Hunedoara, Romania. 18^th August 2024.

The ride from Budapest to Hunedoara, in Romania, was long and dull. When I stopped for coffee and fuel I used up most of my Hungarian money and gave what I had left to the young lady on the till. She was puzzled until I told her I was going to Romania. At the border I had to present all my vehicle documents as Romania isn’t yet in the Schengen area, at least, not for roads. It seems the EU is concerned about Romania’s inability to control cross border flow from the south.

The roads immediately improved. Not the surface, but the terrain they passed through. Goodbye to boring, flat fields. Hello to woods, bends and a hint of hills to be climbed. The villages were a bit more shabby and there were some abandoned industrial buildings, clearly left over from Soviet times. The economy was definitely on the up since Romania joined the EU.

My only experience of Romania up to now had been when I rented out my house at the start of my travels, ten years earlier. My first tenants had been Romanian and were really great people. I was hoping the country in general would reflect that. The pizza I had definitely did. My plans were simply to wander around the country and see what there was to see. To roam around the land of the Romany.

Next day I headed to Turda, planning to visit the salt mine there. But on the way I tried to call at a village called Stremt, where my friend Michael had told me of a commune up in the hills. Started in the 1970s, he said it was a very interesting place to visit.

Interesting maybe, but ultimately inaccessible to me. I nearly came a cropper there. It was up a winding little dirt track which then became steep and stony. I went so far, but then it got very steep and even more stony. I just decided not to bother. Too much of a challenge on the heavily laden bike. It was a real struggle to turn around, needing me to use the side stand to swivel it on, but I made it out alive. Am I a scaredy cat? Yep, probably.

The salt mine was quite a place. Nice and cool underground. The rocks had contrasting wavy patterns in them as the salt layered with other minerals. It’s really deep – 112 metres. I went down one level and below me was a huge cavern, with all sorts of entertainment in there. Table tennis; a big wheel; a playground for the kiddies; and several other things. Down below that was yet another level, with all sorts of things in it. There didn’t seem to be much to see in that cavern but possibly there was more interesting stuff at the lowest level. There was a lift down to the first cavern, with a long queue to use it. Was there one down to the next level? I didn’t know. Anyway, I’d seen enough so I left.

When I got to my overnight stop I checked the chain. After 6,000 kms, no adjustment required. The benefits of an effective automatic chain oiler, as made by Tutoro. But what about that 30 kms/litre target, I hear you ask? You’ll be happy to know I finally achieved it, and did so many more times. A small bike like mine is far more fuel efficient on the back roads, with continual speed variations. It’s what the engine’s designed for.

I’m liking the idea of using cheap apartments rather than hotels, and found on Booking.com. But some of them can be in obscure places. When I arrived in the town of Frasin I had real problems finding the place I’d booked. Google maps sent me all round the houses and local people sent me here, there and everywhere. The owner had set up an online registration process to gain access to the key box codes. I couldn’t get that to work either at first. It was mostly me being an idiot, if I’m honest. It’s fortunate that most of these people speak English and we sorted it out in the end.

One good thing about coming into Frasin was that I found a solution to a really annoying problem. I’d fitted the aluminium bash plate that I’d brought back from Thailand. But it resonated, most of the time. So any speed above about 50 Kph was accompanied by a low level moaning noise. Like a nagging spouse. As I came into Frasin I saw a big DIY shed, pulled in and went looking for a solution.

I found a selection of slightly curved, aluminium backed, rubber washers. They looked perfect. And so they proved to be. The plate was quite a tight fit to the bike so it was a bit of a struggle to get them behind the mounting bolts. But they went on and worked a treat. No more moaning. Wonderful!

According to Gabriela, Slovakia is famous for its castles. “There’s more castles per head of population than anywhere else in Europe”, she informed me. Well my assertion is that Romania has more monasteries than anywhere else. And they’re beautiful buildings.

Their design seems to be fairly formulaic, with a similar external shape and internal layout. But it’s the wonderful murals that give variety, both in design and quality. Most of the buildings date from around the 16^th century and were usually sponsored by rich, local landowners. The feature that amazed me was that there were murals on the outside as well as inside, shielded from the elements by roofs that overhung a long way. Most looked quite time worn but some looked as fresh as if they’d just been painted.

The first one I went to was Vatra Moldovitei. It’s a beautiful place. High walls and defensive towers keep it secure. There’s some very nice buildings inside the compound but the star of the show is the church. The photos tell the tale better than words. From the door I went through two rooms before getting to the main altar room. This is where the ceiling goes up into the tower, with Jesus looking down on us from the roof.

