Ger­ard Storey gets him­self out of a sticky sit­u­a­tion thanks to a bus ticket

The Press and Journal (Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire) - - OUTDOORS -


In the morn­ing I made my way to the dig at Brige­tio and found the ar­chae­ol­o­gists hav­ing sec­ond break­fasts.

Matyas jumped up and came to greet me.

I wasn’t al­lowed to take photograph­s but Matyas took me down through the field and showed me the ex­ca­va­tions.

He pointed out the gate and a par­tially un­cov­ered hu­man skull.

They’d also had many small finds like ce­ram­ics and coins.

That night I found a camp­site to base my­self at.

The next day I cy­cled into Bu­dapest and got a photograph out­side par­lia­ment. So far, I’d ped­alled 2,296 miles.

The day af­ter, us­ing pub­lic trans­port, I re­vis­ited for a bit of sight­see­ing.

All went well un­til the time came to re­turn.

I had all the de­tails on my phone to help re­trace my steps.

Un­for­tu­nately, the bat­tery was spent.

Worse still, I couldn’t re­mem­ber the name of the town where I’d left my tent and bike.

Work­ing hard to stay calm and think, I even­tu­ally got back to the ter­mi­nus I’d ar­rived at.

None of the des­ti­na­tions looked fa­mil­iar. Wee panic.

I dis­cov­ered the name of a bus stop on my ticket.

Fi­nally, a name on a bus I recog­nised, showed the driver my ticket, thank­fully, he was go­ing there.


The bor­der was resur­fac­ing.

Chanc­ing it, closed for

I ap­proached but found the way barred by two po­lice­men.

De­spite my sad­dest look and pleas, I was told, in no un­cer­tain terms, to turn around.

The next cross­ing was a mere 54 miles away. Noth­ing for it but to get on with it.

To make my hap­pi­ness com­plete, it started to rain.

Late in the af­ter­noon, a man stopped in front of me on a hill and got out of his car.

The man called to me as I was pulling out to pass: “No, no you must stop,” so I did.

“I have seen you on TV,” he said.

Ap­par­ently, I’d been on some sort of news/mag­a­zine pro­gramme.

Where they got the footage from I don’t know, but I of­ten saw peo­ple fid­dling with their mo­bile phones as I passed.

“I must give you this,” he said, as he pro­duced an enor­mous jar of home-made apri­cot jam from be­hind his back.

He ex­cit­edly shook my hand. I thanked him gra­ciously and we parted com­pany. Dear read­ers, I am a star. Com­pletely done in, crossed into Croa­tia.

INext week: A Croa­t­ian wel­come, a rous­ing cheer and a re­u­nion

Ger­ard out­side the par­lia­ment build­ing in Bu­dapest

A jar of home-made apri­cot jam, a gift from a well-wisher

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