BULGARIA: LOG OF A MOTORHOME JOURNEY

Turkey, Edirne, Svilengrad, Haskovo, Plovdiv, Stara Zagora, Kazanlak, Shipka, Shipka Pass, Gabrovo, Dryanovo, Veliko Tarnovo, Ruse, Romania

Extracts from the Diary of a Journey by Motorhome Summer 2003

To continue this journey into Romania, click here.

Margaret and Barry Williamson

Day 1           COMPLEX 4-TY KM, PLOVDIV

A leisurely start, then a short drive on the Edirne bypass to the Turkish-Bulgarian border. The battery wasn't charging as we drove but B found and fixed the problem (a cut-out) while M stocked up on delicious Turkish bread at the Ekmek Fabrikasi (bread factory), with huge wood-fired ovens. For less than £1 we had 2 huge white loaves, one brown and a bag of rolls, all still warm.

The border, between Kapikule and Svilengrad, took about 2½ hours and plenty of patience and coffee. Exiting Turkey, we drove down the narrow channel indicated, wheels skimming the curbs, but were too wide to get between the 2 cabins where passports had to be stamped and documents scrutinised. A policeman moved the traffic behind so that B could reverse out and go round with the buses. We eventually cleared customs without being searched and crossed into Bulgaria.

Here all was chaos. Some lanes were labelled BUS, but were blocked with a queue of cars; some were labelled EU, but had a queue of all nationalities; we headed for one labelled EU BUS, which looked promising, but an unofficial official (none had a badge, uniform, languages, manners) insisted we should go through a different channel. We refused, not wishing to reverse into a queue going forward and getting stuck again, but took our papers on foot to the place directed. The official ignored us and we passed the first hurdle. Next we wanted insurance for the motorbike (this is a country known for police-checks and fines) and got 10 days' 3rd-party cover for €19 (of course, they had no change so it cost €20). The same office was supposed to be a bank, but they had no money! Welcome to Bulgaria. Now we only had to pay the Disinfection Tax of €5 (for driving through a trough of muddy water - we remembered having to do this when crossing by bicycle!) and the Road Tax of €18 and we were free to fight our way into the queue for half-price hard-currency fuel. Diesel at €0.30 a litre! You no longer have to buy petrol coupons, but we should have been given a fuel chitty at one of the control points (we hadn't). M persuaded the young woman we had indeed come through the border, how else could we be there, and we filled the tank. The rules appear to change so regularly that the border guards must lose interest and know that one fine EU day they'll all be out of a job.

Breaking free, we headed west, turning back after travelling east for months, through countryside and villages, which looked even poorer than Turkey. The crops included tobacco, sunflowers, vines, cotton and the inevitable watermelons, on sale at the roadside. We saw plums being gleaned, storks in their nests on electricity pylon and many donkeys and donkey-carts, immediately distinguishing Bulgaria from its horse-drawn neighbours.

We pulled over for lunch in a scruffy layby, then continued along the E80. About half way to Plovdiv, we passed the first large town, Haskovo, where our book listed Camping Istok, next to the Motel Klokotniza. Eventually found it, down a side road, completely overgrown and empty but with an aged guardian in Reception. A low concrete arch over the entrance made negotiation pointless and we left, just as it began to rain with thunder rolling and fork lightning splitting the sky. The storm didn't last, but was refreshing. A few miles before Plovdiv, after the village of Sadovo, we noticed another semi-derelict campsite with another impossibly low entrance - camping in this country means on-site huts or tents.

We bypassed the centre of Plovdiv on the new A1, then looked for the 'Complex 4-ty Km' (cabins and camping), 4 km west on the old Sofia road, vaguely guided by Lonely Planet and instructions from a petrol station. Again, the entrance was narrow and low, the complex itself had no space and low trees, but there was an open car park outside next to the bar. By now it was 7.30 pm and time to stop. The barman gave up insisting we drive inside and was persuaded (with the help of a friendlier Turk) that we could spend the night on the car park, free of charge. About 2.30 am we were joined by 2 young men who slept noisily in their car under our bedroom window and we counted our blessings.

