Day 55 - Ajdemir to near Rasova (51 miles)

It was not until nearly 9am that I set out this morning, fully enjoying the cool comfort of my cheap hotel and putting off the moment of departure into the morning heat until I felt I no longer could.

It was a five mile cycle to the town of Silistra and my entry point back into Romania; no lorries or cars this time at this quiet border crossing, just me in what felt like a remote outpost of the country.  By 9.45am I was back in Romania and heading east on the road that runs out of town and to Constanta. It was small, quiet and smooth, and enjoyable to cycle despite the initial extended ascent that took me up the valley side with, when the terrain allowed, fabulous views of the river before dropping down again. The day continued in the same fashion: a long ascent, an undulating ridge line, a descent to a village on the flood plain and a nice flat ride until the next ascent.  I worked my way through a series of tiny, simple villages through the still and the heat of morning while surrounded by fruit trees, vineyards and on one occasion a vast swathe of purple lavender. I rested under the shade of a mulberry tree, enjoying its produce, and I stopped at a roadside seller to buy cherries (I had eaten my strawberries last night). I stopped again, this time for coffee and extra water in the larger village of Bǎneasa, the shop a twin of the one in which I had met Marcel three days ago. I also tracked down the cash machine there that I had been told about: cash is king in Serbia, Bulgaria and Romania, especially in more remote parts and I did not want to be caught out, having the need to keep myself well fed and watered on what will be a hilly few days.

My turn away from Constanta and to the north was only a few miles further along, the road and journey similar to the start of the day. During the morning I had noticed that there was an increasing amount of water on the lower ground with lakes, marsh and reed beds. Now the hillsides were a patchwork of green and gold rolling fields, the colours and contours of home. However, the heat and those hills were taking their toll and by early afternoon I was looking for somewhere to camp. The place I found was scenic enough, nestled back in elder tress and shrub but not in the cool and shade of woodland which was what I had been hoping for. But by now just stopping trumped stopping at the perfect place.

It is now 5.30, I have eaten, dozed, and been woken by the sound of thunder and rain outside. I have no reason to venture from the comfort of my tent so I guess my time is best spent allowing my body to recover from the exertions of the day.

Day 54 - Ruse to Ajdemir (83 miles)

Today was a day of fast highway, quiet country roads and rough tracks in more or less equal measure. There were also some hills added to the mix, expected but not as bad as anticipated. The upshot of that and the generally good roads was that I made better time than expected, reaching my potential camping site by midday. It seemed sensible to alter my plan for the day, to use the afternoon to eat further into the miles, spend tonight in accommodation close to the town I had not expected to reach until tomorrow, and camp tomorrow night instead. Overall things went pretty well, except for the one time when they didn’t.

I left at 7.15am, partly because I was up and ready to go but also because it seemed sensible to get off the three-lane zombie apocalypse highway out of Ruse as early as possible. As it turned out it was again not that busy, although traffic increased as I approached the exit for the Friendship Bridge and once again there was the row of static lorries leading to the border. I can not help wondering that if this is what happens at the border of two Schengen countries, what are things going to be like back home in the future?

After the junction I was rid of most of the lorries but on a fast dual carriageway for fifteen miles, not crazy busy but with enough traffic to keep me wary, keep me pedaling and make me thankful for the quiet country lanes and tracks that followed. Narrow, well surfaced roads took me through small villages and a rough track took me alongside the Danube, although other than the very occasional glimpse the river remained out of sight behind a thick wall of trees and shrubs. My route then looped back to the main road, now a single carriageway and much quieter.

As I entered the village of Nova Cherna I stopped at a roadside fruit stall to buy some strawberries and ended up joining the owner and a couple of his colleagues for a coffee where once again my Spanish proved useful. I should have then gone through the town of Tutraken but missed the turning although picked the route up again shortly after. There then followed the best and the worst part of the day.

Shortly after Tutrakan the route goes through a series of tiny villages.  Mostly they are so small they are hardly worthy of the name and the lanes in some cases would be better described as farmer's tracks; packed mud paths cutting their way through woodland and the centre of wheat fields. But it was quiet and peaceful, the tracks were firm and mostly smooth and the villages were nestled into the landscape. It made for beautiful scenery albeit on a rather undulating route.

