Budapest-Lille, on the Bike.
When a couple of kilometres change a life.
After a month, I finally feel ready to write about my biking trip.
The days immediately following were not the easiest. I was mentally drained and preferred to avoid any thought or memory of the experience. When people asked, I shared only brief answers, almost as if I were downplaying the journey. Today, with some distance, I feel prepared to revisit it and share how it truly felt.
No words or images will ever fully capture the experience, but I will do my best.
Each morning began with the same ritual: checking whether my clothes had dried overnight (they often hadn’t), taking a quiet breakfast, the only truly calm moment of the day, and then carefully packing my two small bags in the same strict order to be sure nothing was left behind. At first, this process took nearly two hours; by the end, I could be ready in less than one. That routine became an anchor, a way to stay grounded in the midst of constant movement.
The rides themselves were long, about 100 kilometers a day, but oddly, the hardest part often came afterward. Once off the bike, I still had to hunt down food and start my night routine. The dinners were never real cuisine. Often, it was cold couscous, bread, and yoghurt. On the rare occasions I managed a warm meal out of the microwave, it felt like pure luxury.
Then came the shower. I hadn’t packed shampoo, so I used whatever was available, even hand soap for my hair once. Afterwards, it was laundry time: hand-washing everything and coming up with new tricks to make clothes dry faster. Stretching followed, along with daily knee massages and quiet requests for them not to hurt. Except for the first three days, it worked. The only pain that stayed with me was the predictable one from the saddle. My closest allies became anti-friction cream and straps.
And after all that came dinner, followed by my daily Instagram post. Posting became a way to keep track of the journey, to feel less alone, and to remember that people were behind me. Only now, weeks later, have I been able to look back at them without feeling overwhelmed. Rereading them, I could clearly sense the mix I felt every single day, excitement, freedom, stress, and uncertainty.
Being alone taught me something profound: I am my most reliable companion. Every day, I faced the unknown and trusted myself to handle it. If I had given up on me, I would have become my own biggest obstacle. That’s why the post-trip period felt so heavy. I had carried strength day after day because I had no choice, and once it was over, I finally collapsed. Yet even in tears, in the rain, in the wind, in hunger, I never stopped pedaling.
Before bed, I always called my grandma and wrote a short note in my little notebook, a “sentence of the day.” Now, when I open it, everything comes rushing back: the struggles, of course, but also the laughter, the meals, the people, the views, the small joys that made the journey whole.
And that’s what I want to hold on to: the good things. People often ask me what went wrong, but in truth, so much went right. I had no major mechanical issues. I met incredible people. I discovered beautiful places. I laughed every single day. I slept well. I grew stronger. I ate plenty. Most importantly, I proved to myself that I could do it.
I began this trip knowing nothing about cycling, with people calling me crazy. Still, I went. “I’ll try and see for myself,” I told them. And I did.
I don’t want fear to hold me back anymore, just because something looks difficult. What comes next? I don’t know, and that’s not the point.
I didn’t do this to prepare for something bigger. I did it to prove something to myself. And I did.