Inside and out, the building is covered with paintings and murals with religious themes. Biblical scenes and paintings of saints etc. They were done when the church was built, which makes their quality even more amazing. The colours have stood the test of time. There was nothing to suggest that any refurbishment work had been carried out. Quite incredible.

At one of the other monasteries there was a team of people chipping away at an outside wall. I asked what they were doing. “Removing some plaster that had been badly applied in the past”, was the answer I got. Laborious work.

In between monasteries (four in one day) I visited the Expo Moto Bucovina motor cycle museum. It’s owned by Alexandru Schelu, obviously a collector and enthusiast. What a place this was! A big glass showroom, on an industrial estate, literally stuffed to the rafters with a huge variety of bikes. No charge to get in. In fact there wasn’t anyone around. Lots of two strokes and Eastern European bikes were on display. Some old BMW, Zundapp and Ural military outfits, complete with machine guns. Very nicely refurbished. A selection of British bikes, including a Norton Commando with a fuel injection system bolted on. Harley Choppers, sports bikes and various others completed the collection. All of them lined up in neat rows. The ceiling by the window had bikes hanging from it. There were easily one hundred bikes there. Absolutely fascinating.

Enough of monasteries! Time for more castles. To this end I headed for the town of Brasov, to use as a base for a couple of days. I found a nice hostel, hosted by a friendly woman named Diana. I was able to park the bike in the street outside. Once settled in I headed out to see Bran Castle, fictional home of Count Dracula. I was, of course, in Transylvania. Ooooh, spooky!

The castle sits on top of a rock outcrop and was very busy. There’s a long path up to it and the queue started only a third of the way up. Then it was a case of shuffling around the place, waiting for stairs to clear and rooms to empty. But it was well organised, all of the route being one way.

The Dracula connection is irrelevant to its history, of course. It was built in the 14^th C to protect the customs house on the road below, a very important trade route at that time. Romania as it is now didn’t exist at back then but there were several states that all spoke the same language. In 1918, during the post WW1 negotiations, the Queen of that time was influential in getting the Allies to bring those states together to form modern Romania.

During the previous centuries this region had been pulled and pushed between the Hungarians and the Ottomans, as well as being independent in the earlier years. All of Central Europe has this chequered, patchwork history, Romania no less than any others. Not forgetting that Chinggis Khan paid a visit in the 13^th century and stuck around for a couple of hundred years.

Back in Brasov I went for a walk around. I visited Strada Storii, a tiny street whose walls are covered in Graffitti. A woman was adding to it as I walked along. It’s obviously very popular and the  graffiti is as varied as the people who scrawl it.

I found a place to eat, attracted by the picture of the soup on the menu, and the fairly low prices. But the soup was off! So I had some bream with tagliatelle vegetables and rosemary potatoes. Plus two beers. Costly but nice, and very unusual for me to spend so much. The reality is that when you’re travelling, as against being on holiday, you have to eat cheaply as much as possible. But it’s good to have a treat sometimes.

Sometimes this happens. Making plans. Unmaking plans. Then remaking plans.

I wanted to visit Peles Castle, but didn’t fancy the Saturday traffic Jams. I was talking to Diana about doing Transfargasan Pass next day. She strongly advised against it because it would be really busy on a Sunday. So the plan became to go to Peles tomorrow, Transfargasan Monday and today? I went to Sighisoara.

It was a place my friend Michael had told me about but I’d originally decided not to bother with. But I’m very glad I went. It was a two hour ride there and the road was good. It went out across the plain then up in the hills, then back down again.

When I got there I had a coffee then set off up the steps to explore the UNESCO listed citadel area. There was lots to see up there. Churches, gates, towers. I hadn’t planned to go right up the top but I was attracted by some covered steps, which used to allow pupils safe access to the school on the top of the hill even in winter. 176 of them, but I made it with one brief stop.

The church up there was quite impressive. Because it was built on the foundations of a previous one it has a crypt, very rare in Romania. The interior is clearly very old and hasn’t been altered much, despite several rebuilds and additions. Well worth the walk up there. I met and chatted to a Czech biker, who was surprised at how far I’d come. I just thought, “So far.”

Next day was Peles Castle. Google quoted an hour and fifteen minutes to get there. Sunday traffic turned that into two. I didn’t really mind that because the slow speed enabled me to enjoy seeing the towns I rode through and their lovely buildings. This area really is different to where I’d ridden so far. The houses, churches etc. very much had their own style.

