By Elizabeth Neville

After seeing the eclipse under Sumeg castle, we cycled to the station and took our bikes on the train to Lake Balaton. We got off at Badacsonytomaj and peddled towards the shoreline, into a campsite area. Stopping, we sat on a raised bank to watch the end of the eclipse. A man sitting on the bank spoke to us, he was Australian, living in Bensheim (between Frankfurt and Stuttgart). He had driven all night from there, because the weather over southern Germany and Austria had turned stormy the previous evening. We watched until the moon had completely crossed the sun: it was 14.14.

We sat and talked with this traveller, Bill Pearce; a teacher who also travels each year with his teenage son. Daniel sat with us, then peddled his bike around the grass circle in front of us. I recommended Hotel Var, in Sumeg, to him; he was in need of somewhere to stay before setting off on the long drive home. (He sent a postcard in the autumn saying he'd stayed there and found it wonderful.)

After saying goodbye we headed towards the water, which lay beyond the trees, to find this was an area of Strand with a charge. I knew there were parts that were open, so we'd go further up the shore. Daniel wasn't happy about this and he cycled off up the path. I felt instinctively that it wasn't the place for us to go bathing. Yet without knowing, this was why:

Catching up to Daniel, I could hear a faint whoosh-whoosh behind the trees. The Station came back into view on our left; and there on the track was the source of the whooshing: a big, black dragon with steam pouring out of its nostrils.

People were dotted around filming, photographing, and all admiring the grand black engine. We parked our bikes and approached it; Daniel ahead of me, enjoying this new experience. Full of curiosity, he walked down the platform to the coal truck; I joined him. He turned again to face the engine, looking up at the steam above it. Walking towards the drivers, they invited him up. He smiled broadly as they helped him climb in. They gestured for me to join him as I came up level with them. Inside, I inquired if they were going to Tapolca? Yes. When? In five minutes. They spoke no English; my Hungarian stretched to three words, none of which applied here. Daniel was enthralled with the workings of the engine and as five minutes approached, I made for us to leave. The drivers shook their heads. No, we were going with them. No, I pointed, we have our bicycles. Two minutes later they'd had a guard put them in his carriage, and away we flew with the dragon, it's fiery breath engulfing us.

The Station Master two stops farther down the track looked at the engine's occupants with a not too pleased expression, accompanied with words of a similar tone; maybe he'd wanted a ride all the years the steam engine had skirted his Lake? He looked happier moments later as the fireman placed money in his palm, and choo-choo we continued.

"Time flies by when you're the driver of a train, and you ride on the footplate there and back again; Under bridges, over bridges, through the dusty lanes; de de de de, de de de de, de de de de de (!) Time flies by when you're the driver of a train, and you ride on the footplate there and back again." I sang to myself (from Chigley, many moons ago) and was never happier.

All the way to Tapolca on the footplate, hugging the Lake until turning inland, waving to the bystanders; Daniel being held up to pull the whistle and me given a well received bottle of beer (After my year of planning had delivered us such a glorious day, and now this out of the blue I felt I deserved a little treat!)

At Tapolca the drivers hugged us and said a sad farewell. We watched them turn the engine around, then couple up again and head south once more, waving to us; and I was able to film some more. We took the next train back down to the Lake, to Zanka and cycled from track to Strand, which took all of one minute! The bikes went in the rack and we found a spot on the grass feet away from the water. Daniel wanted a snorkel and ball from the shop. Armed with these and changed, into the silky Lake we ventured.

We started to play with the ball; it was thrown past one of us and continued, gently to drift away from the shore. I swam a good way after it, yet it skimmed the surface at a greater rate of knots than I. Daniel was upset; me too, but it hadn't been attached to us for long, so we soon got over it. We swam and chased, Daniel snorkelled, I sat on the bank intermittently: the vista out over the lake was glorious - shimmering and serene.

It shone, silvery blue, dotted with colour - balls, peddle boats, passenger cruisers in the distance and later, ducks and swans. As it cooled, we dressed and discovered trampolines as we made to collect our bikes; and there, on the shores of Lake Balaton, we bounced, blissfully into the sunset.

We'd swam in the silky water in the late afternoon sun and trampolined on its bank as dusk descended. What a perfect day. 11th August 1999.

And even then it wasn't over. With not a care in the world, the day had snuck by. Pushing our bikes over the track, we wonder if there will be a train up to Sumeg. Overhearing, a man speaks to us, before turning to his wife in Hungarian. We all go back to the ticket hall and whilst she inquires, I buy the local paper with a front page picture of a black moon blotting out the sun whose only light was a silver crown around its vanquisher.

The trains only go up to Tapolca now, and it is a long, dark cycle from there to Sumeg; we can stay with them, a few stops down the shore. They live in London; he's a Haringey councillor and his wife an economist and a native to the area. Of the two girls with them, the eldest is their daughter and the younger, her cousin who lives locally. It turns out we have mutual acquaintances from the church, St. James', Muswell Hill. Fergus will know him, he taught the vicar's son. We take the train two stops back down the Lake to Balaton Szepezd.

One hundred metres up the lane from the station we go through an old wooden gate into a dark, wild garden. We come to the home of an elderly local woman, an old family friend. She's not there, but the house is so much the abode of an old lady. Its two rooms seem both to be bedrooms. Dans and I sleep in one, head to head in single beds with layers of blankets and quilts. There is a tiny kitchen and shower room and the front porch the loveliest of dining rooms. The outside toilet is a veritable storeroom and abode for many large spiders. I learned to live with bugs during my tour of Europe.

Daniel and the daughter excitedly exchanged eclipse stories: Had she seen the diamond ring effect? Had he seen the cosmic waves, purple, glide across the ground? Did she see the crescent moon shadows through the trees leaves? Had he felt the cold and heard the silence of all the birds and animals? They have had very differing experiences: She up in the wooded hills high above the north shore; Daniel on a bare hill overlooking the plain as far as the horizon, to the north and west.

We are given supper and sit enjoying the warm evening. Daniel has company, the daughter Antonia and her cousin Sophie, whose mother has a new baby. Daniel and the children play for an hour or so until the little one falls asleep, then he and Antonia sit with us and eat before I tuck him into bed. Then the daughter retires and us adults last.

It had been disorienting, which is no surprise when the sun disappears in the middle of the day and every creature except humans react instinctively and go to sleep, then re-awake. Maybe our body clocks reset and counted 12.50 as dawn? Or maybe it was because time really does fly by once you set foot on the plate of a steam train?

It could have been before midnight or well after when I retired to my bed. I'd eaten enough to satisfy my hunger, we'd had a very energetic day: cycling, swimming and trampolining, without the exhilaration of the events that unfolded in front of our eyes. And what a sight for sore eyes, and legs and arms they had been. My sore eyes - and legs and arms - closed, curled and folded, sinking into sleep as satisfied and serenely as the sun had sank over Lake Balaton.

And still another day on Lake Balaton, three days of the Grand Prix and the Orient Express to come. Before mentioning our triumphant return to Paris…