137 miles. Free parking.

Day 2           COMPLEX 9-TY KM, PLOVDIV

After only one further enquiry at a garage, we found the 'Camping Motel Deveti' listed in our Caravan Club book. Discovered that Deveti simply means 9, and the full title is now Motel Complex 9-ty Km (that is 9-th km from town) and so it was simply another 5 km west of Complex 4-ty Km. Obvious. But the girl in Reception insisted it was no longer camping, only motel apartments or 'bungalows', so Go Away! And the manageress insisted ditto. The 'bungalows' were shabby little huts among the trees, good old Communist Worker Recreation style, but at least the gate didn't have a low roof. Brainwave - How much is the cheapest hut? 20 Leva (= £7.40) including soap, towels and sheets. Can we park by one? Yes, problem solved!

We manoeuvred alongside the hut (a sagging double bed, table, 2 wobbly chairs, a musty bathroom) and a cleaner was summoned. Once she'd gone we plugged our mains cable in and made coffee. We'd no intention of sleeping in the hut, but it provided hot water and a toilet/shower and, most importantly, a safe place to leave Rosie. Adjoining the grounds was 'Aquateka', a new outdoor swimming pool and bar, of which more later!

Barry bravely steered the motorbike round the potholes, inside potholes, avoiding trolleybuses and donkey carts, for 6 miles or so back down the road, across the Maritsa River and into the centre of Plovdiv's cobbled streets on the south banks. Struggling with the signs in Cyrillic Script (what on earth was St Cyril thinking of?), we managed to decipher the shorter names, finding ourselves on Bulevard Ruski below the Hill of the Liberators, with its massive Monument to the Soviet Army (who helped rid them of 500 years of Turkish occupation, in 1878). We asked a policeman if we could park the motorbike by his cabin - certainly not, try the Maritsa Hotel (largest in town, complete with casino!) - but had more luck asking at a car radio fitter's. Seems much like the old days, so far, but getting cash was easier with several ATM's. We walked towards the single minaret and entered the 15thC Djoumaya (= Friday) Mosque, built when part of the Ottoman Empire and still in use by the city's small Moslem population, though its glory has faded and its walls cracked. Across Djoumaya Square the street overlooks a section of the small 2ndC AD Roman theatre (wrongly labelled Stadium), excavated from under a busy crossroads (now pedestrianised) and partly covered by some recent concrete. Steps lead down to a modern bar, built right up against the arc of stone seats.

From here the pedestrian mall runs south to the central square on the site of the Roman Forum. Pausing only at McDonald's to eat and get a free Coca Cola glass, we walked down to view a few ruins of the forum buildings, to be seen below street level, uncovered by road works. The Greeks were here first (Philip II of Macedonia named the town Philipopolis) but left little trace once the Romans conquered and renamed the city Trimontium (3 hills). We wandered round the huge public gardens next to the square, with modern sculptures and tall shady deciduous trees (away from the Mediterranean climate at last, though still very warm).

Then we walked up to Plovdiv's (in fact, Bulgaria's) finest Roman site, a 3,000-seat amphitheatre built into the steep hillside directly above a modern road tunnel. Partially restored, it is used for special performances, including an August Folk Festival. After trying the overgrown padlocked backstage entrance, we eventually found our way in, past 2 guards with an important chess game who waved us on. A remarkable theatre (and we've seen a few!), with the view across to the distant Rodopi mountains beyond the stage and the restored seats so steeply raked that climbing the aisle steps felt dangerous. Below us, St Marina Orthodox Church with its quaint wooden tower, above us the Old Town of Bulgarian Baroque mansions and churches, but we left these for tomorrow and went to find the motorbike.

