Kamchia - Rumania

From Bulgaria to Rumania

Made this little joke at the Turkey/ Bulgarian border:

Bulgarian border patrol officer: “Do you have anything to declare?”

Me: “Yes. Don’t go to Turkey. It ceased to be a democracy.” Luckily the officer had a sense of humour, which can be scarce amongst these breed of civil servants. Leaving Bulgaria into Rumania proved to be a little less relaxed as I came in… But I’m getting ahead of myself. Last article (in Dutch) was about me reaching Kamchia where a big DHL party was about to take place. A celebration for achieving being the best performing middle sized country in Europe. A great accomplishment, that was celebrated in an equally sized party. The (Bulgarian) DHL people know how to party, I tell yah! After different daily activities, I for instance enjoyed a beer soaked boat tour on the river Kamchia, all of the DHL staff and personnel gathered in the evening for a dinner with music and a performance by the biggest Bulgarian comedian. His appearance was a surprise and judging by the reactions of the ecstatic crowd, spot on! His impersonations were hysterical, everybody laughed out loud. Although I couldn’t understand anything he said or sang, he convinced me that he was a great performer on top of his game, and one that knew how to work an already enthusiastic crowd. Really good show. I met up with some great people and left at about 02:00. Had enough to drink, not too much, but with the party winding down, it was time to hit the sack for a fresh start the next morning.

Kamchia – Kavarna

From Kamchia to Varna, following the same big road number 9 as I did earlier, I saw a possibility to escape from this tedious but also boring ‘Road of Death’. Deviating, not for the first nor the last time, from my original route, I took a smaller and more quiet road that would also lead me into Varna, albeit just a little more kilometres. I was okay with that. Anything that would take me of this motor speedway was an improvement and would boost my moral. After a couple of hundred metres I saw a young woman standing by the side of the road. Just standing there, for apparently no particular reason, nor did she seem to be waiting for a taxi or anything. Some pedalling more, and another young woman appeared by the side of the road. A pattern emerged upon me. Every couple of hundred metres these ‘working girls’ were ‘working’ this road, so to speak. I’ve seen it before, like in Italy for example, also at an unlikely place, a seemingly quiet road in the woods. More or less a similar setting. Saddening and I can imagine these girls expose themselves to a lot of danger. They must be desperate for money to do the oldest profession in human existence in these eerie environments. And as a cyclist you pass by at a pace that allows for short verbal exchanges. There were ones that offered their services, but there were also ones that cheered me on and recognized my struggles uphill. I guess we’re both slaves of the road, albeit in different contexts…

Varna, big harbour city. Had to cross an impressive bridge to enter it. Old buildings along wide streets, as I was told by Martin. This is the city he lives and works in most of the time. Frequently he travels to Burgas to manage its DHL Servicepoint. That’s why he could tell me in detail about the route to follow and what to expect and what to avoid in Varna. It worked out beautiful. After Varna it became the prettiest ride thus far on the old continent, Europe. I had Adriatic coast flashbacks from my 2011 travel, Leiden-Athens-Leiden. Overhanging blossoming branches from trees in full Spring, made it even a more heavenly experience than it already was. Great panoramic views from the coast to the sea, with even some white cliffs thrown into the picture. Breath taking for sure!

I biked to a little roadside town, called Kavarna. Had some trouble finding a hotel, but got lucky and a cheap room facing a dehumanizing monstrosity of a supermarket. The neighbouring apartment building were even more depressing. Deplorable state, behind repairs and waiting maintenance left nothing to the imagination. Its inhabitants fitted this all too real picture. Social outcasts that drove cars that we usually tend to park at a scrapyard, and leave it there… Simple room, simple hotel, no restaurant, no breakfast, not even a hot cup of coffee. Well, they had cold beer. That took care of one need, haha!

Next day, it was on to Rumania. But what a dramatic change of landscape! Yesterday, a waft of Côte d’Azure, this day I might as well could be biking in the Flevopolder, the Netherlands. Windmills galore, and a flat horizon to match! Amazing that you can feel at home, this far from it! So, after taking some pictures and being chased out of Bulgaria by two vicious dogs (they always come in pairs, they weren’t the last ones chasing me!), I arrived at the border post. A Bulgarian officer came out of his booth and sized me up from head to toe. Apparently I mirrored his facial expression, as he with no hidden disgust barked out: “Documenti!” I gave him my passport, and the bald pencil pusher disappeared with my ‘documenti’ into his dark stained glass booth. Five minutes passed. Motorists were forming a small queue, and the first one in line killed its cars engine. Ten minutes went by, and no sign of activity was noticeable through the dark glass. He could be checking his mail, or play a lame card game on his computer… “The system isn’t working!”, was what one of the Rumanian officers shouted out, coming out of the booth. To inform the waiting, or to apologize for the failing technology? It wasn’t clear. After twenty minutes, I had it with this waiting game. And at this point, one has to be able to remain diplomatic and it is imperative not to offend the one that’s holding your passport. Make a scene and you could be there for the rest of your life… So, with the nicest tone of voice I could muster, I turned to the Rumanian officer.

Me: “Hello, I’m sorry, but what seems to be the problem? Is there something I can help you with?”

RO: “No. Thank you. There’s problem with computer system.”

Me: “Well, I have a laptop you’re welcome to use.”

RO: “No. Problem is with my Bulgarian colleague.”

Me: “Well, he’s also welcome to use it.”

This little conversation sped up the whole process dramatically. The bald Bulgarian officer, obviously mad as hell, tossed my passport towards his ‘Rumanian colleague’. He scanned my ‘documenti’ in no time and I was good to go. A lesson well learned. Remain calm and try to rise above protocols and ego’s. Me offering help, to sort out a failing authority, was the smartest move in the book!

Back on track and heading towards Constanta. I pulled over at a hotel in Eforie Sud. Run by Turkish people, the place wasn’t open but the owner was willing to put me up for the night. He saw my Turkish flag on the hood of the box, and was taken by it, I guess. Very nice guy, great hotel and a nice revisit to the former Ottoman empire, as it was applicably named. And in sharp contrast to my opening Turkish joke. Next time, more on Constanta and the road to Bucuresti.

Cheers!