Near Cluj, Romania

GPRS internet only – pictures are pretty much out from here on in…

…which is a huge shame because today we found in Romania a land that is completely different in almost every way from home. And we've taken loads of photos. Whereas in France, or Germany, or Austria the countries are so developed as to remind you of the UK, and the Hungarian countryside is somewhat reminiscent of home (apart from the huge sunflower fields that mother reminds me to mention) – here everything seems strange and foreign.

Hungary bears the scars of its communist past but hides them well – on the Romanian border, we were thankful that the armed guards were relaxed, but still took more notice of our passports than any other foreign officials since Britain.

We have singularly failed to buy a road tax sticker for Romania – the Austrian and Hungarian stickers are still on our windshield, but no one wishes to sell us one here. We have been on one road since entering Romania, the E60. It passes directly through the towns, which consist only of this one main road – houses on either side of the road open onto the street. The villagers are rural people; they sit and talk – the children wave at us in the van as we pass, and hitchhikers try to flag us down along emptier stretches of road. There really are aged, wrinkled ladies who wear black cowls and walk along the sides of the road. We passed a village which had lined its street (singular) with rows and rows of woven baskets with intent to sell. We passed a bare-chested man hacking at his crop with a scythe, whilst 50m away his horse waited patiently, still harnessed to its cart. Indeed, not far into the country we had to brake suddenly to avoid a family of horses (with two small foals) galloping into the road in front of us, a small boy with a stick following fast behind them.

Rising above the ramshackle houses are the impressive church spires of infinite variety often coated with shiny metal (tin?) and in the richer towns, where the houses are more substantial – the churches are fantastic.

However, we were confronted by rather pushy beggars not long into the country – of the windscreen-washer variety – banging on the side of the van when we refused to pay, and shouting. And the drivers! Almost half of the road signs in this country are NO OVERTAKING signs (you know, with the red car and the black car; symbols are universal) and you can see why after five minutes of driving. Our maintaining the speed limit (in most places) causes absolute outrage, and elicits the most outrageous overtaking manoeuvres; not just from cars and bikes, but from huge coaches, at frightening speed, and proximity to cars coming the other way, not to mention proximity to our van…

Now we are at ‘Camping Eldorado’, a haven of organised and seemingly safe camping. Guarded by an Alsatian with a lead the runs all around the site, everyone seems to speak English, and we arrived early enough to play Swingball, and having eaten and showered, are getting ready to play some matchstick poker.