BY MOTORHOME FROM ROMANIA TO FINLAND

This daily log gives an account of our 1,500-mile motorhome journey from the Romanian/Hungarian border near Oradea to Finland. We left the border region on 21 July 2006 after 5 weeks motorhoming in the Romanian regions of Transylvania, Maramures, Moldavia and the Carpathian and Fagaras Mountains. Accounts of these travels can be found by clicking here. 

We intended to drive north through Hungary, Slovakia and Poland before crossing the 3 Baltic Republics to Tallin in Estonia, in order to catch a ferry across the Baltic to Helsinki. Our eventual return to the UK may be through Sweden, Denmark, Germany and Holland.

To see how we got on and discover what we actually did, read on!

Distances are given in miles; heights in feet; and costs in Euros. 1 mile = 1.6 km; 1 foot = 0.3 metres and, at present, 1 Euro = about 0.7 Pounds Sterling. The current exchange rate for each non-Euro country is given in the log. The daily rate quoted for campsites generally includes an electrical hook-up.

A Table of Distances, Fuel and Costs for the journey from Romania to Finland will be included at the end of this journey.

To read the earlier July instalment of this Travel Log, click In Romania: July 2006

To read about the continuation of this journey in Finland, click In Finland: August 2006

For more images of our journey from Romania to Finland, click here.

21 July 186 miles SIMERIA, Romania to PUSPOKLADANY, Hungary Arnyas Camping €12.35

Continued west on E68 for a few more miles, through Deva with its dramatic hill-top caste ruins (the gunpowder store exploded in 1849). Then we left the heavy traffic to make its way west to Arad; we turned north-west on the quieter E79 to Oradea.

This is a narrower and more scenic route, climbing out of the Mures valley and across ranges of hills. After 20 miles it bypassed Brad on a section of cobble-stones, but mostly the road surface was good, over a low pass and then a higher one, at 652 m or 2,150 ft (63 miles driven). We lunched in the shade of the forest, then drove through the town of Beius, home to a huge factory for bottling beer/water/fruit juice, where the 3 pm shift was just coming out – hordes of head-scarved women walking home. It was very hot again, in the 90's, and they looked pleased to be released.

We passed Baile Felix, the spa resort about 5 miles before Oradea, without checking its campsites - they would certainly be packed and noisy at this time of the summer. Nor did we pause to visit the faded grandeur of the Austro-Hungarian city of Oradea, contenting ourselves with finding the way round its circuitous and badly signed ring road towards the Hungarian border, labelled Bors-Artand (H).

A last fill of diesel (at about 70p or €1 per litre) used our remaining cash in Lei and we were pleasantly surprised to find only a short queue of only 2 or 3 cars at the frontier – the crossing point west of Arad is much busier. There were no beggars, hawkers, hookers or windscreen-washers, unlike our last crossing here. Indeed, we were quickly through, with just a passport check and an internal inspection by both Romanian and Hungarian Customs Officers. The latter were more thorough, looking under the bed, in the wardrobes, the lockers, the shower …

Hungary again, north-west from the border on E60 - smooth tarmac and level crossings, passing tractors instead of horse-drawn carts, machine-baled straw rather than hand-scythed haystacks. Immediately more prosperous, but certainly less interesting!

After about 25 miles we came to the unpronounceable Puspokladany, a small town with a motel, cabins and camping, known from a visit in autumn 2004. It was much busier now, largely with Germans and Poles, but we found a place between the small fishing lake and the even smaller thermal whirlpool. Eventually, after tripping a few switches, we even discovered which of the hook-ups was 6 amp and which 10 amp (needed for air-con and microwave).

Remembering to put our clocks back an hour, we had plenty of time for a walk into the town, to get Hungarian Forints (about 370 to the Pound) and buy soft bread rolls. Then we caught up on emails, including the World of Ian Hibell, translating his bulletins onto our website. A surprise for Margaret, via the FGS website, was a message from an old schoolfriend, Ann Burman (now Hill), living in New Zealand - a voice from over 40 years ago. If only we'd known when we there, on Hawkes Bay.

