Money, cigarettes and in the stronghold of thieves?

Because we don’t want to put our stomachs through a pizza in the morning, we set off without breakfast. We decide to tuck into a delicious muesli in a shady spot. As soon as we sit in the saddle, we crank our weight up one of the wrinkles described above. Our circulation immediately gets into full swing. Once we reach the top, we are rewarded with a fabulous panoramic view over a lovely and immediately impressive landscape. To our right is the Black Sea, which laps at the only rocky coast in Romania. The Dolosman Cape is up to 29 meters high and 2.5 kilometers long. The remains of an ancient Greek settlement can be found here. We pause for a moment and enjoy the solitude and the grandeur of the long stretches of hills that spread across the land like a silken cloth. To our left, fields of sunflowers are interspersed with rectangular patches of already harvested fields. A light wind blows at our backs. The sun is blazing down from the sky and promises another hot day. After the climax of the earth’s curvature, we let our wire racks rush downwards, this time without a headwind. “Look, there’s a suitable place for our breakfast!” exclaims Tanja. We lean our bikes against a tree, sit in its shade and enjoy our muesli. Horse-drawn carts and donkey-drawn carts roll past. Their drivers give us a friendly wave. A tired horse trots past. This time he is pulling a carriage occupied by a Sinti family. They are often distinguished from the Romanian inmates by their different appearance. They look at us unfriendly. “Amerikanski,” says the young mother to her children. She gives her eldest son the order to jump from the moving wagon. The eight-year-old comes running to us and wants money. We try to ignore him. He stands around sheepishly while the horse-drawn carriage moves further away. “Come back here!” comes the mother’s renewed command and the boy takes his legs in his hands and sprints off.

The road is getting worse and worse. One hole follows the next. Even downhill, we can’t go faster than five to six kilometers per hour. We have to be highly concentrated so as not to endanger the axles of our trailers and the frames of our bikes. Very slowly, and with great effort, we are making progress. A whole flock of storks appears next to us, looking for something to eat on a hilltop in the greenery. As I set up my tripod to photograph them, they fly a hundred meters away to settle down again. We pedal at a snail’s pace, nothing to do with my pet name, up another mountain fold. Our leg muscles are strained to the limit. Then we stop again. I set up the tripod in front of us to photograph us both on the bikes. Once I’ve set everything up, I press the self-timer, sprint to the bike Tanja has held for me, get on the saddle and we rush towards the camera. “I hope it turned out well,” I say, dismount, give Tanja my riese und müller and walk back to the camera. The result is more funny than disappointing. It shows someone in the distance lifting their leg to get into the saddle. “Ten seconds with the self-timer is not enough to produce a usable shot,” I say disappointedly after the time-consuming and energy-sapping action.

A castle ruin sits enthroned on a hilltop next to us in a picturesque landscape. Thick clouds gather over our heads and promise rain. In fact, it doesn’t take long for the floodgates to open. We put on our rain jackets and experience the first baptism of this stage. It immediately cools down to a pleasant temperature. Because the road is now slippery, we drive carefully into the next valley. You pass water arms that are largely overgrown with reeds. An old fishing boat squeezes through the thicket. The road is still in a fatal condition. We are traveling alone. No car overtakes us. Every now and then a single horse-drawn cart strays into this area. Suddenly the storm clouds disperse. The sun shines through, burning off the remaining clouds and making the road steamy. It doesn’t take long and any moisture is a memory. Dust blows across the fields and heat dominates the day. We reach the small village of Sarichioi. Most of the inhabitants here are also of Russian descent. The atmosphere is strange. Unclassifiable for us. In the center, we stop next to a busy bar. Children marvel at our bikes with reserve. We lean it against an 11/2 meter high advertising banner and want to sit on a bench behind it. “I don’t know. I don’t have a good feeling,” says Tanja. “What do you mean? Everything’s fine,” I reply. “We can’t see our bikes from here. I don’t like that,” she explains. The children are still marveling at the bikes. They turn their backs on us. I suddenly don’t feel well either. Dust blows across the road. Garbage in every nook and cranny. Loud music booms from the bar. A family is sitting behind us. Today on Sunday the children get ice cream on a stick. They look at us furtively, then look away again. Two ten-year-olds emerge from the small crowd watching our riese und müller. “Money? Give me money!” they demand, cautiously at first but then more urgently. We do not react. “Money? Give me money?”, they now repeat louder and more often. None of the adults intervene. They are all watching. Unusual for Romania. We don’t react and now, in a hurry to get out of here, we pour a bottle of mineral water down our thirsty throats. “Let’s go,” says Tanja. We get up and take our bikes off the fence. “Money? Give me money!” the children shout. We push the bikes. One of the short ones comes and kicks my bike. “Stop it!” I shout at him. He is startled. “Fuck you!” the boys shout. We pedal on to continue our rest a hundred meters further on, at another magazine. As soon as we stop, we see the kids strolling in our direction. We have had enough and leave this area of the village. At the end of the village we find another magazine. Young people loiter in front of it. They make a harmless impression. I go to the store and buy myself an ice cream. When I come out, Tanja is approached by a drunk Romanian. In fragmentary English, he says: “Romania good or Romania very good?” “Romania very good,” Tanja replies, to which he laughs. Spurred on, he begins his conversation. “I’m drunk,” he says, swinging his arms in big arcs through the air and pointing towards the coast. “Romania good or Romania very good?” he asks me too. “Romania is very good,” I reply, scarfing down my ice cream on the stick to get out of here as quickly as possible. A car races past. Loud music echoes from the passenger compartment. Drunken youths sit in it, bawling and screaming. When they spot us, their cheering becomes deafening for a few seconds, then the clattering Dacia shoots past. We leave this strange place behind us. As soon as we are back on the broken country road, the birds are chirping and the crickets are chirping. “My God, what kind of place was that?” I ask, relieved to be back on the road.

