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 cliffs in the sandy soil of the valley, 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 rusting 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 Romanian and Bulgarian soil 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 major 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 - the address I had been given was incorrect- I 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.