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Day 5 - The start of a very long day

Following on from the last blog...

Waking up in the luxury that is 4 solid walls and a roof was just as refreshing as falling asleep. We were warm, morning dew had failed to creep into our belongings and sleeping bag, and there was no sleeping bag - just a comfy bed, quilt, and a pillow. An actual pillow.
The only downside was the time we got up - alarms were set for 7am. This would give us time to marvel at the wonders of running water and electricity for as long as possible, breakfast, and then be on the road for 8. Whilst getting ready, the view from our bedroom windows was just as amazing as the night time version - a wide panorama stretching across all corners of Budapest, up to and beyond the hills surrounding it.

Breakfast was a strange affair, but probably only because I had typical tourist visions of a full english. Instead, we'd go the continental route (but not the continental you'd be served in hotels etc - that should instead just be called The French). Hungary, instead, presented to us a platter of meat, cheese and eggs. Being so early, myself and Will opted for the only safe option - cereal and yoghurt. Mackey however, went for the lot. Everything the hotel had to offer, Mackey took advantage of. 
I did have my first cup of tea though in a very long time! Which would have been amazing, if I had put milk into it and not double cream. With no where to dispose of the ruined morning drink, and hide my stupidity, I did the only thing I could do, and drank/chewed on it.

We left the hotel well, thanks to a crayon scribbled map of the city from the night manager. Pete the Saxo does quite like city centre driving, and the Hungarians did take notice of the machine, many stopping to turn their heads. That's about it though - no smiles, no waves, no flashing. Every local who worked in the city centre looked ready to kill themselves, whilst taking out a large radius of their fellow inhabitants. It was as if happiness had a curfew - probably somewhere between 19.00 and 19.02, and certainly not first thing in the morning.

I started the days driving, as per the nice little shift work we've got ourselves into. Setting off from the nations capital, it was a pretty uneventful drive. The roads were similar to our own in many way, and I really am struggling to recall anything of interest at all. Oh yeah - gypsies. We have started to spot the first Western gypsy stragglers. Proper gypsies like. They live in little huts, some on wheels. They ALL ride bikes and carry random, gypsy like possessions in carrier bags. And all dress in gypsy like clothes. We don't know why this entertained us so much, but an unspoken game of "There's one!" soon followed.

A further sign we were leaving the comfort of our fair modern world, was the road signs. National speed limit, give way and 50kph were now joined by Caution! Horse and Cart. I kid you not - shortly after our first sign, we spotted our first gypsy wagon. It was if we'd gone back in time, the Saxo being the most advanced piece of technology in a large radius.

Pushing on through the border, we entered the mysterious country of Romania. I didn't know much about this country; more gypsies, and the fact I can't consider their work application unless they have a work permit (i'm so sad, but Emma will be proud). We started to experience the first of the bad roads - pot holes the size of dinner plates soon appeared, followed by potholes the size of cookers. Spoilt by the perfectly smooth M5, we were all quite shocked at this. Bemusement and novelty soon wore off, as we had to avoid each and every one, especially difficult if there is on coming traffic. Never the less, I carried on, concentrating as much as I could to stop us falling bumper first the many meters to the bottom of the pot hole.

(Did you know - they are called pot holes, because once upon a time, roads were made with clay. And poor beggars used to dig out some, to make a pot or mug or ashtray. Hence pot holes.)

It soon became apparent that more concentration would soon be needed, as the heavens opened and down came the hardest rain we've seen in years. Visibility was reduced to the number plate of the car 12ft in front, and that's with your lights on. Couple that with pot hole hell, and you've got an interesting driving combination.

Despite only getting my license some months back, I think there would be people who've driven for years to have struggled with the conditions. It really was that bad.

But wait! It doesn't stop there. Combine the rain with the pot holes, and add a sprinkling of MAD SUICIDE DRIVERS and there's your recipe for hours of fun. The crazy locals, driving everything from 18 wheeler trucks down to tiny 600cc Ladas, will make a break for the stretch of road in front of you by pulling out and attempting to overtake; despite the fact the road at the fore would be occupied by oncoming traffic, a bend, a dip or a hill. Many a time, all four, but they still had a go. We saw many a near miss, but they were just that - misses. That must say something about the skill and judgement of these drivers. Either way, myself and Mackey both commented about how were were ready to jump into action as ambulance co-responders should anything happen.

