From Debrecen to the Black Sea

Cycling through Romania gives you the amazing feeling not being the slowest
traffic on the road. After each corner slow traffic is looming, either horse-
drawn carts or ox-carts. This makes the car and truck drivers very considerate,
and increases your position on the road.
A nice Mondayafternoon in octobre was the second time this year that I was boarding a train at
Budapest's western station. Not towards the Yugoslav border this time, but
towards the Hungarian town of Debrecen on the Romanian border. I arrived in
Debrecen far too late to start cycling to the border, but three friendly
policemen told me where the 'hotel sport' was located. That was indeed a real
sporthotel, with lot's of amenities directly adjectant.
In the morning I quickly left Debrecen for the Romanian border. For somebody
not used to Eastern European cities, Debrecen is nice to visit, but not for me
anymore. After a calm 60km ride over a flat puszta I neared the Romanian
border. While queing between the cars, a local cyclist passed me and led me
through the customs procedures without problems.
As announced by the Lonely Planet guide, Oradea, the first town in Romania, is
quite run down. Still it offers good sights and many photo oportunities. I
immediately became a millionaire, one million lei doesn't bring you far with a
rate of 32.000 to 1 euro. After a short visit to the local bike shop I headed
south past the bathing town of Baile Felix. Lot's of accomodation here. But when night fell, accomodation was lacking, and I had to press on untill nearly 22h to find a hotel in Beius with some space for me. No complaints about the price though.
After Beius the road pointed upwards. First a false flat untill Stei, then
really upwards to the 'Pasul Vartop'. With 1160m and a steep ascent (av. 11%) a
real tough one. The map was unclear where the top was, so I just plodded on.
Many pictures to take though, including a very scenic village just before the
steep part. 49km after starting out in Beius I finally arrived at the top.
Immediately after the top a skiing village came into sight. Through a nice
valley the road continued. There's lot's of agroturism here, something to keep
in mind for a next time. Probably a spin-off of the agroturism was an
internetcafe in the village of Albac.
From Albac the valley continued on. A few hours later night fell. There should
be a camping in a village, but I greatly overshot it, remarking that only after
10km. There isn't much of villages in this cramped valley. And no possible
camping spots either. Hardly a flat piece of grass available. In Baia de Aries,
the first place of significance, I enquired for a hotel. None available, next
one in Turda (65km away) I was told. It was nearing 21h at the moment and pitch
dark. I plodded on, and soon saw a couple of workers diging in a garden. I
enquired again, and the same answer came. But one of them, Radu, offered me a
spot in his house. So after they finished I followed their jeep to the next
village. After a dinner of local products, I went to sleep, just like the other
family members. It was a pity that both Radu's English and my Romanian are
very, very limited.
in the morning I had was offered a breakfast, and Radu and his brother helped
me loading my bike. The valley stayed very scenic. A disused narrow gauge
railway was thrown in to add to the atmoshpere. In another village I saw the
rusty and overgrown wagons, a real surreal sight. Finally I reached Turda in
the early afternoon. In Turda I didn't stay very long. I wanted to try to reach Sighishoara that night, according to the guide books, this town is a must see.
Within hours of leaving Turda I was riding on the main road towards Ludus. Suddenly I spotted a
touring cyclist riding down the hill. We both stopped and had a lengthy chat.
Ralf was heading home to Dresden, after being on the road since january. We
exchanged lot's of info. He had been to places recently where I've been, either
this spring (Montenegro) or 8 years ago (Albania). After a while we both had to
head our ways, I was trying to reach Sighisoara, and he wants to be home in two
weeks time. But I wouldn't reach Sighisoara that night. After turning of the
main road in Iernat, the road became lot's hillier, sometimes progress was
reduced due to cow herds trotting through the villages. When I arrived in
Medias I decided to call it a day. Hotel Central was quoted in the Lonely
Planet as reasonably priced. It indeed was. Some checking of e-mails in the
local cybercafe, and off to bed. The next morning I faffed around a bit. It
was too foggy to make any pictures of some old buildings. When the fog lifted I
shot the pictures, and headed to Sighisoara. On the road to Sighisoara there
were some fine examples of Saxon fortified churches. The most precious ones
seem to be way off the main roads, but even these were nice enough.
