Romania: “We don’t have money, but we have wine.”

I had previously been warned about the kindness of Romanian people, but still was not sure what to expect. The owner of the small restaurant, a tall and heavy man, became excited about what little I was able to tell him through hand gestures and a mix of English and Spanish regarding my trip this far. While I waited for my meal, he offered me a drink of rakija, a typical homemade fruit brandy popular in the countries of this region. I refused with the excuse that I needed to drive after my lunch, so I shouldn’t drink alcohol, but in reality, I had tried this drink already while I was in Croatia and wasn’t a fan. The restaurant owner accepted my negative answer, left and came back with my meal. Before leaving, he once again offered me rakija, only this time he squinted one eye and drew his thumb and index finger close to each other indicating it would only be a small amount. I finally had to accept and, actually, it wasn’t bad. The man took pride in saying his rakija was natural and homemade.

I had entered the country of Romania an hour prior, crossing the historical Danube river from Serbia. As it was a custom now, one I enjoyed, I planned very little in regards to route and points of interest. In Romania, however, the Transfagarasan highway had been on my list for a long time, and I was now that much closer. To reach this highway the following day, I first had to ride through the Domogled National Park which, on the map, its roads were quite curvy and I saw much potential for a fun ride. I was amazed by the amount of green beauty surrounding each curve of the road on this park running on the Carpathian mountains. By personal experience, I would later find out the Carpathians have some of the most interesting roads for motorcyclists and outdoor lovers in general.

I reached the Transfagarasan highway the following day and began at the southern point, near Curtea de Arges, heading north past Lake Vidraru. In my opinion, the best section of this road is after the Vidraru dam, running along the lake to its left and tall mountain sides to its right, all enveloped in trees and occassional waterfalls. At least the best part of what I did see, since after about 80 kilometers, and 75% of the way, I came to a road block. The mountain pass was closed due to large amounts of snow and unsafe road conditions. Disappointing. As soon as I realized I had to turn back, without a notice, heavy rain began pouring down. With no cover, I rode a few kilometers to a tunnel where I found refuge while I put on my rain gear.

I was forced back down to Curtea de Arges, from where I cut northeast trying to reach Bran. In riding the mountains of Romania for the past two days, it seemed there weren’t big roads with heavy traffic, but rather two lane roads with gentle traffic, connecting villages and small towns scattered across the hills. This detour I was obligated to take was the prime example; the rain had stopped and I was on a comfortable road on top a mountain overlooking a small village. I pulled over to admire this beautifull scene I would have missed had the Transfagarasan been open.

The next morning, I thought I would ride from Bran to the north end of the Transfagarasan and ride it south until the road block, at which point I would head back the same way and towards Bucharest. Rain was imminent that morning though, and waiting for it to pass was not an option since sure rain was in the forecast for the following four to five days. I went for it and after only 20 minutes into this 2 hour ride each way, I was already under heavy rainfall. An hour later I stopped under a roofed bus stop and reconsidered my plan. When would I again be here to ride this road? I should continue. But, I don’t even feel safe riding on these rather straight roads with limited visibility, it will be even less safe once I reach the curves of the highway. I should turn back.

Choosing to go back, and in doing so saying goodbye to the rest of the mythical road, was a tough decision to make. It was certainly the least adventurous, but safest. Was I being a coward or was I being wise? There comes a point when one stops being determined and is only left being stubborn and foolish.

South of the Carpathian mountains, Romania turned into contrasting vast, hot and flat, yellow plains of straight roads. On my way southeast, I had a pit stop for one night in Bucharest, a big city with a lively old town full of restaurants and bars; a nice area to spend an evening or simply walk aimlessly through. I’ve always said locals have the best suggestions of places to visit. In Bucharest, my hosts, Cirpian and Dominic, spoke about a large beautiful outdoor region in pristine conditions in the southeast of Romania that caught my attention. The Danube delta. I had allowed a few days of flexibility on my route to Moscow precisely for this reason. After some research, I had decided I would head to the village of Murghiol located on the edge of the delta where I would spend a couple of nights.

As much as the road from Bucharest to Murghiol was flat and, for the most part, straight, I can’t say it was a boring ride, especially as I got closer to the Danube delta. Many motorcyclists will agree that a trip on the open road calms the mind, empties it from the past and future, and only allows the now. This is exactly what I experienced as I enjoyed hours of peaceful riding across fields of green and yellow that extended as far as the horizon allowed, passing through occasional tiny villages. One of these villages was Murghiol, a warm and humid place full of mosquitoes, although, I was told, there would be more bugs as the summer came in.
I stayed at Casa Boby where Boby was the boat captain and his wife the excellent cook. Their extended family was visiting and I was able to tag along for a boat ride exploring the delta the following day.

We drove less than 10 minutes to the docks, got onto Boby’s small boat and headed deep into the delta. The Danube delta is where this river breaks into many branches just before pouring into the black sea. It is such a large area, one would require at least a couple of days to explore the many lakes formed within the region and see the countless bird species that live in it.

On the boat ride, Lorent, Boby’s son, translated what his father replied when I asked him in his over 50 years of life, being born and raised in Murghiol, how has the delta changed in those 5 decades, if at all? I was pleased to learn it truly has not changed much, it remains relatively untouched. In recent years, the region officially became a protected area, so there are regulations and fishing seasons, but not much more. This made me realize the value in visiting places that remain unspoiled, intact, and seeing them before they’re changed or become too restricted to have an upclose experience.

In the middle of the trip we stopped on Letea island where a safari-style truck was waiting for us to tour the area. Story has it someone once left several horses on this island many years ago and have since then grown in numbers to the point that there are wild horses roaming the plains of this oddly dry island. At the end of the safari, we had an amazing lunch where most, if not everything, on the table was provided by the surrounding area, from the vegetables, the fish soup, fried fish, to the fresh wine. Delicious.

Back in Murghiol, I had dinner at one of the few restaurants in the village, and had an amazing conversation with the bartender, Forlin. I can’t recall the flow of the conversation, but at one point he said “Here in Murghiol, we have everything. We grow our own vegetables, we have fish, and, of course, we have wine. We don’t have money, but we have wine.” This last sentence makes one reconsider just how important is wine, or would it be, how important is money? In the interest of this intriguing conversation, I asked Forlin: “Despite money being as limited as it is here, do you think the people of Murghiol are happy?” I loved his reply. “Sometimes people are running here and running there for money. We forget to be happy, we forget to be human, and we end up old, sad, and still without money”, he said. He went on to explain his personal experience. Forlin had left to Switzerland to work and make more money. “After five years I realized I was not happy. So I came back here. Here I am not rushed, I eat healthier, and I have my wine.”

I like to think we all have our very own Murghiol where we live, and everyday choose our wine over the promise of money.