Читать книгу: «Danny Beer. Tourist on Wheels. A European Adventure», страница 2

Hello Romania
Sunday March 4, 2007, 97 km (60 miles) – Total so far: 1,015 km (631 miles)

It is a nice ride to the border. You decide against a detour to a 14th century Gothic church. It may have been nice but there are other nice things to find.

The Romanian border guard is quite interested in your story. Or maybe she is just doing her job. Either way she lets you through without trouble.

A dog is the first to greet you as you head into Satu Mare. It is of no great bother and soon gives up chase. A bank and restaurant are the first and second orders of business. After that you have difficulty trying to leave town. After a while of traversing the town’s pot-hole rieen roads you head in the general direction out on what may or may not be the road. But you find your way.

A strong side wind makes life difficult along the busy highway. Drivers here are not as friendly as in Hungary and the previously two mentioned conditions make for some dangerous cycling. Of particular danger is when a large truck would pass or overtake sending a strong gust of wind your way.

Off the highway the road deteriorates badly. After a particularly scary moment when a car and a truck try to pass you at the same time you decide enough is enough and ride in the middle of your lane. The creates a myriad of angry toots from over anxious drivers forced to slow down and wait a second or two to overtake.

“Why should I wait when I can just easily run you off the road’ and “This is a road. It’s built for cars. Cyclists are of secondary importance to cars.” You can almost hear them say, in Romanian of course. You just wave ‘hello’. This usually works better than any rude hand gestures as it helps settle your anger and, if they bother to look, intensifies the driver’s anger.

“What is he doing? Waving? What does that mean? I want to make him angry so I can stop my car and maim him.” Well it is better than the old road-rage one-up-man-ship salute anyway.

Ninety-seven km later you roll into town and find a hotel. But alas, no hot water so you decide to remain smelly. You go for a walk down the street. Someone taps you on the shoulder. It’s a policeman. He wants to see your passport but it’s at the hotel. He just wants to know what you are up to. As a foreigner you must stand out a mile away. Or maybe he could smell your sweaty stink.

Romania certainly has a different feel to it than Hungary. You see evidence of great poverty and hovels of buildings. People also get around in traditional garb, women in flowery dresses and men in wide brimmed hats. It is definitely car country though and drivers have no intention of giving up this fact. A shame really as it distracts from the otherwise beauty of this country.

The good, the bad, and the ugly of Romania: Beware of blue vans in Marmarus
Monday March 5, 2007, 69 km (43 miles) – Total so far: 1,084 km (674 miles)

A dry and calm day awaits the day’s cycling. A long incline followed by mediocre-to-bad road conditions hampers speed. At the top of the summit the frontier police wave you down. You have a friendly chat as they flip through your passport. They do inform you however that you are legally required to wear a fluorescent vest, of which you buy when next convenient.

You find a small restaurant in Sapanta and try to order something from the menu. You sit down and soon bread then soup arrives. You await the main course but it never comes. A visit to the Merry Cemetery and then to a near complete monastery sees a lot of your camera film.

The Ukraine is ever present a mere swim across the Tisa on your left. The next stop is Sighetu Marmatei. At first glance this is a dusty chaotic town. After a couple brief queries about accommodation it appears to be an expensive dusty chaotic town.

A guy drives up beside you and starts a conversation. You both stop and he recommends heading out of town for a place to stay. He’s a cyclist too and wants to help out a fellow cyclist. He shows you his calves.

So you head out of town. A car vents its frustration at not being able to overtake for a precious few seconds. As opportunity presents itself it goes around only to slowly and deliberately cut you off and force you off the road. You veer off the tarmac but stay on the bike as you brake to a halt. He really wanted to cause some harm. You decide to wait for a few moments as it leaves your sight. You don’t want any more vengeance from the psycho driver. Your knees are still shaking as you find a pension nearby. That last incident was enough for today. Hopefully tomorrow no blue vans will cross your pass. Cyclists beware of blue vans in northern Romania.

The pension is nice. You are fed soup and some kind of rice-meat things which are apparently traditionally Romanian. You chat to two pretty Romanian women who are friends of the host. Perhaps. You wonder. But nah, it could never work. A hot shower and a cold beer or three and it is just about time for some sweet dreams.