Back at our Complex, we made tea and took showers (the ancient boiler threatening to explode and high-pressure water squirting out of every join in the pipes). What a nice quiet place - until the disco music from the swimming pool/bar next door was turned up to its highest volume and the very ground throbbed to the moronic electronic drumbeat - until 2.30 am. No wonder we are the only ones here, apart from a pair of green woodpeckers making a gentler thrumming!

Day 3           COMPLEX 9-TY KM, PLOVDIV

We rode the motorbike back into Plovdiv, Bulgaria's second-largest city, and parked under a restaurant veranda on the edge of the old centre. The sign said 1 lv per hour for cars; returning after 6 hrs we were charged 8 lv for our little motorbike, but didn't want to argue with an all-in wrestler/car park attendant covered in tattoos, a heavyweight Bulgar - they themselves pronounce the 'B' as a 'V'!!

The Bulgarian National Revival (after the Turks were ousted in the 19thC) resulted in the Bulgarian Baroque houses and churches built here as elsewhere by prosperous traders. Many have been restored, with brightly painted facades - now restaurants, hotels, museums, art galleries, antique shops - although a majority are still dilapidated. We climbed up the cobbled lanes between them, mounting the hillside above the larger Roman Theatre, past a house with a plaque stating that the French poet Lamartine stayed there on his Grand Tour of the Orient. The orthodox church of Constantin & Elena, 1832 (on the site of a church dedicated to Rome's first Christian Emperor in 332 AD) had a finely restored iconostasis and frescoes, the outside walls illustrating bible stories for the illiterate (eg Adam & Eve, Noah's Ark, 3 Wise Men). The paintings are somehow more homely than the strict iconography of Greek churches, the faces more human, many of the scenes historical rather than biblical.

We skipped the museums and climbed to the hilltop, with the scant ruins of Eumolpias, a prehistoric Thracian settlement from about 5000 BC. The view over the old city and across the river to the Communist-era tower blocks was a contrast in housing styles. Seated on the ancient stones, we talked at length to a young man by the name of Ivailo Janakiev, keen to practise his English. He pointed over the river to the grim block where his parents had a flat, shared with his sister and her husband and young daughter. He lived there too when not busking in the local railway station or on the streets of West European cities, sleeping in their parks. He had just returned from a tour to Germany, travelling by bus or by hitching. He spoke several languages and played guitar and harmonica, a talented and likeable lad who said he wanted to train to be a teacher but could never afford the fees, with his mother sick and father unemployed. We gave him the price of a good lunch, so that we could enjoy ours with less guilt - a slice of pizza-to-go down on the pedestrian shopping mall, followed by coffee and excellent cakes at the cafe outside the Djoumaya Mosque.

Next we found an internet cafe, of which there were several, charging 1 lv (37p) per hour. Both Bulgaria and Turkey are well ahead of Greece in availability, price and equipment. There were 2 incoming emails, from Ian & Alison Parsons about their journey through Bulgaria and Romania and from Tristan of Global Village with their round-the-world flight itineraries and prices (a big saving on the estimate from The Traveller at Morecambe). We also surfed the web for information on GPS navigation systems.

On the way back to the motorbike, we called at St Marina church, its red-tiled roof and wooden tower nicely restored from the outside. Inside, though, came the shock of blackened walls and ceiling, its frescoes barely discernible, due to damp or soot or fire. But it was still in use, an old lady selling candles in the corner, another crossing herself before an icon of the saint.

Back to Complex 9th Km, where we had some legitimate neighbours, a Dutch family in a small campervan who hooked into another 'bungalow'. They'd checked in for 2 nights but actually left tomorrow, unable to stand the noise through the night, despite saying they had got used to disco music on the Black Sea Coast. We directed them to Complex 4th Km (whose narrow gate kept us out) and withstood the din ourselves by closing all windows and curtains and leaving the air-con going.

Other, more dubious, neighbours came and went, using the bungalows for an hour or so at a cheaper daily rate than the 20 lv (£7.40) charged to 'foreigners'.

