On the road out of Baile Herculane, I start to take note of the number plates as they pass me. They come from everywhere. Some you'd expect: RO for Romania, BG - Bulgaria, H- Hungary, D - Germany and F - France, but many are from further away: Turkey, the Netherlands, Finland, Poland and Russia. Most lorries give me a wide clearance and I always try to let them pass when I can, but Romanian cars pass much closer than any others - usually faster. I swear into my helmet.
It's pleasantly warm on the bike but there are clouds over the hills ahead. As I approach I feel the chill under the cloud shadow and mentally prepare myself to stop and put the day-glow waterproofs on. Suddenly the road heads to the left and back into the warm sunshine.
As I enter a steep wooded valley I see a shock of colour ahead of me. Gnomes - hundreds of them all lined up and accompanied by Snow White, flamingos and a plethora of mythical creatures. I have to stop. An old man in a crumpled brown leather jacket walks up to me, smiling, arm outstretched wanting to shake my hand. He gestures at my bike. "Great Britain, yes?"
He points to over to a battered motorcycle - a cruiser with low seat and high handlebars. It's his, he gestures with pride.
" Korean."
I show him my journey on a map and we admire each other's bikes. Eventually, I head into the shop. It's full of dark, ornate icons, trinkets with a Romanian theme... and gnomes. I succumb. It's purple and doesn't weigh much. Gnorman and Gegnome are going to have a brash new Romanian friend in our little garden in Fishguard.
Romanian roads are a killing field. The tarmac is littered with the remains of many dead animals: dogs, jackals, badgers, unidentifiable and indescribable others, often large. The mess can be spread for tens of metres. I swerve around what I can, holding my breath to block out the stench in the heat.
In Timisoara, I come up to the huge, green campsite gate. They are shut. They look like prison gates, electronically controlled, on rollers. I peer through the bars. There's no-one around; the reception on the other side is shut. I shout. "Hello?" Louder. I try the horn. Nothing. After a few minutes, I see through the wire, a phone number written crudely on a wall. I try it without much hope. It's answered. "Do you speak English? I'm at the gate." A woman's voice says wait and the phone goes dead. After a minute there's a click and a whirring noise. The prison gate slowly rolls to one side. I ride into the compound. There's no one here. The gate rolls closed behind me. The camp is under tall trees and has space for hundreds of campers, but it's deserted. I slowly ride around looking for signs of life. Nothing. There's an old barbeque area, a covered seating area and a faded toilet block. I then notice movement. Way over the other side, through the trees, an old Lada is towing a small trailer. A woman is walking behind. I wave. She raises her hand. I ride over. Hers is the voice on the phone. Back at the reception she passes me a pen and a form. Passport number, date of birth, country of origin. There are a lot of questions for one night's camping.
Later that afternoon a few others arrive. A French motorhome, a young motorcyclist from the Netherlands and a German in a Toyota. The guy from the Netherlands is heading to Nepal. It's his first tour and his first time camping. You can feel his sense of excitement. I know that feeling. He asks lots of question about how I travel, about food and cooking. I give him some of my water purification tablets. He will need them along his journey. They could save him some tummy problems later on.
The German is in a massive Toyota with 'Dakar' written down the sides. It looks impressive but I couldn't help myself trying to escape from his incessant talking ...comparisons of off-road vehicles. The price each, the weight... Boring. He'd driven from Germany.. on roads of coarse.
I crawl into the tent and listen to the birds trying to make themselves heard over the city noises of Timisoara. I think about the gate and high fences. At least the place is secure. In the morning I'll need to phone the same number to be let out.
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