More travel stories… Slovakia to Bulgaria
12 August: Slovakia – Tatry Mountains and Spisske Podhradie
A week ago we were in the Tatry Mountains in the rain. After two nights we decided that we had to move on, rain or shine, most likely rain. We’d enjoyed our stay because we had the company of two super guys but after they left and the rain was clearly not about to leave, we had to get back into our damp clothes and get going. I was really going to miss the guys. In such a short time, I felt very fond of Matteas and Luide.
Slovakia is a very picturesque country. Everywhere you look it is always a perfect picture: old Gothic walled cities, monasteries, chapels and castle ruins, and that is what I’ll remember of Slovakia.
Our next stop was Spisske Podhradie – described in Lonely Planet as “a dusty little town”. It certainly is a dusty little town with not much more to it than the castle up on the hill and an old Gothic walled town, both National Heritage sites. Unlike Poland, these sights are not crowded and don’t cost much at all to see. In fact, they are so understated I felt like I was one of the lucky tourists to visit the place before it’s over commercialised.
We walked up to the castle in the morning. Distance can sometimes be deceptive and in this case it really was. We were in full bike gear which includes big off road boots that weigh about a ton each and are designed to slide, not grip. I guess we should really have thought it through a bit better. Biking gear is made for protection – not walking about tourist sites, up slippery rock stairs and definitely not up hills. I did my fair share of huffing, puffing and slipping as I struggled up the muddy path. I did get up the hill, round the castle and down again. It was worth the visit too as the views are spectacular. Unfortunately there is not much information and not in English so all I know is that this is the largest castle in the area and was politically a very important place too.
13 August: Hungary – Szilvasvarad and Magyar Route 66
Slovakia is a little country and so the next day we ended up driving all the way to Hungary. We took the scenic route, taking in more of the pretty landscape and quaint towns but by late afternoon, we were in Hungary.
Most of the time, our route planning is slightly haphazard. Before I left the UK a friend of mine asked where we would be staying in France. She was a bit surprised that I didn’t actually know where we were staying or even going. Generally I have a few ideas of places that I would like to see specifically and then beyond that I try to read the travel guide and figure out a route that is more or less where we need to go, not too many detours and has some national parks or touristy things to see. Most of the time, we try to find scenic roads – because that is what we do mostly – drive from place to place. Sometimes we are lucky and find brilliant accommodation, some times we don’t. Sometimes it takes ages to find anything and other times, its right in front of us.
Hungary is a brilliant example of finding a great place just when you need it. I’d planned to drive through a small section of Hungary that would take us past wine and horse country and we would exit onto the correct road for entering Romania (on the advice of Matthias, we should specifically aim to travel on this road). At about that time in the evening, we pulled over, and agreed to keep eyes open for a campsite; I spotted a small sign for Motorbike Camping. About 500m down the road we turned and drove up a steep driveway where we were met by Lain (I’m not exactly sure of the spelling) and a party of Dutch bikers.
Something non-biking people don’t always seem to quite understand about bikers is our genuine love of motorbikes. It’s not an image or rebel status, we aren’t wild or dangerous or have a weird cult going on. Yes, there are bikers all over the world with all kinds of attitudes and there are some that really let us down – but you would find that in life generally. It seems that no matter where you go, bikers enjoy hanging out together. We love to look at each other’s bikes, we talk about them, and we ask advice and help each other out. We tell each other about great roads, welcoming places and generally have a lot to talk about. The best is that we make friends really quickly and quite often; these friendships last – bonded by motorbikes.
After our days of rain, this was the most welcoming, wonderful place to find ourselves. The Dutch gang had all independently driven over there to meet up with a Romanian chap who would take them for a tour in Romania. There was a big pot of Hungarian Goulash on the fire, a quaint bar, clean facilities and green grass campsite. It was a huge sigh of relief to be in a safe, comfortable place and I could just sit down and feel myself being practically embraced by hospitality.