The campsite fee includes entry to the adjacent thermal spa complex, packed with kids on inflatable crocodiles. M enjoyed reading Paul Theroux ('Dark StarSafari' about Africa) in the calmer waters of the camp's own little 'whirlpool'– like soaking in a large pot of tea!

The heat culminated in a rainy thunderstorm in the evening, when of course it went dark an hour earlier, by 9.30 pm instead of 10.30 pm. We must also adjust our BBC World Service shortwave radio listening habits.

An easy 30 miles north-east on the E573 or road 4 (no bicycles, tractors or horses on single-digit roads, remember). Hungarian driving may not be perfect, but it's a huge advance on Romanian standards, not least because the cars are not on the wrong side dodging potholes! We were skirting the south and east edges of the Hortobagy National Park (part of the Great Hungarian flood Plain of the Tisza), at an altitude of around 470 ft. Fields of sunflowers provided a splash of gold between the vast acres of corn harvesting. Storks looked poised for take-off to Africa (though it's surely hot enough here right now).

We turned north at Debrecen, a pleasant city of wide streets and adequate signposts, sliding through it with ease on a quiet Sunday morning. How different from trying to circumnavigate Romanian towns, with their weight limits and cobbled transit routes. Full of character(s), yes, but ready for the EU – no!

Another 30 miles or so to Nyiregyhaza, crossing the M3 motorway from Budapest just before the town. This has now been extended to the Ukraine border – maybe next time! We lunched in the car park of a brand new Lidl store and filled our fridge and cupboards, ready for the deprivations (?) which lay ahead.

Road 38 then took us north-west to Tokaj, where we again stopped at the campsite on the bank of the Tisza, just before the bridge into the town. Vineyards cover the hillsides, for here wine is king. Shady trees by the broad river, a bar with snacks, cold drinks and ices - and no thermal spa surrounded by geriatrics in dressing gowns – it's a lovely little site and we were glad to find space. Tomorrow will be a longer day, across Slovakia.

After dark, our peace was disturbed by a man fumigating the camp for mosquitoes – with the emphasis on fumes! A good idea, but don't they just fly over from the other river bank next day? We didn't wait to find out.

From Tokaj we drove 6 miles north-west to join road 37, turning 16 miles north-east to Sarospatak. Fields of corn and sunflowers bordered the Bodrog River to our right, while vineyards clothed the gently rising Zemplen Hills on our left. We bypassed Sarospatak, a nice town with a castle on the Bodrog and a campsite we've stayed on before.

Today we headed straight to the Hungarian/Slovakian border, 10 miles on at Satoraljaujhely. This is now a thriving town, very different from the remote frontier between Iron Curtain countries which we cycled through in the summer of 1989 en route to Istanbul, though we did recognise the Hotel Konig opposite the church which had been a welcome haven. In 2006 we can cross the single border post in seconds, with a wave of our EU passports. In the summer of 1989 the search (of our bicycle panniers and persons) took 2 hours, and we were sent back into Slovakia to spend our small reserve of Slovak money before being allowed into the No-Man's-Land before the Hungarian border post!

Driving north on the 553, Slovakia looks little different from Hungary; indeed, it was once part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire of Mitteleuropa. We were still crossing a plain at about 400 ft, planted with sunflowers and wheat, the latter being pulverised by a regiment of combine harvesters. We had seen no horses, scythes or wooden rakes since Romania. Passing through the first town, Trebisov, without difficulty, we had an impression of moderate prosperity, with less cars and more people walking, cycling or waiting for buses than in Hungary, but Herr Lidl had arrived to feed them.

