Day 64 – Burgas to Malko Tarnovo (Bulgaria), 85km

Time to head to the Turkish border. Just a few hundred kilometers away lies the grand metropolis of Istanbul (aka. Constantinopol, Bizantium, Tsarigrad.. this ancient city is known by many names!) and the final destination of this ride.

First, tucked away in a busy cafe, I do some quick research about travel in Turkey, typing in phrases like “solo female travel Turkey” and “bicycle travel Turkey” and quickly absorb some quality tips and info. Bicycle travelers recommend gas stations for free camping (weird but true), Turks are found to be formal, polite and very helpful to tourists, and Western women report pleasant and problem free travel granted you too remain formal and not get too smiley (otherwise they tend to think we are all “Samantha’s” living out our lives like in the “Sex and the City” series…) Ok, duly noted. Also, on a whim, I quickly check Visa requirements for both Poles and Canadians and realize that tourist visas are required for Turkey and come at a fee. I experience a mild panic attack as I face the unanswered question: do you get the tourist visa at the border or do you have to ask for it months in advance??

A few Skype phone calls later, to the embasies in Istanbul of both my countries, and I calm down. Everything is OK to cross the border in Malko Ternovo; visas are attained on site and I’m even told how much they will cost: 15€ on a Polish passport and 45€ on a Canadian one. Kind of a no-brainer as to which passport I’ll be using

The no. 9 secondary road to Malko Tarnovo is fairly peaceful, running mostly through farmland and forest, and very up and down. I like it though – the ups give you time to think and the downs time to leave all thought behind…

I arrive in Malko Tarnovo around 18:00 and so with (theoretical) plenty of time to cross the border and seek lodging on the other side. However, my other Internet searches have revealed nothing as far as camping or cheaper hotels in the Turkish villages nearby (or petrol stations for that matter, if camping there is indeed as wonderful as others make it out to be). I would rather not put myself in an awkward situation my first night in Turkey, so I decide to wait until morning to cross the border.

I stop instead at the only hotel in town, where I’m warmly greeted by one of the employees – an perfectly beautiful woman, about 35 years old with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. She gives my shoulder a big squeeze when I explain what I am doing and how I come to be here, tonight, at this hotel, on my way to Istanbul. I’m promised a good coffee and an omelette in the morning to give me strength to continue on my way!

Back in my room I relisten to some of my favourite Vinyl Cafe podcasts, this CBC radio show is a treasure and makes me laugh out loud, a lot. It’s a great Canadian connection when I’m far from Canada not to mention chock full of fantastic stories, both true and invented.

It’s been a good day, all in all, full of two of my favourite things: biking and stories

Kasia – your story-telling cyclist

Photos:
- dog at a gas station
- horses living in an abandoned building!

Day 54 – crossing into Bulgaria, Donji Milanovac (Serbia) to Bregovo (Bulgaria), 80km

Met a couple of Polish bike travellers! Marcin and Gosia are seasoned bike tourists, and they described some of their biking adventures in Scandinavia and the Baltic Countries. This trip they had come from Poland to the Serbian capital, Belgrade, via train to do, by bike, a Balcan loop. You can check out some of their travel photos on http://www.askja.pl

Today, it was only the 3rd day of their expedition and they were having a tough time adjusting to the heat and continuous sun. We stopped for a coffee break and chat and split ways – I was continuing east to the Bulgarian border and they south.

My route was very up and down, but it confirmed, yet again, that I prefer hills to windy flat riding -
any day! Atleast there are beautiful views and inevitable stretches of downhill to look forward to

Nevertheless, in this heat, biking makes you sweat buckets and biking uphill turns you into a human wet-sponge. I drink, drink and drink more… it’s hard to say exactly how much fluid I consume in a day (comprised primarily of water, coffee, tea and juice), but I think I’m well past the 4L mark…

I stop by a farm house and ask to refill my water reserves. I’m invited in for juice, and at this point the entire family has trickled out to see the one-woman-circus spectacle. I have to decline what will inevitably turn into coffee, lunch and marriage proposals – today’s mission is clear: to reach Bulgaria.

Fastforward to 19:30…the police officer at the border laughs at me in disbelief when I tell him I have arrived from Barcelona and that I am going to Istanbul… Then, he turns serious and warns me that Bulgarians and Turks are “even worse” for hassling women than the Serbs…Oh goody, so much to look forward to!