 

Dolno Ryakhovo

I was then faced with a choice. My gps gave me a route near the river to reach the next town, Srebarna, but the maps I had been lent by the Germans all those weeks ago had that as an alternative route. Their main route rejoined the main road but was seven miles longer. It seemed a 'no brainer' which option to take but it turned out to be the wrong decision.

Malak Preslavets

Dolno Ryakhovo

I turned down the lane to take the shorter route. The concrete road became a solid mud track through farmland, nothing to worry about as I had expected something like this from the map and had already done similar today. I followed the track through crops. It became more ill-defined. I became more dubious. When I checked, I was very slightly off route but there seemed to be nothing where the gps route was indicating a track to be so I pressed on; I was heading in the right direction and my path looked like it might converge with the indicated route further ahead. But further ahead things got worse: I was now in woodland on the flood plain close to the Danube where the firm mud had became softer, sticky and clay like, clinging to bike and wheels in great clods, clogging them, stopping them turning. And I was not getting nearer to that annoyingly close blue line - a few tens of yards away to my right through thick shrub and up a short but steep  escarpment - that told me where I was supposed to be. It was obviously time to retrace my steps. It took a lot of effort and a lot of regular mud removal and when I could I went to where the gps told me the route should be: I was in the middle of a crop field. It became clear that wherever the track may have once been, it was no longer there. 

Having wasted an hour, I ended up doing those extra seven miles and I am now in a cheap hotel in the small town of Ajdemir. I have eaten well in the restaurant next door and am a lot less muddy than I was earlier. Despite my efforts though, I am not sure I can say the same for my bike. 

Stage 9 Overview - Ruse, Bulgaria to Constanta, Romania (429 miles)

Sitting here in Ruse, Constanta and the end of my ride lies only 150 miles due east of me. But that direct line is not my route for this last stage: I will cycle east along the Danube for two more days before I once again enter Romania (where at least I can read the menus if not understand them) and then follow the Danube north to its delta, a UNESCO world heritage site, before heading down the coast to Constanta and my journey’s end. 

This final stage seemed an age away when I started out from France all those weeks ago yet today I set out on the final 429 miles of the EV6. In just over a week it should all be over.

A (short) History of Bulgaria

Bulgaria. For me the name conjures up a decades old image of postage stamps.  Stamps found in packets, cheaply bought. Foreign stamps, plentiful and of varied but colourful designs, intended to appeal to a young person, old enough to have a hobby but too young to give it any focus.

 
There must have been a lot of Bulgarian stamps in those packets for that country to have lodged in my mind. At the time it was just a name. Another country that seemed far away, inaccessible, unknown. I guess in the intervening decades despite cheaper travel and an increased knowledge of geography and geopolitics, little seems to have changed for me. Until now. 

The land that is now Bulgaria is another region shaped by regional conflict over the centuries, battles of empires and nationalism, with Bulgaria at times the aggressor and at other times the defender. When the Romans invaded the area it was known as Thrace and despite the efforts of probably the most famous Thracian - Spartacus - the area fell to Roman rule.

With the eventual fall of the Western Roman Empire, Slavs invaded in the 5th and 6th centuries and they in turn were subjugated a century later by the Bulgars (from where the name Bulgaria is derived). The Bulgars absorbed the Slavic language, carved out the Bulgarian state and went on to create the First Bulgarian Empire covering an area from the Adriatic to the whole west coast of the Black Sea. However, conflict with the Eastern Roman Empire of Byzantium was commonplace and defeat eventually led to the fall of the Bulgarian Empire. More fighting and victory over a century later led to the rise of the Second Bulgarian Empire but this then fell to the Ottomans who took advantage of weakness in the region resulting from continual regional fighting. This was the beginning of nearly 500 years of Ottoman rule. 

During the period of Ottoman rule any nationalist uprisings were viciously squashed. The particularly brutal treatment of Bulgarians by their Ottoman overlords in the the late 19th century led to international outrage (Gladstone wrote on the issue in Britain condemning the lack of action by the Britsh government). As a result the Russian Empire initiated the Russo-Turkish war to defend their Christian Orthodox brothers the result of which was that Bulgaria once again became free.