We crossed Slovakia without needing local currency (still running on Romanian diesel), but the rate is approx 53 Koruna to the Pound Sterling, or 38 to the Euro. We always carry a stock of Euros and US dollars, as well as credit cards, for emergencies. At Vranov-n-T we turned east on road 18 briefly, then north again on minor roads 558 and 557. Through woods and fields, where storks grazed, we climbed to 787 ft at the foot of Lake Velka Domasa, then drove up the east side of its long thin water. There were very few places to park, just one good layby at Nova Kelca where we stopped for lunch and a short walk to the lakeside. Caravans were prohibited but there were plenty of tents along the shore. In this heat, anywhere suitable for bathing was lively.

We continued through Stropokov and joined the busier E371 (road 73), 5 miles before Svidnik, another pleasant town of wide streets. Then it was just 11 miles to the Polish border at Vysny Komarnik/Barwinek, up at a 500 m pass (1,665 ft). We had driven 112 miles from Tokaj, 81 miles of that across Slovakia. Again, there was a joint border crossing point with just a short queue.

Staying above 1,000 ft, we drove through wooded hills on the narrow but well-surfaced E371, continuing north through Poland, now subtitled road 9. We began to notice the quaint onion-domes of the Russian Orthodox faith, as well as the more numerous Roman Catholic churches, with more than one statue of the late Polish Pope, John Paul II. The well-stocked RC cemeteries are very neatly-tended, with plenty of flowers and candles.

At a service station near Dukla, the first town, there was no ATM but we changed our last Hungarian money (a 500-Ft note) into 7.20 zloty. At about 5.6 zl to the Pound, or 4 to the Euro, that is not a lot, but it was enough to buy an excellent little road atlas of Poland (5 zl) and 2 ice creams! We discovered that zloty is pronounced 'zwoty' (the letter l has a sloping line through it, but not on this keyboard). Furthermore, Poland's second city of Lodz is pronounced 'Woodge'. The Polish for bicycle is a nice word, Rower, pronounced 'Rover'. Enough!

We saw no campsites on our way but fortunately this was a major TIR (lorry) route, with several TIR-parking places. We stopped about 60 miles after the border at a new one on the right, just before the village of Babica. An excellent idea, it offered fuel and repairs, food and drink, safe overnight parking (price 10 zl) and use of a brand new toilet/shower room (8 zl per person). Euros or Visa card were accepted and we had a quiet night, joined by one Finnish motorhome and a few trucks.

10 miles north of Babica on E371 (or 9), we met a massive traffic jam in the busy city of Rzeszow, where roads 9, 4 and 19 all met at road works. We were held up for 45 mins and pitied the frustrated motorists on their mobile phones, all late for work. At last we achieved the change to road 19, still narrow but well shod, and continued north.

We drove through small towns with open country between, gently rolling at heights from 480 ft to 935 ft. The main crop is wheat, storks are still at their nests and after 68 miles, in a forest between Nisko and Janow Lubelski, a small deer bounded across the road. Poland's industrial image doesn't take account of its landscape – bordered by sea to the north, mountains to the south, and with more lakes than any European country except Finland (largely the post-glacial Masurian Lakes area in the north-east).

The weather is lovely, warm and sunny but pleasantly fresher (70's and 80's, rather than 90's), tempered by its Baltic coast. The BBC World Service told us on the radio that the heat wave is intense across Europe, with old people dying prematurely in France.

After 100 miles, we lunched in a shady wooded lay-by 5 miles before Lublin, an orderly city of 860,000 people, with all the trappings of civilisation: Tesco, Leclercs, McDonalds, an 8-lane dual carriageway. And all apparently controlled by cardboard cut-out police cars mounted at the roadside! Romania, among others, has 2-D model policemen, but we've not seen cars before. We weren't fast enough to photograph them, but noticed one or two bullet holes!

Ever northwards, still no campsites, we again stopped at a lorry park, some way after the town of Losice and just before the village of Babica, on the left. This was a simpler place, a large parking area with a small bar/restaurant – no showers, but no charge (except one zloty to use the toilet, which we didn't). A well-organised cycle race swished past, with police stopping the traffic in their path and all the truckers cheering them on.

