"Gypsy, Tramp and Thief" Romania Travelogue by travelinxs

Crossing into Romania I expected a stereotypical image of Romany gypsies, desperate poverty and naked orphans chasing us up the street. It wasn’t quite like that, as Romania becomes gradually more integrated with the rest of Europe. Though I did see around ten horse drawn carts within the first hour.

But we did meet a gypsy. We had stopped at a village for our usual mundane lunch of bread n’ spread when Sam turned up. He wasn’t Romanian but Italian and was walking down the road with his donkey Gina and two chickens caged on Gina’s back.

We had lunch together and Sam told us a little of his life story.

Lady and some tramp

He had originally started walking from Belgium, had met a girl and became ‘stuck’ for seven years. Somehow he lost the girl and gained the donkey and continued his journey. It had taken a further three years to walk from Italy to this village.

He was on his way to Turkey. He hoped to get there the following year. Or maybe the year after. He only manages 15km a day on the days he walks. Then he’ll carry on to Asia he hopes.

He was jolly and humorous, without pretensions. He had no hidden agenda. No deeper philosophy to justify his journey. He liked walking, so he walked. Gina was his best friend, so she tagged along.

I found an affinity with the charming old gypsy and wished we could have travelled together. But it wasn’t to be and we left him to camp in the centre of the village green, seemingly unaware of the mayhem he, his donkey and his two chickens will inevitably cause.

a town named after my famous big sister!

As we rode on east there was an open hospitality about the Romanians. The loaded bikes had always drawn curious looks, but now people called from the side of the road and waved, taking any edge off entering a new country.

The only tramp in the country was probably me. I needed a shave, a haircut and Im sure a bath would not have gone a miss.

We made the sprawling, crippled metropolis of Timisoara, which oozed all the charm of a good dose of herpes. We were lost for hours until we found the only campsite in west Romania, who robbed us blind for a patch of dirt and the use of a limp shower in a concrete cell.

We met a group of German lads there who had flown over for a holiday. They asked if we were worried about coming across any bears. I said it hadn’t crossed my mind. I only mention this because a week later I had the opportunity to watch BBC World Service and a ticker-tape headline read; ‘German tourist hurt in Romanian bear attack’. Struck me as something of a coincidence.

Romania did score ‘dix point’ in one category. It became the first European country to find itself on The World's Worst Toilets Scoreboard. Well done Romania!

We travelled south down the main highway. It was hot and the road rough, giving me my first puncture. I could hardly complain after such a distance. It was perhaps at this point I began to think, ‘This seems one hell of a long route to cross Europe on a bicycle.’ Oh well. Even longer by donkey I guess.

As we neared the southern border I felt apprehensive for the first time. Serbia. It sounded edgy.

END OF UPDATE.

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