Day 4           COMPLEX 9-TY KM, PLOVDIV

A day of small jobs. We wrote, updated the diary and designed a new spreadsheet to keep better track of the house income and expenditure, after ringing Turners. B cleaned the motorbike and washed Rosie's windows, M did some dhobi and produced a chicken curry. Finally, inspired by Ian Shires, Barry gave himself a nice short haircut with the electric beard trimmer. It looks very good, but M declined a feminist crop!

Day 5           SHIPKA HOTEL CARPARK, SHIPKA PASS

Somehow, and after only one U-turn, we found our way onto the A1 from Sofia (Cyrillic signposts none too clear or non-existent). We drove eastwards on the very quiet highway, passing through vast collective fields (no houses or villages in sight) planted with sunflowers or corn, occasionally cows watched by an old-timer. After about 30 miles we turned north onto an immediately bumpier and potholed road through industrial Cirpan and then Stara Zagora (6th largest city), which had a nice central park. Our book said it also has 2 New Stone Age dwellings and a Roman Mosaic, but we found nowhere to stop. We lunched in a rest area after the town (small cafe, Turkish and Bulgarian lorries), then continued to Kazanlak, at the eastern end of the Valley of Roses. Here 80% of the world's Attar of Roses (for perfume, rosewater, Turkish delight) is produced, by a 300-year-old labour-intensive method involving dewy petals picked at dawn. We somehow missed the town centre, its World Heritage Site 4thC BC Thracian Tomb and its Rose Museum (probably a good thing) and rejoined the main road further along just before Shipka.

Plenty of room to park in this quiet little hamlet, where we walked round and climbed up to its main attraction - the colourful Russian Orthodox Church of the Nativity, whose 5 golden onion-domes shone above the fir trees high on the hillside over the village. It was built in 1902, commemorating the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78, with an impressive interior. The crypt had photographs and multi-lingual text telling of the victory, along with the tombs of Russian soldiers and solemn music. The church bells were cast from spent cartridges. The coach park, cafe and souvenir kiosk were busy but no-one else had walked up the grand staircase through the woods.

Returning to Rosie, we were hailed at a cottage gate by an old man in knitted slippers who called his wife out to meet the English visitors and summoned his 2 giggling granddaughters to interpret. They looked like any European teenagers, in jeans and skimpy tops, while the older folk were soberly-clad weather-beaten peasants - what do they make of each other? Or of us?

As Rosie climbed for the next 9 miles, zigzagging through the forest to the summit of the Shipka Pass (1,306 m or 4,310 ft), the air freshened. We were delighted to find room to park and revisit the pass, which we first crossed on bicycles in the summer of 1989, en route to Istanbul. We also drove over it in Barry's car in the summer of 1993, on our way to the Black Sea coast. But we'd never stopped here, never climbed up to the monument, never walked in the surrounding woods. We were on the ridge of the Balkan Mountains which run east-west through the length of the country with few north-south passes - the Pennines of the Balkans but much higher! There was a small fee for parking at the roadsides by the snack bars and souvenir stalls, but a quieter place, signposted 'TIR Parking 24 Hrs', was the large empty car park, higher up behind Balkan Tourist's Shipka Hotel. We settled there and found a French-speaking waitress. She said no payment was necessary, we could get water from the tap in the toilets and the restaurant was open if we wanted, but no obligation. How nice. We cooked, relaxed and slept soundly - no disco, cool mountain air, a clear sky with a new moon and a million stars. For the first time in 3 months, the temperature dipped below 80 degrees, to a pleasant 75 next morning.

117 miles. Free parking.