In the first years of the 20th century, Bulgaria allied with Serbia, Greece and Montenegro to fight the First Balkan War aimed at driving the last remnants of the Ottoman Empire from the region. This was immediately followed by the Second Balkan War when Bulgaria turned on its allies after feeling cheated of lands it should have received after victory over the Ottomans. This left her even weaker. The country was further ravaged during both World Wars and fell under communist control after the Second World War until democracy returned in 1990. Bulgaria has been a member of the EU since 2007.

Day 53 - Day in Ruse

Today I relaxed until gone 10am before heading off to explore a little of Ruse. It was a half hour walk to the centre: I had chosen the accommodation location more to do with reducing the distance when I backtrack tomorrow rather than proximity to the city. That half hour was mostly along one long, straight road of low rise socialist housing and it seemed to be surrounded by others just the same.

Just before I reached the centre I passed 'The Pantheon of Revival Heroes', a large white cube of a building with a golden dome. This monument is an ossuary with the remains of famous nationalists who fought for Bulgarian independence. Inside it has clean simple lines and there is an animated video of Bulgaria's history but everything is in Bulgarian so other than noting that there seemed to be a lot of fighting involved in their history I was not really any the wiser.

If the Bulgarians describe Ruse as 'little Vienna' then I think they must have a low opinion of that city. There is a nice central square with cafes and restaurants where I relaxed over coffee and beyond are some streets with some nice architecture. However, some appeared to have had a facelift while others looked badly maintained; the general sense I got of the city centre was a mix of scruffy modern mixed with run-down and refurbished historical. I wandered the streets, saw the river and visited a very ornate Orthodox Cathedral. It was then that the thunder started rolling overhead, four hours earlier than forecast. I decided to miss out on lunch in town and head back before the heavens opened.

Freedom Square

Freedom Square 

Many buildings are in a poor state

I am now back in my accommodation and all I can hear outside is heavy rain and thunder; I am grateful to be in the warm and dry. If I can face the downpour (it looks set in for the evening now) then I will go and do battle with another Cyrillic menu later but for now I can repack in readiness for tomorrow and catch up on those tasks that daily cycling seems to allow to slip through the net.

Sveta Troitsa Cathedral 

British History Seems Easy…

On this journey I have been struck by how easy British history seems compared to that of some of the countries through which I have travelled (don't they say that 55BC and 1066 are the only dates you need to know?). Yes, we had the occasional invasion - including Romans, Vikings and Normans - and no end of historical migration has shaped our population, but we have always been hemmed in by an island's shore. Here not only people, but borders too, ebb and flow under the shaping influence of history.  Countries have come and gone, been repopulated and reshaped and often all in the space of only a few generations, a testament to this region's insecurity and impermanence and our own nation’s relative stability.

For the last few weeks I have cycled the Danube, the natural border between countries such as Hungary and Slovakia, Serbia and Romania and Romania and Bulgaria. However, the castles at Ram and Golubac tell other stories and demonstrate the historical fluidity of political boundaries in this region. Those castles may be from a far flung century but to bring that story to the modern era I only have to think of Vukovar or one of the videos I watched in Bratislava where a resident of German descent (in the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire), had to declare himself Czechoslovakian after the reorganisation of Europe's border post WW1 and - had he still been living - would now be Slovakian. And that narrative ignores any additional influence from when the area fell under the umbrella of Russia through the USSR after WW2. 

These roads I have been cycling have been swept by a tide of history that has affected countries, cities and individuals. It will have shaped people and cultures - both historically and more recently - creating an unsettled mix of trust, resentments and identities, especially as so much change has taken place in only two or three generations. It is easy to see why things have sometimes boiled over. And it is also easy to see why our nation, often at the centre of things politically despite being tucked away in the corner of Europe, and removed geographically from the turmoil of small states and big Empires, has had such relative stability. We may have issues, but we have mostly chosen our moments to intervene depending, more often than not, on our own interests rather than any existencial threat to the nation. In this respect we are lucky although I can't help but wonder if the resulting national mindset might fail to properly appreciate the more complex influences on other nations.

