Our lovely Danube was below us again as we crossed the bridge from Romania into Bulgaria, only this time there were no naked frolickers on its banks or its waters, which instead were sullied by a huge drain emitting something black and unsavoury. The bridge was once grand, now just long, high and in poor repair. I was heartened to see that the light fittings on the Bulgarian side were intact unlike their Romanian counterparts, so had high hopes of a country that takes pride in its appearance. These were soon dashed as we dodged the potholes and rubble, took in the ugly ugly jerry built apartment blocks, a legacy of the Communist years, and noted with interest the 'girls' waiting patiently for customers on the side of the road.
However, on penetrating the ring of apartment blocks to reach the centre of our first Bulgarian town, Russe, we discovered a gigantic traffic-free open square, shaded by lush trees under which fattish dogs, neither snarling nor skanky, lay sprawled to escape the midday sun. Most responded positively to a pat and a friendly word and I noted that some wore eartags indicating an ownership and civic schedule not encountered in Romania.
We took refreshments and slowly got on our bikes again to make our camp for the night situated on a lake with a scenic ride in past overflowing ripe apricot trees, but no toilets to speak of and certainly no showers, so we were all a bit jaded by the time dinner was served. But the show must go on, so the second talent quest took place with recitations of poetry, ballads, songs and a demonstration of Garis' array of interesting and useful gadgets without which no bike rider should leave home. The words to the song Stewart and I sang can be located here to enliven your very next Karaoke evening. http://www.paristoistanbul.com/orientexpress/blog/
Bulgarian farmers use a lot of machinery and practice broad-acre farming. The fields of sunflowers stretch out over rolling hills, meeting oats, barley and wheat, some of which is being threshed as we ride along. There are few farmhouses and none of the tiny farming villages we saw in Romania all with their own haystacks, chooks, geese, a goat, a cow and a horse. Labour seems to be organised and certainly not as manual, as hay is baled in either square bales or the familiar super-size round bales and carted in on tractors and trailers.
I love the way we are greeted as we ride along. Everyone looks up, smiles, waves, and blesses us. Drivers toot and wave, children escort us through towns on their bikes and point out the best ice-cream shops, and even organise for them to be opened especially for us. It's not unusual to receive small change in the form of a chewy or boiled lolly.
Varna is a seaside resort where people come to spend and play. There are footballers' wives everywhere, some with small designer children in tow. Planes fly in from all over Europe depositing package tourists, and the beach is a small horseshoe bay where it is necessary to rent space to lay on a chair on the grubby sand. The water is warm, there are bars and carnival attractions and fireworks at night.
Smoking. Everywhere people smoke, indoors and out. It is suffocating most of us, unaccustomed as we are to sharing our spaces, especially dining spaces, with chain smokers.
A note on Bucharest:
This town is a Western mecca with shopping malls, cars galore and busy gruff people going about the business of making a living. The peasant women with their head scarves and wooden-handled farm implements gave way within 30kms of the city to all manner of designer-clad sylphs, strutting around on stilettos with mannered pouts and 'natural' hair to match. But God knows where they do their laundry as three hours and three taxi rides later, we were not able to locate a 'spalatorie' for clothes, although we were directed to both car washes and dry cleaners. Three of us took off in a taxi with a boot load of washing you see, as an efficient and systematic approach to doing the washing, but were forced to retreat to our hotel, mission unaccomplished. It was a good way to conduct a sight-seeing tour though and a whole lot cheaper than anything much else in expensive Bucharest.
Statistics, damned lies and other facts...
July 10: Bucharest to Russe, 104 kms, five and three quarter hours
July 11: Russe to Sumen, the most physically challenging day yet, although one of the most scenic, 136 kms, climbed 1,450 metres, hot, hills, hills, and hills, eight hours and nine minutes
July 12: Sumen to Varna, about 105 kms and five and three quarter hours in heat, headwinds and hills
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