The hangover from last night’s shenanigans hung on for a couple of hours, aided by a headwind that shouldn’t have been there. The route took us West, further from our destination, following the meandering Danube.
At Tiganasi we turned East, picked up a pristine road and the promised tailwind, and the world seemed a better place. Every 10km or so, we passed through a different wild west town. Nothing much open. In Izvoarele, a funeral procession, with brass band celebrating the life of the poor old fellow whose face poked out from the back of a hatchback. In Gruia, chased out of town by vaguely intimidating youths, we picnic’d on the outskirts, on a kind of marble dais outside a Roma mansion with loud gypsy dance music playing through an outdoor speaker. Friendly Vrata, where we were high-fived and cheered by almost everyone; mostly in Italian. “Ciao” and “Com esta”.
Unlike last night we were booked into accommodation, at Port Cetate Cultural complex, a former grain port, made obsolete in 1945 when communist Romania was ordered to send its crop to Moscow instead of Vienna. Restored from 1997 by a satirical writer (think Private Eye) as a culture centre with restaurant and accommodation. Food nice, wine from the estate delicious, showers to die for. What a change from last night!