Also, waiting in line to have my passport rechecked by border control, I meet a cheerful Polish family traveling from Poland with their big van. The father invites me to come stay at a nice campground, at which prospect I get very excited…until I learn that it is 60km away. It’s already 20:00 at this point and I’m looking for sleeping arrangements within 6km, not 60. I have to decline the offer to ride with them in the truck – it’s a fundraiser ride, I explain, I need to cycle all of it!

It’s probably the fourth or fifth time, this trip, that I am declining free motor-vehicle transportation, to the great bewilderment of those who offer it!

The border crossing is in fact painless and quick. No stamp in my passport upon entering Bulgaria – we’re back in the EU!

Silly, really (this whole concept of EU versus non-EU countries). The few kilometers that I’ve seen so far of Bulgaria…roads are worse, the potholes bigger and there are more 4-hooved road users than ever before.

As in all less-developed countries I remember the golden rule: always collect info from more than one source. They’ve told me there isnt anything remotely hotel-like within 30km yet I stop again to ask another guy who tells me to backtrack 1km to find an unmarked hotel – basically a private house that also lets rooms. Im able to pay the owner the equivalent of 10€ im my remaining Dinar (we are right next to the border so he doesnt mind accepting the Serbian currency), and so finish with a money I will no longer be using. First stop tomorrow morning – bank machine, to take out some Bulgarian Lev.

Excuse the continued hoteling – I should be free camping, right? No, I should have invested in a solar camping shower!! Because the main reason I seek out these various forms of accomodation is to feel clean and unsweaty, if even for an hour or two in the day.

Especially on an uphill day like today I sweat so much that by the end of it I’m a sticky mess – and the heat never stops. I sweat at night when I sleep, and in the morning when I wake up. It’s hot and muggy and air-conditioning is for the rich. The heat never stops.

Too much information? Too bad just trying to illustrate my fondness for the daily shower!
(but just so you know, these technically superfluous hostels are being counted as a personal expense!)

Goodnight and sweet dreams

Kasia – your sweaty and shower-loving cyclist

Photos:

- the Polish cyclists Marcin and Gosia, on the road
- they had a bike thermometer – and it was reading 48C !!
- steady uphills

Day 48 – filming “Day in the life of Ride to Read”, crossing border to Serbia, 60km

Today, we film.

I meet Gergo and Martin at 9:00, they will interchangeably fulfill the roles of cameramen, directors, navigators, networkers, drivers and artists throughout the day. All I have to do is cycle, and show some of what my day looks like while on the road.
We get right to it, filming always takes time, and we’re not going to stop all day really, except for a short coffee break, we film right until 18:00.

My respect, understanding and appreciation for film is growing by leaps and bounds. Already a few takes into the process and I am observing how much time and good organization it takes to film what will, in the end, be a clip a few seconds long. Setting up tripods, switching lenses, changing positions for a new angle, taking more than one take, although by far my favourite part is when Gergo straps his rollerblades on (these two video makers are also blading fanatics) and grabs his camera to film alongside me as we cross the Tisa river. He’s blading on the pavement alongside my bike on the road and it feels like we’re crossing many boundaries between creative video making, sports and art. So cool!

It’s hot, very. There’s going to be no rest or nap today, so I guzzle coffees, juice and water just to stay conscious. The guys opt for RedBulls; they are pretty tired too.

No sense in telling you the exact contents of the video (you’ll see it soon enough!), the big afternoon border hick-up deserves a mention though. I headed away from the highway border crossing, instinctively, since I never take the huge roads, choosing the smaller road and thus the “limited” border crossing road instead. I figured, logically, that limited meant that the big transport trucks were not allowed to cross there. I learned instead that limited meant that only those with Hungarian or Serbian passports could cross.

The guys made a few more calls, to make sure of the accuracy of this information. It was confirmed, there was no way either my Polish or Canadian passport would get me across there. Were I to cycle back to Szeged and then to the highway crossing I would lose another day or half-day of time; instead we take apart the bicycle and pack it into the guys sedan. It’s the second time this trip that I get inside a motor vehicle, alhough it’s not really to advance my journey but to backtrack. We make a stop in Szeged, the guys have a friend who’s family owns a gas station where we can film some shots for the video. We are treated to coffees, juices and a free map of Serbia too. Is this what it’s like to be a movie star?