Szilvasvarad is a little touristy town on the border of the Bukk Nemzeti Park. By this time, a miracle had occurred and we were able to go for a walk up the hill in the sunshine. Having done the last hill in biker boots, this time I thought flip-flops would be a suitable challenge. If there were a section in the Olympics for flip-flop dexterity, I’d certain stand a chance of at least getting into the team. Sunshine, fresh air, good company – things were certainly fantastic.
We didn’t see much of Hungary and I’m sure there is a lot more to explore, but the food was excellent. It could just be we were lucky but the food was good. I wouldn’t say it’s particularly cheap though. We also had a good local wine that is up there with some of the best I’ve tried. We all know wine is a very personal preference but wine from Eger seems to be good (in my opinion).
We were there for two nights. I was reluctant to leave but as my mother would say to me, “Keep your eye on the doughnut.” which roughly translates into: we had to continue driving to Cape Town and not just camp out at Lain’s place until either money ran out or he kicked us out.
17 & 18 August: Romania – Satu Mare, Cluj Napoca, Sinaia and Giurgiu
As mentioned, we needed to enter Romania at a certain point because it’s important to stick to good roads in Romania. Of course, if it’s bad roads you want, then venture off the main roads and you won’t need to go very far to find really bad, exciting roads with all kinds of obstacles too. I think this would be a brilliant holiday if you had to take some light dirt bikes and no gear at all.
We crossed into north-west Romania from Hungary at Satu Mare so that we could travel on the E81 which is a “principal” road. We could follow it all the way to Brasov and Bucharest (E60), keeping to good roads. There are many roads in Romania, just not many that have tar on them and the principal roads are excellent and consistently in a good-ish condition by comparison with other roads. Off the principal road, venture about 50m and you will be navigating gravel and potholes. We did a little detour of about 7km off the principal road and were straight into potholes. The travel guide says a small child can fit in the potholes. Correction, you could fit at least a large man or two in some of the potholes. In fact, they are so long you drive into the pothole and then drive out the other side but luckily the ones we did weren’t too deep. These roads would be absolutely impossible if it were raining – so as you may have gathered – the sun is out again.
All I had heard about Romania up till the time I got there was that it was third world, poor and primarily a peasant lifestyle. To be honest, I hadn’t heard much and so had few expectations. My lasting impression of Romania is of a very gentle country with a unique culture worth preserving. The landscape is some of the most pristine and unspoilt – both the wilderness and the land used for agriculture. The way of life is sweet. I don’t exactly know how to explain this. While driving along, I noticed that almost all the houses have little benches built into the outside wall. As evening approached I saw little old ladies sitting together and nattering on the benches. Old men sat pensively watching the traffic pass, keeping an idle eye on some chickens or a goat. Young people in their western clothes also sat chatting on the benches, to their friends and sometimes with their elders. They will spend a life time enjoying the company of their friends and family and watch all who come and go. They appreciated facing the world, not like in our Western homes that we do all we can to avoid even the casual glance of our neighbour. I thought about how lucky these people are to have friends for life, people to grow old with and to find the time to talk to daily face to face.
I know that right now Romania is in the process of entering the European Union (EU). I really hope with all my heart that this very delicate culture is not obliterated with entering the EU. For me, I think the Romanian roadside benches should be added to the National Heritage list.
So we travelled through the Marmures with its rustic villages and gentle fields rolling over the undulating landscape. Apparently this part of the world has been cut off from outside influences and is still what is called a peasant way of life. There are wells, horse-drawn carts, haystacks, fields laboured by hand and handicrafts still made in the traditional way BUT I didn’t feel that this was a desperate way of life. I have seen poverty that includes suffering but somehow this scene was not desperate. Clearly these people have less material wealth than we do but life appeared to be good. I was acutely aware of all these P.C. issues as we chugged through on our big heavily laden bikes ogling at the wooden churches with high steeples and ramshackled old buildings.
