Grown-up Gap Yah

If I asked you the name of the European city that had been continuously inhabited for the longest period would you say Plovdiv? No, me neither. In fact, I’m ashamed to say that a week ago I hadn’t even heard of Bulgaria’s second city. Plovdiv was a new addition to our itinerary as a result of our V5 Sofia detour. It was right on the route to Istanbul, but in the end it was more than a convenient place to park for the night. 

Plovdiv is a cool, buzzy city that’s small and easy to get around. There are lots of cafes, cocktail bars, and people hanging out on terraces with hookahs, glasses of tea and sweetmeats. There are also Roman ruins all over the place- a stadium, amphitheatre, forum- you name it Plovdiv’s got it. It was European Capital of Culture in 2019, and I can kind of see why it pipped Swansea to the post!

But, sad person that I am, one of the best bits of Plovdiv for me was the campsite. It was called The Motel and Glamping Alliance, which sounds a bit dodgy. Maybe it is a bit dodgy-but it made van life so easy. It was a brand new complex designed for camping, glamping and hotel guests. There were glamping pods, tree houses, pet showers, en-suite bathrooms for tents or vans, a beach, games room, bar, strong Wifi and immaculate laundry facilities all accessed by scanning a QR code. Surely this is cheating?! Aren’t we meant to be suffering for our adventure?

Our next stop is Istanbul. I made good use of the WiFI, Googling Midnight Express and scare stories about the Turkish border. A frightening number of travellers had to take every single thing out of their car/ van to be individually passed through the X-ray machine. That’s A LOT of boxes, bags and packing cubes. I hope the border guards are impressed by the level of colour-co-ordination!

The sun came out as we pulled out of the valley and towards Sofia. Our moods were even sunnier; the efficient people at DHL had indeed beaten us to Bulgaria and our V5C was safely in the hands of Irena’s partner Svetoslav. We met up near his workplace and now we’re all set to face the officials at the Turkish Border. We think.

An enormous shout out to the Stockers, Irena and Svetoslav, and Elin for going way out of their way to rescue our sorry asses from our own incompetence. We owe you, big time! 

Whether it was the sun, the sheer relief, of having the V5C, or the city, we both fell in love with Sofia. It’s a vibrant, compact capital with beautiful old buildings, some attractive Soviet-era structures and lots of new landmark developments. It felt like a cosmopolitan city that’s really going somewhere.

Bulgaria is at the frontier of Europe and there was a definite East meets West vibe, in the buildings and in the food. We had a wonderful meal at Moma, a contemporary taverna serving a modern take on traditional Bulgarian dishes. The food moved away from the dumplings and heavy stews of Hungary and Romania, echoing Greek, Turkish and Middle-Eastern fayre. Absolutely delicious and the perfect way to finish a fabulous day.

The first thing that struck us as soon as we crossed the Danube was what a beautiful country Bulgaria is. With densely wooded mountains fading into the distance, it wins the prize for the most spectacular scenery so far. It also wins the prize for the worst roads, which make our pot-holed lane in Potterton look like the M25. 

We had a biblical electrical storm during the decent into Sofia. With the rain and standing water, the teal-mobile was practically surfing in. 

There were very few campsites in the Bulgarian capital, so we headed to a site, 20km outside Sofia, which had been described as convenient for public transport. Reader, they lied. It was in the middle of nowhere, and wasn’t convenient for anything but the river! To be fair, it was a very pretty spot and could have been great later in the season. But when we pulled up, it was muddy, dark and there was thick, low cloud lying in the valley. It felt like we were in a horror film or The League of Gentlemen, not helped by the assorted junk scattered around the site, the amusing reception area and the hordes of howling dogs.

On the positive side the owner was lovely, the hook-ups worked and the loos were, umm, present. It was one of those cross-your-legs-and-hope-for-the-best kind of nights. 

We were still shrouded in fog in the morning and I was on Hotels.com booking a hotel in Sofia before the kettle boiled! For the spreadsheet watchers out there, Mr G informs me that the £70 hotel bill ( an absolute bargain) can be categorised as an expensive campsite, because we’re under budget in that column. I’m not sure that’s quite in the spirit of this road trip, but as I snuggle into the snowy white duvet, I’m not sure I care!

Our journey between the capital cities of Romania to Bulgaria wasn’t the usual mindless motor down an autobahn. The route took us along narrow roads and through villages ,with bikes, pot holes and horses and carts to negotiate along the way. All was going brilliantly as we slavishly followed the satnav, until we turned a bend and came to a couple of ramshackle huts, a STOP sign, and the wide, watery expanse of the Danube river. 

