Disfigured monster

In the morning, we leave our accommodation downright exhausted. We pack our riese und müller and want to leave early. With the manager’s permission, Tanja put the leftovers of Octavia’s delicious meal in the hotel fridge yesterday. We want to have breakfast before we set off. Unfortunately, the entire staff cannot be found and the door to the kitchen is locked. Tanja finds what she is looking for at the gas station next door. The gas station attendant promises to call someone. It takes a while until a puffed-up matron comes and fetches Octavia’s delicacies from the fridge.

Then, at 9:00 a.m., off we go. Today it will be over 50 km. We decided to leave the main road and drive back to the Danube on the Bulgarian border despite the detour. Our original idea was to follow the Danube to the Black Sea. On the last stage, we had to leave the river to get to Bucharest. So today we will see her again, our friend, the second longest waterway in Europe and one of the continent’s most important shipping routes.

For the first two hours, the sun was hidden behind a hazy wall. The temperatures are perfect for us cyclists. We are making good progress… Wonderful. After 20 kilometers we take a break at one of the typical small magazines. A magazine or simply bar is a small grocery store, often with seating so that you can consume what you have bought straight away. The men, mostly older ones, are already sitting here with their beer at 10:00 in the morning. They chat and get their day off to a relaxed start. Whenever we cycle past a store like this, people shout and yell. Sure, alcohol is usually involved.

Immediately after our rest, a headwind comes up and the gentle whirring comes to an abrupt end. Oh how I loathe headwinds. Nevertheless, we are making good progress. In the afternoon we reach the outskirts of the border town of Calarasi. The road becomes busier and therefore more dangerous for us. Dust and plenty of exhaust fumes swirl through the air and make us cough. Abandoned, completely dilapidated buildings, chimneys and factory buildings suddenly line the way. The ugliness of these buildings is hard to beat. It’s strange what humans are capable of. “Let’s pull over. I have to take a photo of this,” I shout. Fascinated by the repulsive sight, I capture these insults to Mother Earth with our Leica camera. Then it goes on. The abominations of human architecture follow us right into the city. But here in the city, the monster is still alive. It twitches, steams and cracks. People pant across the street in work clothes. A heavy goods vehicle is guided into a gate with radio equipment. It looks as if a thick spear is slowly pushing its way into the open wound of the disfigured figure of horror. We are waved past in an unfriendly manner. A few men shout. We force ourselves to smile. Then the scene spits us out and we end up at a gas station. We ask for accommodation. A French-speaking Romanian gives me friendly directions. As I don’t speak French, he could also explain the route to me in Romanian. But sign language and gestures are international and understandable everywhere except in China. We follow a dirty asphalt road with Christmas decorations hanging every few hundred meters. They probably left it hanging for the coming winter. To the left and right of the asphalt road, other roads lead to rows of dirty houses, except that these roads do not have a tar surface, but gravel or clay. The route seems fake and bizarre to us. Then it gets a little better. Stores line the arterial road. We roll very slowly so as not to bump into anything or get run over. Then he suddenly stands there. The kind of hotel bunker that was only built in communist times. About five stories high, square as a cube and ugly as a rusty bucket. The staff is nice. We are allowed to park our bikes in the spotlessly clean hotel lobby and get a freshly renovated room for 50 euros, which is nice by the standards. There is even a kind of sitting bathtub. I don’t miss the chance to use it after our first 54-kilometer day and squeeze my tired body into it. Even though it is small, the hot bath is very good for me. In the evening we have dinner at the hotel. As a downpour falls, we sit on the terrace and enjoy the view of a branch of the Danube. Over a relatively good meal and a beer, we are pleased to have made it through the day. It was a good, successful day.

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