The scenery in Romania though contrasted to the previous Hungary - windy mountain roads that seemed to go on for ever; long stretches, sometimes measuring 8 kilometres of perfectly uncurling freeway; views that rivalled something out of the Lord of the Rings, and that a photograph would never stand a chance of capturing.

I drove for about 7 and a half hours, straight. The longest shift I've done, and it was at this time I started to feel tired. The efficient machine that we are means whenever one feels tired, the next jumps into the hot seat, and we rotate our task carousel (I then retire to the lounge, and they move up to navigator/DJ). Will took over then, and began his stint through the roads of Romania. More of the same were offered to Will, minus the rain - driving these sorts of roads, despite needing full concentration for hours, was a joy.
We stopped off for a traditional Romanian meal some 5 hours later (a McChiken Sandwich and friez) and by this time, the sun had taken his hat off and gone home from play. Dusk had settled, and the industrious/rubbish town of ????? gave us chance to refuel both ourselves and Pete the Saxo, as well as get rid of the accumulating rubbish; sandwich wrappers, many bottles of water, etc etc..
We head towards our next target - the Transfaragasan Highway. This is the monster road, rated as the "Best in the World" by Jeremy Clarkson and the Top Gear team. And do you know what we think of it?

Not much. It was closed.

That's right, an almighty detour that lasted a good 24 hours of driving, and a big sign on the entrance quite clearly stated it closed at 9pm. Probably because even awesome roads need to get some sleep.

We pulled off at the side of the junction, and thought it would be quite cool to still get our photo next to it. If it didn't have the opening/closing times on it so very clearly, we probably would have taken someone else's photos and photoshopped ourselves into them. As we were doing this, precariously slipping down the wet grass embankment and setting up the tripod, an elderly Romanian man came out from his junction-side hotel, and informed us of the close. We laughed it off, called ourselves idiots, but we'd made the decision to push onwards through the night. Romania is in Europe, probably a £30 flight away. We could spend the extra day somewhere like Kyrgyzstan, a country i'd probably never visit again.

Despite informing him of our plan, the man wasn't taking it. "But I hazh hotel. You come do sleep, then do highway in the morning. When open." More polite no's were pushed aside by more forceful offerings of a bed to sleep of, and no doubt an incredibly inflated bill by the end of it. By this time, the fact we were in Transalvania, it was now dark, and we were being accosted by a local man, we actually did a little run back to the car. I remember locking the front passenger door as soon as I got in. Looking back however, this was a little foolish. There were three of us, each standing a foot taller, and he was about 80. Plus I think he only had one arm. Either way, it was insane.

We pushed onwards, and we pushed east, setting ourselves the target of reaching the Ukrainian border before calling it a night. With Mackey at the helm, and darkness surrounding us, it wasn't long before Will fell to sleep in the back.

Just to give you some insight - the back (aka lounge, bedroom, library, billiards room etc) isn't all I make it out to be. In reality, our sleeping bags/tents/bags take up the seat behind the driver, stacked floor to roof. Even half of that pathetic seat they claim is in the middle is encroached by the mountain of essentials. All that is left, if the left hand seat, and Mackey's orthopaedic V shaped pillow. Sleep involves wedging ones legs where there is space, and being so tired that the cramp and pain fade into oblivion as you drift off.
We were annoyed about the Top Gear road - it was one of the main points for doing the rally. The fact we'd missed it by an hour was just salt in the wound. Grown men don't cry, but this would probably be an allowed reason.

God, Allah, the Gypsy in the sky; whoever is up there though, obviously heard the quiet patter of our inner tears, and guided Pete the Saxo onto a road like you've never seen before. In between the cities of ????? and ?????, this was a 200km road that literally took our breaths away for 3 hours. Winding up and down mountains, the view just remaining incredible despite the jet black background of the sky, and the element that it was deserted. I don't just mean no one tailgating us, or no traffic jams - there was literally no other cars on the entire road. In 3 hours, we saw 6.

And the point of this? The highway turned into the most amazing race track you've ever seen, and by far the longest. Every corner was taken by Mackey with enthusiasm, drifting onto the other side of the road to get the best race line into the sweeping bends. Despite driving for 7 and a half hours, and staying pretty much awake for Will's 5, the drive kept me up and responsible for choosing suited music to the experience we were in awe of. We swooped and braked, cornered and accelerated, for 3 hours.