Day 52 - near Nǎsturelu to Ruse, Bulgaria (35 miles)

I got up later than planned - a morning shower persuaded me to stay in my sleeping bag a little longer - and when I did rise I watched more rain showers drift across the horizon to the east. But today I was in no rush as I was heading to Ruse in Bulgaria only 35 miles away and could not check into my accommodation until 3pm. Early on I passed some small sandy cliffs, scarred by mechanical digging and alive with birds flying in and out of their hollowed out burrows but otherwise it was a slow and steady cycle similar to the last couple of days: more of the Danube road with its long, straight stretches exposed to the sun and wind, somewhat ridged, rippled and rough; more flat fields extending either side - corn, wheat and brassicas - broken only by the Bulgarian hills in the distance to my right; and more long, thin villages with their wide verges supporting flowers or animals, and their small, single-story functional houses, mostly of rendered walls and metal roofs. 

Vedia village - Typical Houses

Today's new best friend was Marcel who I met when I stopped for a coffee in a village a few miles before Guiriu, the Romanian town facing Ruse across the Danube. Most villages, however tiny, have a small shop-come-cafe but which is quite often someone's converted house with no obvious sign of its new function. I tend to notice them solely by the fact there is a plastic table or two outside, often occupied by men chatting over a morning drink. With a little miming and pointing, and some guidance on Romanian, the two women in the shop and I managed to communicate enough such that they knew where I had come from and where I was going and I walked out with a coffee and cake in hand. I settled in the one remaining chair at the one table outside where Marcel already sat, his morning beer half drunk. Again I found Spanish to be a common language and Marcel, a retired soldier, told me about his heart operation, his hernia, his home grown vegetables and generally bemoaned the state of the economy, his pension and prices.

I said farewell to Marcel and continued on to Giuriu. My entry on the back roads into the town was only a little different from the villages I had already passed through: the verge had become pavement, the houses were more tightly packed, and everything just felt more condensed. However, I soon joined more major roads leading to the 'Friendship Bridge' linking Romania to Bulgaria, a massive structure over a mile and a half long, completed in 1954 and the first bridge between Romania and Bulgaria since Roman times. There were more tailbacks of lorries to cycle past, a toll booth (free for me) and surprisingly, passport control when entering into Bulgaria. 

My last two miles from the bridge to my accommodation was mostly along a three lane road, strangely almost deserted and leaving me with the sense I was in some zombie apocalypse movie. I got to the area of my rented apartment, another area of low rise, boxy socialist housing, found a local cafe for lunch where I played 'lotto lucky dip' with the Cyrillic menu and then, an hour later than I had hoped due to some administrative failure, got into the small but well equipped apartment.

Tomorrow I am having a day off and after the last two or three days I feel could do with a little relaxation. So tonight is a night in: just me, some beer and snacks and the washing machine. 

Day 51 - Turnu Mǎgurele to near Nǎsturelu (43 miles)

I was up, out and at the bike shop ten minutes walk from my accommodation just after it opened and fifteen minutes after that I was walking out with a repaired wheel. The lean and aging owner was adamant that the cost was: 'Nothing. It eez free for traveller.' so I bought an unwanted and unnecessary item from his shop by way of thanks before heading back to pack my bike and continue my journey.

Seaca

By 10am I was on the road out of Turnu. This is now the third day I have been cycling the same road (known to Romanians as the 'Danube Road' but some distance from, and with little in the way of views of the river) and today I had the same long, straight stretches exposed to wind and sun and with a similar flat landscape, variations on a theme of agricultural and villages. I chatted to a Swiss cyclist who had started at the Black Sea, getting some useful information, and stocked up on food in a small village store. I passed the tiny village of Seaca with its large half-finished houses constructed by Roma families to demonstrate their wealth.  And I cycled through Zimnicea, the most southerly town in Romania, which has a long history but a post earthquake rebuild in the 1970s has left a planned town with its narrow streets built on a regular grid and with a problem of poor concrete and building standards. That information only added some worrying reality to my half-joking concerns from yesterday.

