Читать книгу Danny Beer. Tourist on Wheels. A European Adventure - Danny Beer - Страница 18

It is a nice ride to the border. You decide against a detour to a 14th century Gothic church. It may have been nice but there are other nice things to find.

The Romanian border guard is quite interested in your story. Or maybe she is just doing her job. Either way she lets you through without trouble.

A dog is the first to greet you as you head into Satu Mare. It is of no great bother and soon gives up chase. A bank and restaurant are the first and second orders of business. After that you have difficulty trying to leave town. After a while of traversing the town’s pot-hole rieen roads you head in the general direction out on what may or may not be the road. But you find your way.

A strong side wind makes life difficult along the busy highway. Drivers here are not as friendly as in Hungary and the previously two mentioned conditions make for some dangerous cycling. Of particular danger is when a large truck would pass or overtake sending a strong gust of wind your way.

Off the highway the road deteriorates badly. After a particularly scary moment when a car and a truck try to pass you at the same time you decide enough is enough and ride in the middle of your lane. The creates a myriad of angry toots from over anxious drivers forced to slow down and wait a second or two to overtake.

“Why should I wait when I can just easily run you off the road’ and “This is a road. It’s built for cars. Cyclists are of secondary importance to cars.” You can almost hear them say, in Romanian of course. You just wave ‘hello’. This usually works better than any rude hand gestures as it helps settle your anger and, if they bother to look, intensifies the driver’s anger.

“What is he doing? Waving? What does that mean? I want to make him angry so I can stop my car and maim him.” Well it is better than the old road-rage one-up-man-ship salute anyway.

Ninety-seven km later you roll into town and find a hotel. But alas, no hot water so you decide to remain smelly. You go for a walk down the street. Someone taps you on the shoulder. It’s a policeman. He wants to see your passport but it’s at the hotel. He just wants to know what you are up to. As a foreigner you must stand out a mile away. Or maybe he could smell your sweaty stink.

Romania certainly has a different feel to it than Hungary. You see evidence of great poverty and hovels of buildings. People also get around in traditional garb, women in flowery dresses and men in wide brimmed hats. It is definitely car country though and drivers have no intention of giving up this fact. A shame really as it distracts from the otherwise beauty of this country.