At the castle car park the guy directed me up a side section to park next to two other bikes. As I dismounted the side stand seemed to sink into the ground. But it wasn’t that at all. It had broken in two. Why? Because when I shortened it the weld hadn’t been anything as good as I should have made it. The attendant helped me to pick it up and found me a stone to rest the broken stand on. Oh dear!

The castle isn’t a castle but a very large house. Of an Art Nouveau design, all the rooms have a decorative theme, such as gold, French etc. Lots of expensive furniture to admire. All very beautiful. I was fascinated by the Japanese paintings hanging on the walls, which came out of Romanian studies of Japanese art.

The house was built by King Carol 1 for his wife, Queen Maria, in 1884, and was the family home until WW2 came along. A lovely place. Remarkably it was self sufficient in energy for both electricity and its heating system. It’s worth reading the Wikipedia entry as it’s such a fascinating place.

After I left there I stopped at a garage for coffee. The bike was OK on the heavily taped together stand. But when I stopped to take a photo further along it wasn’t having it.

Soon after that I noticed that the tape had split so I pulled into a lay by and leant the bike against a concrete litter bin. But the angle wasn’t quite right and it fell over, with me underneath it. I landed on my back and hit my helmeted head on the ground. A guy passing by stopped to help me pick the bike up and then handed me the visor of my crash helmet. Eh! What? How come that was loose? I worked out that the top of the visor had hit the ground and had very neatly snapped the plastic slides on which it was mounted. I was able to ride back just using the sun visor.

I located a welding place not far from the hostel, a job for the next day. Meanwhile the bike was leant up against the wall outside.

Have you ever made a complete fool of yourself? Here’s my best effort, so far.

In the morning I went down to the bike to get the welding done – flat battery! I’d left the GPS on it all night, although I really didn’t think that would flatten it. I jump started it then promptly allowed it to overbalance. No chance of picking it up. I had to get Diana to come and help me. It wouldn’t start after that even tho it cranked over quickly. It seemed flooded. But needless to say, the battery went flat after a while. It amazed me that it had been flat, then after running for less than a minute it cranked over for a long time. The voltage difference between flat and OK must be very marginal. There was clearly lots of oomph still in it. Another jump start and it was OK again. These Lithium Ion batteries are very strange.

I put the bike into gear to set off and promptly fell over again! I’d forgotten to remove the disc lock! Diana heard the noise and came down to help me again. This time it started and I got going.

I found the place I’d selected, an engineering workshop. I showed them what needed doing and the guy spoke to an older fella about it. I removed the stand and scribed the two pieces to make sure they understood where the weld was needed. The old fella did a nice job, just the way I should have done it myself. I offered him money but he refused it. Then I bumped into the first guy I’d seen. He took the money I offered – 100 Lei.

That only left the crash helmet to sort out. That evening I tried to repair it. I took the broken pieces out, glued them back together and used pieces from a plastic container to try to give them support. But it didn’t work. Although they’re thin, they’re strong enough to support the visor while it moves up and down, on a ratchet, inside the helmet. As soon as I tried it, the repairs broke. The pieces weren’t available as spares, even from Shark, the manufacturers of the helmet. The way I landed, and its consequences, was just bad luck. The only solution was another helmet as it’s not possible to ride without a proper visor.

There was a bike shop in the town that stocked lots of helmets. I took a ride down there and found a replacement. It was made by a Spanish company called LS2 and it was almost an exact copy of the one I already had. They had it in my size so I bought it. I left the broken helmet with them and they said they’d have fun seeing how tough it was by destroying it. It was only about two months old and losing it really hurt!

Finally, after waiting out a rainy day, I was able to ride the Transfargarasan Pass. This is one of Europe’s most famous biking roads, winding through the Carpathian Mountains.

End to end, it covers 150 kilometres. But the high part is about 100 kms long, at just over 2,000 metres high. It’s famous for its bends and its bears. It was built as a military road by the Romanian ruler, Nicolae Ceaușescu, who wanted to have a route that the Soviets couldn’t easily block. He’d seen what had happened in Hungary. I was warned that the blockages I might face would be where cars stopped suddenly to admire the bears.

I rode out to the turn off for the pass and stopped at a café for a brief rest. There, I bumped into three Israeli guys, who’d already come over the pass. There was a father, in his eighties, his son and his son in law. The three of them took a biking holiday every year by flying into somewhere and hiring bikes. We talked about travelling and the Dad asked me how old I was and then what I was going to do when I grew up. I told him I might settle down, get married and have some kids!

