Day twelve - 13 August 2009 Bucharest

I am woken up by dogs barking and some of our party coming back from Bucharest at 4am. JC (our truck driver) got ripped off by the taxi driver and is heard screaming out ‘I hate Romanians!’

On the bus to town, we are fined by inspectors as most of us didn’t stamp our tickets when entering the bus. I hadn’t bought a ticket at all. The episode leads to a heated argument between some locals, who defend us as the naive tourists, and the inspectors. The latter leave the bus at the next available stop.

We went to see the Parliament building built by Ceaucescu. The first word for it is massive. We consider going on the guided tour (if you leave the tour to explore on your own, it is a criminal offence according to such and such statute, it warns on the notice boards). However, we need passport ID to buy tickets, so we don’t go in.

Some of the buildings in Bucharest are not so ugly as other Romanian cities, but they are not particularly valued, being disguised behind advertising hoardings or generally decayed. Bucharesti (as spelled locally), still a wee bit communisti.

In the evening there is drinking and haircuts: never a good mixture.

Day eleven - 12 August 2009 'Dracula's Castle'

Romanian countryside can be captivating and the villages half live in a time warp. However, the cities are pug ugly. The idea of visiting Bucharest is not capturing my imagination.

We visit Bran Castle, otherwise known as Dracula’s castle, this being where Vlad the Impaler once lived. It is a spiraling building set at the top of a hill and entrance is the equivalent of £2.75 to get in, plus £2.25 if you want to bring a camera. Other than the historical story boards, it is much like walking around a Tudor mansion, although it does predate Tudor by several centuries. It seemed more like the setting of a Shakespeare play, more House of Capulet than lair of Beelzebub. The intimidation factor was also somewhat diminished by the five foot high doorways.

We get lost trying to find the Bucharest campsite and have to follow a local. The campsite we stay at is in a pleasant location, and many of the party to choose to 'upgrade' to one of the many cabins available at a cost of just a few pounds a person. However, I am following a policy of no upgrades, so it is the tent for me.
In the campsite reception, amongst the tourism leaflets are cards for the local masseurs, who all seem to like give their massages in the nude, if the pictures are anything to go by. I sneak around the campsite dropping the cards inside people's tents and cabin doors.

Day ten - 11 August 2009 Romania

Romanian villages show great contrasts. Comfortable looking homes with BMWs or Volkswagens in the drive sit side by side with crumbling cottages with chickens and cows sharing the front courtyard. Horse and carts share the roads with cars and trucks, even on motorways. The villagers are mainly older people dressed in traditional garb, as the younger populace flee from a life of subsistence farming. It’s almost as if a phone call has gone around saying ‘quick, the tourists are coming, get the peasant gear out!’

Roadside onion selling seems to be a popular occupation too.

Day nine - 10 August 2009: Electric toothbrush and a well; to Romania

Trucking to Romania: We find out today that three of our group, including Dave, have failed their security check for getting visas to Iran. There is no apparent reason, the most likely being that they chose to randomly deny a few of us visas as some sort of token gesture of political hostility toward Britain.

We camp by what seems to be a disused train station, with weeds surrounding the platform and dirty decaying waiting area, which several of us choose to camp in. It turns out that this disused train station actually has trains coming through it every hour or so, our tents bemusing the local commuters and, for that matter, the train drivers, who press their horns as they come through.

I am regularly awoken by the trains and thoughts of contacting the Inland Revenue, for some reason.