Going north on road 19 again, we crossed the River Bug (it goes on to Warsaw), through Siemiatycze, then wooded countryside to Bielsk Podlaski. It's difficult to find anywhere to park in Polish towns, but here we managed to stop at an Intermarche Supermarket. An excellent find, it had free trolleys (no Polish coins needed; we didn't have any), free plastic bags (unusual in Eastern Europe), a good range of food and credit cards accepted. We celebrated with custard slices! A road runs east from Bielsk Podlaski to the Bialowieza National Park (an area of primeval forest famous for its bison), against the border with Belarus - another place to put on our list for a future visit.

We skirted the next city to the north, Bialystok, on the bumpy but well-signed transit route. Here we joined the E67 (road 8), coming from Warsaw, and followed it to (and beyond) the Lithuanian border. Being the main transit route between the Baltic Republics and Poland's capital, it was very busy with lorries which had worn grooves in its narrow ribbon of tarmac. Regularly spaced red and black signs pointing down footpaths into the woods are a grim reminder of Eastern Poland's past: they mark the sites of Nazi atrocities in WWII.

Through more forests and wheat fields, we passed old wooden windmills which had lost their sails. Lunching at a wooded rest area, we were joined by 2 Dutch caravans – the first tourists we had seen since Hungary. After 107 miles, we reached the town of Suchowola, declaring itself the 'Centre of Europe' (however that is defined?) Certainly, the trucks were coming from all nations: Estonia, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Poland, Hungary, Italy …

Augustow, 28 miles later on the eastern edge of the Masurian Lakes area, has its own lake with swans and pleasure boats but, sadly, nowhere to park. We passed a sign for a campsite on the left, leaving town – the first we had seen, but it looked very crowded, so we drove on 20 miles to Suwalki. Here we saw a McDrive but – again – no parking for such as us!

Heading for the Lithuanian border, we stopped 15 miles short of it, on seeing a new TIR-Park (the 'Swiss Club') on the right. Again, there was a 10 zl charge for overnight parking, a good bar/restaurant, and an excellent shower room for 7 zl each, credit cards or Euros accepted. These places should be compulsory throughout Europe!

It was an excellent place to rest (and for Barry to fix the inverter which had stopped working – essential for the laptop). We had a peaceful corner away from the trucks, joined by an Estonian (hired) motorhome.

Climbing gently for 15 miles up the E67 we reached Budzisko, the border village at 600 ft. The storks' nests were crowded with fully fledged young, starting to stretch their wings. How do they know when they're ready for take-off, is it when their dark legs and bills turn red? We waved goodbye to Poland – a wave returned by a farmer on a tractor, its trailer carrying a prize pig.

Poland and Lithuania had a separate customs post each, but we were through both in 5 minutes after a check of our passports and car's papers. The lorries had to wait in long queues, with a special holding area for car transporters (loaded with second-hand German vehicles, bound for the roads of the Baltic Republics). At the first Lithuanian service station, Lukoil, we filled with diesel at our best price this year (about 65p per litre). We paid for this, a road map of the 3 Baltics and a telephone card, all with visa.

North on E67 (A5), it was 16 miles to the first town, Marijampole, where we found an ATM for some local currency - the Lita, conveniently 5 to the Pound or 3.5 to the Euro, approx. We found the narrow but newly surfaced highway quieter, parking much easier than in Poland. Where had all the trucks gone?

Continuing north-east to Kaunas, Lithuania's second city (some 60 miles west of the capital, Vilnius), we passed a horse and cart (maybe the last of its line) and had to slow down for a stork to walk across the road! A new dual carriageway started about 10 miles before Kaunas, and we turned off into the city, at the confluence of the Neris and Nemunas rivers. We crossed the Nemunas (which rises in Belarus and flows through Lithuania to the Baltic, part of it forming the border with Russian Kaliningrad) and parked easily (and for free) by its banks, between the historic square and the new town. A walk by the river, a cup of coffee, a refreshing breeze, very little traffic, wide streets with trolley-buses – it felt good. We had driven 77 miles and it was still early - until we discovered that our clocks should go forward one hour again!