Day 6           SHIPKA HOTEL CARPARK, SHIPKA PASS

The Shipka Pass is dominated by a massive monument (1934): a square tower surrounded by canons, familiar from its image on the old 1-lv banknote and on the now obsolete petrol coupons which were obligatory on our last visit. Access from the pass is by a small side road, then a short walk, or directly up a flight of 900 steps (we counted them). A little kiosk-cafe sold entry tickets (2 lv each), allowing you to climb another 157 steps inside to the viewing platform. This was relieved by a small display on each floor as we went up. The photos, paintings and memorabilia tell the story of the defence of the Shipka Pass by the Russian Army and Bulgarian volunteers. In August 1877 they prevented a superior Turkish force from reaching Pleven, to assist the army of 39,000 Turks besieged there. This was the crucial battle that enabled the Russians to defeat the Turks, who had occupied Bulgaria for nearly 500 years. It explains the enormous respect and loyalty the Bulgarians feel for the Russians and why Bulgaria was Russia's most loyal satellite in the Iron Curtain days. The only other cyclists we met here in 1989 were a group from Russia.

The views over the forested peaks of the Stara Planina (Balkan Mountains) from the top of the tower were splendid, spoilt only by the strange modern circular concrete structure on a nearby (12 km distant) hilltop resembling a flying saucer. (Supposedly a memorial pavilion with hotel and restaurant, it was deserted when we drove up there in 1993.) Down from the tower, we walked out to a viewpoint on a rocky ridge, visited 2 earlier memorials to the Russian victory, then descended along the road to the Pass.

The weather is splendid up here, warm enough to walk in shorts, cool enough to enjoy the evening air. Delightful to see tall green trees, wildflowers, butterflies, grasshoppers, dragonflies, bees on the clover, martins nesting under the eaves of the Shipka Hotel.

Got take-away chips at the snack bar to go with a packet of fishfingers lurking at the back of the freezer. We haven't found a food shop in Bulgaria yet!

Day 7           SHIPKA HOTEL CARPARK, SHIPKA PASS

Another lovely windy-cloudy-sunny day: we don't want to leave this peaceful lofty place. Apart from a coach, which stopped at the hotel for lunch yesterday, we have the free car park to ourselves, in August, while most of Europe seems to be on holiday and on fire! A splendid 2-hour walk, following part of a long distance footpath signposted as the way of the Partisanski. It led us west along the ridge, up through magnificent shady beech forest opening out onto green fells. We tramped over wild strawberries and through harebells and catmint, which scented the air. Views all round and not a soul to be seen. Many flowers, elder bushes, obviously plenty of rain and snow up here. Such a contrast to the arid burnt-out country round the Mediterranean now.

Back at the Shipka Hotel we repaid their kindness by buying lunch, alone in a dark dining room - chicken fillets, chips and salad with extremely refreshing Bulgarian beer, all for about £5 for 2. We smuggled the bread out to make toast for tea, as we're down to our last Turkish loaf. A snoozy afternoon, reading and diary-writing. Watched an old film (with Bulgarian subtitles) of Tennessee Williams 'Streetcar Named Desire', tragic heroine Blanche Dubois instantly recognisable though we missed the beginning.

Day 8           CAMPING STRINAVA, DRYANOVO MONASTERY

It's been good to wake to temperatures now below 70 degrees up here. Reluctantly, we left the Shipka Pass, hairpinning thousands of feet down through the forest at a pleasantly slow crawl behind lorries who didn't trust their brakes. Amazing that we climbed this on fully laden cycles 14 years ago! Those were quieter simpler days, virtually no traffic. There would be less pleasure in repeating the climb now, so we didn't.