It turns out that the best route between Bucharest and Sofia includes the Turnu Magurele Ferry, avoiding a four hour detour. T’internet said that the next ferry was in 90 minutes- but what does t’internet know? In the end we sat in the van overlooking the beautiful Danube riverside for 4 hours, just about the same time as the road-only detour. Luckily we were able to cobble together a salad, pop on the kettle and had a relatively relaxing time, just us in the teal-mobile and a load of Romanian truckers. The benefits of #vanlife!

Eventually we made it across the river, and even better we got through Bulgarian border control with our photocopied V5C document. Me and Mr G were so shifty and awkward handing across the papers, it was like we were in ‘We’re the Millers’ – I’m not sure we’d be suited to a career in smuggling.

As we were driving, we tracked DHL and our original V5C from Leeds to Leipzig and beyond. Will it beat us to Sofia?

When it comes to tourism, Bucharest has been left behind by many of the other central and eastern European cities. Following the fall of communism. Prague, Talinn, Budapest, Ljubljana and even Bratislava have all become hot-spots for weekenders, stag and hen parties- but Bucharest is often overlooked. I remember when our younger daughter was inter-railing she crossed the Romanian capital off her list as it wasn’t worth the detour. Savage, but fair?

It was the Orthodox Easter bank holiday when we were in Bucharest. Unlike Vienna, which was packed on Good Friday, Bucharest was deserted. It made it very easy to cover the sights at a rapid rate, even for us- but it was more difficult to get a feel for the culture and feel of the city.

Bucharest was known as ‘Little Paris’ during its golden age between the wars when the European glitterati flocked there. Much of the beautiful medieval and Belle Epoque architecture is still standing in the elegant old town, but many buildings are in poor repair. The beauty of the historic architecture is in stark contrast with the brutal, concrete constructions under the Soviet and Ceausescu regimes. There are long roads crowded with dark, depressing tower blocks, which are slowly being renovated with bright panels and new windows.

I was particularly staggered by the Palace of Parliament a vast monolith which makes Versailles look poky and understated. It was built in the 1980s and 1990s and it bears the honour of being the world’s heaviest building and its second largest administrative structure. The cost must have been eye-watering and surely impossible to justify in a country where the poverty is palpable and where there are so many glorious old buildings in need of renovation.

We felt that one day was enough to see the highlights, have a delicious lunch in the sun, and enjoy the achingly hip café-culture. We’re more achy hips than achingly hip, so we eschewed the reputedly fantastic nightlife and went back to the campsite to watch Netflix and recharge the batteries (ours not the van’s). On balance, we thought Bucharest was worth a visit, but we can also see why it’s still the Cinderella city of the ex-communist block.

The road from Bran to Bucharest wound up and down mountain passes, with snow still on the north-facing slopes. We passed through some pretty and prosperous-looking villages, with mountaineering and ski shops lining the streets. The piste-maps, resorts and lift systems looked pretty decent- a month earlier and we’d have stopped and spent a day on the slopes. It was almost like being in the Alps, but the towering mountains and forests seemed much more dark, dramatic and domineering. Toto, we’re not in Tignes anymore.  

We were feeling rather jaded by the time we arrived in Bucharest. Turns out driving for miles, setting up camp, cooking, doing route-march tours around all the local sights and then rinsing and repeating is pretty knackering. Fun but exhausting.

Camping Belvedere is set in parkland on the outskirts of the Bulgarian capital- like Thorpe Park, but not quite as naice. However, there’s a lake, a beach and… amplified Romanian rock music. Well you can’t have it all! The weather was glorious, so we just collapsed in our camp chairs, popped in our air pods and enjoyed the sunshine. Mr G even got his shorts and walking sandals out for the first time this year! There’ll be time to explore another day. 

Quick campsite comment:

We stayed at Belvedere Camping, Bucharest. It’s a campsite set on a complex with a park, fishing lake, beach, water-sports lake and tennis courts. 

The good bits: A great location, just 15 minutes and 8 Euros in an Uber to Bucharest. Very green and pretty so close to the city. The showers were clean, there was plenty of hot water and electric hook-ups. There was free WiFi, which wafted in and out randomly. It was very cheap, 12 Euros all in, including electricity.

The bad bits: The beach and bar were all closed and there were no laundry facilities, which we really need at this stage! However, the worst thing was the relentless music from a nearby restaurant, which started at lunchtime and continued ‘til 11pm. You know things are bad when you’ve heard a song so frequently that you start to hum along to a Romanian hit.

