Miss the days under the stars! Fair distribution!

The night in the truckers’ accommodation was another hair-raising experience. Directly in front of our room window, which could only be opened to the corridor, the residents of the dosshouse were shouting at the top of their voices and running up and down incessantly. Every few minutes, one of the room doors slammed shut with a terrible crash. It was a madhouse filled with people who didn’t seem to need sleep. Romanian folk music was blaring at a deafening volume from several TV sets and the bright neon light of the corridor shone through our window. “I’m going mad here!” I kept moaning out loud. I would have liked to shout outside to vent my anger, but to be honest I had too much respect for the drunken mob right outside our room. Who knows if the dubious, rude customers of the dosshouse wouldn’t have just barged into our room in their drunken stupor to beat us up? In any case, the store staff could not have intervened. They hadn’t been there for hours. I kept peering out of the window to watch the guests. The sight of some of the rude men, the laughing and screaming young women, put me on real alert.

Tanja, who can sleep in almost any conditions, lay next to me and tossed and turned restlessly. In contrast to the Hotel Dracula, the room was absolutely overheated. Because of the window to the room corridor, ventilation was not possible and so we stewed in our own juice at 28 degrees. Normally you can somehow tolerate a room temperature of 28°. It’s nothing compared to the Australian outback with up to 52° in the shade. But after the last few cold weeks, we are not used to the heat.

Unfortunately, on this trip we are too often forced to spend the night in campsites, noisy accommodation and expensive, downright filthy places. We long for nature and nights in the wilderness again. We often think of our last expedition, the 7000 kilometer walk with our camels through the Australian outback. We were allowed to sleep under the tent of heaven for over three years. There were no stealing Sinti, Dracula hotels, deadly dangerous trucks racing past you so close that the air suction almost brings you under the wheels and many other challenges that were new to us. Of course, I have to be fair and admit that we really like this way of traveling by bike. It’s just completely different to anything we’ve experienced before. Because of the bikes, we have to stick to the lanes created by people.

The challenge of live reporting directly from the bike is greater than we thought. We would love to travel lighter and leave all the heavy, expensive technology at home. It is hard to imagine towing them over remote mountain and bush regions. But every situation is different and we can gain new experiences in the diversity of life. So it’s not so bad to be forced into some overnight holes by the way we travel, because it creates a new story, a new experience that we wouldn’t do voluntarily. Because we have not always been able to hide in the wilderness on this trip so far, and can avoid people if we feel like it, we get to know more about the people on the Danube, more about their culture, religion and different customs. Almost all contacts with the population have been very positive so far. It is in the nature of things to come across an idiot from time to time, but it has nothing to do with the country in question. They are everywhere, even in Germany.

“How are you?” asks Tanja, yawning. “Better not ask. I’m exhausted,” I reply, wondering how I’m going to get my tired bones onto the bike. After our breakfast, however, I feel invigorated again and am ready to take on the big city adventure. “Have a safe journey!” Tanja calls out to me. “You too,” I reply with a confident smile. Everything goes smoothly for the first few kilometers. The traffic is decidedly less dangerous than we had imagined. We reach the capital completely unscathed and without the slightest incident. “Gara de Nord?”, we occasionally ask one of the passers-by for directions to the main station. Standing at red lights, we ask drivers to let us in. No problem, they usually wave. When the traffic lights turn green, we pedal like mad, accelerate our lumbering bikes to almost 30 kilometers per hour and rush across wide intersections in the flow of the Belch river. Suddenly a car overtakes me and races past me at a distance of just a few centimeters. I don’t even have time to get scared. “Phew! That was damn close! I almost caught you!” Tanja shouts behind me. Then we cross another of the many crossroads. A police car is at the red light in the turning lane. The policemen look over at me. As soon as I raise my hand in a friendly greeting, a car races past me, forces me to brake hard and disappears into the traffic. One of the policemen raises his shoulders with obvious regret and shakes his head. It’s obviously not worth following the road rager who has just almost shot down a cyclist in the eyes of the law. The officers look to the other side of the road and let us pass. Crossing our fingers, we reach our hotel after a few more brief moments of adrenaline rush. We carry our valuable wire racks and the USED tags into a small broom cupboard next to reception, lock everything up again and retire to the simple room on the second floor. “We’ve done it!”, Tanja snorts, hugging me. “Yes, we did indeed make it,” I reply and feel relief flood through me. “Now everything just has to go smoothly when we load the bikes tomorrow and we’ll pay a visit to our home country,” I say, hugging my beloved wife to me. “Do you fancy Germany?” she wants to know. “I don’t really know. Somehow I do. As always, it won’t be easy to get used to everyday life there again,” I muse. “We won’t be staying long this time. You write your books, we do a few shows and then the trans-East expedition continues.” “Yes, it’s actually quite good to be able to prepare for Russia and Siberia in Germany. We still have a lot to do. I wonder if the Russians will give us the visa we’ve been waiting for? Although it’s going to be cold, I’m still looking forward to the country. Are you too?” “Yes, I’m looking forward to it too. We’re sure to experience a lot,” Tanja replies.

Fair distribution!

Later, we stroll through the streets of the city. We are looking for poor people to whom we can give some of our worn out clothes. “Look at that! That man there in the parking lot,” Tanja nudges me on the elbow. “Hm, he looks like he could do with something for the coming winter,” I reply, approaching him. At first, he barely notices me. With transfigured eyes, he crouches on the floor and sniffs a bag filled with gasoline or glue. I slowly lay my pants on the floor next to him. He looks at me, opens his eyes in obvious surprise, takes the trousers, examines them and when he realizes what he is holding in his hands he looks at me as if I am from another planet. Suddenly he crosses himself and returns my smile. Moved by the brief encounter and touched to the core by his gesture, we walk on. “He won’t be so cold this winter,” Tanja says quietly. “I hope,” I reply, taking her by the hand. We discover a small woman in rags who is rummaging unsuccessfully through a wastepaper basket. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to have something to eat,” I say and hand her a bag with an apple, some cookies and a pair of trousers. Without any reaction, she takes the bag and walks on. Standing on the other side of the road, we watch the poor woman. “Look at that. She seems to be happy about the pants,” says Tanja. “Yes, and now she’s biting into the apple,” I say. In a good mood about the distribution of our few belongings, which we have obviously given to the right address, we look for a restaurant and let the evening come to an end with the anticipation of tomorrow.

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