Week 3

Monday 25th to Thursday 28th

Monday

It was only when we woke up after our evening's trek in the Carpathians and looked down on the Danube in daylight that one of us remarked that we were now below the famous Iron Gates gorge. Patrick Leigh Fermor came this way before WWII and travelled through the gorge where mountains 'soared on either side in precipices' and the river 'swelled and boiled in protest.'* Since his travels a hydro-electric dam has somewhat tamed the water but the vitality of it is still evident this morning. We didn't follow the banks too closely as the river winds and sweeps through the Romanian countryside. Instead we took the more direct route across the fields, hardly seeing a soul until we came to the Danube again in Bechet. Waiting for the  ferry crossing, some of our pilgrims fell into conversation with Father Silviu, a local priest who took a keen interest in our adventure and pressed into Graham's hand a wooden madonna and child statuette. 

'Take this,' he said, 'to watch over you on your way. There is a great renewal of faith in Romania in the last few years. Do you know? We are building ten churches a month in my country. Ten! Every month!'

The ferry from Bechet in Romania to Oriahovo in Bulgaria is a 20 minute ride as the boat crosses the river diagonally and the Danube is all but a mile wide. It gave us a different perspective and a feeling for the power of this mighty river.

While we had had a good view of a magnificent castle from the ferry, the Cold War architecture of Oriahovo is not the most inspiring but at least the town provided us with shops where we have been able to stock up. Sadly none of us (we are now 74 pilgrims) speaks Bulgarian and the locals don't speak English but sign language works well enough. We find ourselves back in flat country, sprinkled with snow, but fortunately there are lines of hills and forest to break up the monotony. In the villages all the signs are written in cyrillic but luckily the road signs are also written in the roman alphabet, which helps us to make decisions about the route. The locals are not as open as our friends in the Czech Republic, they regard us with wariness, but those who venture to taken an interest are encouraging. They look at our maps, nod and smile and point out the route. At the bakery, they recommended we try Banista, a pastry which comes with infinite varieties of filling from feta, through cabbage and onion, to apple and walnut, perfect sustaining picnic food.

Tuesday

Gradually the landscape has become more mountainous and we were glad to rest our legs in Gabrovo before facing the steep climb through the Balkan mountains. Here there is evidence of the magnificence of the Ottoman Empire with a handsome historic city centre. Apparently the city of Gabrovo prides itself on being the international capital of humour and satire. Everyone we've met was cheerful and helpful at any rate, even if we don't understand their jokes. 

The climb over the mountains, mostly in forest and scrubland, was taxing but the road was largely deserted and the people we did meet share the sense of humour of the inhabitants of Gabrovo so we carried on happily. Hairpin bends brought us back down onto the plain and to the pleasant city of Kazanlak where we have stopped for the night. This has given us time to visit the Thracian tomb, a UNESCO world heritage sight where the inside of the cupola is painted with a fresco showing scenes of everyday life in vivid and beautifully preserved colour.

Wednesday

We were conferring over the map when a voice asked in English 'Can I help you?' This was Stefan who was a delivery driver who lived in Croydon for six years. We had been hesitating between the E85 and a more northerly route which looked less direct.

'There's not much in it,' said Stefan. 'It all depends how much you like walking along the dual carriageway.'

We didn't fancy that so decided on the more northerly route. 

'You'll need to buy food here, in that case. It's very, how shall I say? Rural.'

We are again in vast open country, not entirely featureless. For a while we thought we might have made a bad decision when we came across a huge area to the south east of Radnevo which was completely devastated: a gigantic scar of nothingness on the landscape. It was quite upsetting and an ecological wake-up call to us all.

Our day has been a long steady tramp over rolling country which is, indeed, very rural. In time we came upon mile upon mile of trucks lining the road, their despondent drivers standing around, mobile glued to their ears. Someone remarked: 'I didn't know we were back in Kent!' but it was the Turkish border we were approaching. We worried that there might be difficulties for us but when we got there, the border police looked at our passports, glowered at us and waved us through without a word.

We thought we would stop for the night at the village of Koyunbaba (where Google Earth has not yet penetrated). The locals brought us tea and coffee and stood around looking at us as if we were a travelling zoo. Our maps are of little or no interest to them. We thanked them and walked on, preferring to camp in the open.

Thursday

Will we make it to Istanbul tonight? There is a buzz of excitement among us and our good humour has redoubled since we discovered shops in Kirklareli where were are currently buying supplies.

Later

Today's walking has been largely through miles of woodland, mostly, it seems young trees. Excitement grows as we come to a bend in the dead straight road or to the top of a rise. What do we see? Trees and another stretch of dead straight road. (Aren't you glad you're doing this virtually?) Eventually we emerge onto open fields where the villages are not quite so far apart and here we begin to see aircraft, large commercial airliners taking off and landing at Istanbul airport. Arnavutköy, by the airport, is the biggest town we've seen for days. It has a bustling, modern air of wealth which feels at odds with the many miles we have travelled over the last few days. It is as if we have stepped back into the 21st century after a trip back in time to the mid 20th century: a bit of a culture shock. 

The route along the valley between here and the outskirts of Istanbul is, unfortunately, a very busy road. There is no option, it seems, but to trudge along in single file, gritting our teeth until we get to the other side. 

Later again

As soon as we could, we turned off into the side streets and filtered our way southwards to the heart of the old city, the Sultanahmet on the banks of the Bosphorus. Now the talk was all of our day off in Istanbul, the prospect of a proper shower, a good restaurant, clean sheets, the sights to be seen, the Hagia Sophia ('Look is that it coming up on the right? Yes, it is!') the Blue Mosque, the Grand Bazaar and the Topkapi Palace.

We agreed a meeting place tomorrow evening at the Eminönü ferry terminal and went our separate ways.

*see the end of Between the Woods and the Water and the beginning of The Broken Road.