Out of Romania, through Bulgaria

The whole of Bulgaria looks exactly lıke thıs...

I can’t swing my leg over the bike unless I stand on the left hand foot peg. It’s a precarious move, but there’s only so much ‘American Chopper’ on Discovery you can watch, and I have to move on.

Bucharest is surprisingly nice. Kind of like Glasgow without the great architecture but in better nick. There’s some nice parks, wide streets, chain stores and Ronald MacDonald is doing his best to supersize the population. Although, the Palace of Parliament, a Ceausescu monstrosity, has to be seen to be believed. I’ve never seen a building that so screamed at the world: “COWER IN SERVITUDE, PROLETARIAT SCUM!”

My first hotel, the Hotel Muntena, is appalling. Sullen staff put me in a grubby room. The bathroom is in the hall and the fittings look like they’ve been recently salvaged from a long sunken trawler with a dysenteric crew. Outside my room is a nightclub that goes ‘Thump..thump..thump,thump thump..thump..thump,’ till 4am. On the second day the manager comes and angrily asks why I have had the effrontery to park my bike in the locked alley next to the hotel.
“Because your staff said it was OK.”
It’s the truth and the only possible answer. He’s not happy. In a confusing babble of Romanian, German, English and conspicuous idiocy he explains (what a shocker!) I have to pay for the privilege. It’s only a couple of quid but in my depressed state it irritates the hell out of me.
The next day I move to a new Hotel. There’s a nice looking lass behind the desk who does this weird thing with her face. It’s like a frown, only upside down. Slowly, through the haze of time, long forgotten memories stir and recognition comes in a flash. She’s SMILING!
My new hotel has clean, quiet rooms with TV, friendly staff and included breakfast. At last I find a bike dealer (after two days of failure) who has some enduro handlebars in stock, things are looking up. I am only just in time to stop my parents sending the bars off my Enfield by courier (not the first thing the poor beleaguered folks have had to sort out for me while I’m off on this jolly) and my only regret is that I won’t get to see what my XT looks like with a set of 1950s chrome handlebars!

After 4 days in Bucharest the miles of pavement pounding searching for handlebars and 8mm Allen Keys have meant my knee is not much better than it was when I arrived but the bike is ready to go so so am I. I’m off to Bulgaria.

Customs at Ruse is relatively painless and I’m soon cruising through a country I know nothing about. As I sit eating my lunch, staring at rolling, forested hills, I realise I don’t know anyone who’s been to Bulgaria. It’s a good feeling and the warm content that comes with exploration accompanies me right through this remarkably green and pleasant country. I have a day off in Sozopol on the Black Sea, and it’s on to Turkey.