Rotterdam

I am now in Rotterdam. A four hour stopover in Berlin and two train changes during the night got me here for 10am - two nights of fitful sleep and over 30 hours on trains in the last three days. My ferry onwards to Harwich - and then more trains to get home - was not until the evening which gives me a day in which to explore the city.

I had breakfast after vainly searching for somewhere where I could eat while keeping an eye on my bike. Here though, so many bicycles are parked in the streets - many with panniers - that I decided leaving the bike unattended after removing a couple of high value items was worth the risk. Afterwards I visited one of the most interesting art establishments I have been to. 

The Depot Boijmans van Bueningen is not really a gallery in its own right but rather a modern storage building for art, held for display in other galleries. It does display some items but generally its largely glass floored, glass walled internal structure provides views of the storage rooms and of the conservators in their offices. Together with the explanatory videos and notes you get a good feel about what goes into cataloguing, maintaining and restoring a range of art works.

The afternoon took me out to the Hook of Holland from where I was to catch the ferry. A cursory internet search showed the area to be a lot more than a ferry terminal: among other things were to be found a beach, a small town, museums and eateries. Before 4pm I could get the Rotterdam underground there along with my bicycle but after that I would have to cycle the fifteen miles. My enthusiasm for cycling had waned somewhat.

The Hook of Holland I came out to was an open area with a wide cycle lane separated from a quiet road and plenty of green. Even the ferry port  seemed quite unobtrusive as I cycled past it heading towards the beach and a museum by the water on Hitler's Atlantic Wall. The latter was a WW2 concrete bunker by the estuary, a small remaining part of the fortifications built by the Germans to defend Europe. It was surrounded by a few remains of rusting weaponry. And it was shut. So when the heavens opened as I was walking around its outskirts I headed back to the road and cycled to the first pub I came across.

I sat at the almost deserted bar, the rain beating down outside, cradling a beer and reading through my blog, revisiting my journey of the last two months. After an hour the proprietor started serving light snacks and by the time I had finished my bread and dips the rain had stopped and the sun was out. I continued my exploring: the wide sandy beach, mostly deserted with the few small shops shut; a monument - in the shadow of a nineteenth century fort - to the the Kinder transport children evacuated to Britain, most of whom came to Britain via Rotterdam; and a waterside fish cafe where I watched the passing boat traffic over a coffee and herring roll.

The check in queue was already moving when I cycled early to the port for my ferry, something explained when I arrived at the kiosk presenting a final hurdle on my trip: I had unintentionally - and stupidly - booked my evening sailing from Harwich to Rotterdam and not vice versa. The kind check in lady managed to change my booking (for a small fee) although I think a favour was done as I'm pretty sure my ticket was not a flexible one. 

Bike parked up and cabin found, I showered and settled on my bed, the thought of being in Britain tomorrow a comforting thought despite the onward journey required from Harwich. Nevertheless, tomorrow I would be home.

The Journey Home - to Berlin

Travelling across Europe on a bicycle has proved a lot more straightforward than travelling across Europe with a bicycle. 

Some time ago I had worked out a train route home that suited me well, taking me from Constanta to Brasov where I would catch a direct train to Budapest. From Budapest I would head to Berlin, Berlin to Paris and then across to one of the southerly channel ports to get to the south coast of Britain; which one I would decide at the time depending on French train and ferry timings. The biggest constraint of course was my bicycle.

Going north to Berlin might seem a rather convoluted route to take me westwards but it was a route that maximised speed, minimised changes and cost and - with the exception of the trips to Brasov and from Paris - allowed me to book both myself and my bicycle onto trains using on-line rail links. A couple of late arrivals followed by small-hours departures also helped maintain the momentum of the trip home. At least that was the plan.

I was not too concerned about being unable to tie down my route from Paris ahead of time; at that point I would be within striking distance of home with the major hurdles of my journey crossed. But getting to Brasov was another matter. In Romania you have to buy a ticket for both you and your bicycle and trains that will carry bicycles can be identified on-line by a bike icon. The problem I had was that despite the large number of trains to Brasov, none had the elusive bicycle icon. In fact I could find no trains leaving Constanta for any destination that were designated as bicycle carrying. I had read a report of an officious Romanian conductor threatening to remove bike and passenger off a train which was concerning, but I had also seen blogs where others had travelled back with no mention of a problem. And I had certainly not seen a refugee camp of marooned EV6 cyclists on my route into Constanta. Nevertheless, this was the issue niggling away inside my head that I needed to resolve.

