I really liked Budapest but I'm also happy that I'm back on the road today, hunting for new locations. Rain showers all day, some heavy, but then the weather has been overcast for the last couple of days now, in fact, I'm in the middle of an amazing thunder storm as I type.
So, 250 kilometres, due East of Budapest, I've easily crossed the border into Romania and it's still flat and featureless, but then I'm still in the Carpethian Basin and I know the Capethian Mountains will appear soon; they must as they horseshoe there way all round three sides of Hungary.
I decided yesterday that if I'm going to Romania, I have to visit Bram Stoker country, Transalvaynia, and whatsmore, it's hilly and is a good ride, according to Olav, a German biker also staying at Biker Camp.
We all possibly have the same, horse and cart-ish image of Romania, I certainly do and frankly, so far, that's kinda what it's been. It's poor here there's no doubt, roads are shocking, rusty factory's that look derelict are still grinding their cogs and spewing smoke, roadside abandoned old vehicles missing limbs, most bar and cafe signs are handpainted and not by Monet, but then I haven't seen Bucharest yet. My first major city was Oradea, a perfectly normal, reasonably pleasant place where I city-centre stopped to map read and was soon heading for Camp Vineyard in Spinus (sounds like something out of a Carry On movie). The campsite blurb read well, it's a small site with only 30 pitches, just what I like, and as I was wondering if it would be full at this time of year, guess what, my first sighting; yup, a horse and 4-wheeled, car-tyred cart, muffin-topped with an enormous amount of hay and this was in a suburb of Oradea, right outside the Audi showroom, what a contrast.
Back to the road; a glance at the GPS which shows 34 kms to destination, so I'm thinking, hoping, that that should get me to the hills I can see in the distance. All of a sudden, with 20 k's to go, I'm turning left off the first half-decent road I've been on, onto a shocker; the road looked like an impressionist painter was using various sized bits of tarmac to cover a stone-cobbled canvas and it rattled through to my bones. However, I was climbing and very excitied at this elevation as it had been pancake-flat for the last 300 kms; I'm finally in the hills and a true rural track. I approach a couple of weather-beaten shepherds, leaning on their staffs, dogs patient at their feet and as I pass, I wave, they immediately respond with matching action and yellow-teethed smiles; I find myself comfortable in these isolated hills, certainly not what I would have felt in my early, more apprenhansive, playing-it-safe days of the trip. Here it comes, proper Romania and what I'm really looking for; yes, I like the big city and need my fix every now and then but it's middle-of-nowhere countryside where my heart lies.
Village after village, I had the biggest smile on my face and maybe it was obvious because I cheerfully waved at everybody I passed and each and every person, eagerly waved back. I wondered at one point that a message had been sent ahead that I was approaching because on a couple of occasions I got waved at first. I loved that last 20 kms today, battered farm machinery that should be in a museum; flocks of geese nonchalantly crossing the road; chickens everywhere, scratching for morsals; head-scarfed old women toiling, carrying heavy loads or just sitting and watching; mucky, smiley kids, happy in their playtime and of course, me ol' horse'n'carts, (in one case, another amuzing contrast, the driver, if that's what you call them, was on a mobile phone). Terrific!
Arrive Camp Vineyard in Spinus and am immediately and warmly greeted by Klaus, a friendly faced, Moses-looking, Dutchman with a magnificent, white, Father Christmas beard. We exchange pleasantries and upon the distant sound of thunder, I take up his caravan offer for an extra 5 Euros a night and boy, was that a good idea; the rain came down so hard I recorded the sound on my phone. Extraordinary!
As I'm unpacking, I notice Klaus and a helper who turns out to be Marcus from Nigeria, along with 3 or 4 of those mucky, smiley kids I mentioned earlier, wheel-barrowing big logs of wood across the camp. I offer to help, which is immediatley accepted, and I could do with the excercise anyway, so the next 2 hours until dark, we lug logs. The campsite has no gas so all the heat is generated by wood, 220 trees are needed every winter and right now there's no electricity, at least from the grid which is a very common occurance, so Klaus has his generators on.
It's wonderful here, I've luckily struck gold again and I'm looking forward to helping with the rest of the logs tomorrow; basically, having not done any real work since I've been on the road, the physical labour is welcome.
Oh, I haven't mentioned the views, just take it from me that it's lush green rolling hills as far as you can see ... just beautiful.
I need to go as I added another hour when I crossed the border today so it's now 1.45am here and I can't understand where the time has gone but it's been good time ...
Good night x
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