way fascinating, when it was possible to see impression of hair and toenails on bodies hundreds of years old. It brought home to me the thoughts that despite differences in lifestyle we all end up the same - and the words 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust' come to mind. In one section there were a number of ex-monks laid out in a dehumidifier and some bright sparks had decided to throw in coins - to bring luck I suppose but it only illustrated they idiocy. Bodies was had survived naturally were now damaged by said coins landing on the paper-thin remains.

I did say, this was the second most bizarre point in the journey so far. The first we had failed to mention. The ossary in Kutna Hora where again a monk had decided to make use of the bones dug up from the cemetery and used them to make art. Must have been a Turner prize-winner at the time. Strangely, the sculptures were attractive in a macabre way. If you managed to forget what they were made of, bones are quite interesting shapes. Here, unnecessarily the bones of the rich were in a separate nave of the chapel (sorry did I fail to mention that this was all inside a very ordinary innocent looking church). One bone pretty much looks like another, it's a pity that people in the world make so much of people's differences and forget our overwhelming similarities when nations decide to disagree.

Sorry, I'll start discussing the meaning of life in a minute...

Back to reality, Mist had descended over our view of the lake and we headed off to Austerlitz.

For those not of the Watson clan or closely associated with it, you will need to know at this point that the previous occupants of the family seat in uptown Bolton had taken upon themselves to christen the house Austerlitz. Clearly Napoleon fans. It seemed appropriate on our Dad's birthday to call in at Austerlitz and send birthday greetings. Don't ask me why, it's just one of those things.

Bizarrely, this turned out to be something of a Bolton day. At the border, crossing into Slovakia, the guard asked me how far it was to Manchester. I started to reply that we'd travelled about 3000 miles when he corrected me and pointed out that he wanted to know how far it is between Bolton and Manchester. It transpired that he had recently visited his sister in Wigan and we spent some time discussing the relative merits of Wigan and St. Helens rugby clubs, Wigan Pier and black pudding.

All this while a huge queue developed of locals wishing to get home. Presumably, they thought I was getting a thorough going over with regard to my intentions in Slovakia!

Later in the evening safely ensconced in former commy pension, I had a good old chat with a student whose sister was working in Macclesfield. Funny old world.

The tourist office had quickly found the pension for us, although for this service I had to fork out the ridiculous fee of 3 pence.

Trencin has a small castle with, I imagine when the fog lifts, spectacular views over the industrial sprawl beneath. Common to most industrial towns, the youths seemed disaffected to the point of establishing their identity by way of spray can on any and all flat surfaces.

Slept well and having cooking facilities for once, thought I'd make Hippy a cup of char early doors. The pan of water took some time to come to life and after a quick first cup, I returned to the room to get Hippy's breakfast order. As I left the kitchen, one of the other tenants came in and started filling a pan with water. I did the obvious thing and offered some of ours. Imagine then my surprise when I returned to make Hip's tea only to find a couple of cracked eggs floating in the tea water. I boiled another pan!

The bike had enjoyed its overnight accom, too. The owners had insisted that I put it in the cellar - not to avoid theft as I first suspected, but to stop their huge dog chewing the tyres! John Walsh would have been most perplexed by the Geoff McKay lookalike who opened the cellar doors for me the next morning. Scarily, there were huge piles of building materials scattered around outside.

The weather turned to the worse again and we drizzled our way to Bratislava.

It's Helen again. In Pat's ramblings he failed to mention that the said Monica (who I wasn't allowed to meet) was he claimed - after him! This gorgeous girl with all the bits in the right places was apparently quizzing him about his marital status, which he interpreted as a bit of fishing. How much of this is wishful thinking and how much fact I do not know, but whatever Pat returned from his intercourse looking flattered and peacock like.

As Pat has said the intention was Bratty. However, on reaching this fair city, the hostels were full, the hotels beyond our finances, the bike was playing up again, it was raining and generally the big B did not seem inviting. We had made a decision early on in the trip - to go with kismet. If it didn't feel right to leave. So, I, in charge of navigation steered us out of the conglomeration towards the Hungarian border, the Danube.

Following a little road near the river, we decided to stop at the first accommodation, within our budget and which looked OK. Sure enough in a village spitting distance form the border we from our haven...the Saram Penzion, with a beautiful garden, radiators warm in the room to dry our gear and an affordable restaurant to eat at. Perfect! A little time to thaw out and we go to eat, determined to have a blow out and use out Slovak cash up and move on to Hungary tomorrow. Three scrumptious courses and a shed full of wine later we still cannot use all our money.

We barely managed to haul our full bellies up onto the top of the huge levee that marks the Slovak side of the Danube navigation. Reaching the top, we were confronted with the sight of a huge body of water clearly above the level of our pension. It later transpired that this water is 17,5 metres above the surrounding countryside - scary!

Fellow guests in the Penzion were a group of four who appeared to have settled in the restaurant all day drinking a pernod-like spirit. Needless to say by the time they retired to their room they found walking a little complex. Their relationship intrigued me - the four used one room and there were Poland vocal entries being performed. Could this quaint little Pension be another 'HOT'-elle. Despite the entertainment from our neighbours, we managed a nap after our humungous supper to be awoken by the band. Live music from 11pm to 1am from Chaz and Dave. Three locals danced and humoured the band. The only male of the group rather fancied himself as we gyrated his pelvis and revealed his belly to the select throng. Though this made interesting people watching it was somehow reminiscence of a particular Guyanese man at a wedding after a couple of bottles of rum.

Disaster hit the following morning - the bike again would not start. Whilst I sat beneath the thatched hut in the garden Pat decided it was time to change over the infamous solenoid. Solenoid in, still it does not start. He strips it down again. We are offered help from the maitre d' and a kind man across the road helped to push the bike whilst his wife baked us cakes.