After about 10 miles we turned off for 1½ miles to the hamlet of Etār and parked by the hotel overlooking the Ethnographic Village Museum. A wonderful surprise: a complex of about 50 18th-19thC houses and water-powered workshops (watermill, sawmill, walnut oil press, etc) which had been moved from around Gabrovo and rebuilt here, in a steep-sided river valley in the 1960's. Craftsmen/women were working in many of them (a furrier, silversmith, woodcarver, icon painter) and selling their wares, the most popular being the sweet shop and the wood-fired bakery, where we got excellent flaky cheese pies and apple strudels (less than 20p each). It was fascinating to watch the women washing blankets and carpets in the millrace, spreading them out to scrub and tread with their bare feet, then rinsing them in the torrent. The whole open air museum is an excellent creation of the Communist era (1960's), a big brother to Sheffield's Abbeydale Hamlet or the Scandinavian open-air museums. Entry was only 6 lv (just over £2) each, though only foreigners appeared to be charged! There was a cafe and a tavern but we returned to Rosie for tea with our pies.

Continued another 5 miles to Gabrovo, a big town on a river, and managed to stop on a car park below a block of flats, watched over by a taxi-driver and his mates. We walked into the centre to find a bank and also found a fruit & veg market where, for just over £1, we got pears, grapes, tomatoes, bananas and a cabbage. The 19thC church was being restored, the pedestrian shopping mall looked bright and busy, things are slowly changing, but we are told that unemployment and corruption at the top slow down the progress seen in other ex-Communist countries.

Another 10 miles towards Dryanovo on a good (ie relatively smooth) road, turning off a couple of miles before the town for the Dryanovo Monastery in a deep gorge, where there is also a museum and caves, a couple of hotels and (yes, the rumour is true) a campsite! Access was awkward - a U-turn and then down a steep cobbled slope, but once on the little site, with 20 wooden huts (mostly occupied) and tent spaces along a stream, the guardian was very helpful. He let us fill the tank with good water, showed us a nice corner to park in and hooked us up to an extension lead from his Reception cabin. And we were welcome to use the showers and WC, of which he was very proud, but no thanks. There is no bar, no disco, just the trains passing on the other side of the gorge to disturb the peace. Bulgarians on holiday are fishing, walking the dog, sitting outside with their crochet work, sucking watermelon slices, or just staring - we do stand out a bit! We've seen no other foreign vehicles in this country except the Dutch van at Plovdiv, but we've received no hassle at all, from police or other drivers. It seems the fake speeding fines for foreign vehicles have been stopped - in the old days, we were even pulled over on our bicycles!

The campsite man warned us to lock up well because of 'criminal gypsies' (who get blamed for all theft in the Balkans) but we actually feel as safe here as anywhere in Europe, and the couple in the nearby cabin have a big noisy dog.

28 miles. £4.44 inc elec.

Day 9           CAMPING STRINAVA,DRYANOVO MONI

Rode the motorbike along the main road, following the Yantra River, past Dryanovo then through wooded countryside to Veliko (= Great) Tārnovo, about 15 miles away, where the river loops through a gorge. This was Bulgaria's capital from 1185-1393, the City of the Tsars, its history long and turbulent.

We left the motorbike in the guarded car park near the Varusha district in the Old Town and walked up the narrow cobbled lanes on the hillside until we had a great view of the citadel-fortress on Tsarevets Hill, across the gorge. A restoration project on the old houses (funded by the Swiss Govt and the UN) had hardly begun. We returned past restored National Revival buildings along Rakovski Street, including the Hadji Nicoli Inn (1858), built by a good Orthodox burgher who had been on a pilgrimage (Hadj) to Jerusalem. On the same street the lovely Stratilat Cafe had huge ham and cheese toasts and superb Austrian-style cakes at Bulgarian prices. We enjoyed lunch and then moved the motorbike to the car park by the entrance to the Tsarevets Fortress, paid 4 lv each for tickets (though no-one else seemed to!) and climbed up to explore the ruined citadel which is illuminated by a Son et Lumičre at night. Inside the gates a photographer would picture your son dressed in chainmail on a model horse, or your daughter dressed as a medieval princess on a throne. Better still, a sort of electric Punch & Judy show told the story of Baldwin I of Flanders, a deposed Emperor of Byzantium, who was imprisoned and executed here in the Baldwin Tower. By special request, it was repeated in English and M was squirted with a water pistol by the jester when she put some money in the hat. The hill was once occupied by Thracians, then Romans (Emperor Justinian built a 4thC AD fortress here), then Slavs. In 1185 it was the centre of the uprising against Byzantium and the foundation of the 2nd Bulgarian Empire - an imperial city second only to Constantinople, until it was besieged and destroyed by the Turks in 1393. They held sway until liberation by the Russians in 1877, after which the town re-emerged as a centre of crafts and learning. Today it has a University, artists and icon-painters selling their work.