The day I arrived at Constanta I headed to the station to get my tickets and hopefully put the matter to bed. At the domestic counter the assistant initially said there were no bike carrying trains but she then sold me a ticket telling me I would have to buy the bike ticket on the train. The standard cost is €5 but I was told it 'might cost more than that'. It all sounded suspiciously like a 'bung' to the conductor would be taking place which put no more certainty on my plans than I had before. Nevertheless, I optimistically went to the international counter and bought my onward ticket to Budapest, crossing my fingers that I would get to use it. But I refrained from booking any later connections until I was sure I was on my way.

I headed out at 4am Tuesday morning to cycle the dark and silent streets to the station with only a cooling sea breeze for company and not a soul in sight. As it turned out my near six hour train ride to Brasov proved pretty uneventful. A kindly conductor pointed me to the front carriage with my bike, charged me €20 (coincidentally the same price as my ticket) and gave me a receipt so it all seemed above board albeit a little pricey. It leaves me none the wiser as to Romanian policy with regard to carrying bicycles though.

Interestingly, the problems started after my night in Brasov and the 8am train to Budapest for which I had all the necessary tickets. The train rolled into Brasov, I asked the conductor where to put my bike and he told me there was no bike carriage so I couldn’t take it but I would find my seat in the first carriage. I even detected a bit of a Gallic shrug before he walked off. Google translate and persistence eventually paid off although even showing him my tickets and explaining I had onward connections initially earned more rebuttals. I ended up on the long 16 hour journey with a partially disassembled bicycle sitting in the compartment with me. 

That journey, or at least the early part before it got dark and I got tired, took me through the countryside of Transylvania. It was a landscape of rolling green, of rivers and valleys and woodland covered hillsides. There were white washed and red roofed villages and pastures of wild flowers with cloud topped hills sitting in the distance. It was probably some of the most beautiful countryside I have seen in the last nine weeks, made more so because of the expansive views from the train. 

It was 8pm and getting dark when we crossed the border into Hungary (interestingly they checked passports either side) after which the train ride became noticeably smoother and noticeably faster. Nevertheless, it was not until 11pm that I stepped off at Keleti station in Budapest over a month after leaving the city first time around. I had just over seven hours before having to be at Nyugati Station a couple of miles away for my train to Berlin. I had originally planned to get one for 2am to maintain the flow of the journey but what was practicable a few days ago was now proving problematic to actually book; it was to be a common theme that the route options I had identified a while ago were now - as I got closer to my travel date - often more limited with poorer timings or more changes, often unpriced and not now possible to book on-line. That said, the later train to Berlin that I had managed to book was direct with no changes, an option I had not found in my earlier searches.

For the stopover in Budapest I had toyed with whether to get a hotel or not for what would amount to about six hours sleep. In the end I had booked one but when I turned up there at near midnight, having walked the quiet back streets of Budapest in order to stretch my legs properly after 16 hours on a train, I found that despite the enthusiastic confirmation email from the on-line booking company, the hotel itself was full and had been well before I had made my 'reservation'. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me something, especially as a cursory look showed other hotels in the immediate area to be prohibitively expensive for the short stay I would have. In the end I spent those potential six hours of sleep dozing in the station, walking through the city to a scenic bridge I had cycled over on my route in, finding a 3am eatery open for some well needed food and carrying out useful but non essential tasks on the bicycle. At 6.30am I loaded bike and body onto the train for the 9 hour trip to Berlin and dropped off to sleep.

I woke to views of the Danube and nearby villages from the high point of the train and shortly after we stopped at Sturovo and then Szob, two names familiar to me from the day on which I had cycled to Budapest nearly a month ago. Compared to my train to Budapest, this one is more as I imagined an international train to be: modern, spacious and, of particular benefit to me, a large area for storing bikes. There is also a proper restaurant car with waiter service, menus and cooked food, tablecloths and decent cutlery. I whiled away an hour or so there watching Eastern Europe rush past my window while enjoying a beer and good food at a very reasonable price.