We exited the city, across the Neris River and north-west on the new A1/E85, which runs from Vilnius to Klaipeda, the country's third city and major port, on the Baltic coast. This motorway has 2 lanes each way, a good surface, regular rest areas and service stations, and no toll. We lunched along the way when our trip-distance read 99.9 miles, then continued across fairly featureless landscape, gradually downhill all the way to the sea (about 130 miles from Kaunas).

We had covered 212 miles when we reached Klaipeda, which came as a sudden shock – chaotic traffic, no signposts, confusing roundabouts, nowhere to stop and lots of roadworks! Ferries reputedly run from the new port to Germany and Sweden, as well as making short passages across the strait to the narrow and sandy Curonian Spit (shared half and half with Kaliningrad), but we couldn't even get a glimpse of the sea. The road running north from the centre was mysteriously closed, all side roads were narrow with weight limits, and all we wanted was the way out! Leaving Klaipeda's dubious attractions unvisited (a Clock Museum, plus the Theatre from whose balcony Hitler announced Germany's possession of the town which he called 'Memel'), we made our ponderous way to the A13/E272 and turned north. This road followed the coast, but a mile or so inland, with no access to the sea.

Even when we turned left a couple of times to follow campsite signs, there was no view of the Baltic through the dense pines. We tried 3 camps on the way to the resort of Palanga, 15 miles north. The first had a very narrow access path round a hotel, the second (very small) was full, the third was closed and abandoned, and we had left the truckers' route of TIR-Parks. Finally, on the way out of Palanga, we found a sign for Camp Pusyno Aidas tucked away among the pines, just east of the main road. It's a simple place ('own san recommended', as the Caravan Club might have said) but the young owner speaks English, is very friendly and is hoping to develop some 'Agrotourism'. We are surrounded by a motley collection of cabins and huts, tents and the odd campervan. It's nice to have electricity (even if it is not enough to satisfy the microwave), get everything recharged and watch a video (we found an unwatched 'Inspector Morse' at the bottom of the entertainment box!)

We celebrated the end of our journey this year from Balkans to Baltic, with a day off – time to catch up with log-writing, website management, photographs, minor repairs, etc. We have covered about 1,000 miles since the Romanian/Hungarian border and around 5,000 miles since May in Greece, via England and Romania!

15 miles north of Palanga we crossed into Latvia at a tiny frontier post on the A13/A11, with just a single border guard and no other traffic. The flat road continued, parallel to the coast but about 4 miles inland. LV looked much like LT – mixed forest of pines and silver birch, a stork standing by the roadside, the weather sunny and showery.

Liepaja, 30 miles from the border, once a Baltic fishing village, became Latvia's 3rd city and 2nd largest port, an important naval base in the Soviet era. We stopped to obtain money (at 1 lats = 1 pound sterling, brilliant!), buy bread (very affordable) and diesel (even cheaper than Lithuania, at about 61.5 pence per litre). Again the city, busy with shoppers and trams on this Saturday morning, had little access to the beach but we found a place to park and cross the dunes on a board-walk to see the fine white sand of a long, almost deserted shoreline edging a calm grey sea.

Leaving on the A9 (which goes east to Riga), we soon turned off on P111 to follow the invisible coast north, aiming for Cape Kolka, a national park area where the Baltic meets the Bay of Riga. There were a few campsite signs, always pointing down narrow dead-end lanes toward the sea. 79 miles on, we reached Ventspils, which is still a major oil exporting port for the USSR. This has led to prosperity – and a frustrating lack of signposts. Somehow avoiding the A10 (for Riga), we continued north for 22 miles towards Kolka, then the road turned to dusty stones and gravel, 30 miles short of the Cape! There had been no warning, our road map of the Baltics showing a sealed road all the way. We later learnt that this had been a Soviet military no-go zone, complete with the ghost-town of a giant radio telescope. With the Cold War over, it's an area of natural beauty and home to the last of Latvia's ethnic Livonian people, but it's more accessible on its eastern side, from Riga. We could only turn back and return towards Ventspils.