Then the arrival of our saviour...

Dodo is not an extinct bird, but a sales executive for Casio (Slovakia). He also has a motorbike and like most other bikers will come to the aid of another in trouble. This day he discovered a slightly oily Brit with his bike disassembled in the driveway to the local pension. After returning home to empty his car, he returned to collect all of the baggage strewn around and offer the space in his cellar as a more convenient spot to make repairs.

He and his partner Katrin were our saviours. Having charged the battery, the bike started without a hint of a problem. I was worried though by the ease with which the battery was discharging and so wanted to check the charging voltage. Helen waited upstairs and sat in silence being unable to speak German and Katrin unable to speak English. After a frantic search around his workshop, Dodo was unable to assist and so he took me round the corner to the local auto electrician - Lorinc Meszaros (mlorinc@nextra.sk) who applied his meter in the appropriate places to diagnose the failure of the voltage regulator. This certainly made sense. Helen waited in silence. Of course, no replacement regulator could be found being as how the nearest BMW dealer was 150 miles away. However, with a bit of shoe-horning, a SKODA regulator was made to fit and performed the appropriate function.

After some chinwag (Helen waited in silence) - the only payment that would be taken was my company, I was fully informed about Lorinc's family situation. One daughter (Victoria) translated for us. His other daughter is married to an English guy - Keith Dale are you out there? - and lives in London. He insisted that should he ever be stranded in Britain, someone would come to his aid. I only wish I could be as confident

Well, whilst Pat was sorting the bike I was having a very dull time. I managed to help Katrin with the washing and cooking by gesturing but proper conversion was out of the question. We both clock watched and wondered where our partners were and how long the embarrassing silence would go on. We ate to break the monotony and waited. On their return Pat and Dodo were convinced that the bike was OK - by now it was late afternoon and Dodo was suggesting that we stay the night. We however felt we had intruded long enough and I knew that Katrin needed some time with her man alone, as I had gathered that they must be new loves, by the fact that each time she needed something in the house she rang Dodo to find it. We left heading for Gyor, feeling that we had our first genuine experience of full Slovak hospitality, only to discover that this area of Slovakia everyone speaks Hungarian and very much consider themselves to be Hungarian.

The journey and border crossing into Hungary was thankfully smooth. We, as is the custom, got lost in town and got stuck in a one way system of lovely cobbled streets. This would have been OK except for the fact that we managed to ride through the same set of wedding guests 3 times in different directions. The friendly smiles on their faces suggested that in years to come families will be sat looking at photos saying, 'who was that couple on the motorbike - must be someone from the in-laws'. Arriving at our Pension, eventually, after brushing off confetti as we went, which was very plush and really over our budget, but we needed a little luxury after such a stress filled day. I suggested that Pat listen to the football scores, keeping my fingers crossed that they would win and made make a good end to a difficult day. It was a risk! (Poor Helen had been watching Fawlty Towers on telly with the original sound track and turned off so I could hear the final scores - what a love!) As those of you who know Boltons reputation anything could happen. My prayers were granted Man U. 1 and Bolton 2. This result could not have been better - 'cos we all hate Man. United. Pat understandably was over the moon - I was relieved.

We skipped gleefully into town to see what Gyor has to offer on a Saturday night. Although it was not buzzing it was calm, unthreatening and felt like a generally nice place to be. Only one MacDonalds although huge.

Consulting the LP handbook, we ventured south in the morning to the Abbey at Pannonhalma. Rather in the vein of George Washington's axe (ask Alan Watson what that means!) this is a one thousand year old Benedictine monastery and boys grammar school. Many of the original features had been exposed in recent renovations and were proudly displayed. Helen in one of her rare cynical moods pointed out that the very covering over of these features suggests that someone down the years thought that they could be improved upon. Rightly so, but I am sure that we can all agree that the sight of the Parthenon is a little more inspirational than a cost effective office block that could be built on the same spot. We cruised around the area in an attempt to find some poorer towns to really see if Hungary is better off or not. Not finding any signs of poverty we thought that this is quite an impressive place.

Morning found the bike up to its old tricks and we eventually needed a jump-start from the owner's car. It seems that the bike is losing charge from the battery through a short is draining it over night or its not charging when on gentle runs with the light on. At this point, we are determined to get to a pukka BMW bike shop in Budapest and get the whole thing sorted. To this end, we set off on a fairly direct route to Buda. The temptation of the villages on the Danube bend proved too much, however, and so we made short stops in each to see which ones we would like to come back to.

We had already booked into the Back Pack hostel in Budapest as all other accommodation was way over budget. What a great place to be. Hot and cold running videos and beer on the premises. I know by now that all the beer references are worrying my dad, but in each case we're only actually talking about one or two. With our usual lack of planning, we arrived just when the country was celebrating a revolution. In 1956 students actually managed to get a bit of action against the communist powers that be that endured for a whole 4 weeks. We were fortunate to be able to witness the parade and rally but felt that our photo talents would not do justice to the event.

Regrettably, so far as we were concerned, this meant that the bike shop would be shut for Monday and Tuesday. Just as in Krakow, though, this is not the worst place to be held up for a few days. We managed to keep the bike running and visited all sorts of sights. Most impressive of the Danube bend villages had been Visegrad and so we went and collected photo ops and all that. Good day out.

We spoke with many people at the hostel about the Afghan thing and those people that had been there recommended not going to Syria, Jordan, Egypt and Sudan. This puts something of a spanner in the works.

The bike shop told us on the Wednesday that they would be able to get a new voltage regulator in a week and so we booked in for a full service and the other work in a week's time and headed off to rural Hungary - watch this space.