Do enjoy the photos of some of the “behind the scenes” making of our video. It’s back to work for all as the guys edit film, add music, text etc. to comlete our masterpiece.

Kasia – your enthused cyclist

P.s. oh yeah, and the border crossing! It goes well, I am encouraged by drivers to jump the line and cross ahead of them, so I do. I feel like I’ve crossed into a land of comprehension and familiarity, compared to my week in Hungary, even though it’s the first time I’m stepping (or rather, riding) on Serbian soil. Must be my Serbo-Croatian friends back in Canada and my year of Serbian folk dance with them that give me this feeling. I am back with my slavic family, with much more linguistic ability; I’ve always loved their music and now I hear it everywhere. The gas station attendant saunters by humming a Balcan tune… I am in love with this country already and, with several days extra experience at the time of this writing, I can tell you that it’s only going to get better!!

Day 41 – crossing into Hungary, camping in Lenti, 52km

A strange day, and more than a bit of culture and language shock to deal with.

The morning started off amazing – an Austrian couple invited me to coffee and breakfast and thanks to my patchy German and their quite decent English we were able to share a bit, I about the Ride and they of work, family and of holidays travelling with their camping car. Oh, at times, how I envy the retirees, with their mobile homes set up so nicely – and never the need to endlessly unpack and repack! We parted ways, they for a last dip in the healing waters and I to…pack my things

I continued east, looking forward to crossing into Hungary. It was scorching hot, a Sunday afternoon and not a soul in sight – honestly, it was a bit lonely. Arriving at the border, and I thought it would be an official border crossing, passports and all, since I was told that Hungary is not part of the Schengen borderless zone…I saw no one. I continued into Madyarorszag (“Hungary” in Hungarian) in the silence and heat, took the usual lunch and rest break, and was back on the road at around 18:00. Looking at the remaining bits of my Slovenian road map, showing just a smidgen of my current location, I noticed a camping symbol next to the town I was headed to: Lenti. What more could I do on a Sunday afternoon anyways? Stores and gas stations closed, it would be difficult or impossible to get a new map, and more importantly, to get some of the local currency, the Forint. Plus, I was eager to meet these Hungarians, to get a feel for the people and the country I would be riding through for the next few days.

I rode into the campground, a fishing-oriented spot with all of the cabins, tent and RV lots settled around a small lake. I stepped into the reception and…into total incomprehension.

The gentleman present greeted me in Hungarian and showed me prices, pointed to boards and chatted with passers by. I just stared around me, not understanding a word. Not a word! The guy just kept talking not in the least bit worried that I wasn’t following. I asked him if he spoke English? Deutsch? He blinked at me vaguely, as if to say “why would I know those?”

It’s tough to come to terms with such a feeling of total language inability for a language buff such as myself – I knew, in theory, that Hungarian, belonging to the Uralic group of languages is one of the few non indo-European languages on the continent and thus is extremely different from anything I had encountered or studied before. But, in practice, it would take me a day or two to surrender to the fact that I didn’t have a hope in hell of communicating with these people in their native tongue. It was enough that I remember “Szerwusz” – hi, “Köszönöm” – thank you, and “Szia” – goodbye.

Finally, I managed to communicate to the guy that I had no Forint and only Euro on me in cash. Was that OK? Sure was, and he literally led me by the hand to my camping spot, showed me the showers and toilets and, I think, wished me a good evening.

There I stayed, taking a rebellious few hours to myself. The list of fundraising and organizational tasks to complete is ever growing, but I decided that everything could wait, for once. I could feel the anger and feelings of overwhelming mounting and realized, very intensely, just how hard I can be on myself. I felt guilty for not cycling enough during the day and unhealthy for not eating leafy greens. What the heck, girl?? Snap out of it, I told myself. It’s not through self-abuse but self-respect that I will make it safe, sane and sound to Istanbul. I can, and will, take the remaining few hours in the day to myself, I reasoned.

I decided on returning to reading my eBook “the Bastard of Istanbul” by Elif Shafak. It’s been weeks, or feels like it, since I’ve taken any time to read for pleasure, kind of ironic since this is all about literacy in the first place!

The much needed down-time was a huge blessing in unfamiliar, atleast for now, Hungary.

Kasia – your culture-shocked cyclist