Awaking in Transylvania is a magical experience, watching the golden-tinged treetops alight with sunshine which slowly spreads downwards from the mountain tops. The chilly breeze made this the coolest morning for a while, prompting Paul to clamber into a piping hot shower…and using up all the available water on the entire campsite in the process. We left to the sight of a burly man tinkering desperately with the equipment, hurrying away without brushing our teeth while distressed fellow campers gathered, the news having spread.
Romania has a definite character. It’s like you’ve stepped back fifty or sixty years to a pre-technological Europe. Tractors are a rarity here and when they are seen, they look so rusty and antiquated you assume they’re abandoned or museum pieces until the engine judders into life and they start moving. The predominant force here in the fields are weathered men and women bearing scythes. The whole place is incredibly rustic and it feels as if the country is fraying at the edges. Every twist and turn in the road brings up the same predictable things: a horse and cart, clip-clopping along, a hunched-up old woman by the roadside, pedestrians walking in the road as there are no pavements, stray, semi-wild dogs wandering around, some sporting injuries, others merely mangy, dozing in your direct path, plenty of craterous potholes and the odd farmer taking his cow for a walk. All of these sights are repeated ad nauseum from village to village, town to town.
We transitioned from the mid-twentieth century to the early twenty-first when we crossed a mighty iron bridge into Bulgaria. Aside from the crumbling, concrete tower blocks that must be left over from the Soviet era, the countryside here is much neater, carefully tended and more productive than that of Romania. Many of the sweeping hills were given over to sunflowers, glowing yellow from a distance and the sweet waft of lavender drifted into the van on the breeze. The road, too, had markedly improved so we soared along south, our only obstacles being the incessantly risk-averse lorry-drivers who were more than happy to try overtaking other trucks ahead of them on blind bends while on their phones. We stayed well back from any of that.
As we progressed, the scenery became ever so reminiscent of the Mediterranean to the point where we could almost believe we were in Italy, as the first sparkling waters of the Black Sea appeared. Just beyond the holiday resort of Burgas, we stopped at our campsite, this one right on the beach. Pegging our tents in sand proved to be a challenge but as conditions were so calm it wasn’t an issue. Moreso was the fact that Katie’s tent had broken, one of the poles having not merely snapped but also split right down the middle. Not even duct tape could salvage it. String came to the rescue, Paul threading it through and thing it to a fence to prop it up. Enough for one night but another had to bought the next day for far more vigorous conditions to come.
Paul counteracted his assistance with the tent by then promptly driving Stan into the sand where he stuck fast. We haven’t even got close to the desert yet but were already trounced on the beach! To our embarrassment a local Bulgarian had to bring his ancient, red tractor up and pull us loose! He’s not going to be there to call upon in the Karakorum.
Nevertheless, Stan successfully crossed Europe, having driven 2,000 miles to this point, through nine different countries. We celebrated by swimming in the beautifully clear waters of the Black Sea, where sand-coloured fish swam up to us and sucked our toes. The Bulgarians camping next door weren’t in need of their services; they were sucking, kissing and sexing it up all night on the sand.
As the red-orbed sun set over the Black Sea waters and the wild hoots of the Bulgarians next door quietened down, we could reflect on the happy accomplishment of the first stage of our journey. The next stage requires us to cross that sea to discover what awaits on the other side. The journey will take three days and remove us from the more predictable lands of Europe. Ultimately, this is the point that we take a real leap of faith into the unknown.
Team Yes We Khan 