I arrived in Berlin early evening from where I had originally planned to head to Paris but had fallen foul of the issue where the routes from only a few days ago had become hard to pin down. So now I was heading to Rotterdam on an overnight train with three changes; but it was cheap, got me to a ferry and maintained the continuity of my journey. With four hours to kill I made the most of the bright summer evening and cycled around Berlin's main sights on very peaceful roads, a result of restrictions in place for the European Football Championships starting in Germany the following day. It was then back to the train station, an interesting conversation with a guy handing out the excess rolls from his sandwich shop to late night travellers, and then the continuation of my journey.

Day Off in Constanța

Today was a day of doing nothing. It had not been the plan. I had taken a day extra to allow me to explore Constanța - most of which I did after my early arrival yesterday - and to explore a couple of museums, something I had left for today. Except I found out this morning that every museum without exception is closed until Wednesday. I now had a day in hand and not much to do with it. Had I realised I would now be starting my journey home.

I breakfasted, I walked through town to the long and wide tourist beach, which was practically deserted - I guess because the weekend has been and gone - bought some supplies and then, with the afternoon sun heating up the day, followed the examples of the locals and got off the streets, withdrawing to the cool shade of my room to read. It was hardly the most exciting way of spending the day after cycling 3000 miles to get here but my mindset had now firmly shifted away from the adventure of the cycle ride and to thoughts of my return and the anticipation of getting home. That is a journey that starts early tomorrow.

Day 64 - Mamaia-Sat to Constanța (13 miles)

There is nothing really interesting to say about the journey to Constanța. The route was along a dual carriageway, thankfully quiet, but despite my proximity to the sea - for a large part I was cycling a strip of land with water either side - I never even glimpsed it. I cycled through Mamaia-Sat to Mamaia to Constanța without realising where one town ended and the next began; they all merged into one continuous built up area of low rise flats and hotels and businesses serving the holiday industry in the area. It was a pretty uninspiring cycle ride.

My journey finished at just after 9am down by the Constanța waterfront. Constanța is not only a seaside resort but also a major port so the views by the working dock area did little to improve the impression I had formed of this final day. Having reached the 'official' end of the EV6 I headed off to nicer parts, to the tourist harbour and along the promenade with its Art Nouveau Casino - a symbol of the city - although that was largely under cover and being refurbished. It was then to the old town and morning coffee.

The Constanța Casino

I had arrived in Constanța and the Black Sea after cycling 3000 miles and nine weeks to the day after I had set out from the Atlantic coast of France. I had cycled through ten countries and four capital cities and yet, as I sat drinking my coffee, there was no sense of elation or completion. Even any sense of achievement seemed lacking. I guess cycling every day for weeks has become so ingrained in my routine, such a part of my normality, that the fact I have now stopped has yet to sink in. And although I have finished my cycling, I am on the far side of Europe and still need to get home. I have the details of the route I intend to take by train - from Constanța to Brasov and then on to Budapest, to Germany to Paris and then a Channel port - but the first 200 miles to Brasov is proving an issue. There are plenty of trains to get there but not all trains here take bikes. I have met people who had arrived here by train with their bikes and I have read the blogs of people who have left here by train with their bikes so the options are there. Nevertheless, I have failed to find a train on line with the all important bicycle icon to indicate it would carry both me and my bicycle out of Constanța. My cycling trip may be over but my journey is not yet complete and until these final issues are tied down that sense of elation will probably remain elusive. 

The rest of my day was spent exploring a little more of the city before heading off to find my accommodation, relax and reorganise my bags for the journey home; cycling shorts, shoes and other equipment can now be packed away until I am safely home leaving only a few clothes accessible for the journey. But before I leave I will be having a day off tomorrow to explore the city further.

