Ballad of a Budapest Bicyclist

Releasing the inner bicyclist I set off down the street

Not yet sure of my direction nor of who’d meet

The road was long, with many obstacles in my way

The cars, pedestrians even other cyclists making hay

My sure foot in England counted for little here

The Hungarian green cross code, is less rules

More guidelines by which to steer

And very few obey the lights, that much to me was clear.

To navigate, I must admit my method somewhat poor

I held extended to the front an open book as cure

with one hand I held the road list, with the other I did steer

And as I made my progress, my eye was half in the distance and half near

Few things come to mind about that dreadful morning

That now in hindsight might have given me a warning

Perhaps one was the traffic, and another the beeping horns

Perhaps the capricious nature of the zebra crossing more like a unicorn

For guidance as to how to be, I followed the cultural norm

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, be like St George who fights the Great Orm

I took as my example the cyclist in front,

She weaved and dived between the traffic

like her bike was made of magic

I likewise tried my hand, losing some sense of self

In the pursuance of an unreachable dream, what one may lack is mental health

So stopping at a lights at a meeting of two roads

One Erszbet tér the other Joszef Attila ut, is where I begin my ode

The cyclist ahead had seized the chance and crossed when lights were red

I felt this cannot be right so held my steed from rearing dread

As I waited, I looked around, uncertain of my location

And yet in the same moment perceiving its general commotion

The air was tense like in a tennis competition

We stood at match point poised until the lights changed our constitution

In my general perusal of the scene

I spotted a red-haired ruffian, looking large and rather mean

I decided in my mind he was one I should avoid

And so, looked back down at my book to follow the route I had thus far enjoyed

It seemed no clearer from the glance that I briefly took

And yet without another guide I did decide to keep out my book

At that moment the providential lights did change their hue

And I followed on the rolling traffic in its crawling queue

However, I did not make it very far before I had to stop

As the green man had signalled pedestrians across his shop

Most made their way quick with efficiency

But one man lingered on the pavement rendering my path unfree

If you have not guessed it, this was my red-headed foe

Who had beside his gym-built bulk his bull dog in tow

Since my own light would soon be changing back to red

I had to take my chances in the pedestrian flow now drip fed

The green man he was flashing, and the majority had crossed

Just this one hulk slacking, not even on the pied path tossed

So, I proceeded with a gentlemanly care

Slowly pedalling my bicycle in the crisp morning air

In one hand was my book

And my eye it fully did look

A clear path to my fore

And so, I advanced and seized my chance as if through

An open door

All at once I heard a pitiful yelp,

And to my surprise, the Bull-dog's cries preceded my own need of help

The impact of a stepping fool (the man)

Had caused me to unbalance nearly falling from my stool

This great Hungarian Hulk then proceeded to yell

‘You have run over my dog’ or something of the ilk, I could not tell

His face was mad and steaming, red as a raspberry fruit

The ginger hair upon it made his look a fiery hirsute

Before I even knew what was going on

He had grabbed my rucksack and from my bike I was being flung

I landed on the hard road, my lap-top laden bag nearby

My arm was cut, the shock like lightening strike from a blue sky

I picked myself up quickly and looked this man in the face

He was still yelling some Hungarian, his dog had run from its place

As I put on my bag, he left and turned to find his dog

I took that as my cue to leave the scene of this mad grog

Some onlookers stood and watched, but I had cycled on

I had no desire to face his mad fire, nor to gather a throng

Hurting from the bruising, but wheeling not in vain

I made my way to my destination, vowing never to cross his path again

Just the next street on, I met a couple of cops

And thought to tell them the incident so up to them I stopped

Luckily one spoke English and I explained my case,

However, his look and shrug dismissive,

Meant the criminal could not be traced

Looking back in hindsight, I reflect and trust

That this man lacked perception, his reality was rust

Imagine on the long weekend, he had filled his veins with drugs

And on this bright new morning he had slipped on reality's rugs

Then again perhaps the city drives such men berserk

As they go about their daily duties or see about their work

It must be a place of ditties, and this ballad is but one

Just another song of the city, and now my song is sung