The ride up the pass was good and it was sunny. I saw some cars stopped at the roadside, feeding some bears. As I came over the top of the pass rain started so I stopped for coffee, hoping the rain would go away. It didn’t so I carried on. Then I saw some more cars, stopped by a mother bear and two cubs. No food from me, but I got some really nice photos of the cute trio. The rain stopped as well. The rain had reinforced the need to have a helmet with a visor, even if its quality was a bit lower than mine.

After an overnight stop I headed back up through Brasov, then on to Batani, where I’d booked to attend a HUBB meeting. “What’s one of those?”, I hear you ask? Horizons Unlimited is a website, also a Facebook page, set up by Grant and Susan Johnson. A Canadian couple who’d travelled all round the world during the 1980s and 90s. Having received so much help and kindness from people they met, they decided to give something back by setting up a resource that would help other adventure travellers.

They set up a website (www.horizonsunlimited.com), stuffed full of information about everything, donated by other travellers. They were based in the UK and they made a very useful series of videos. They also decided to stage weekend rallies for travellers (two wheels or four), which became very popular. The idea spread to other countries, and they’re are hosted by local enthusiasts.

I arrived at about 3pm, booked in and found my shared room and bed. There were at least fifteen bikes there, six of which were Honda CRFs, the same model as mine. Also some larger Hondas, plus various others. It’s great to spend time with like minded people. Several of the riders were women who’d just come from a WIMA rally (Women’s International Motorcycling Association). Almost all the attendees were European, with one Canadian couple who kept a bike in Europe.

The idea of the event is to listen to presentations from travellers, enjoy good food and drink whichever beverage takes your fancy. The organisers had done a great job of making sure that happened. To my delight all the presentations were in English, despite being in Romania. I suppose it made sense really as English is the travelling language.

They were all very good. One of the best was by an American guy named Israel, who used to travel with his dog, which had died just recently. He had some great stories to tell and got a bit upset about his dog during the telling of them.

Another was from a young couple who’d ridden in South America, their first long journey. At the end of it he proposed to her. Did she accept? Yes, of course she did. So another long trip has now begun.

One guy is an Enduro racer and he pulled my bike forward to use as a demo machine for explaining his techniques. When he’d finished another guy noticed a screw in my front tyre. Well, time to try out my tubeless tyre repair kit. Someone helped me and it was an easy process. The kit has a reamer, for cleaning out the hole. Then we put some glue on one of the repair strips and used the special tool to insert it into the hole., We cut it off flush with the tyre tread and I used my compressor to pump it up. An easy, and effective, repair.

Henrietta, a fifty something Danish woman (but definitely not looking it), told us her story. Corporate stress had made her ill so she took a year out but was away for three. She got stuck in Morocco because of Covid and when she finally escaped to Spain she shipped her bike to South Africa and rode back to Europe.

Then she gave us a lecture, and demonstration, on using a drone for photography. It was very interesting, and there’s no doubt that ariel photos definitely add something. But I’m not tempted. Not only is it more equipment to carry, maintain and worry about, but many countries simply won’t allow you to take one in. And I do get annoyed when people go on social media asking about the best way to smuggle them. All they’re doing is creating problems for other people by upsetting the authorities.

That was a great weekend, after which I headed back to Brasov to recover and make plans. And the plans were to go a bit further north then head into Moldova. I have a traveller friend who’d worked for the American Peace Corp in Moldova and it sounded very interesting. Prior to talking to Mark the only time I’d heard Moldova mentioned was on one of those American soaps from the nineteen eighties. I actually thought it was a made up name!

I rode north, through very pretty countryside, and arrived in the town of Piatra Neamt. It was a five minute walk to the town centre from my hotel. There’s a square containing St Steven’s tower, a very  neat church, and a couple of buildings used as museums.

One related to art by local artists. Some quite good work there. The other one contained pottery relating to a local, ancient civilisation. There’s also an old cave, from medieval times, but that was closed. Small and attractive sums up the town centre.

Another day’s riding got me to the town of Edinet, in Moldova. Infrastructure and road standards immediately dropped. I had meant to fill up before crossing the border but fortunately I didn’t find anywhere. Fortunately? Yes, because the price dropped from around £1.30 per litre in Romania to £1.00. Very handy.

As I left Romania the guy checking my passport asked me what I ate. It was his way of asking how someone of my age stayed fit enough to be travelling the way I do. He was quite impressed when I told him I’d been doing it for ten years. But he told me off for offering him a copy of my registration document rather than the original. How did he know? It was a very good copy, I thought. He said Moldova will definitely want to see the original so I dug it out. I had a coffee before I left. Nice, helpful people. At Moldova the customs woman wanted to see inside a couple of bags but that wasn’t a hassle.

Moldova? Sit tight, the story will arrive soon.