Breathtakingly beautiful riverside road

“Huuaa it’s cold,” Tanja shivers as she peels herself out of the tent. “The thermometer shows 4.5°. No wonder you’re freezing. It’s been the coldest night since we left,” I explain, crawling out of the tent. A whole flock of turkeys disturbs us while we are packing. They have made our tent and equipment their own and will not be driven away. “Now leave us alone!” I shout, to which they respond in chorus with their strange chattering. When some of them start mating in our tent, it goes too far for me. “Get out of here, you birds of a feather!” I shout, which makes Tanja laugh out loud first thing in the morning. Despite the unusual hindrance, we get on our bikes early and pedal eastwards. From now on, the Danube accompanies every meter of our journey again. Unfortunately, the wind is blowing against us again, which makes cycling exhausting today. But after many a bend in the well-maintained road, we unexpectedly find ourselves in the lee of the mountains. We are delighted by what is probably the most impressive and magnificent landscape on the Danube, which really captivates us on this long journey. In fact, the rugged mountains are bordered directly by the mighty river. The asphalt strip on which we move sometimes digs into the rocks and makes it possible for us to discover the breathtakingly beautiful country for ourselves. Every kilometer seems to outdo itself in terms of fantastic scenery. On the other side of the Danube is Serbia. Over there, too, a breathtaking riverside road leads over bridges, through tunnels and tubes. A castle hides in camouflage colors between the rock massif and reminds us of times of struggle for power, of times of war, of supremacy, of expansion of ownership, of murder and manslaughter. Just a little further on, we cross a bridge. A stream meanders down to us from the heights of the Carpathians. Flocks of ducks quack, enjoy themselves on its banks or take a cooling dip. The sun shines and casts its bright light like a bright cloth over us, the river, the villages and the people. We experience a day of superlatives, a day of beauty and peace in a country that looks as if it is just waking up from the slumber of the century. With open eyes and alert senses, we take in everything, every movement and everything strange. Goats lie by the roadside and doze in the shade of the trees. Their shepherd has made himself comfortable behind a green bush just a few meters away from them and is sleeping. Then we are startled by a few human settlements with their poverty and dirt. Garbage burns on an uninhabited, unfinished building shell. Acrid smoke settles over the houses and eats its way into every crack, every human and animal lung with malignant harmfulness. We hold our breath and pedal through, nothing like getting away from the poisonous yellow stuff. Ugly, soon-to-collapse apartment blocks stand there like Monopoly houses, the only difference being that we are not in a game here. Abandoned factories appear. Rust, broken windows, burst pipes, torn conveyor belts, crumbling concrete, barrels, puddles of dried oil and much more disfigure nature at its best. They look like torn, non-healing wounds. Like decomposing stillbirths. The sight dulls our senses, saddens us and reminds us of a completely failed system of government, of the failure of some leaders who have brought much suffering to their people.

Because of the cold this morning, we skipped breakfast and set off with empty stomachs. For hours we’ve been eating nothing but trail mix, which we throw down our hungry throats from time to time. There are no restaurants in the small villages. So we are forced to cycle on and on until Tanja rebels. “I need something to eat and I need it as quickly as possible!” she shouts. “But there are no pubs here!” I reply. “I don’t care. Then we’ll just eat our travel lunch by the roadside. We can boil water!” she replies. “Okay, we’ll stop at the next best opportunity,” I say. Because of the mountain ranges that stretch their rough flanks right up to the banks of the Danube, it is almost impossible to find a suitable resting place on this section of the route. As I don’t want to keep a hungry Tanja waiting too long, I decide to stop for lunch at a bridge. “We’ll stay here. We can put the stove on the concrete barrier and use it as a seat at the same time,” I say, leaning my bike against it. In the end, the place right on the road is not so bad. We’re ravenous as we scarf down our ready meals, each eat a bar of chocolate for dessert and pedal on.

