1999 Biking East Europe

Monday, September 13 – Borsa, Romania – Hotel, 200 000l
Distance cycled: 26.4 – Maximum speed: 29 – Average speed: 17

We have had the most wonderful day. We caught an early bus to Sucevita – perhaps the most impressive of the four monasteries we have visited – through stunning mountain scenery of green hills capped by dense fir forests. The bus was full of people on their way to work; the driver had numerous religious pictures stuck up above his windscreen; 13 000 lei each. We arrived at Sucevita too early for the nuns who were still busy with their morning rituals and who had not yet opened the ticket office. They had, however, opened the door to their wonderful sanctuary and we spent an hour or so wandering around the church and grounds marvelling at the paintings (particularly loved the ladder to heaven with angels ranked on one side and little devils on the other – the devils tugging hapless souls off the precarious ladder), the surrounding walls, the setting and the perfect sunshine and blue skies weather. As usual the paintings depicted, amongst others, scenes of astonishing violence – Christians being martyred in a variety of inventive and horrible ways: sawed lengthways in two, stoned, whipped, spit-roasted, fed to the animals, stretched on racks, nailed to crosses, beheaded etc – and yet the ambience was peaceful in the extreme. Odd.

We then bought fresh bread to supplement the leftovers from our train picnic and picnicked on cheese and salami sandwiches on a sunshine patch near the craft salespeople and later fed the gaggle of nearby geese on the last of the bread. We then strolled back through Sucevita – like other rural villages strung long along either side of the road – with its unkempt but charming gardens (a mishmash of flowers and vegetables and fruit), and pretty trim in tin and wood and cement casts – past a hitching priest and nun, to hitch a ride of our own with two well-dressed young men in a red Dacia. Who stopped at a spot where the mountain stream dropped onto the road and drank of the clear water and who played their music loudly throughout and coasted to save petrol wherever they could.

Back in Vatra Moldovitei we packed the clothing our kind hostess had washed and hung out to dry in our absence (great to have clean clothes again) and got on the road to Vama from where we planned to hitch to Borsa bikes and all. I had mentioned to our veterinarian-of-21-years host last night that I wanted to purchase a cow bell and he presented me with one this afternoon before we departed – about which, for 25 000 lei, I am thrilled. We cycled down to and through Vama, bought Cokes on the outskirts, and were still trying to decide on the best place from which to cadge a lift when I, still astride my bike, decided to stick out my thumb for an approaching truck.

Which stopped! Unbelievable. They took some time to decide whether or not to stop and were some way down the road by the time they made up their minds – but they did stop and we cycled up to them and they (two strong young men) hoisted our bikes into the back of their truck and lay them flat on the cement sacks they were transporting and invited us into their cab – complete with dangling furry dice and loud rhythmic music – and their lives, albeit briefly. They took us 21kms to Cimpulung Moldovenesc where the driver tooted at and greeted friends he passed and honked at a pretty girl walking on the opposite pavement and then glanced at me with a deprecating shrug and a smile – a shared moment. We said our goodbyes at his depot and cycled through the town to the outskirts where we awaited our next ride overlooking a beautiful valley with village and church nestled midst hills. On our way through town we passed a funeral procession – mourners walking behind and in front of the ‘hearse’, two young bulls towing a cart on which an old woman was laid out, a black scarf on her head and flowers adorning her face and body.

Only a few suitable vehicles passed us by, on the whole apologetically gesturing that they were full or staying in the area, before a young man en route to Vatra Dornei pulled over. After consulting a map and agreeing to drop us at the turnoff to Borsa, he and Charl loaded the bikes onto the hydraulic lift at the door to his truck and stowed them in the back. And again we sat up front to enjoy the panoramic trip into the Carpathians. Charl offered our driver a cigarette from a local pack, but this he scorned sharing with Charl instead one of his Marlboros.

We were somewhat anxious when he dropped us at Route 17 as the road seemed narrow and little used. But as we were still expressing our thanks a van pulled up beside some waiting people about 100m into our road. Charl immediately cycled over and procured for us our third lift – as far as Cirlibaba, another 23kms closer to our destination. The van (local public transport) was incredibly battered with missing windows plugged by hardboard and back-breaking planks strung across its width for the sitting on. The friendly passengers helped us in and tolerated the fact that we took up more than our share of space. And the driver did not even charge us for this great service, much to our surprise and pleasure.

In Cirlibaba we bought a coke and a beer in a pretty little place on the road – mainly because I needed to pee. I was directed to the long drop at the back and was disgusted to find human faeces and loo paper in unpleasant mound all over the floor. I tiptoed in and squatted to pee and got out of there as fast as possible. Charl and I consulted the map and decided we would cycle to Borsa if we could not get a ride as we had about 53kms to go and about 3 hours of daylight still – a little ambitious, but I guess we were high on luck.

We had only gone a kilometre or so when a van came by. I, hearing it approaching from behind, stuck out my thumb while still on the bike, but Charl managed to dismount ahead and hitch more assertively – and three young men from Suceava in the area on business and en route to Borsa stopped for us. What a fantastic piece of luck on an incredibly quiet road. They took us up and over the mountains at Prislop Pass (1416m) – on a road it would have been almost impossible for us to cycle even had we had the entire day. It just climbed and climbed forever. At one point they (and we) too stopped to drink from an icy flow – a mountain stream diverted into a pipe which flowed into a trough on the side of the road. Sweet, cold, refreshing. At the top of the pass they stopped to drink from their flask of coffee and to admire the stunning view. It was here that the clouds darkened dramatically but the sun still shone strongly beneath and so we were treated to that magical light before a threatened storm – all golden and clean and perfect. And so on to Borsa where they recommended the hotel and restaurant at which they were staying. We have a room and en suite bathroom with hot water for 200 000 lei and have dined on excellent pork cutlets with chips / mashed potato (one seems to get only potatoes with dinner) and a tomato and cabbage salad. A fitting end to a lovely day.

Charl found the words to the national anthem somewhere. One section reads thus: Awake, ye, Romanian, from your lethargic sleep; In which your barbarous tyrants have sunken you so deep – written 1990.