Which, unfortunately, Will slept all of the way through. When he did wake up though, he did question why he kept sliding from one side of his lounge to the other, the mountain of possessions dropping fallen maps and coats on him.

As we were finishing this road, a bit more navigation was in order, and we found ourselves getting closer and closer to the Ukraine, a country we were all looking forward to. By this time, it was about 3.45am; we'd driven for nearly 18 hours without any stops other than fuel (and the traditional Romanian meal). Mackey was determined though - he'd set his goal, and boy was he going for it.
The next step involved navigating some little Romanian towns, in order to break through the other side and rejoin an A road (which pale into comparison with Hungary's for road surface marks). The first we entered was ?????. It might have been about 4am, but this was the town from Silent Hill. It was dark, it was eerie, it was backwards, it was slightly misty, and throughout the streets roamed large packs of wild dogs, barking like deranged beasts at the car. All we needed was a crow bar to start off with, and to be somehow trapped in that town, and it would have been Silent Hill.

As it turns out though, we had it all but the crow bar. Despite being the size of St Mary's, it took us 45 minutes to escape from the hell hole. The roads were the worst we'd seen, with some pot holes 6 inches deep, and stretching across an entire lane. Avenues and streets looked identical, all prowled by the rabid packs. As we drove, they'd give chase, even as we circled round abbots. Once again, we all locked the doors and did the windows up, and accelerated away. And once again, with hindsight, god knows why we did that. I mean, what would the animals have done once they caught up with Pete the Saxo? Bitten through the armour like a Jaws film? I don't think dogs can even open car doors, especially that one with only three legs.

As we left, we never felt happier to leave a place. We're all about new experiences, but that was just crap.
Dogs continually chased us as we sped around everywhere - even running out and stopping dead, glaring at the car's headlights with teeth exposed. Mackey must have felt his first ever twinge of compassion at these times, because he even stopped before hitting them. (Within the hour though, that compassion had now gone and he begged for the chance for a pack of these rabid beasts to challenge him). Will, though, found the whole affair hilarious.

It wasn't going to get any better though - as the time ticked away, we went through a quartet of equally, albeit smaller, hamlets - a collection of wooden housed depression clinging on to the road for a kilometre at a time. I can't remember any of the names of these, and we don't want to. The locals would stop and stare (those doing crazy things at 4am, like sacrificing a dog to the god of gypsies). Pushing on though, it was about 5am by the time we'd eventually found the wideness of the motorway, heading towards the border town of ?????? - the last stop on the weirdest country tour we've ever done.

By this time, Romania had well and truly grated us. The scenery could have been a thousand times better had it not rained, the pot holes had exhausted us all, the manic drivers and nearly scratched precious Pete, the Top Gear road had closed, the country took 3 times longer to traverse than first planned (despite all other countries being on target) and the creepy towns were just.. creepy. Mackey continued to drive into his 11th straight hour, driven purely by hatred of the Eastern European country. The only thing that saved it from Mackey's anger, was the awesome road. 

Our track record with inner city/town navigation is quite bad. We blame this though, on the map we have shows no detail of the inner workings of these large gypsy camps, rather than our man points. Once again doing a "deliberate cultural tour of the city centre", we resorted to pure genius on Mackey's behalf - spotting a big truck with a Russian sticker on the back. Mackey deduced that he'd probably be returning home, and followed him through some overgrown industrial pack, once well used train tracks now nothing more than decorative weed beds. And, as luck would have it, Russia truck guy did exactly as Mackey hoped - took us straight to the Moldovan border.

By this time, it was 6am. We had driven, non stop, for 22 hours, and were exhausted, Completely beaten by this time.
Little did we know, the day was no where near ending, and  would be the some of the worst and best we've experienced so far…….
But i'll leave that for tomorrow, and continue with the one day per blog concept that seems to be going so well.I know i've left out the city names where the question marks still stand, but I have 3 minutes of battery life on the laptop, and i've got to upload it.

a HUGE HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Richard Hobbs!

Thank you all for your texts - we can't reply, but we LOVE them. We get so excited when the Rally Phone goes off. It's free to send - just click the Send us a text message link above!

Until next time, and we love you all.