In March, I moved to Budapest for four months for an internship… and dragged my bike along with me. The plan was simple: work, cycle, enjoy.

Riding around the city quickly became part of my week, about four times on average. To be honest, Budapest is not the world capital of cycling. Sure, they’re making improvements, but between traffic, cobblestones, and drivers who don’t really care about you… let’s just say it was “character building.”

After a month, I felt confident enough to try my first “serious” trip: a ride to Székesfehérvár. And woaa… it was brutal. Halfway through I wondered if my legs had signed a secret strike. That was the moment I realised: « okay, maybe I should train for this thing instead of just winging it. »

Back in Budapest, I started getting serious while also working and writing my thesis. I read about training plans, nutrition, recovery… basically pretending I knew what I was doing. Luckily, working remotely meant I could sneak in rides whenever I wanted.

One of my favourite escapes was Szentendre, a little town just north of the city. Quiet streets, colourful houses, great food. Perfect spot to chill for a few hours and escape the chaos of the city for a couple of hours.

Little by little, things improved. I started to feel more comfortable on the bike, even enjoying it. Don’t get me wrong, there were still plenty of doubts, especially the day I biked to Slovakia and discovered the real meaning of “suffering.” But somehow, even when I was dying on the saddle, quitting was never an option. Deep down, I knew I’d manage.

By the end of my stay, I’d learned a lot: that cycling is 50% legs, 50% stubbornness, and 100% butt pain. But also that I was more resilient than I thought. I never got mad at myself, never disappointed, because honestly, just showing up was already a win.

And then July came. Internship over. Time to pack up. Time to leave Budapest. Time for the big adventure, I still didn’t feel ready for…