Tanja gets severe knee pain on the next endless ascent. As a rule, she tends not to talk about pain. But this time she says: “I won’t be able to Denis any more soon. My knee is so locked that I don’t know how much longer it will hold out.” “Will you still make it to Tulcea?” I ask worriedly. “I hope,” she replies. As it’s still about 30 kilometers to the town on the delta, I look around for a place to camp just to be on the safe side. But because of the strange experiences of the last few hours, it is not necessarily advisable to camp wild here in the pampas.

We pedal and pedal up this never-ending ascent. Tanja falls further and further behind. I stop again and again to let them follow. Then I stay behind her for a while so as not to demoralize her. “How are you?” I ask from time to time. “I’ll be fine,” she replies, gritting her teeth. Because I had a similar knee blockage on stage one, I think I know how she is feeling now. I admire them for their immense stamina and very much hope that we will soon have reached the top of the ridge. “You’re almost there. It’s only ten kilometers to go,” I motivate her. Then it goes downhill. I wait for the next climb but it doesn’t come. We rush downwards without a headwind. First one kilometer, then two, then three. In total, it is about seven kilometers down to the edge of the city of Tulcea. What a gift at just the right time. A sign points to the town center. Steeply uphill. I turn right as the road continues downhill. We stop our bikes in an industrial area in the monkey heat. We discover two benches at a lonely magazine. We sit down there, drink a Coke and discuss the next steps. “You could take a cab and find out where there’s a hotel. In the meantime, I’ll look after the bikes. I don’t think I can go any further for now,” says Tanja. “Hmm, that’s a good suggestion,” I reply, tired but still fit. After 30 minutes, I leave to ask for a room in a nearby three-star guesthouse. The whole place looks like a construction site. The walls are torn open everywhere, building materials are lying around and there is not a soul to be seen for miles around. I climb up the stairs and look through the closed windows of the doss house. No one. As I leave the questionable accommodation, I meet the gas station attendant next door. “My boss is upstairs. Wait, I’ll call him”; he says in a friendly manner and with a slight lisp due to his missing teeth. I climb the stairs again and am greeted by a man with a huge potbelly. He is around forty, wears a gold chain around his neck that is about as fat as his belly. With his monstrous arms, he points to his three-star guesthouse. A fat gold bracelet slips back from his wrist and abruptly catches on his heavy forearms. I slowly follow the figure through his estate. A tube-like corridor leads past the chambers, which he rents out for 20 euros per night. In almost all rooms, the carpet has been torn out and is lying in a roll on the bed. We stop in front of a hole directly under the roof. He points inside using sign language. I know something about a fridge and bathroom. There is indeed a bathroom. I bend down to get through the low entrance. “Oh horror,” I whisper inaudibly to him. “I’ll talk to my wife,” I say to him. He misunderstands me and shows me his luxury apartment. It is about six square meters in size, also completely dirty and also directly under the roof. I leave the Schwitzburg in a hurry and fervently hope to find accommodation for Tanja and me where we can rest.

