Day eight: Right as rain

After awakening to the sound of a multitude of sparrows chattering in the trees above the tent, we packed up and hit the road, picking up some breakfast bits in the nearby town and eating them by the beach.

We then headed south, pulling off the motorway near the town of Litochoro, which is the gateway to Mount Olympus National Park and boasts an impressively mountainous backdrop. We had hoped to find a cafe of some sort for lunch and we needn't have worried as the main drag was lined with cafes. Spoilt for choice, we opted for a little place selling gyros and left utterly replete. As we drove out of town, we felt the first few drops of rain of the trip. 

We then continued south onto a small peninsula known as Pelion, after the mountain that forms it. As we drove further away from civilisation, the road got narrower and narrower, until it was a single winding lane. By now, the rain had become a bit heavier and the road was getting slipperier. This wasn't a problem until we came to an extremely steep, essentially right-angled turn in the road. The wheels lost traction and we came to a halt as they squealed on the wet, cobbled road. I got out and tried pushing, but to no avail. We weren't at all sure how we were going to get up, but after Kate rolled back as far as she could go to give herself a bit of a run-up, the wheels bit in and we were on our way again...

...only to meet an SUV driven by an elderly German couple coming the other way. There was a bit of a drop on their side of the road and the male driver was clearly of a nervous disposition and we quickly reached an impasse. His wife got out, umbrella held high, and started gesturing and speaking German at us, trying to get us to go past them. Kate wasn't confident that she would fit, so the other driver started to back up, but he was clearly not terribly accomplished at reversing, jerking back in little fits and starts in random directions. The woman was getting increasingly agitated, waving her umbrella about and barking instructions that we couldn't understand and her husband ignored. Eventually, he managed to back down the road to a point where he could pull over and we sailed past them.

Not long after, we reached the small settlement of Lefokastro, where we asked for directions to our apartment, and after waking up the owner's very sweet mother, decked out in her dressing gown and hair net, we managed to check in and dump some stuff in our room. We then walked into the village and chose a taverna – based mainly on the distance from another taverna in which some musicians were loudly 'entertaining' their captive audience of glassy-eyed patrons – and ordered a couple of beers, which we drank while the girls befriended a chain-smoking granny fishing from the sea wall. The taverna with the music was reputedly the best place to eat, but by the time we had finished our beers, the music was still going, so we just stayed where we were and had a delightful, peaceful meal. 

On the way back to our apartment, we were followed by a large stray dog that we dubbed Cucumber for reasons no longer clear to me. Sarah was slightly fearful of him, so we tried to get her to give him a bit of a pat as he seemed perfectly friendly. But then, as the girls and I walked ahead, Cucumber started to playfully bite Kate's hand and then proceeded to jump up and pin her to a wall as the three of us doubled over with laughter.

Day seven: Greece is the word

Leaving Veliko Tarnovo was rather more stressful than arriving as Sally blotted her copybook by sending us down some frankly undrive-ably steep streets. Kate sent clouds of smoke into the air as she burnt out the clutch trying to reverse back up one of them. Luckily, however, leaving Bulgaria was even easier than entering - and slightly comical as we handed our passports through a small window to the Bulgarian official, who handed them to the Greek official, who handed them back to us through his own small window. And then we all gave a whoop as we finally drove into Greece!

Heading to breakfast

Spending the last of our Bulgarian lev in a random road-side mini-market

It wasn't far to our campsite, which boasted a distinctly petrochemical odour as fumes wafted down from an adjacent plant. We arrived just after the leader/guide of a convoy of French campervans on their way to Turkey, and he helpfully directed us to a nice pitch. Kate then drove into town to pick up some provisions (and an impromptu Greek lesson) while I took the girls for a swim in the Aegean (they swam, I watched).

We then picnicked beside the tent, before Kate and I endured a distinctly uncomfortable night on our slowly deflating air mattress, which had been pierced by a large acacia thorn lurking beneath the tent.

We're at the beach!

Look inviting?

Dining al fresco

Day six: The holiday begins

In the morning, we drove through the Carpathians and I couldn't suppress a pang of regret that we had taken so long to pack up and leave the UK, and hence had no time to explore further. The forests that cloak the mountains were on the turn, a particularly attractive mix of deep greens, yellows and oranges, with cloud fragments rising from the forest canopy for added evocative effect.

'Dracula's' castle, as seen from our 'hotel'

Thankfully, the crossing out of Romania and into Bulgaria proved to be a doddle compared to the crossing into Romania – the border official even made a point of telling us how easy it was. Formalities out of the way, we stopped for some lunch in an enormous new shopping mall just over the border that was still less than half occupied by shops – bright and shiny but slightly desperate-looking in its conspicuous emptiness.

Our accommodation for the night was a roof-top apartment in the old quarter of the city of Veliko Tarnovo. The last part of the drive was up a series of steep, narrow cobbled streets - all sharp turns and awkwardly parked cars – and we were very pleased to have the calm, unflappable Sally as our guide. 

The view from our balcony, part one

The view from our balcony, part two

 After a brief wander to take in the spectacular views down into the river valley below (from a more than slightly disconcerting viewing platform stuck between two buildings with a floor made from interlocking bits of wood with gaps between them – Didi, you would not have liked it at all) and across to the city's impressive Medieval fortifications (it was the capital of the Second Bulgarian Empire), we stopped for a beer and some cooked-to-order flatbread. 

Kate wasn't that keen on the viewing platform either...