The best of Romania
Tuesday March 6, 2007, 66 km (41 miles) – Total so far: 1,150 km (715 miles)

A sunny and clear, albeit cold sky greets your day. You are treated to breakfast and soon make your way back towards town to wander about the open air peasant village museum. You invite your host’s friend Lilly to join you but she makes her excuses. She would like to come but she has to tend to her pigs.

Upon seeing your bike you notice someone had gone through your bags during the night. Due mainly to laziness you are in habit of leaving some front bags on your bike. Nothing much of value is left in there anyway. Never-the-less some cheap but useful camping bowls are taken. It is more of an annoyance than inconvenience but something to be weary about.

You spot a blue van heading into town and thoughts return to the previous evening. You get to the peasant village museum but nobody is at the ticket office. So you wander about. It is alright but there isn’t that much to see. In comparison the 1850’s Sovereign Hill in Ballarat, Australia, is much larger and indepth. The baaing of sheep adds to the atmosphere. You meet some people there. The museum is closed. But you’ve had enough anyway. You offer to pay for your ticket none-the-less but the guy shrugs it off.

Back on the bike you head eastwards. A blue van passes sending your heart pounding. Then another and another. But all without incident and you soon relax to the traffic. It soon heats up and you shed some layers, replacing the beanie for the baseball cap.

The villages here are quite beautiful. Elaborate wooden arches adorn each yard entrance. There are quite a few old wooden churches. The oldest, a 14th century church is to be found at Leud, down a very bumpy, very muddy road. But worth seeing though.

At one church are some reporter-photographers. They are quite nice and quite interested in who you are and why you are here.

Eventually you make it to Lecel. A boy greets you so you stop to chat. He shares your namesake and is interesting to talk to. Apparently, though, things are ‘bad’ in Romania. You have been heading towards some snow-lined mountains. But tomorrow should see you head south over the Carpathenians and into Transilvania.

And now dinner awaits. Cooked by your new host.

And into Transilvania: To Bistrita
Wednesday March 7, 2007, 83 km (52 miles) – Total so far: 1,233 km (766 miles)

Today’s breakfast is Romanian cheese. No, it’s quite delicious. Really. And filling. You pay your tab, pack your bags and hit the road. A long slow ascent greets your morning. Followed by a much longer, yet not quite so slow descent.

Snow becomes increasingly common as you climb higher, then slowly disappears ‘cept for distant peaks as you descend into Transilvania. Road conditions remain variable.

As you move south traffic increases in volume. There are more larger trucks now and they have places to go. Horse drawn carts, as is this previous week, are as common as ever. Their drivers have a look of simple contentedness about them.

You are treated to pizza for lunch, not far from your final destination of Bistrita. You watch a scene across the road which seems to sum up life in Romania. A businessman in a nice car, parked, toots angrily at an old man behind him, busy chatting to a friend while sitting on his bike. The old man doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get out of the way so the businessman dudges him with his car. Then he seems to move. The businessman reverses back a bit more and then does nothing. He is ready to go but wait. Now he’s looking at his map. All the while chatting on his mobile phone.

So Romania seems divided. A new business class is out and about. They have things to do and places to be and no time to be waiting for those who don’t. Then there are those stuck in the past. They are little influenced by the technological advances they see about them. They lead their lives as they always have done and don’t show any signs of doing otherwise. They are happy the way they are. It is the new business class which lead the life of less-contentedness.

You make it to Bistrita. Now this is a city. There is what appears to be a nice cathedral, partially hidden behind a façade of renovation. It is still early. So aided with a belly full of pizza you press on. But by the outskirts of town you spot a motel and decide to call it a day. Sometimes it is hit and miss with restaurants and accommodation. Besides, this truck up your ass is getting to be more scary than annoying.

Today is the first day you are not stopped by the police. In Maramures they spot you and ask to see your papers once a day. They are friendly though and ask questions resembling conversations more so than interrogations.

Bistrita to Sighisoara.: Not dead yet
Thursday March 8, 2007, 144 km (89 miles) – Total so far: 1,377 km (856 miles)

If you must admit, last night you were somewhat worried about the increasingly cyclist unfriendly traffic. These worries are not groundless. The only non-pedestrian traffic which actually seems pleased to see you are the horse drawn carts. Of which though still plentiful in number become increasingly rarer as you head south.

To be fair though a large majority of vehicles do give a fair birth when passing. As long as it doesn’t inconvenience them that is. Others are simply careless, or even spiteful. Yet for some reason you cease worrying about the traffic, ‘cept for the occasional van or truck which insists on passing at the near impossible. These send curses out at all angles.