“Not a chance,” I say to Tanja and explain what I’ve just found. “I can do it again. I’ll definitely make it to the city center,” she says, which is why we get back on our bikes and slowly cycle up the hill. Tanja has to dismount and push. I drive ahead, lean my Roadtrain against a broken fence, run towards her and help her get the bike up. Then we have reached the high point of Tulcea. At a petrol station I ask about accommodation. “This way down the mountain,” a woman explains to me. As we get on our bikes, we discover children playing in the street. They are Sinti. They immediately recognize their prey and come towards us. “Money! Money! Money!” they shout, laughing and giggling. Ignoring them doesn’t help, because they run after us screeching. Tanja is behind me. A boy reaches for her pendant. I hear Tanja shouting: “Stop that! Hands off!” But the boy laughs and is delighted with his toy. Tanja wobbles over the rough cobblestones on her bike. I see the little one reaching for the Fjäll-Räven fox (our mascot) that Tanja has tied to the Ortlieb bag on the trailer. It all happens at lightning speed. The other children are motivated by the cheeky one’s advance and take up the chase. No chance of getting away. So I slam on the brakes, stop immediately and let out a primal scream. The children are frightened, very frightened. We take advantage of the second and drive away unscathed. Just a hundred meters away, young people are shouting for money and cigarettes. My God, what region have we landed in? Where is lovely Romania? At what vibrational level are we today that we will soon be encountering such people incessantly and suddenly? We roll into the center of Tulcea. I ask for a room in a hotel. It is usable and affordable. “Can we take our bikes inside?” I ask as usual. “No, your bikes have to stay on the road,” the woman replies. “But they’re stolen there. They know that,” I reply. “I’m sorry. We don’t have room for your bikes here,” she says. I look around the spacious reception hall in amazement. “Thank you,” I reply and go back to Tanja on the street. We cycle slowly to another hotel. “Let’s leave the bikes at the main entrance. It’s busier there,” Tanja suggests. “Do you have the feeling that Sinti might come by here?” I ask. “Who knows,” she says. “Anything is possible here,” I say and run off to ask for a room. “Hurry up!” Tanja calls after me. Bikes are not allowed in this hotel either. “They’re safe out here. Our reception is manned all night. If you leave your bikes outside the entrance, the night porter will keep an eye on them,” the young woman at reception tries to reassure me. “What a joke. What if he has to go out or, even better, falls asleep in between?” I think and leave. Strange, it looks like we are in a stronghold of theft here. At least that’s how the city appears to us at first. Strangely, this is the first time on this trip that we don’t get a secure parking space for our bikes. Lost in thought, I walk along the sidewalk. When I catch Tanja’s eye, I am searingly hot. Three men with tattoos on their arms are standing right in front of her. I’m just about to storm off when I see Tanja laughing. Not an alarm signal. I walk on at a goose step and cross the wide road. “They were the good guys,” she says. “How?” “Well. You were only gone for a few minutes when I saw two teenagers strolling towards me. They were barefoot, just like you explained to me.” “So they were Sinti?” “Yes, of course. I thought I was going to have a problem now.” “So, did you get one?” I ask impatiently and see Tanja’s eyelid twitching with excitement.

Tanja tells us

Before Denis wants to leave, I tell him to wait a moment: “There are two teenagers crossing the road.” “You have to look at their feet. They’re both wearing shoes. So they shouldn’t be a problem.” Denis sets off and I stop at the corner with the bikes. I am a person who believes in positive thinking. Basically, I don’t really feel like reporting what I have to report. In my basic conviction, I also think that I should not lump together the behavior of other ethnic groups. It doesn’t take long for two young men, about 16 years old, to cross the road. A glance down tells me that they are not wearing shoes. They head straight for me and brashly ask if I speak English. The one doesn’t hesitate for long, runs behind me and grabs Denis’ trailer. I put on my serious face and wave him away. Surprisingly, he complies with my instruction. I think everyone knows the situation that sometimes everything is said with just a few words, looks or gestures. Even as the young Roma walks around the bikes, I send a lightning prayer to the heavens. The problem is simply that in such a case only one of the two needs to grab something and run away. Even if I should catch him, the other one has a free ride in the meantime, in the truest sense of the word. Okay, the boys come closer, say a lot of unpleasant things with little English. I try to get rid of them with the farewell often heard in Romania: “Bye!”. At first I had the feeling it was working. But I quickly realize that the youths are only calling another boy from the opposite side of the street. “Now it’s time for your help up there,” I think to myself and look to the right. Three demolished fishermen walk along the sidewalk. The moment they are at my height, I grab one of the men by his arm, which is tattooed from top to bottom. When he looks at me, I point to the Romas and he immediately understands. The three men send the young people away with harsh words. They take their time and turn around again and again. The fishermen want to go further. I ask them with the words: “Dwa Minut” to stay a little longer. Finally I see Denis approaching from the other side of the road… Well, now I can revise what I wrote at the beginning. The positive thinking worked after all.

Denis reports further

Still reeling from the shock, we continue to look for accommodation. The last option for us is the Hotel Delta. If there is nothing there, we don’t know what to do. Tanja’s knee needs rest and we absolutely need a safe place to stay for the night. Tulcea is the starting point for the Danube Delta. The ferries depart from here. The delta is a highlight of our trip, as we followed the Danube from Germany to here. We don’t want to miss out on how the father of rivers, the king of European waterways, pours into the Black Sea after a distance of around 2860 kilometers in a landscape that can hardly be described as beautiful. I nervously climb the steps to the Hotel Delta. I am immediately greeted by a pleasant atmosphere. The walls radiate security. The receptionist speaks perfect English. The price is just about acceptable for us. “You’re welcome to store your bikes with us,” I hear with relief. A feeling of happiness flows through me. Rarely have I been so relieved to have reached a haven of safety. The porter helps us carry our luggage to the room. From here we have a wonderful view of the river of rivers. I stand on the balcony with Tanja and put my arm around her. We look at each other laughing. What kind of day? What experiences? It was an interesting day. He was worth living for. Pure life, concentrated with priceless experiences. We look happily straight into the setting sun. Ferries cross the last glistening streaks of light of the day. “Come on, let’s go and get something to eat,” I say and lead my wife out of the room.

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