vdin

I crossed into Romania today for a flatter ride. Calafat is opposite Vdin in Romania. To get there I crossed the New Europe Bridge, which has a bike-friendly path along its left side to get to Calafat. After a shitty but included breakfast at the Bononia Hotel and a stop for some groceries, I was off.

The currency exchange man on the New European Bridge took my 105eur in Bulgarian currency and returned the equivalent of 93eur in Romanian Lei. The attendant ensured me — with a big smile — that all is well because, you see, it is the bank’s fault and not his. The currency first had to be converted from Bulgarian currency into Serbian money, then back to Romanian Lei and in the process, there was some….leakage. After this 21st Century highway robbery, the Green Machine and I pushed on to passport control where the computer system was down.

After about 20 minutes things were up and running and I was off and riding onto the high way onramp! Climbing onto a highway is something I do not recommend, but I’m not sure if it could have been avoided. Along the left side of border control there might have been a route that skipped this adventure, but I can’t be certain.

This was a dumb one to take, but I survived

I wasted half an hour in Calafat trying to exchange my last $12 worth of Serbian dinar, which I’d found in my handlebar after crossing the border. This was an object lesson in the time value of money, in a sense.

The rest of today’s ride was pretty brutal. It was mostly flat but with a discernable headwind, weather in the 30s, diesel traffic, and did I mention headwinds? I also noticed that my front cassette is warped and wobbling, which is pulling on my chain a bit. I’ll have to ignore that until I’m back home.

Otherwise, Romania has been a great place to ride. Town after town is identical with the same store that sells the same processed foods, with what looks like the same church and the same aging park without any kids playing. Of course there are differences and I’m sure what I’ve written would be offensive to any resident of these towns, but to the cyclist passing through at 15 to 20km per hour, these towns are all the same.

The hotel I found in Bechet charged 20eur for a room, but given the alternatives and the AC, I’d have paid a lot more. Plus, the dinner was a delicious mamaliga with sour cream and cheese, pickles, and beer. I recommend staying at this hotel for the food alone. Truly one of my favorite meals so far.

I’ve taken to singing aloud to myself on the parts of my rides where it would be dangerous to wear headphones. My current song, set to the melody of “If You’re Going to San Francisco”, goes like this, “If you’re going on the EuroVelo, be sure to wear sunscreen while you’re there” and so on with different suggestions and that “you’ll be sure to meet lovely people there.”

The hotter it gets, the more excited I am to done cycling. I am especially looking forward to meeting my relative Liviu and his family in Brasov, Romania. They’ve graciously agreed to host me at there place for a week or so once I reach the Black Sea.

Today began with a true Serbian sendoff.

After getting some pastries, I crossed the square to enjoy my breakfast and order some coffee.

Why did I need coffee? Because despite getting to bed at 9:30 pm, I managed maybe 30 minutes of sleep thanks to a mosquito swarm.

I thought I wouldn’t have to contend with vampires until Romania.

Anyone who claims to be a pacifist hasn’t had to choose between sleep and mosquito genocide. I chose the latter and groggily but with a clear conscience awoke to find my own blood splattered on the hostel walls. A crimson spackle to which my victims (i.e. tormentors) were stuck. I left happy knowing that their larvae would die from bloodthirst. Good riddance.

With a well-deserved coffee in hand, I mentally prepared to leave Serbia. A friendly and drunk gentleman named Drageas took an interest and joined my table. Once Drageas learned that I’m American he renamed me Johnson and sarcastically suggested I affix the American flag to my bike. Anger at the NATO (read American) bombing of Serbia is palpable.

A smiling man came over to us and exchanged a few words with Drageas before heading off with some of Drageas’ cash. A few minutes later he brought Drageas a pack of cigarettes and kept the change. It was clear that Drageas and the other Serbian men didn’t respect this man or other Romas generally. There was a clear sense that was he was more a novelty and the butt of their tired jokes than he was their equal, to them.

After some convincing, I gave in and Drageas hurried inside to order me a beer too. After half a beer for me and two for Drageas, I paid the bill, bid adieu to my new friends, then rode toward Bragovo, a Bulgarian border town.

Once I’d crossed the border into Bulgaria and after some big climbs out of Negotin, I had one of these insane smiles on my face. I was happy to be alive and to be riding on this day in this place. That was until I got lost in Jesen. Whatever you do, don’t take the main route through there. Take the shortcut on the quiet road instead.

Today’s destination, Vdin, like seemingly every other Eastern European town I’ve visited is taring its town square up ostensibly to restore it. Despite the complete lack of sidewalks, the town is pretty with a water walk that lead’s to Vdin’s ancient fortress and walls. Vdin is home to Bulgaria’s second-largest synagogue too. It’s abandoned but well worth a visit. Apparently you can easily push past a hole cut in its fence to explore inside. I opted not to.