In which Sid and Doris cross from Serbia into Bulgaria and are utterly soaked in the first rain for weeks.
Was today epic? We covered 101 kilometres, we climbed 568 metres, we manoeuvred through roadworks, we crossed from Serbia into Bulgaria, we cycled in the most solid downpour and most flooded roads we can remember, so Yes it was epic. There, you have the day.
Steve, Captain of the Tatiana, joined us for breakfast on the hotel terrace so despite getting up for an early out we were still sitting there at nine o’clock.
Kladovo is a small town and we were soon off into the country. Sid was thrilled to see a Zastava pickup, probably completing a set of Bottom Trumps, and then finding a newish TAM, and old TAM and a Lada all in the same garden.
Our progress is punctuated by streams of traffic unleashed by lights at the road works along here. The lights are on timers so all we can do is go in behind the queue at each successive light and then if we have not got through dodge the oncoming by going to the roadworks side of the bollards. It all works out pretty sensibly with good flag marshalling from the road gangs. It is easier for us to get through if we are going down hill than when we are slogging up.
Our second breakfast was light and so we stopped again for a splash and a dash of carbs to get into Negotin for lunch at about 57 kilometres. Rather like Le Mans, you have to stick to the lap time and fuel plan. We try to cruise at just over 20 kph which sustains the Extreme Energy Conservation strategy, though Sinewy Sid and Indefatigable Doris have their own hill cadences and speeds.
In Negotin we eat spaghetti, drink a litre each of sugary lemonade, buy biscuits, and cash out the Serbian Dinars. From Negotin to the border and out through Bulgarian Berogovo (almost abandoned) PIC the road is almost empty as a motorway has taken all the traffic. We get more stamps in the passports, which is fun. From the UK through the Netherlands, Germany, Czechia, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Serbia, Bulgaria is about 2,460 kilometres with a modest 12,000 metres of climb so far thanks mostly to the mighty and mightily flat Danube.
We bid a slightly reluctant farewell to Serbia and leave you with some final pictures:
1. The Serbian National Park authority has recognised what people really stop in laybys for, and has equipped them with portaloos. Much to our astonishment (Mifter Bat bravely volunteered to open the door) they are clean and nice.
2. There is a big focus on being dead. Notices of deaths are posted on random items of street furniture. In one case we saw an old bus stop with years’ worth of notices on, and next to it the shiny new bus stop – it is possible that the engineers didn’t want to face the aggro of removing the old one.
We were also delighted to see this His ‘n’ Her plot where NEITHER party is dead yet. This was in a prize position with the best view of the Danube, so obviously worth a bit of forward planning. There were more complicated versions with large partially-occupied family trees shown; divorce or remarriage does not seem to be a big feature of Serbian life.
Through Serbia we have seen a lot of roadside memorials to the dead in car accidents. We can only hope this final road was particularly deadly as we pass so many black polished head stones with pictures of the loved ones. Road fatalities in Serbia per 100,000 vehicles are about 50% up on the European average and not quite twice the UK rate.
3. The things that looked like shiny balls on sticks at regular intervals down the Hungarian Danube were matt cylinders in Serbia. Still unexplained and difficult to Google for.
4. Every so often there are some letters painted on the road, like MK or OZK. This one says BOK, which was particularly satisfying and worth coming to a screeching halt for and running back in the hot sun with the camera.
5. If you have had a falling-out with the village vulcanizer, you can always try your local equivalent of DragonMart who will sell you tyres alongside household appliances. A sort of black-and-white-goods section.
6. A lot of Serbia is very very pretty especially when seen from a distance.
We fight our way through the queues at the border post and emerge onto a four-lane highway on the Bulgarian side.We have a hill to climb on the Bulgarian side and winch our way to the top. We can smell the rain, we can feel the wind under the cloud. The rain starts and for a little while we huddle by a rather insubstantial bush. It is not really shelter and we think the rain may be going away from us, though we do start planning what to do if there is a lot of lightning.
The rain is not going away from us.
We set off into the rain with jackets on. And then it really rains. There are creatures queuing two by two. Even beavers are thinking maybe an ark would be convenient. We can barely see and are cycling in a lot of water as the camber on the road drains it across our path. Fortunately there is little traffic and we potter on, always a bit nervous about the holes in the road hidden in the streams. Cars are mostly pretty polite.
Looking on the bright side, the bikes are now a great deal cleaner than they were.
Coming into Vidin is not a jolly introduction to Bulgarian town driving. If you think Jordan or Morocco you will get the gist. An elderly Mondeo pulls the time worn ‘I will pull out slowly into the stream of traffic and you will accommodate me’ manoeuvre. And a Petit Taxi goes mad with horning and bullies the Mondeo to a halt for a good shouting. And that means we stop in the middle of a merge with a lot of other bemused old wrecks. On the outskirts of Vidin is a sand lot with disembowelled trucks and oil stained ground. This is a town in trouble. We will walk around tomorrow and see what’s going on.
We have seen the monument to the victims of Communism. The steps are overgrown and the back is falling off. The Vidin Danube Port Office and Customs Post must have been very smart in 1980 when GDP per head was about US$3300 compared with current CIA estimates of $22,000. But in 1980 there would have been no private cars parked along by the pizzeria and probably no pizzas either.
Our apartment has many of the hallmarks of cheap accommodation in poor countries. The wiring is inspired but amateur, though many of the bulbs are working. The towel rail drizzles rusty water across the bathroom floor. The exotic whirlpool bath whirleth not, the promised balcony is unpromised at reception after we have paid fully in cash on arrival. We do occasionally put a note on the accommodation websites which are very fierce on ‘Did you get what you booked?’ Last night’s was surprisingly great. Tonight’s is not really a surprise, but even at these prices could you not replace the light bulbs?
Tomorrow we are resting up and exploring all that Vidin offers while our rain-soaked shoes dry. And after that we might have Second Breakfast.