In contrast the cities were very romantic and westernised (excluding the roads that were patchworks and utterly knackered with mad traffic). We had brief tastes of city life in Cluj-Napoca and Sighisoara. There are old, beautiful, intriguing and strange buildings every where alongside concrete relics of the communist era. Seriously, you would not know where to start with sight seeing. Romanian hospitality was touching and the chance meetings we had left us feeling warm and glowing. From the lady selling watermelon who wanted to buy Paul’s knife, to the old man who wanted me to agree that the Russians were bad, to the biker who popped a mother of a wheelie on a mountain pass to say hi (who knows what he was riding but the belly of it looked good), to the young man who said hello in the campsite and gave us some wine.
Sinaia is one of the most beautiful and visited parts of the Carpathian Mountains. The landscape is dominated dramatic mountains covered with natural pine forest and from time to time we saw unusual turrets or the remains of a castle. It is a majestic landscape.
We decided to visit Siania but in our usual fashion hadn’t planned much ahead and so ended up camping in a no-star campsite just outside the town. The camping was really basic. Not just basic… basically filthy too. Any way, it’s £2.50 for the night for 2 bikes, 2 people and a tent… usually we pay about £5 per person and get the basics: not super clean but liveable. In Italy we paid €39 and had a very clean toilets and hot showers. Most of our travels have been slowly breaking us in for the more tough stuff and I think this was to be the first, but not last, of our seriously unpleasant accommodation. I probably shouldn’t mention this, but the toilets didn’t flush. They were just porcelain toilets with no plumbing, so that the you-know-what runs straight onto the floor. One of the cubicles had a big dump on the floor. Feeling sick? Me too. Having said that, I felt like a real snob. There were people there who were clearly enjoying their stay; sunbathing, relaxing and cooking over fires and I didn’t actually have a bad time and our tent, after all, is our home (and full of our own scum). I just had to walk quite a distance to use the nearest restaurant’s slightly less dodgy loos.
So with the roads deteriorating I’m now handling mountain passes with ease. I can even handle ruts, potholes and manic drivers all at the same time on a hairpin bend.
With the toilet and washing facilities deteriorating, I’m worried. Nearly 3 days without a shower and I looked and felt like a tramp. I mean, I was suffering. I’d run out of clean(ish) clothes, my hair was like straw and I wanted to get into a clean shower and scrub like crazy. Deodorant and wet wipes only do a so-so job of freshening up a dirty biker.
We navigated our way through Bucharest which is no small feat for a couple of bikers with heavy bikes, basic maps and a simple GPS. Unfortunately that was the whole visit to Bucharest. It looks like an interesting city that I’d quite like to visit on another trip. We passed the colossal Palace of Parliament that was built in the 1980s. I thought it was only the old South Africa that destroyed historic towns and made people homeless but clearly it was a lot more common than I thought. 70,000 people were made homeless to clear the space for this mega, imposing building.
En route out of Romania we stopped at the border town of Giurgiu. Paul wanted to do the border crossing but I vetoed the idea. I needed to find a cheap hotel with a clean shower. His insurance would run out that day and so did have a legitimate argument for pushing on. Given it was late already we decided to see if there was a hotel because the border crossing shops selling insurance would be closed already.
Giurgiu is a slightly strange place. As we drove around looking for a hotel I took in the slightly outlandish looking town. It appears to be a newer town with no old centre or old buildings at all. For a European city, this is a little unusual. I guess it was built in the communist era. There are high rise buildings everywhere and only a few shabby free standing houses towards the outskirts. The buildings all had that functional, slightly ugly 70’s look and face onto a small, attractive communal garden that was very busy. Everybody, absolutely everybody was out and enjoying the warm evening.
I loved it! I’m a bit like that. I really enjoy surreal places and this had an excellent peculiarity to it. No tourists!
We eventually found the hotel. At first I thought it was a derelict building but a local chap pointed us in the right direction and pointing said, “There is only one hotel in town.” So it had to be this one. It was a ten story high building standing in the middle of a field of dry grass and rubble. We drove up to see if it was vacant or in fact, still a habitable hotel.
