Pedalling Through Romania's Myths and Mountains
5 ROMANIA
959 Km – 19 Days
30 June – 17 August 2007
MAP
PHOTOS
30
July – Szeget, Hungary – Arad, Romania – 78 kilometres
Ed and I departed Szeget, powered by a stiff tailwind that became a near-gale-force
crosswind, making it challenging to ride. The road was further congested by
trucks and heavy traffic, and I feared for my life. Upon arrival at the border,
I found my Hungarian visa wasn't what I'd envisaged, but 2 x 10-day visas (where
did that come from?). I thus overstayed, and after being shunted back and
forth from building to building, I was eventually allowed to leave. Phew!
I
was immensely excited to see Romania. It finally felt as if I were on my way, and since childhood, I had been intrigued by gipsies and understood there were still real
gipsies in Romania. Add to that the mystery of Dracula's castle and place names
like Transylvania, and I couldn't wait to explore.
As
always in a foreign country, the language remained a significant obstacle;
everything (as expected) was in Romanian, and truly little English was spoken.
Arad
was reached late, and searching for the campsite indicated on the map revealed
only an abandoned field. By then, it wasn't simply raining but also dark, and
we weakened at the sight of a pension.
31
July - Arad – Bârzava – 60 kilometres
Arad
was a bustling town, with many old buildings that, for the most part, needed TLC. Fifty years of communism left its mark. There were numerous
apartment blocks, all unattractive and in poor repair. Arad also
appeared to be an industrial town and a transport hub.
Countries
vary tremendously, and just as one becomes used to the how-where-and-when of one,
it's time to cross the border, where everything is vastly different. Suddenly,
campsites were few and far between. Instead, budget accommodation was found at
truck stops, which typically served inexpensive food and offered basic rooms.
1
August - Bârzava – Deva – 100 kilometres
In
the morning, I fixed the slow puncture that had been giving trouble for some
time and then made our way in the direction of Bârzava. The countryside was intriguing, dotted with small communities of real-life gipsies, complete with horse-drawn carts and elderly
ladies dressed in black. It reminded me of something from a forgotten era. However,
the gipsies were a tad disappointing as they weren't dressed like the gipsies I'd
in mind. Think long, bright, flowery skirts, blouses adorned with gold coins and
headscarves.
Cycling
was challenging and sometimes downright dangerous, as traffic was hectic and
the main road jam-packed with trucks of all shapes and sizes. Nevertheless, the
rural villages were quiet, and residents found us as different as we found
them. Generally, communities only had basic facilities. Water was drawn
from a communal well, and farmers worked the fields by hand. Filling our water
bottles meant stopping, lowering the bucket into the well, then
hoisting the full bucket back up using a pulley system.
Overnighting
was in Deva, situated on the left bank of the Mures River and dominated by the ruins
of a citadel perched atop a hill.
2
August- Deva - Geoagiu Băi – 27 kilometres
Departing
Deva meant following the tremendously busy, poorly maintained main road,
making for a nerve-wracking ride. At the soonest opportunity, we turned off onto a
smaller path. A sign pointed towards a Roman thermal bath, and as it was a mere
12 kilometres down the drag, I thought it was worth exploring. Geoagiu Bai was a
small but lively town where camping was in someone's backyard, surrounded by chickens
and dogs. The only facility was a rudimentary long-drop as a toilet.
3
August - Geoagiu Băi – Blaj – 91 kilometres
The
following morning, we proceeded along a dirt track, past numerous small
villages, farmlands, cornfields and even vineyards. The countryside was scenic,
with the route twisting and turning over wooded mountains and across rivers.
4-5
August - Blaj - Făgăraș – 135 kilometres
It
wasn't long before finding ourselves firmly in the heart of Transylvania. The name conjured up images of scary-looking villagers, wooden crosses and howling
wolves. This mental image wasn't entirely incorrect. We often encountered askew
graves and wooden crosses, with bunches of garlic hanging from gates and doors. As a child, I was excited to be in Romania and couldn't wait to go exploring. The
country offered fantastic riding through densely wooded mountains, medieval
towns, and fortresses steeped in legend.
Făgăraș
didn't disappoint; nestled in the foothills of the Făgăraș Mountains, it was
home to the Făgăraș Fortress.
6
August - Făgăraş – Bran - 63 kilometres
Before
getting underway, we attempted to find breakfast, but at 9.30 am, it seemed too
early to eat, but not too early for beer. Individuals were drinking beer at
pavement restaurants, but when enquiring about food, the reply was, "Don't know at
this hour". The ride was beautiful through heavily wooded mountains and along
raging rivers. Upon arrival in Bran, we anticipated finding clues to Dracula's
Castle, but merely found the ominous-sounding "Vampire Camping".
7
August - Bran
The
following day was spent in Bran, where a visit to Bran Castle revealed its real history.