Joining the E22/A10, we headed south-east towards Latvia's capital. Passing the nature reserve of Lake Usma, the 4th largest in a country of several thousand lakes – see www.usma.lv, we turned off for a splendid new campsite on a lake shore behind the Spa Hotel. We'd driven 185 miles and were pleased to find it, until the receptionist warned that a big noisy event was being held there that very evening (Saturday is wedding day, remember!) Disappointed, we pressed on, through a region of small lakes with swans, and forests with berry-sellers at the roadside.

We turned off for 3 miles north to check out Talsi, a pretty little town with a wedding party out by its lake, but no camping. Back on the main road, about 12 miles before Tukums, we finally saw a small café advertising Kempings. We joined a Dutch couple with a tent in the adjoining forest, near another lake, and had a quiet night. The small charge (£4.00) included electricity and toilets, with an extra payment to use the showers. A request for a fill of water was firmly refused, however, as it has been since Tokaj in Hungary.

East on A10/E22, past the turn for Tukums, entering the Kemeru National Park after 22 miles. As forest covers 46% of Latvia, this was a forest, just like the one we'd driven through! Storks are still around and we were amazed at the wingspan and leg length when we saw one lying dead in the road.

Jurmala is a chain of seaside villages, insulated from the 20-mile shoreline by a band of dunes and forest, and bordered by lakes to the south. At its eastern end, it is just 15 miles from Riga, connected by a railway (several trains an hour in summer), an 8-lane motorway and even a cycle route. All it lacks is clear signposts and car parks! At last we found room to park on the road in Bulduri village and walked through to the fine sandy beach, temperature in the 70's on this still, overcast Sunday afternoon. Riga's seaside playground, with some fine 19thC wooden houses and Soviet-era concrete hotels, it was remarkably quiet for the last weekend of July. We watched the day-trippers, the men playing volleyball or football, their wives watching from picnic tables. Some people were bathing but there were very few children or amusements. All very low key, with fine white sand stretching as far as we could see in both directions.

Back on the A10 for the highway to Riga, turning off one exit past Riga Airport for the Centre. The new City Camping is alongside the International Exhibition Centre on Kipsala Island, just before the bridge across the Daugava River to the Old Town. It is little more than a large car park, with no marked pitches, but it does have motorhome services (dump and water-filling), as well as a washing machine and an electrical hook-up powerful enough to run both fridge and microwave. We used all of these, then settled in to watch the late arrivals, coming from all over Europe by motorbike, bicycle, caravan, motorhome, campervan, Land Rover – but we were the only GB. A convoy of 20 German motorhomes, on a tour from Berlin called 'Seabridge', filled any gaps!

The campsite organisation was terrible, the reception staffed by students, the facilities reasonable apart from the total lack of curtains or privacy in the showers. Visit http://www.bt1.lv/camping for more information but don't bother to book since you just find your own gap when you arrive.

On both days we walked over the bridge into the Old Town (15 minutes' walk, according to the campsite, meaning 25 mins at a smart pace).

We shopped at the excellent Globuss and Jena Seta bookshops (a marvellous range of English-language fiction or non-fiction, LP and Rough Guides, maps, whatever). The huge market opposite the railway station, sited both outdoors and indoors in former airship hangars, is the place to buy food, with good quality produce – fruit and veg, bakery, meat, fish and cheeses (even some 'Cheddar', good enough for grating and cooking) - as well as flowers and cheap clothing. In the Stockman department store Margaret found small kitchen-scales to replace the broken ones which have served their time, so it's back to the recipe books! They also had a good self-service restaurant, with pancakes made to order! McDonalds was handy for coffee and toilets, as ever. On the second day we had an excellent meal sitting outside the Dickens Pub – the daily lunch special, with the best steak in a long time (under £4 each, including a beer).