The guiddbook was really raving about Sighisoara, so I expected a lot. But I
was a bit disappointed. Not that the city is ugly or so, but it's not very
special. I've seen some similar ones, in fact, the upper town of Tallinn is
nicer. And that while one of the authors of the Romania&Moldova LP did work for
the Baltic Independent for a while. But anyway, I spent some hours in
Sighisoara, checking out the place. I decided to have a restaurant meal while
heading out, and soon I spotted a nice pizzeria. On the terrace 4 German
motorcyclists were lounging. I joined them and we exchanged lot's of road
information and tall stories.
When they started their machines I got in the saddle and headed north again.
While the daylight was fading, I was overtaken by a speedy cyclist. He spoke
some German, and reasonable English. Since Silasz was also heading for Sovata
we continued on together. He is from Targu Mures and was visiting his aunt in
Sovata. Since he only recently started cycling he fired question after question
about bikes and cycling.
While entering Sovata the camp-site proved to be closed. Before trying to find
a hotel he decided to first ask his aunt if I could also stay there. His aunt
consented, so I had a nice home-stay in Sovata. In the evening we walked
through Sovata. It's usually a busy resort town, but now in the off-season it's
rather deserted. In the morning Silasz prepared to help his aunt get the
harvest in, while I loaded my bike, first to explore the town, then to ride on
over the mountains.
Just out of Sovata I overtook a local cyclist. On the bike I discovered some
Esperanto stickers, so I adressed her in Esperanto. She was startled. Although
being the UEA-delegito for her area, she never met an Esperantist by chance on
the road. Obviously I was invited in, and spent a nice hour in her apartment.
She told me that her daughter was sometimes teasing her with her Esperanto
activities, but now she could show that it is possible to meet Esperantists in
the wild ;-).
So it was allready somewhat late when I headed for the first pass of the day.
It was a steep one, 1287m high. On the top was a collection of mountain huts.
The descent was terrible. The road was in a sort of intermediate stage between
paved and unpaved. Sometimes some miscellaneous bits and pieces of car parts
were lying on it. Quite slowly I descended to Gheorgheni, a nearly fully
Hungarian village in Romania. In Gheorgheni I passed a marriage fest. The
camera man immediately switched from filming the wedding, to filming the
passing cyclist.
Since there was still a gorge to cycle through by daylight, I didn't stop. If I
didn't make the gorge by daylight, I could forget about arriving in Odesa on
wednesday. The next pass was relatively easy, I could even keep the 32 clean.
So was the descent to Lacu Rosu. It started to rain so the lake was not that
beautifull. The Bicaz gorge should be awfully beautifull, but in a drizzle it
was impressive, but not stunning. The road was in a heavy state of repair. Deep
ruts and lot's of mud, no asfalt for part of it. I exited the gorge at
nightfall. Cycling down the gradual slope towards Bicaz I sented that my legs
got better and better. So I put the chain on the big ring and pushed on. Past 9
pm I arrived in Piatra Neamt, another 150km on the clock, and perfectly on
schedule.
So this morning I left my hotel in Piatra Neamt at 9am sharp. At the first
traffic light a Romanian saluted me and told that he was also a cyclist. We
both headed on. I stopped at a nearby supermarket and stocked up with food.
While I just finished adjusting my brakes, he appeared again, this time with
his bike. I was invited to his house. Since his French was rather sloppy, his
daughter had to do the interpreting. Lot's of cycling pictures of cycling tours
in Romania were shown to me, and of course I got tea and food. Finally he
showed me some sights in town, and escorted me out to the Roman-bound road. The
road to Roman was a nice change. Undulating landscape and large-scale farming.
Something different from the valley roads and subsistance farming in the
mountaind. IN Roman I had to trun left, and was greeted with a fierce
tailwind. The road was newly tarmaced, and speed remained high. Shortly before
Targu Furmos I was overtaken by a tractor riding a steady 35. I shifted up, and
started trailing it, and overtook it a while later. The tractor crew had even
greater fun as I had. In Targu Furmos I had to turn right, into the wind again.