I walked up the worn out green carpet, flanked by two garden gnomes, into the hotel lobby where I was met by a very yappy little dog. Having alerted every one of my presence, a dear lady (not out of sync with the gnomes) appeared and greeted me warmly. She didn’t speak any English but gestured in sweeping arm movements and little bows that I should enter the lift to look at a room. The lift too was fantastic. There was a 3 or 4 second delay before it started to sluggishly move and that would have been fine if the landlady hadn’t held her breath. Anyway, we made it to the first floor and I had a look at the room. It was all has-been and worn out. I didn’t care. I went straight to the bathroom to check it had running water and a clean toilet. This most certainly would do!
I went back to Paul with a grin and said he should now go in and see if he liked the room. About 5 minutes later he came out with a puzzled look on his face and agreed we should take the room, “Given there is no other hotel in the place… I guess this will do. I kind of like the communist chic.”
“Yipee!”
Showered and refreshed we went back into the town to have a nosey. There were signs all over the place that I wished I could read. They appear to be official government buildings or parks. I had read that Ceausescu, a particularly unpopular Romanian leader in the 70’s, had made purpose built concrete towns and moved peasants off the land. At a guess, this is one of those towns.
We had a relatively early start the next morning so that we could spend however much time it took at the border and still get to Veliko Tarnovo in Bulgaria. Paul was worried about his insurance so when the border control asked for his insurance I saw his eyes go rather round and he fumbled for his papers in a frantic way. He had his helmet on so he practically shouted at the guy “I’m going to buy Bulgarian insurance on the other side of the border.”
The border fellow grumbled and let him through. I’d my papers ready, but he took a two second glance at my passport and waved me through without wanting to see my insurance. When we chatted to a van of Aussies in the queue they told us the border control had basically said that they were to slip him a present in their passports which I guess they did. I think we had a lucky escape.
20 August: Bulgaria – Veliko Tarnovo
The border crossing from Romania to Bulgaria was superb. Most of the border crossings so far had been a little dull if they exist at all. This one was a whole big event literally and it felt like a transition that one should take note of and possibly even salute. There were two huge white columns that I’d seen from a distance standing at the entry of the bridge. The bridge goes over the impressive and substantial River Danube. It’s a hefty ornate bridge with decorative lights. Half way along the bridge is a sign indicating you have crossed into Bulgaria.
When we reached the other end, there was a short but very slow queue of traffic manned by several very smart and polite officials. The passport control that we spoke to was a real card and kept on breaking out into Queen’s song “Bicycle!”
We only had to cover about 120km to get from the border to Veliko Tarnovo. This isn’t a very long distance even on a scooter but the temperature had soared. Later we saw on the Bulgarian news it had reached 43 deg C. I had about 2.5 litres of water and Paul a bit less because he’d more to drink the day before. Normally, this would have been enough. I was struggling and felt very tired and could feel my concentration slipping. I could see Paul wasn’t feeling too well either. His speed was really erratic and swayed a bit on the road. By this time, we were not far from our destination and had run out of water so we had to try to drive on regardless. It would only be another 20 minutes but that is such a long time when every minute is tough.
When we arrived, I underestimated how bad Paul was feeling. I had taken my jacket and gloves off already and was not enjoying the process of finding a room to stay. Paul was wearing all his gear and can be rather dithery at the best of times. I eventually took lead and then found a shaded parking spot and pulled over. I stared long and hard at him. His face was really bright red and he wasn’t sweating. I realised that he HAD to get liquid and out of the heat as quickly as possible. So we went into a restaurant where I forced him to drink until he couldn’t any more. After that, I took the good old flip-flops out my bag, left Paul, and went to find a place on foot. It worked. Around the corner and up a steep hill, there was a sign for rooms. It looked perfect. The room was cool and clean.
A day later, we’re still here. Its 29 deg C in the room but a bit more overcast now (and might rain). This morning I checked the thermometer I keep in my tank bag. It recorded 61 deg C which meant we were probably subjected to temperatures in the 50’s when we stopped on the bikes.
posted by Sandigs @ 7:40 AM
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