Barry used an internet café opposite St Peter's to update our website, especially the images, while Margaret worked in phone box and travel agent trying to book a ferry from Tallin, Estonia, to Helsinki. It took almost as long as the crossing (3.5 hours), while the ferry companies claimed that anything over 7 m long must be 'freight', that they wouldn't accept telephone bookings, that they didn't take credit cards and wanted a bank transfer, that they were full (whatever their website said), that no booking was firm until we arrived and paid, etc. After much perseverance with Viking Line, Tallink and Eckero Line, we hope we are booked with Eckero (the cheapest) to sail on Saturday, 5 August, provided we collect and pay for the tickets on Friday. Time will tell!

We stayed in Riga once before, in 1999 camping at the motor racing circuit, so we were already familiar with the tourist sites in the historic quarter. There are plenty of them: the castle housing the President (with an unimpressive changing of the guard); museums of all kinds (the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, 1940-1991 is especially poignant); churches and cathedrals; the Dom Square - a lovely airy place to sit in the sunshine or explore the nearby cobbled alleyways. The city centre is changing rapidly, though, with too many new hotels, office blocks and banks being built, apparently threatening its World Heritage status. Progress and affluence, spreading outwards and upwards.

Visit www.riga.lv, www.rigatourism.com, www.rigathisweek.lv, http://www.balticguide.lv or http://www.latviatourism.lv for more.

Following our instinct – since there were no road signs whatsoever – we circled Kipsala Island in search of the way onto the bridge into Riga. We finally found the required slip road and crossed the river. Still no road signs (except the Latvian favourite – No Entry), but somehow (down a cobbled street with tramlines) we reached the A2/E77 north-east out of the city. After 12 miles of urban sprawl, we turned north on A1/E67 and were suddenly back in the forest.

We crossed the Gauja River (the country's longest), then joined the coast. By Saulkrasti (28 miles from Riga City) we were still cut off from the sea by dunes and trees. We lunched in a car park and board-walked over to the sea, still calm and grey. The A1 (which links Tallin with Riga, joining 2 capital cities) is a very narrow 2-laner, being resurfaced but not, apparently, widened. The frequent roadworks and traffic lights made progress slow and we turned off after another 35 miles, to a campsite on the shore. We have a sea-view, for once, which makes up for the ablutions (own san essential!).

There is very little bird life in woods or on shore, and we have seen no storks since before Riga. Perhaps we are now too far north for them – our companions throughout Eastern Europe.

All 3 campsites we have used in Latvia are members of the Latvian Camping Association (with 15 sites listed on their leaflet). Visit http://www.camping.lv for details. A stay on any one of them qualifies for a discount at the others: be sure to ask for the Discount Card at the first one!

A stiff wind had raised waves on the grey Baltic and made it pleasantly cooler. We continued driving north at elevation 0 ft (min 0 ft, max 0 ft – looks pretty flat on the GPS!) In the small town centre of Salacgrivas, 8 miles from the campsite, Margaret food-shopped to spend the remaining Latvian money. Also rang Camping Rastila in Helsinki (permanently on ansa-phone) and made a long phone call to her Mum.

Another 9 miles to the Estonian border, where the A1 became Rd 4 (E67, the Baltic Highway). Crossing from Ainazi to Ikla, just passports and car's papers were wanted – the registration document, that is. Still following the coast (lunch at Voiste, 23 miles into Estonia), the wind brought rain. As the tiny country is 50% forest, with 1,400 lakes, that is what we saw!

The next large town, Parnu, is Estonia's seaside resort at the estuary of the Parnu River. In 1999 we camped at the Yacht Club here and walked the Old Town and harbour. Today, there are more campsites in the area. Approaching Parnu, in heavy rain, road works had blocked the way into the town and we followed a detour which took us well past it. Continuing north, E67 left the coast and cut a swathe through the forest all the way to Tallinn. Any settlements were signed a couple of miles off our route, and we turned west to Marjamaa, a village 77 miles from the border. Here was a bank, for Estonian money (c 21 kroons, abbreviation EEK = 1 Pound Sterling, or 15 to the Euro).