In the afternoon, the tendon in my right knee gives in. The pain is alarming and the potential for development frightening. Tanja’s thigh is swollen from the tick bite. The redness is about the size of the palm of your hand. Our concerns that it could really be Lyme disease are increasing. “But maybe I’m just allergic to the bite? Could be? Then it’s definitely not Lyme disease,” she says to calm the situation. To our knowledge, between 80,000 and 100,000 people are infected with the Borrelia burgdorferi bacterium every year in Germany alone. From what I’ve read, the disease generally begins with flu-like symptoms, sometimes accompanied by a ring of redness around the injection site. If no treatment with antibiotics is given at this early stage, arthritis usually develops two weeks to two months after the first signs of the disease appear, particularly in larger joints such as the knee joint. This can occur in episodes that last for weeks or months and may recur chronically for years. The infection can also damage the heart and nervous system and cause meningitis. However, borrelia are usually only transmitted one day after the tick has attached itself. As Tanja removed the tick immediately, the risk of infection was greatly reduced. Nevertheless, she has the red swelling. At the moment, we have no choice but to wait and see.

“Oh no, that looks like a huge climb!” I groan as the road starts to wind its way up again. I’m trying a new technique for me with the cradle step and thus creating an alternative way of loading my muscles. Nevertheless, we have to dismount again and again and push our load trains in places. As we have hardly any film footage of us together so far, I set up the tripod to capture a sequence of an ascent. Then I walk back, pick up the camera and follow Tanja. Once at the top, we take a rest and enjoy the view of the Danube valley, which is around 135 kilometers long. The Danube spreads out between the rock faces like a mountain lake. It was not until 1971 that it was dammed to a length of 150 kilometers. The dam was a joint project between Romania and the former Yugoslavia. “Look!” I shout, pointing to a cruise ship that is currently making its way through the fantastic mountain incision. We look down a little enviously and wish, at least for a short time, that we could be a pampered tourist enjoying this fantastic landscape with pleasant music and good food. Suddenly, another cruise ship appears. On the deck are guests enjoying their lives in the evening sun. We wave to them. They immediately respond with joy. It doesn’t take long for all the tourists to spot us on the mountain road and wave their hands wildly. “Hello! Hello! Hello!”, we call out to them cheerfully, possibly to meet fellow countrymen so far away from home.

The sun is already very low. We are running out of water. Wild camping is out of the question as the valley offers no opportunity for this. We are forced to carry on, even though we are still weakened by yesterday’s efforts. We still have 35 kilometers to go even though we have already covered 75 kilometers today. We let our bikes whizz back down into the valley in the long shadow of the mountain massif. Without the sun, it is unpleasantly cold. As soon as we reach the bottom, we have to go back up. The village of Ogradena lies on the ridge of a mountain. The pain in my hamstring forces me out of the saddle. Pushing, I follow Tanja. A viper crosses the path. I put the bike against a post, film them and push on. Documenting our journey in pictures, film and writing is an elaborate undertaking. Every time we have to overcome ourselves, motivate ourselves and convince each other to pick up the cameras, even if it’s not the right time. The best motifs are usually found when you are completely exhausted or tired. The excuse that I’ll make up for it tomorrow doesn’t work because the scene will be over tomorrow.

We stop again behind a bend, eat some concentrated food, get into the saddles and carry on. We have now fitted our position lights to the Uvex helmets. Dusk turns to darkness. Tanja hangs on and on. I stop more often. She can’t take any more. Her strength is at an end. The tick bite also takes its toll. The prospect of having to cycle another 15 kilometers to the next town is demoralizing. Then the village of Eselnita appears. A sign invites you to eat and sleep. We are pleasantly surprised. We immediately seize the opportunity. “20 euros,” the German-speaking Romanian woman startles me. “What so much?” I ask. We agree on 15 euros per night without breakfast. With the last of our strength, we carry our equipment into the very modern and newly furnished room. We are staying in a vacation guesthouse at the so-called Iron Gate, the picturesque and beautiful valley through which the Danube flows between the Southern Carpathians in Romania and the Serbian Ore Mountains in Serbia. The accommodation is built to the best western standards. There are hot showers, a clean bed and a fantastic view of a mountain lake landscape that you wouldn’t expect here. We are overtired when we eat our dinner. We feel ripped off by the high price for Romania. “If what the girl in the store says is true and you can get 10 bars of chocolate or 14 bottles of beer for one euro, they’re charging exorbitant prices here,” I grumble. Tanja is infected by my displeasure and so we make a big mistake and decide to leave the accommodation tomorrow. It would actually be ideal for me to do my frequent paperwork in a nice atmosphere, but not when I feel like I’m being teased.

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