After the first days in Budapest, I had time for a couple of other towns before my week was over, and I chose to head south to Pécs. I arrived there at the end of a threefold journey made up of two train trips with a bus link in between. I lodged at an excellent hostel whose distinctive character was its familiar atmosphere, made palpable by the fact that the premises were in fact a converted flat. The rooms with wooden flooring shared a fully equipped kitchen and a dining-room. The young manager, who had spent time touring Italy and Spain, welcomed me and talked about his cycling adventures. As a result I gladly felt the spontaneity of a warm welcome as opposed to the burden of rules that a bigger establishment has to impose and that can open a gap between the guest and the host.

As I walked into the dormitory an ageing man welcomed me as if we were best friends who had not met for ages. He gushed compliments about Italy, talked about its delicious food, quaint towns, interesting culture and what not, hardly leaving me any time to respond. He was one of those who love listening to themselves talk and don’t expect any reaction from their counterparts. All I could do was listen, simper, and hope he’d soon be over. It took him some time, but in the end he concluded he was going out to eat, and would I like to join him? As I’d already had lunch there was no need for a white lie to politely turn down his invitation. As soon as he’d left, the room became quiet again and I was able to brace myself for the visit of another exciting European capital.

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I had been walking all day, ambling up and down both parts of the city straddling the mighty Danube. I would have had enough reasons to call it a day and enjoy some rest, but I still had something at the back of my mind that didn’t leave me in peace.

My flight to Hungary was due to leave early in the morning, so I spent my last night in Cambridge because it was easier to reach the airport from there than from East London. I stayed at a great youth hostel which was full of international guests, but retained a quintessential English flavour emanating from the wooden flooring, the staircase, and the brick structure. The moment I stepped in I felt like going hostelling around the country as I did when I was 18.