Main Square

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cyclist? (with apologies to Allen Sillitoe)

Cycling on my own across Europe is proving a very different experience to my solo trips across Spain. On those walks I was never alone if I did not wish to be: many people travelled the same routes, staying in places reserved for Camino walkers, and the shared experience and challenge of walking a long-distance path was a catalyst for socialising. Here the reverse is true. If anyone else is doing the length (or even part) of the EV6 I have yet to meet them and, as there is no dedicated accommodation for cyclists, I am using whatever accommodation I can find that suits my route and my budget for that day; the likelihood of bumping into fellow cyclists therefore is much reduced. In fairness it is no more than I expected.

That said, it is not that I have met nobody nor that the cycling community are antisocial. Fellow pannier-laden cyclists greet each other as like minded travellers, more often than not stopping to pass a few moments - friendship offered and advice shared despite each being on whatever personal timetable their day dictates. Understandably though, these meetings tend to be with those heading in the opposite direction to you. Among the many I have come across are a Swiss cyclist who offered advice on tours in the Danube delta, a Dutch family 'heading home' (this was half way across Romania) - mother, father and young son towed behind in a child buggy, and a friendly Italian, French and Romanian trio who between them were heading to Stockholm for an ecology conference and to Scotland to tour.

These fleeting encounters are more the norm than any longer term company. Nevertheless, one evening I found myself in the same accommodation as a group of Austrians doing the EV6 in reverse, and one afternoon I met a young Dutch couple cycling in my direction, albeit on a different journey. With the former we shared dinner, breakfast and travel tips on those parts we had travelled. They were also  generous enough to lend me maps on the sections they had done and which I was still to do. The latter I had joined for lunch in the shade of a tree one hot afternoon in a small Serbian village, after which we cycled together to Belgrade. They had given up work, sold their house, bought impressive bespoke touring bikes and were heading to east Asia 'and maybe beyond.' That afternoon was a sobering reminder that there are always others whose plans will eclipse yours and who may have had to sacrifice so much more in order to achieve them.

Of course none of these short-term acquaintances offer a substitute for more permanent or semi-permanent company; someone with whom to share those moments of frustration - and through doing so dilute the irritation - and with whom to share those moments of delight. Nevertheless, for me this was always to be a solo trip. Being able to do it on my own terms was always important to me. Some may think that selfish, others I know can not conceive of long periods travelling alone. Had I been someone who was not comfortable with their own company this journey might have presented a challenge that most likely would have led to it ending quite early on. But while I enjoy the companionship of others - the swapping of stories, sharing thoughts, feeling that sense of companionship - I am also happy with time alone and personal reflection. For me travelling solo does not make me feel I am missing out. I am simply having a different experience 

All that said, with today’s modern technology you are never out of touch or alone should you not wish to be: you may be remote but you are never really detached when that all pervasive social media can provide an anchor back home in the loneliest of times. I have probably made more use of social media on this trip than I ever did in Spain where socialising amongst my fellow walkers and the regular support of like-minded people is freely available should you wish to embrace it. The fact I am travelling on a bicycle makes this particular journey different to those long walks but the solitude is why this journey has a very different feel about it. 

FINISHED!

 

End of the line

Day 63 - Mahmudia to Mamaia-Sat (93 miles)

I set off early today with the aim of getting some miles in before the heat of the sun started to wear me down. As it turned out the haze of the morning was present for a large part of the day so with that and the relatively flat, smooth and quiet roads I made good progress. My morning route traced a long and variable course around the large bays that lie between the Danube delta and the Black Sea and although I saw a lot of golden wheat, pasture and neat, well kept villages I saw little of the water, which lay some distance away.

I passed the 12th century Byzantine medieval fortress of Heracleea on a hill overlooking the Danube delta and shortly after, approaching the half way point to Constanta, I arrived at the village of Jurilovca where I stopped briefly.  It has an interesting history: about 40% of the inhabitants are Russian 'Old Believers' who fled Russia in the early 1800s to avoid religious persecution and they still speak archaic Russian.

I continued my journey through countryside and villages but it was not to last: from a high point on the landscape I could see ten miles distant the beginnings of a more developed part of the Black Sea that would eventually take me to Constanta: the towers, pipes and storage facilities of the massive oil refinery at Nǎvodari and beyond that the long, grey blur of the Black Sea holiday strip. By the time I reached Nǎvodari everything had changed; I was amid the noise and smells of industry, alongside a major road and surrounded by traffic. I was now close enough to Constanta that I could have finished my journey today and it had crossed my mind to do so. But after nine hours cycling, now in a busier and more urban environment, I decided I needed to stop so sat down and found accommodation in the resort of Mamaia-Sat three miles further ahead. 