But I knew that I would reach Iasi before that night, it was not yet dark.
In Iasi I checked in at the Continental hotel, another hotel in the series of
nicely priced ones. It was a bit run down, but the room was at least twice as
large as the one in Piatr Neamt. The Lonely Planet guide raves about Iasi. It
has a nice calm atmosphere, but not that much to rave about.
In the morning I woke up by the sound of rain. I wouldn't see the sun anymore
in Romania. After seeing some of the sights of Iasi I set out northwards. The
Moldovan town of Ungheni is only 21km as the crow flies, but not as the tourist
has to ride. It's 25k up north, and another 25 going down to Ungheni again, at
the other side of the border. Border procedures were surprisingly efficient.
Allways at least one officer of the concerning service spoke either decent
English or decent French. The Moldovan customs officer even used my domestic ID
to start up procedures, while my passport was still with the border guards. I
had to fill in the usual 'deklaratsia', since the design is quite similar to
the Russian and Ukrainian ones, I could fill it in nearly blindfolded.
They told me that in Ungehni there would be a hotel and bars, but further on
towards Chisinau probably nothing.
While entering Ungheni I decided athat a cup of tea would be nice in the rain
and cold. I entered the town and soon spotted a small bar. While I was just
about to drink my tea and eat my bun, the owner entered the place. He spoke
some German, as did a friend of him. I immediately was treated to a salad on
the house. We chatted quite long about various themes, including my trip. They
informed me that there were some tourist basas near Bahmut, about halfway
towards Chisinau. that would be decently reachable by nighfall, so I decided to
go for that solution. If they were closed or full, I could allways pitch my
tent in some forest. There are plenty of them available.
Just like in the Romanian province of Moldavia, it was harvest time in Moldova.
But the machinery was quite different. Were it mainly Dacia's used in Romania
to cart of the harvest, in Moldova it were Lada's and Moskvitches. And one more
thing was striking. Lot's of water holes were beautifully doubling as religious
symbols. A cross next to it, and a roof in the form of a church. Quite strange
and beautiful.
I advanced only slowly towards Cornesti. I started to doubt my forces. But
nearly in Cornesti I realised that I was not only fighting a headwind, the road
was rising slightly. In order to reach Cornesti I had to scale a steep hill,
demarcating the border between the Danube and Dniestr area's. In Cornesti I was
greated by a small group of people,a nd saluted as a real 'sportsmen'. I didn't
linger around long, it was slowly getting dark, and I still had not reached
Bahmut yet. The road was of not too good quality, but I managed to reach
Bahmut safely.
In Bahmut I asked some locals where the turist basa was. Very nearby I was
told, just walk with us. They were living nearly next door to it. The basa
seemed deserted, the main gate was locked, but a small one I could open. No-one
seemed to be around near the entrance but a gloom of light was visible further
away. Indeed there was a bit of light in a small building. I knocked, and a
warden appeared. The basa was indeed still open, and he went with me to the
administrator, living at the bottom of the hill I just climbed. The price was
first quoted at 2 $. I asked what the price in lei was. Ah, you allready have
our money 'nasha deng' she exclaimed. The price now fell to 20 lei (13 lei = 1
Euro). The warden escorted me back to my cabin. There was water, and a toilet
was nearby. All you need as a cyclist. I had just put on some warmer clothes,
and installed myself, when somebody knocked on the door. It was the warden. He
invited me for some food. Apparantly his wife was afraid that he would die from
hunger, since she had given him huge portions of home bakery for the night
shift. And some good juice too. My Russian was barely good enough to have a
small conversation with him. After a while he had to make the night-round, and
I headed to my cabin to listen to the news on the radio.
In the morning it was sunny and not too cold. What a contrast with the day
before. Chisinau was only 70k away, so I could take things easy. The road
gradually descended along the valley of the Bic. I paused now and then for a
little food and a drink. Sometimes some locals asked me the usual questions. A
nice and pleasant atmosphere.
