There are not many days out on the road that are just about the journey. Very few end up being boring. Inevitably, one or two interesting sights usually pass our way. Give us something to think about. Something to talk about. Our last full day in Romania offers just that.
As diagonals go, this is a long one. Longer than any Pythagoras hypotenuse. Doesn’t stop until Calais. Two thousand kilometres from here. Today not a particularly straight line. More freehand. Calculus driven. Getting us to wherever. Tiny bit by tiny bit. Today it takes us up, over and around the stunning Apuseni Natural Park.
An interesting route. We pass through many typical villages. See many typical sights.
Our lunchtime super hot spot. One of the best. Get sarnie serenaded. Harmonising belled grazers. Chewing and chomping. A pestering pooch comes by. Playfully teases until he’s given short shrift. He works up a sweat.
We end the day at a lovely one man run camp site in Remetea village – Camping Turul. István informs us the village is Hungarian. He was born here. His family have lived here for generations. From past times. When it was actually in Hungary. Sort of implies the area still should belong to Hungary. Hmmm – well that’s the price you pay for siding with the Evil One mate!
By the time we’re pitched up, any thoughts we have of a leg stretch by venturing further then three inches from Beastie are very severely cut short.
Each day now reveals the same performance. Like a Torvill and Dean Bolero. Timed and executed to perfection. Slow warm start. Extremely warm mid-day section. Build up of huge dark clouds. Thirty minutes of massive crackling thunder. Sixty minute deluge.
Following day we cross another border. Queue Hungary. The commi-look-alike border patrol officials do their best to antagonise. Perform all duties in slow motion. It’s as if the air around them is somehow thicker. Tasks undertaken about as fast as a Jacques Cousteau mime artist, treading treacle. We conclude their first task is to suck on a lemon before exiting their tiny cabins.
By the time we’re entering through the gates of the aptly entitled Shady Thermal Camping and Holiday Park in Püspökladány I check my imaginary watch. Torvill and Dean time again. The heavens open up. Didn’t want to go for a walk anyway. On leaving we get ripped off with the price. Now we understand the interesting choice of name . . .