A glimpse of the Black Sea

Nǎvodari in the distance 

Mamaia-Sat is an extensive holiday town of side-by-side low rise holiday flats and hotels. It is one of those places where from the beach back almost every bit of useable space has been built upon and those small patches that have not are fenced off in readiness to do so. The streets are crammed with cars and the beach is crammed with people; it is a busy place, compounded by today being the weekend and apparently the first day of the holidays here in Romania. 

I walked the promenade by the white sand beach with its forest of parasols, rows of plastic sun beds, children's play areas and bars before heading away from the seafront and towards my accommodation, more intent on a shower than working my way through the crowds to dip a toe in the sea. Suitably refreshed I returned to the beachfront to eat, the whole area still busy with people enjoying the last of the sun. Tomorrow I have only 13 miles to reach Constanta and the end of my journey.

Day 62 - A day in the Delta

My day started at 4.30 this morning when Cornel, my guide for the delta wildlife trip, collected me from my accommodation. By 5am myself and four others were setting off in Cornel's small open boat on the remote St George branch of the Danube. Shortly after, floating silently on the morning-still river, we watched as the sun rose ahead, lighting our ripples as broad indigo ribbons that slid smoothly away in a slow, regular and mesmerising pattern; if I had harboured any doubts about my early start they were dispelled sitting in that boat watching the morning begin as the orange disc of the sun pulled itself up above the horizon and slowly brought warmth and colour to the day.

Cornel clearly knew the waters. We would pick up side channels, still wreathed in morning mist like some Hammer Horror setting, connect to cuts no wider than the boat through the reed beds and break out into the calm flatness of expansive lakes, shallow, bath-warm and wide open to the sky. We saw ibis and sea eagles, terns and grebes and no end and types of egrets, herons and pelicans. For five hours we explored the waters and lakes, past beds of water lilies and banks of reeds and along shaded willow-lined channels.  We made short stops at a small fishing community - getting ready for the morning when the fishing season starts - and a dying village accessible only by water and with the skeletal remains of a sand grading factory and the associated shell of its workers' accommodation, both finished just before the 1989 revolution, never used, and decaying here ever since.

For some reason I expected to see birds in huge flocks, like the films you see of flamingos in Africa, but most seemed solitary in their behaviour. Even many pelicans were alone and away from the larger feeding groups floating together, heads ducking under the water to scoop up fish. Cornel had told us that as the morning heats up, the groups of pelicans will take to the air after feeding, circling together on the rising thermals. It happens every day he said, but he could not say why, and as we headed back we could see the white shapes of the circling birds high above, gracefully riding the thermals and hardly beating a wing.

We also learned a little of past life in the area: of Cornel's youth as a fisherman; his grandfather driving his tractor to town on the winter frozen Danube; of the farming land and tiny communities lost to floods, rising water and a slowly changing landscape; and of readily available fish and drinking water direct from the river. In some ways a lot seems to have changed in the delta and yet, as we motored slowly through its waterscape, it seemed timeless. 

Traditional Danube House in Traditional Colours

We had set out as the only group on the water but as we returned we were going against the flow of other small tourist boats just starting their day. Cornel had said an early start was worth it and the sunrise, the groups of pelicans on the water and these other boats heading out into the late morning heat as we headed back all proved him to be correct. 

Afterwards we agreed to eat together in a restaurant that Cornel knew. I was going to make a quip about it being owned by his brother. I’m glad I didn’t. We dined on catfish soup and fried pike-perch, the latter being particularly delicate white meat. I learned from the German couple that there had been some bad flooding on the Danube in the previous week and afterwards, when I had returned to my accommodation, I looked it up in the news and it is a lot more serious than I had realised: Austria has shut the Danube to shipping and a number of cities I had passed through all those weeks ago including Passau, a favourite of mine, are partially underwater. It seems that despite those (almost forgotten) frustrations with a flooded Loire at the outset of my journey I was lucky with the timing of my trip.