When I entered Chisinau I first went to the Dutch consulate. The next leg is a
bit politicaly sensitive, so I needed the latest information. I soon found the
consulate and it was open. The consul was the only functionary there. He
confirmed that it is indeed possible to cross the Trans-Dniestr region,
provided that I am cautious. I allready fulfilled the other preconditions, the
right documents, some knowledge of Russian and a bit of experience in sensitive
area's. I signed the book of condoleances for a just deceased prince, and was treated to a tea. We chatted
quite lenghtily about Moldova, Trans-Dniestria, the Netherlands, cycling, and
life in general. He had done some cycle touring in his younger days, so he knew
the basics.
Somewhat later in the afternoon I left the consulate to see a bit of Chisinau
by daylight. Despite being heavily bombed during the war, Chisinau still has a
pleasant atmosphere. Some old buildings remained/were rebuilt, and the rest
doesn't have the classic Stalinist uglyness. When it got colder I checked into
a nicely priced hotel, and went out again to see Chisinau in the evening.
Trans-Dniestria is a strange territory. It's a non-entity in international law.
The locals waged their seperatist war from the Republic of Moldovan 10 years
ago. Covertly aided by the Russian 14th army they managed to carve out their
own 'republic' from the Moldovan territory. Nobody recognises it, and there is
constant mediation going on by the OSCE. And yes, the 14th army is still there,
officially in the role as 'neutral peace-keepers'.
It was to this area that I set out in the early morning from Chisinau. It's a
60km haul towards the 'border'. My paperwork should be in order, as I had
checked with the Dutch consul in Chisinau. A few kilometres before the border I
drank some tea in a bar. There I was informed about the exact location of the
border. I hid the detailed topographical map, and replaced it on the barbag by
a not-so-detailed map. Just in case a curious soldier wanted to complain.
Quite suddenly the border appeared after a corner. First I had to pass the
checkpoint of the 14th army. 2 Young conscripts approached me, and greeted me
friendly. A little 'persuasion' was needed to let me through, usually a few
cigarettes will do, but since I didn't have them with me as a non-smoker, I had
to part 5 dollars. Abt. 100m further on is the Trans-Dniestrian border check.
Officially these are simply civilians dressed like soldiers, but since they
carry guns, and behave like authorities, I prefer to treat them like they want
to be treated, like the local law.
I was instructed to park my bike and go inside the office. Inside a borderguard
was having a hefty discussion with a Russian-speaking lady about the picture on
her passport. After a while it was my turn. Nobody spoke a word of English, or
any other language. So my broken Russian had to do. My documents were carefully
checked, and of course some 'errors' were found. My camera was not on the
Moldovan 'deklaratsia' (that was not needed according to the Moldovan
borderguards 2 days earlier). After some discussion he 'forgot' about this
problem. The registration from the hotel in Chisinau was not sufficient for
him. He produced from the other room a 'registration' which should be the good
one, but ist suspiciously looked like an example especially made for fooling
tourists. According to him I had to go back to Chisinau, and pay a fine there.
Mind you, these guys are not recognised by Chisinau. But I could pay a
lower 'fine' to him, 30 $ in stead of 80 $. The transit visa itself costed a
mere 20 $. I played it along his rules, and payed.
Now inside Trans Dniestria I faced the other problem. They have their own money
there, Dniestrian rubles. Worthless elsewhere, hardly worth anything inside the
country. The post office in Thighina/Bender had them for me. I was extremely
careful with taking pictures. When I wanted to picture the monument to the
victims of the '92 conflict, I first asked a policeman nearby if it was
permitted. No problems for this, and I pictured it.
I pointed my bike towards Tiraspol. On the Dniestr bridge some 14th army
soldiers were guarding. They were heavily armed, including all the protective
material. No problems after that. Tiraspol is not a sight in itself. The only
thing the Trans Dniestrians are good at at the moment, apart from extorting
bribes, is building monuments and stadiums. Monuments are all over the place,
for the 18th century general Suvorov, and for the victims of '92. I had only 3
hours to cross, as the border guard told me, so I didn't linger around long.