One of the most annoying aspects is when vehicles insist on overtaking other slower vehicles by forcing you off the road. The road is clear. A lone cyclist is future road kill. Nothing more.

“Bread!?! I never ordered any bread.” You think. Why must restaurants always insist on giving you bread, charged to your bill of course. But this ducky aint for fucky. “Take it away.” You insist.

Today’s cycling is merely a means to an end. The end being Sighisoara. Armed only with the crappy Lonely Planet guidebook map you have no idea that today will involve over 140 km of riding. Not until the last thirty km do you decide to press on to the end. You can rest tomorrow, maybe. Maybe not, the hotel is pretty crap so it would be nice to move on in the afternoon.

Road conditions improve for most of the day. There are a few nice downhill stretches, preceded by the not-so-nice uphill stretches, but predictably cyclist unfriendly traffic hinders any substantial speeds.

Almost to Brasnov.: Longer than half
Friday March 9, 2007, 94 km (58 miles) – Total so far: 1,471 km (914 miles)

What a delightful morning spent wandering about the citadel visiting museums and taking photos. Right, now that all that tourist crap is done you’re outta here. Just fifty km. After yesterday’s effort you don’t want to overdo it today.

A nice looking motel/restaurant/disco is spotted a few km short of your goal. You press on. Then another motel is seen. It is a little too expensive so you keep going. The next place will be better. The next place is closed. Three vicious dogs greet you at the next place. Perhaps it is a sign as there isn’t anything there anyway.

You turn off the highway onto a minor road eventually to Bran. But it takes you back onto the highway. Forty km later and on dusk you find the next motel. But a “Reservat’ sign bars your entry. A private function is being held so as a once off the hotel and restaurant are closed. But no need to fret as the next motel is only four km further on. You may only be 23 km from Brasnov but enough is enough.

Traffic today doesn’t seem as unfriendly as it was yesterday. The shoulder is now two feet wider to, well, two feet wide. But nothing is perfect though and a few moments have you raising your hair.

To Brasov.: Attacked by born agains
Saturday March 10, 2007, 27 km (17 miles) – Total so far: 1,498 km (931 miles)

Today you can relax, wander about, visit museums, search the internet, take photos and just chill out. But first you have 27 km of cycling to do. It is always the last few km which are the hardest and today is no exception.

Brasov is nice. Really nice. But you’ll move on tomorrow. It can get lonely out there. It’s not so bad on the bike but sitting around bird watching gets boring after a while.

It gets hot. The sun blinds you. Too bad you left your sunnies in the hotel. You walk down the street. A guy approaches handing out leaflets to some live act in town. Which is fine. Then he starts preaching about God. Which is not so fine. “Think about heaven. Think about eternity.” He says. You decide to make a conscientious effort NOT to attend the gig. Any amount of loneliness is preferable to being talked at about religion.

Brasov to Sinaia.: Hello Count Duckula
Sunday March 11, 2007, 89 km (55 miles) – Total so far: 1,587 km (986 miles)

You have a lot to do today so you had best get going. You take a ‘short cut’ out of Brasov which ends in a dead end. Back-tracking back to the highway first one then another then a whole pack of dogs come at you. Difficult as it is to cycle on a bad road, through curses you make your departure. So those warnings of packs of stray dogs prove true after all.

Traffic, void of trucks, is more pleasant today. Cars still honk ‘outta the way’ and buses never fail to pass as close as possible, even when given room to move over.

Rasnov is the first stop. It’s quite a climb to the fortress but they have a nice exhibit up there. A few people are dressed up in medieval garments. On your exit you see a big group of tourists being driven up in those horse drawn carts, getting the royal tourist treatment.

Bran castle is alright but much over-rated. It is simply teeming with tourists there. It does have a pretty cool secret passage though.

From there it is up over the mountains and down to Sinaia. Here the main attraction is Peles castle. And it is magnificent. It closes at five so you had better hurry though. You make it by 4:30 but the ticket office has already shut. It closes at four. And it won’t open again for three days. Fortunately security are nice and allow you to look around briefly and take some pics.

Tomorrow is a long day to Bucharesti so find a hotel, find some pizza, and rest up.