... but the view was pretty spectacular 

The fortifications

 

Sitting sipping some very nice Bulgarian beer (I can definitely recommend Zagorka) while the girls played on the cafe's swings, it finally felt as though our holiday had started. The preceding days had been a something of a grind – hour after hour of cramped driving in our overstuffed car, or not driving as we sat, stationary and fuming in traffic jams, after-dark arrivals at obscure campsites, snatched meals made up of random foodstuffs in the tent foyer – so it was a real treat to be able to relax with a cold lager and a local delicacy in an attractive, interesting city in a country that was new to us both.

Beer and bread - all is right in the world

Later, we had dinner in a nearby, rather chintzy restaurant (our table was situated adjacent to a large TV that was framed in lace and showed back-to-back cooking programmes as we ate). While we perused the menus, a young woman in a sprayed-on white dress and matching vertiginous heels came over to our table to offer us a free glass of the wine she was there to promote. We followed that up with a gorgeous bottle of red – my first ever Bulgarian wine. I went for something mid-priced (about £20) and was gobsmacked when I sniffed the sample poured by the waitress. Kate picked up the bottle and read the name Michel Rolland on the back and it all suddenly made sense (the wine buffs among you may know of M. Rolland as the flying winemaker of choice in Bordeaux). Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be widely available outside Bulgaria, because it was amazingly good for the price.

Day five: Date with Dracula

Started the day enduring the familiar rigmarole of changing cash in an under-developed nation – the search for a bank, the search of the correct teller, the race back to the car to get my passport and then the disconcerting sight of the woman beside me pulling multiple bricks of tightly packed notes from her handbag.

Then it was off to Bran Castle, also known as Dracula's Castle - although any connection to the world's most popular vampire is dubious at best. In fact, the attempt to link the fortress to Dracula is a bit sad, as it's a wonderful attraction in its own right – compact and full of funny passageways, cosy little rooms and amazing views. It almost feels like a large house perched on a hilltop – somewhere you could actually imagine living. (The Dracula 'connection' has also led to the accumulation of a rather tawdry collection of horror-themed tat stalls at the entrance to the castle.)

After touring the castle, we drove to our 'hotel', which turned out to be a local woman's house. She turned out to be a typical Romanian granny – plump and head-scarfed – with no English at all. She hadn't made our room up yet, and proceeded to do so as we stood around feeling slightly uncomfortable.

We then headed out to the small city of Braşov, which was about half an hour away. We found a nice parking spot close to the city centre, but then had to spend 15 minutes accosting pedestrians and asking them for change for the pay and display.

The centre itself was lovely - pedestrianised and pretty - and after wandering around for a while, we had a pleasant meal in a 104-year-old Art Nouveau-styled restaurant.

Made it!

Just a quickie to say that we've made it safely to our house-sit in Greece. The weather is lovely, the beach is close and the water is warm... And there are lots of cats!

Day four: Road to Romania

Morning, Hungary

Hungary is undergoing an amazing amount of road building

Today we drove into Romania, which was something of an eye-opener. Moving from Austria to Hungary, there was a definite socio-economic/developmental drop, but it was nothing like the drop that took place when we moved from Hungary to Romania.

The border itself had a rather Wild West feel to it. First up, Kate had an amusing but slightly unnerving encounter with the woman selling vignettes (essentially a form of road tax). She demanded our car documents and got increasingly indignant as Kate produced her passport and drivers licence. 'Car documents! Documents for car!' Luckily, Kate had read something before we left about needing your car registration papers and miraculously, I remembered where I had stashed them, and soon enough we had passed the first hurdle.

After having our passports checked by a decidedly disinterested border official, we were in Romania, where we were immediately hailed by numerous strange, toothless people. There were big long-distance lorries all over the place and lots of seedy looking change booths and we just carefully made our way through.

We then added another entry to my list of superlative encounters as we drove past the longest queue of trucks I've ever seen.

Initially, our passage was slow and tedious, as we fought with traffic congestion of one type or another, but eventually the roads opened up and we started to make more rapid progress leaving the towns behind and driving into the Romanian countryside – falling-down buildings, horse-drawn carts and those distinctive haystacks with the bits of wood poking out the top.

This one photo sums up our Romanian experience pretty effectively

As usual, we had underestimated the congestion and overestimated the journey time and it was after dark when we arrived in the town of Deva, our destination. We had splashed out and were overjoyed to open the door to our luxurious suite.

The hotel didn't do dinner, so we walked up the road to a nice little local restaurant, where some very friendly English-speaking diners helped us with the menu. Although it was a bit chilly, we sat outside because Romania hasn't instituted a smoking ban yet and the dining area was wreathed in a lung-coating fug.

Day three: The mystery of the missing campsite

Today we drove all the way across Austria but I couldn't tell you what it looked like because the motorway was almost completely fenced off. It was only after we had passed Vienna and were approaching Hungary that the fences came down to reveal the biggest chemical plant I've ever seen. We then drove through the biggest collection of wind turbines I've ever seen. 

We hadn't timed the afternoon's journey very well, so it was after dark by the time we entered Hungary, en route to our campsite. We hadn't booked anything, nor even chosen a site beforehand – we were relying on Sally's profound knowledge of local points of interest.

Tired and disoriented, we started to count down the minutes and then the metres to our arrival, only to pass by our 'destination' without seeing any sign of a campsite. We went around a roundabout and made another pass, but there was still no sign of the promised land. Stopping to reassess, Kate spotted someone standing outside their house and went to ask directions. Although he didn't speak English, she managed to ascertain that the campsite was shut, but there was another in the next own – about 15 minutes away.

We drove there and after flailing around searching for an entrance and then an owner, we got the tent up and had another intimate meal in the foyer.