Luckily I had a tailwind, and the road was fairly easy. The last bit to the
Ukrainian border was a steep descent.
Here the whole fun started all over again. The soldiers directed me first to a
civilian dressed in black, including black leather jacket. He asked me where my
road insurance was. I tried to fool him by drawing the membership card of the
Dutch cycle-touring federation, insisting that that functions as road insurance
for bicycles in the Netherlands. He didn't buy the trick. I had to go with him
to his office. He arranged some documents and showed me a little red/green card
the Bender-borderguards should have sold me. It would cost me 40 Euro. Of
course I could also pay him 20 Euro, and receive no card, since I anyway was
leaving the country....
Next, a fat soldier took my passport. I had to follow him to an elevated
office. At least in this way I could pass a few other checkpoints unchecked.
Upstairs, in his office, he checked my passport. And yes, he discovered
an 'error'. In Bendery/Tighina they should have stamped my Moldovan visa.
According to him I should go back to Bender, and correct the error. No way I
was going to do that, it was 5.30 pm, and I wouldn't want to cycle through
Trans-Dniestria in the dark. So I protested lightly, and he let me buy off
the 'problem' for 20 US $. All in all, quite an expensive trip, 75 US$ and 20
Euro for all kinds of bribes and worthless papers.
The Ukrainian borderguards were wonders of friendlyness and professionality. We
joked a bit about the Trans Dniestrian ones, as they aranged my documents.
Quite rapidly I passed this border, and could start the evening haul to Odesa.
It was still 60k to the city border, and an unknown distance inside the city.
For the first hour I was cycling along like a robot. My mind was still numbed
by the Trans-Dniestrian experience. I had to concentrate hard there, and use
all the little bits of Russian I know. I even had to force myself to switch on
my lights as darkness fell. But after a while, my mind kicked in action again,
and I was riding normally again. The road towards Odesa is fairly easy. 24hour
gas stations every couple of kilometres, and every 10km a village with a bar
and shop. So no problems until Odesa.
While entering Odesa I wanted to phone my host, and needed directions. The
first few gas stations could give me directions, but didn't sell phone cards.
After a while I passed a police squad on control. I asked them for directions,
and one of them drew a small map. It still was at least 15km to the apartment I
would be staying. Some 5k later I asked if I was still on the right road, I
apparantly missed a turn, so I should have to retrace. But a guy who just
finished repairing his tyre at this tyre-rpeairment shop, offered to drive me
there. So I off-loaded my bike and stowed everything into his Zhiguly. The
right road was easily found, but the right appartment.... It was a maze of
apartment buildings. After more than half an hour of looking around in vain, we
found an internet club having a phone. I phoned the number of my host, and it
proved that she was not living in block nr. 156, but 15b. A minor error.
Anyway, I was dropped of at an easy-to find spot, and while I was still loading
my bike she appeared again. It was well past midnight, and I had well over
180km on the clock.
The next day I met lot's of my esperanto friends from Odesa. Tatjana revealed to me that she had been discussing my voyage with the head of the Ukrainian Esperanto Association. If I wouldn't hae been in Odesa by that morning, they would have informed the militia in Odesa. Still a nice feeling that people kept a watchfull eye. From an Odesan cybercafe I sent a note to the Dutch consul that I arrived safely, so he didn't have to launch a search-expedition.
My stay in Odesa only lasted two days, not enough for this beautiful town, but there'll be another time. From Odesa I took the train to Kiev. I had a few hours there, just enough to go to a suburb and meet some friends there. In contrast to the previous time I took the Kiev-Warsaw train, this time the borderguards were less strict. No real checking this time, altough a guy in my compartment had hidden all kinds of smuggleware in the various compartment holds.
The voyage as a whole by far exceeded the originally planned 'mere testing of a new bike'. No complaints about that, in general it was a nice one. But I doubt whether I want to return to Trans-Dniestria. A special experience it certainly was.

Ivo Miesen