Ruse, the last stop on this particular stage and my first stop in Bulgaria, was some 78 miles away which was probably achievable in a day - even with my late start - but my heart was not in it today. I had decided to camp overnight and to finish the journey to Ruse in the morning so I enjoyed a more relaxing ride without the need to achieve a particular destination before the end of the day. By late afternoon I was on the lookout for a suitable spot for the night but the landscape here is a little different to that of three nights ago: the villages are more extended and at times almost merge into each other and the area between is almost exclusively farmland with nothing by way of common woodland or uncultivated fields. Eventually I found a place amongst a thin line of trees down a rough mud track, not ideal but out of the way and far enough from the road. The tree cover was not enough to protect me fully from the force of the evening breeze so I pegged the tent down securely before dining on tuna, bread and cheese and settling down to the sound of wind, frogs and the barking of faraway dogs.

Day 50 - Bechet to Turnu Mǎgurele (48 miles)

I woke still needing to decide the way ahead with my sick bicycle. My original plan for Romania was to have alternate days camping and in accommodation but yesterday changed all that. I now need to find and get to a bicycle shop. There is supposed to be one in Corabia, a town 29 miles on, and another in Turnu Mǎgarele 19 miles after that. My first thought was to replace the broken rear spoke with one from the front, moving the problem to the least stressed wheel and improving my chances of making more distance by bike. I thought removing the brake disc might allow me to remove the spoke but the gears were in the way and I lacked the tool to remove them: end of that idea. I was also mindful that today is Sunday, that no shops are open, and there is little I can do that is constructive other than keep moving eastwards. I could do this by taxi or I could cycle and just get a taxi if it all went wrong. Given that the bike held together yesterday, I was willing to push my luck a little further.

Wells were still used until quite recently throughout Romania

Because of my unproductive workshop efforts first thing, it was past 10am by the time I got on the road. I cycled steadily and relatively slowly through a similar landscape to the last couple of days, willing my bike on and praying to any God who might listen. As with yesterday I slipped into counting down the kilometres with the road markers. And as with yesterday the wind blew. 

Normally, if the wind does blow, it gets going in the afternoon and picks up as the day progresses. Today it had kicked off early and eventually became every bit as frustrating as yesterday, blowing down the long stretches of open road that I faced throughout the day. At times I felt I was looking at a never ending straight road heading away from me and tackling a never ending wind coming towards me, definitely a combination designed to mess with the mind. At Corabia I stopped to take stock and to look at the remains of a Roman fort built over a century after Trajan's successful invasion of what is now Romania, in part because it was just off the route and it gave me a flavour of local history, but also because it gave me a rest from the wind and I didn’t want the day to be solely me versus the elements.

The never ending road

With everything seeming to hold up I decided to press on with the next 19 miles to Turnu Mǎgarele, a little further east and a slightly larger town with maybe the potential for a better bike shop. It took another two and half hours of steady cycling to get there, taking me past the wide, sandy beaches of the river Olt which runs into the Danube nearby, parked up lorry-mounted bee hives (they drive them around here to pollinate local crops) and a few derelict, industrial looking buildings, something that seems quite common in the countryside here in Romania. The city is not that large, its streets radiate off a small park and the centre is clean, quiet and shaded by trees; it has a nice feel about it, very different to other places I have passed through in this country.

Beehives

River Olt

My accommodation is a small and well appointed apartment on the ninth floor of a rather brutalistic Soviet housing block, surrounded by similar blocks. Everything outside the apartment seems worn and dated; the small, old fashioned lift had those internal, wardrobe type doors and you needed to put pressure on them to keep them closed or the lift stopped between floors; the lights dimmed as the elevator started moving; the floor numbers were written in marker pen by the buttons; and a section of the lift floor felt strangely loose and had me imagining a long plummet down the lift shaft. As I walked down the dark and sterile corridor to the flat I also noticed a tiny balcony at the end with a flimsy looking barrier and a chunk of concrete missing from the floor. Between lift and balcony I could not stop my mind drifting to thoughts of schools in Britain with crumbling RAC concrete and of wondering when the integrity of this building was last checked.

Tomorrow I visit the bicycle repair shop.

City Park