At the top of the hill the Assumption Patriarchal Church has been rebuilt, impressive from afar though the modern artwork inside jarred. On the terraced slopes below are extensive foundations of the palace from which 22 kings ruled Bulgaria in unbroken line, as well as ruins of over 400 houses and 20 churches. The encircling walls and turrets are being rebuilt and a sign (in Russian, Bulgarian and German) indicates Execution Cliff from which traitors were thrown into the Yantra River, far below.

Back on the motorbike, we rode out through the valley below - the Asenova quarter which was once occupied by merchants and artisans and where now several medieval churches are either closed up (St Dimitår) or open as restored museums with an entrance fee (eg Holy 40 Martyrs Church, once a royal mausoleum, then a mosque). We continued about 3 miles steeply uphill to the quaint, heavily restored and touristy village of Arbanasi, where you can buy a ticket to view one house and 2 churches, but we got drinks at a cafe instead before turning for home. The 16-17thC Turkish houses have high walls round their gardens to protect the women from being seen. It was a rich village as the Sultan gave it to his daughter in 1538, exempting it from Ottoman taxes. In more recent times, what is now the 5-star Arbanasi Palace Hotel was built in 1975 as a holiday home for Zhivkov, the Communist chief.

It took about an hour to ride back, including a chat with a thoughtful young Bulgar who wanted to talk politics and said the pensioners were the saddest victims of Communism, trying to subsist on a pittance. We see them gathering berries and snails, catching minnows in streams. Hardest for those in high-rise flats, who can't keep hens guarded by noisy dogs or grow fruit and vegetables in their gardens, as the village people do.

Home again via the nearest town to the camping - Dryanovo. Took the back street route and first impressions were of a drab, ruined place with dead factories, no shops, rough cobbles. At home, 3 miles further on, updated the diary, had supper.

Day 10           CAMPING STRINAVA,DRYANOVO MONI

The motorbike took us a couple of miles into Dryanovo and this time we found the centre of town: a small grocer's, a bakery, a post office to mail our postcards, even a sign to a tourist office, which didn't yet exist. It actually led us into the council offices where no-one spoke English but the staff kindly got someone who did on the telephone to ask what we wanted! There they photocopied the July diary and led us to an excellent new Internet Centre, set out like a classroom, which we'd passed but not recognised. Very kind people. We checked our email and bank, printed the round-the-world itineraries, sent a letter to Turners and surfed for information on Romania: 2 hrs for 75p.

Back home for lunch, then a walk over the bridge to the monastery (originally 12thC, destroyed and rebuilt a few times, now a restaurant and souvenir shop) and its little church. Further along the gorge, through the woods, we came to Bacho Kiro Caves, 'Bulgaria's only electrically-lit show caves'. For just over £1 each we were free to wander, unguided, through the complex of tunnels and caves which run 1200 metres horizontally into the hillside. There were no signs or arrows, low roofs, the dim lights flickered or had gone out - all adding to the atmosphere.

The few Bulgarians we passed all seemed to be asking the same question, obviously 'Is this the way out?' We could neither answer nor ask! After passing the same formation of stalactites for the 3rd time M felt a slight panic - had the ticket seller counted the numbers in and out, or would he simply switch off at 5.30 pm and leave us in there! But B finally figured out where we'd missed a turn and we made it back into the welcome daylight, with relief.

The campsite owner and his mates celebrated our return with beer, guitar and singing till the early hours - time to move on!