I think it’s fair to say that after the shenanigans at the border, it took a couple of hours before we stopped googling V5C requirements in Europe, and took the time to look around and take in the majestic Romanian countryside. So far, everywhere we’ve visited on this journey has felt familiar, very European, easy. Romania, although part of the EU, feels more remote. In local shops, everyone acted as if we were the cabaret act. UK tourists are clearly very rare beasts in the smaller towns. Putting us to shame, most people spoke excellent English and jumped to help us, adding all sorts of Romanian relishes and delicacies into our basket and being extraordinarily helpful when we couldn’t work the petrol pumps.

Sunshine in Sibiu

Our first stop was the beautiful medieval town of Sibiu. Romanian friends of friends recommended it (thanks Louise, again proving you should have been a travel agent!) 

It was a wonderful find, narrow streets lined with houses in sunshine colours that looked like they had eyes. It’s been a cultural centre  for centuries, Brahms and Liszt played concerts here, and it hasn’t lost its elegant charm. 

In Sibiu I had to do some work and Mr G had to try and sort our V5C situation, so we parked ourselves outside a café in a sun-drenched square, logged into the wifi and kept the cappuccinos coming.

If you’re shaking your head at this blog and screaming that a V5C is compulsory for driving in France, Spain, Italy- hell, anywhere in Europe. Of course you’re right. The frustrating thing is that as soon as the guards mentioned registration documents, I got that vague, sick, prickly feeling- like this was something familiar, something I should have known. We have a problem, we may blag our way into Bulgaria with photocopies, but Turkey is a whole different ball game. We’ll need special insurance and probably a vehicle inspection. We need the original document. 

It’s tricky because we’re in a van and we’re not in one place for very long, so it’s hard to receive mail. In the end, after much humming and haah-ing, we remembered that our friend Roger has a business partner in Bulgaria. He has galloped in on his white charger to our rescue. We’ve arranged for our younger daughter, Elin, (thanks Mouse!) to courier the document to his partner’s address in Sofia.  Instead of lolling on the beach on the Black Sea, we’re heading to the Bulgarian capital to meet Roger’s contact, the wonderful Irena, and get the paperwork ready to head to Istanbul. Let’s hope it all goes to plan!

Quick campsite comment:

We stayed at Nomad Camping Sibiu.

The good bits: It’s well located close to Sibiu, with a shops a short distance away. The Wifi is decent, there are hook-ups, and the shower and wash facilities are brand new, clean and generally excellent. There’s good security, with keypads to enter and exit.

The bad bits: It’s pretty much a parking lot with a building site next door, so functional rather than beautiful. 

On my last visit to Budapest, Megs (my older daughter) and I didn’t quite make it to one of the historic thermal baths that are a crucial part of the city’s culture. This time I dragged Mr G to the Gellert spa as an essential sight, despite the fact he’s never bothered to go to Harrogate Baths which are just a few miles away from our home. When in Rome etc, etc. If you’re wondering how I managed to wangle another spa day- to be clear, this spa experience is categorised as general sightseeing, it is definitely NOT spa expenditure <bangs gavel>.

The baths were housed in a vast, slightly sinister looking, Art Nouveau building on the Buda side of the Danube. It was a looooooong walk from our hotel, so frankly we both needed to soak our aching limbs by the time we got there.

I didn’t cover myself in glory booking this. Me and Mr G have taken one for the team, so that anyone reading this blog will be better prepared for a Buda bath. We arrived with our swimsuits and tickets, and then had to buy compulsory flip-flops, towels and shower caps to get in- most of which we had in our hotel room. The good news is, the souvenir Gellert towel is teal and oh-so-soft, so it will remain in the van forever as a reminder of my folly.

The baths were beautiful but a little faded. Think a mixture between the Harrogate Thermal Baths and Swansea City pool circa 1977. There was a woman with a whistle ensuring no bombing, running or petting. There were several thermal pools, saunas, steam rooms and icy cold dunking pools. I thought the best pool was outside, where the steam was thick in the chilly air.

Hungarian families go to the baths for the whole day to relax and enjoy the waters. I got a bit twitchy after about an hour of enforced relaxation, much of which was taken up by trying to work the changing cabin locks and waiting for Mr G to squeeze his swollen big toe joint into his flip flops!

Budapest was just as good second time around, next stop Sibiu in Transylvania.