Ever northwards, through driving rain (quite a novelty), we eventually spotted a caravan sign outside an anonymous, seemingly abandoned motel on our right, about 25 miles before Tallinn (nearest town being Keila). A caretaker appeared to take our money and we had the use of a large quiet field behind the motel (with power point). The single (surprisingly acceptable) shower/toilet was shared with some workmen staying in cabins.

A fine dry day, with just 26 miles in Estonia to complete our journey through the Baltic Republics. On the outskirts of Tallinn we passed the Hotel Peoleo, on the right of the highway, still offering caravan parking. We had camped there in 1999 but its proximity to the capital made it expensive.

Finding our way round the Tallinn ring road to the ferry port, it helped to know that Sadam = 'harbour' on the very few signs. There was plenty of space to stop around Terminal A – paying by the hour at the nearest car park, or on a large area of rough ground further away, where we joined a few other motorhomes. No-one came by to collect a fee, just a couple of women selling tablecloths.

We had booked the Eckero Line ferry for tomorrow afternoon but were pleased to find there was space on today's sailing (a surprise, with only one crossing a day.) Tickets safely issued (Visa card accepted, though not over the phone), we walked up into the walled Old Town in search of a meal. We had explored Estonia's capital city and port back in 1999, when it had a great deal more charm! Now it has been restored into the setting for a historical pageant, with bored student postcard-sellers in medieval dress. The many tourists were Finns on day or weekend trips, in search of cheap food and, mainly, drink. (Silja, Tallink and Viking Lines also run several ferries a day – we found Eckero the least expensive. Details on www.eckeroline.fi.)

We did enjoy a walk up Toompea (the hill over which the Old Town tumbles) and the 'daily special' lunch in Molly Malone's Irish pub, overlooking the central Town Hall Square. Chicken, rice, salad and orange juice cost less than ₤5 for two, eaten in a quiet cool bar (most customers sat outside), with a gentle background of Irish music, watched over by photographs of Yeats and James Joyce. Perhaps Tallinn isn't so bad after all!

Back by the ferry terminal, we looked in the large indoor market, which just sold cheap clothing and souvenirs, plus a section with alcohol under armed guard! We got a fill of diesel (about 64 pence/litre) and joined the queue to board the 'Nordlandia' at 4.30 pm. On board, we squeezed in between the lorries, with barely room to open our door. The ferry was packed with all-singing all-drinking youngsters but eventually we found seats far enough away from the Karaoke bar or the live band to be able to read! Margaret was pleased to find giant boxes of Bassett's Allsorts in the duty-free shop and remembered that liquorice is popular in Scandinavia. Everyone else bought as much alcohol as they could carry (inside and outside their person), since strong drink in Finland is only sold through state-controlled Alko shops at very high prices.

The crossing was perfectly calm and we docked on time at 9.30 pm (still daylight, of course), a few miles west of Helsinki centre. Sadly, there was no parking at the terminal, just a swift exit into the mayhem of Friday night traffic (like arriving at an English port). We crossed Finland's capital, pushing our way along its extensive waterfront and through the competitors in a classic car convention. Perhaps we should have entered, to get a parking place! We finally escaped onto the E75 (road 4) and headed north towards Lahti. Visit www.hel.fi/tourism for more Helsinki info.

We passed the turning for Vuosaari (for Camping Rastila, 8 miles north-east of Helsinki, open all year, well-signed), knowing that it would be crowded and expensive (and on a previous visit we had taken the 20-minute Metro ride from there to explore Helsinki). Continuing up the beautifully smooth motorway, we stopped after 42 Finnish miles for a quiet night at the first service station we reached, near Mantsala.

Finland is very easy for driving, with no motorway tolls, clear signs, diesel at a reasonable 70 pence/litre, and since 2002 the currency is the Euro! The language is admittedly impossible but most Finns speak excellent English, in order to communicate with any of their neighbours.

To read the earlier July instalment of this Travel Log, click In Romania: July 2006

To read about the continuation of this journey in Finland, click In Finland: August 2006

For more images of our journey from Romania to Finland, click here.