Day 11           CAMPING RIBARSKA KOLIBA, RUSE

Taking the campground manager's advice (he took a packet of cigarettes for his kindness), we manoeuvred out of the campsite, up the cobbled drive, reversed a bit, up to the hotel car park to turn round and back down again, going the right way. Then a straightforward drive to Veliko Tārnovo, continuing on E85 towards Ruse (spelt PYCE in Cyrillic), the largest Bulgarian port on the Danube and entry point from Romania over the (ironically named) Friendship Bridge.

The dilapidated wooded campsite was on our route about 3 miles before the city. No-one else was camping, though one of the little wooden cabins was occupied. We plugged into a socket by the grim row of washbasins, drew a picture of a receipt to show the receptionist what was expected, had lunch, then set out for a walk in search of the Danube below. It was about a mile, steeply downhill through the woods to the dry bed of a side stream and along till we saw the mighty river, flowing very low after the summer drought. We'd heard that barges on the Rhine and Danube are having difficulty and that France's EDF have been forced to turn off nuclear power stations because of the lack of cooling water. Satisfied, hot and dusty, we climbed back up to the campsite.

Sadly, while updating the diary to complete Bulgaria, the word processor suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. Barry tested all the components and concluded that the plug-adapter-converter wasn't working (blown, perhaps, by a spike in the dodgy electrical supply?) A serious problem as it's a specific 'Brother' component, probably impossible to replace in Eastern Europe. Disappointed, we sorted our papers for the border and read about Bucharest.

80 miles. £5.55 inc elec.

Day 12           CAMPING CASA ALBA, BUCHAREST

We drove about 8 miles past the port of Ruse to the border, where a new TIR lorry park would have made a safe place for the night, had we known. An obstacle course of checkpoints and payments followed. Leaving Bulgaria, we had to pay the toll for the bridge (€13), go through passport check and customs check, then join a long queue to cross the Danube. The Friendship Bridge, a serious heavy iron structure carrying the railway below the road, really looks the part. It was used in the film of John le Carré's 'Spy who came in from the cold' and we could just imagine Michael Caine lurking there on a dark wet night.

Once over the river we were welcomed to Romania, without warning, by being sprayed with jets of disinfectant as we drove through a trough of the stuff - we quickly wound up the windows! Later it dried into white patches. We were issued with a chit to say we'd been treated, to be taken to another booth to pay the fee for this privilege - which could only be paid in Romanian lei, well before reaching any exchange desks (which turned out to be closed anyway)! The staff (who spoke only Romanian) behaved as if we were the first customers ever to have no local currency (unobtainable outside the country) - a good game! Eventually, we were sent to the customs office with another chitty, authorising us to pay the price of €8, in addition to giving a policeman €13 'road tax'. Of course, the man who issued the first chit could have collected all this money, but that would put 3 others out of a job. Little seems to have changed here. Once we'd played this proletarian game of Snakes & Ladders, we asked about getting Green Card insurance for the motorbike - this had been no problem in Bulgaria, where 10 days' cover was very cheap. The police said we'd have to get it in Bucharest. The next thing we saw as we left the border area, avoiding the flocks of geese looking for a pond, was a row of 3 cabins all offering Carte Verde insurance! They all quoted a price of €75 for one month (the minimum), but as we sat in Rosie discussing whether to buy it, one operator came over to drop his price to 70 and we signed the papers.

At last, after a total of 2¼ hours, we were through, passing the well-remembered Bon Voyage sign 'Drum Bun' (literally, Road Good - odd mix of Greek and Latin languages). We drove (on a not particularly Good Road!) towards Bucharest, stopping to make lunch at a truckstop. We later heard from Ian Shires that the same border crossing took him 11 hours about a fortnight later, coinciding with the end of school holidays and the return of up to 2 million Turkish Gastarbeiter to northern Europe!

To continue this journey into Romania, click here.