To Bucharesti.: The waitress from hell
Monday March 12, 2007, 130 km (81 miles) – Total so far: 1,717 km (1,067 miles)

Okay, traffic may be heavy but the road is wide with shoulders, oh so lovely shoulders. A constant downhill helps keep the speed up all morning. So why turn off?? Even if you did find that other road it won’t be any better than this. Get back on the highway. That’s right.

Just before lunch, and about half way is a detour around a large town so you take it. Well the sign says Bucuresti this way. Almost immediately the road turns crap. The surface is horrible and the shoulders have disappeared completely. You make a conscious decision to turn off onto a smaller road for the last sixty km but the sign indicates it is a truck route. You decide to give it a miss. Most interesting and especially scary is when you move over to the left lane to let a big semi-truck turn off to the right. As it passes you on the right another semi-truck passes on the left. It wants to turn off to the right as well. It just wants to overtake the other truck while doing so. You miss being sandwhiched between the two.

Sure enough the road improves immediately after joining up with all the town traffic. The next order of business is to get some lunch. You find a restaurant and order some kind of chicken dish and a coke. But the coke is warm so you try to ask for some ice. Another customer makes matters worse by saying you want ‘diet’ and she tries to give you a diet pepsi. Eventually ice is procured and you sit down, drink your coke and await your chicken. Half an hour later it still hasn’t arrived. You try to ask. Is it coming? Is it being cooked? You know, there aren’t any other customers here keeping you busy.

“Two minutes.” She tells you. Five minutes later you ask again. Then she comes out with the frozen chips to ask if you want any. Why are they still frozen? You asked for them half an hour ago. You point to your watch to emphasise your point. You get your chicken and that is it. She gives you two gerkins as some kind of salad and later you see how expensive this salad is! Disappointed you pay for your overcharged meal and go. Coming into Bucuresti your nice wide shoulder is replaced by a nice looking sidewalk which is absolutely useless for cycling on.

Cars start to get a bit more aggressive. The white minibuses are the worst, insisting on driving as close as possible and more some irrelevant of how much room they have on the other side. Roadwork is being done which is no great hassle as it slows the traffic and in places allows you your own private road to ride on.

Through town and to the hostel you go. Let’s see what this town has to offer.

Welcome to Bulgaria: Chased by truckstop whores
Wednesday March 14, 2007, 89 km (55 miles) – Total so far: 1,806 km (1,122 miles)

So what did you get up to yesterday in Buchuresti? A couple museums, a couple churches, a palace and a monument or two. Just the usual tourist stuff. It needs to be done and is all very interesting and all. Did you step on anyone’s grave to try to take a photo? Probably. But they won’t be complaining too much.

You see a Korean couple and take them back to show the hostel. You find a couple guys and hang out with them in the evening. A chance meeting with a lovely local girl sees you head to a nice bar with cool live blues music. Then a club. It is all very fine.

You wake up late. But not that late. A slight headache dogs you for most of the afternoon. You pack and go, saying your goodbyes. Wow. It was great to finally have a crew to hang with.

You follow the signs out of town. The roads are crap and you get the suspicion that you are going ‘round in circles. But no, you leave Bucuresti and only then does the road improve. It is a freeway in everything but name. And it is great for cycling on. Like its equivalent two days previous to the north, wide shoulders give you plenty of room. But a sharp ditch gives an unpleasant feeling every time a truck passes.

You stop to buy chocolate and a gypsy tries to sell you a towel. The language barrier doesn’t deter him. You don’t need nor want a towel, even one this ugly. Seventy km later and you make it to the border town. Not seeing any other signs you head to the port. You are told to go back four km and turn right. Back in town some guy tries to sell you a camera. Interesting that you first think about not needing it before the moral consideration of buying this obviously stolen object.

You find the bridge and border over the Danube. Bulgarian border control on the other side are friendly. Out on the highway you spot a couple girls, one with her skirt hitched up high showing her ass. They also spot you. The other one waves and starts to run after you. Then reality dawns and you realize just what these girls are; truck stop whores. You keep going before thinking otherwise. Well you could always pitch your tent up somewhere. But nah.

You look back twice. Each time the girl waves frantically after you. A couple more girls are further up. All on the other side of the busy road.

A sign tempts with offers of accommodation sending you into town. You are about to head back to the highway when a hotel is spotted. But it’s too expensive. Wait, you’re getting confused. He is telling you in Levi, not euro. The price is cheap. And you are given a discount for being so stingy.