I learned the castle was constructed in 1388 atop a cliff, offering panoramic
views of the nearby hills. The castle served as a customs office and a fortress, used to stop the Ottoman Empire's expansion. Although the castle had
many owners, it did indeed belong to Vlad Dracul, or Vlad the Impaler, the
inspiration for Bram Stoker's vampire, Dracula.
8
August - Bran – Campulung – 59 kilometres
Eddie
and I biked over the scenic Carpathian Mountains via Bran Pass. A stunning ride
and the dividing line between Transylvania and Valencia. The language remained
a problem. Not only did I buy yeast instead of butter, but a fountain pen
without ink instead of a ballpoint pen, and cream instead of yoghurt. The
learning curve was indeed steep. Towards the end of the day, accommodation
was at a pension in historic Campulung. Virtually all the places encountered
had long, fascinating histories. Campulung was no different, with a
multitude of beautiful buildings dating back to the 13th century.
9
August - Campulung – Târgușoru – 65 kilometres
The
route to Taragovista, home to the Chindia Tower, built by Vlad Dracula in
the 15th century, featured a brilliant descent. Reaching Targovista early, we decided to overnight there rather than continue to
Bucharest, still about 80 kilometres away.
"Pension
King" became home that night, but it turned out not much of a palace as the name
indicated, as it was situated in the back streets next to a scrapyard.
10
August - Targovista – Bucharest - 98 kilometres
Biking
into Bucharest was hair-raising, as is the case with nearly all cities, and came
with horrendous traffic, especially on a Friday afternoon. However, a helpful
taxi driver gave us directions to a campsite, located on the city's opposite
side. Unable to find it, we popped into an internet cafe and found the
campground. This meant retracing our steps to where we came from. The campsite
was lovely but mosquito-infested - at least it had plenty of trees.
Another
look at my passport revealed that my Romanian visa was granted for two days (valid
for three months), not three months as envisaged. There wasn't a great deal I
could do, and I intended to deal with it once at the border. Lesson learned:
always check your visa. Who gives a visa for two days, anyhow?
11
August – Bucharest
Casa
Alba Campsite had a convenient location, and we did the usual, shopping, laundry
and a tad of sightseeing. Included in our wanderings was a visit to the city's
iconic landmark, the massive, communist-era Parliament building with its 1,100
rooms, said to be the world's second-largest building. Far scarier was that we learned
more than 10000 people were bitten by stray dogs in Bucharest each year.
Bucharest
is a fun city with a long and fascinating history and a crazy mix of
communist-era, neoclassical, and Art Deco buildings, predominantly adorned with oyster-shell-shaped canopies. The hundreds of grey high-rise blocks of flats
from the communist era were of particular interest.
12-15
August – Bucharest
I
used the time to apply for both my Bulgarian and Turkish visas. Upon returning
from the city, I found the campsite invaded by what looked like hundreds of
little tents. It turned out to be the well-known Baltic Cycle group, on tour from the
Baltics to Cyprus. They mostly spoke Polish, except for one Brit and one lady
from New Zealand.
At
the Turkish Embassy, I was informed that a visa application had to be made in my
home country. After phoning my sister Amanda in SA, she returned with the news
that the Turkish Embassy there had promised to contact the Embassy, and that I should try
again in the morning. The next day I returned to the Turkish Embassy, and by 5 pm I had my visa. Hallelujah! I further phoned the Bulgarian Embassy and, yes,
the visa was granted, and I could pick it up the following day.
16
August - Bucharest – Oltenita – 98 kilometres
The
next morning, I was at the Hungarian Embassy at ten o'clock sharp, where I
found a crowd of people milling about. There was no rhyme or reason in the
procedures. After a while, an official pointed at me and took me to the front
of the queue, where I was handed my visa. A 15-day visa was granted, fair enough, and by noon, Eddie and I were on our way to the border. Instead of taking the
highway to Giurgiu, we opted to cycle to Oltenita via a much smaller path.
Still, we found no immigration office as indicated on our map. It seemed we
couldn't get out of Romania.
In
the process, we met Peter, a Romanian chap, who invited us to stay at his
house, a tiny 2-room wooden shack without a bathroom or kitchen. One could,
however, take a wee in the garden amongst the chickens. But, unfortunately, I couldn't
quite figure out what to do about the bowel movements.
17
August – Oltenita, Romania - Silistra, Bulgaria – 85 kilometres
After
a breakfast of fresh tomatoes and paprika from Peter's garden, we hurried to
the Calarasi border, before the veggies kicked in. Luckily, a ferry operated across
the Danube River to Silistra, Bulgaria. As can be expected, I was apprehensive about
my Romanian Visa dilemma. By then, I had been in the country for 20 days, not the two days indicated on my visa. I didn't say anything; I simply handed over my
passport to the border officials. They disappeared behind a screen, then reappeared
and returned my passport. All without a single word. I was relieved, to say the
least.
Communication in Bulgaria would be an even bigger
problem as Bulgarian uses the Cyrillic script. Add to that Bulgarians nod their
heads for no and shake it sideways for yes—I anticipated a few
misunderstandings.
