Day 22
Tuesday 18th November
Prague, Czech Republic - Zebetin, Czech Republic

Exiting carefully from the Unitas, Grandpa Pete heads Gordon south through frosty fields and forest.  Stopping short of Brno they take a country road to find Pension Elliot.  On the minor road, as the tarmac gives way to cobbles they get a taste of the road to come but soon turn off through fallow fields.   Along a short causeway above a pond shrouded in willow trees, they reach the courtyard of the pension, a grand homestead with a stables attached. 

Check in is curt and they are shown to a small basic mdf-furnished room, followed up the stairs by a swarm of tiny yapping dogs.  A grey man who is nominally shepherding the dogs glares his acknowledgement of the pair.  They make a quick trip into town to stock up on Czech essentials - beer - and find a more relaxed environment, an agricultural town full of young families doing their shopping.

For dinner they brave the pension bar, ignoring the angry looking locals, huddled over their beers, staring at them.  The man who had checked them in is unexpectedly warm.  On closer examination he is less unexpectedly plastered and thrusts upon them the local firewater and some slurred conversation:  "mmm. Nice car.  Very nice car.".  His girlfriend behind the bar looks on patiently.  The menu has shrunk from 40 dishes to two.  A vegetarian dish and a meat 'surprise' dish.  The surprise is liver.  

After they have eaten Karel thrusts more firewater on them, the bulk of which the CB manages to dispose of discretely but GP bravely consumes.  Karel is reaching his conversational peak and draws his girlfriend from behind the bar to act as interpreter.  "He says your car is very nice". 

More firewater is consumed, the toasts are becoming more dramatic and the conversation is flowing.  Karel is an ex-ski jumper who competes no more but was at one time competition for Eddie the Eagle.  The pair tells of their journey and the woman insists that they take with them some of her fine garlic.  This is the toast of the district because of its strength and she loads them with bulbs.  As Karel takes GP off for talk about cars, the woman shows the CB pictures of her horse and dogs.   The CB quietly tries to swap Gordon for the horse, but no dice.  Before any more firewater can be brought out the pair makes their excuses and go to bed.

Day 23
Wednesday 19th November
Zebetin, Czech Republic

Whether it was caused by the firewater or the lights of the Black Light Theatre, Wednesday brings Grandpa Pete a migraine.  While he tries to sleep away the patterns before his eyes, the Child Brdie begins to construct the website, sitting by the window overlooking the yard.

The stables are off season, the ground too hard for the horses, but when in full swing it is clearly a big operation with a school and what looks like a competition arena.  Only a few horses now are in the yard, moved from pasture to stable during the course of the day.  A spooky air permeates and discourages the CB from exploring.  The night before the staff had spoken ominously of the owner.  Of the old school, they describe him as being embedded in Russian ways.  This generation have to pass on before the Czech can be released from the gloom apparently.  They have seen too much for jollity.  The CB imagines the yapping dogs as his agents of control.  A girl who alternates between sweeping the yard and cleaning the hotel rooms looks from underneath her fringe and smiles tentatively before firmly sweeping the dogs into another room. 

Briefly, the CB takes Gordon to the village to stock up at the friendly village stores and they picnic in the room that evening, lest the firewater is brought out again and they are detained indefinitely.  They are glad to have cracked something of the surface gloom of the Czech Republic in Zebetin.  Grandpa Pete wonders if Prague's identity as a centre of intellectual life weighs heavily on its populace, and drains them of the ability to engage or have fun.  More time is needed perhaps to understand the Czech Republic.  But all in all, they are ready to move on from the country as a whole. 

Day 24
Thursday 20th November
Brno, Czech Republic - Bratislava, Slovak Republic

Grandpa Pete turns Gordon south back over the cobbled road, past the multi-coloured tower blocks of Brno, the Czech Republic's second city, and to the border.  The Euroborder takes no time and road tax is swiftly paid, currency secured and they are on the motorways of the Slovak Republic. 

Bratislava is short of suburbs and soon they are entering the city.  They stop at the nearest restaurant to eat and get their bearings.  What a difference a border makes: they are greeted by a smiling waitress, have delicious soup and feel the frost of the Czech Republic thaw. 

The city is easily navigable and they soon arrive at the Hotel Arcus.  There is a petite parking space in front of the hotel.  On squeezing Gordon into the space, the spare tyre that sits on the back door very gently nudges the front of a huge shining black Toyota 4x4 parked behind.  No damage is done, no mark made, but the CB notes with dismay that the personalised number plates bear the name of the hotel.  Within minutes a middle aged well-to-do man has arrived puffing and in some distress.  Clearly he is Mr Arcus and pleading, he asks them to move Gordon to a space further down the street, at least one car away from the trophy 4x4.  He helps to guide them out.  Not really helping, but guarding.  When it is all over he is effusive, relieved and charming and takes them to check in. 

As they check in they are pleased to see Gordon on the CCTV monitor.  He fills the screen.  The receptionist says "aah, it is your car", slightly embarrassed, she has obviously grassed them up.   With no bad feeling, they are settled into their room, a symphony in orange.

An evening stroll in Bratislava fulfils its promise and reveals a small vibrant city.  Here now are teenagers walking round together, the shops full of things to buy, women sit together in cafés having a gossip.  Life seems fun again.  They walk down the main shopping street and through St Peter's gate to the cobbled old town.  A maze of cobbled streets lit with Christmas lights and designer shops.  They go to a cellar restaurant for dinner, full of all nationalities, and are serenaded with a violinist.

On their return to the hotel late that evening, they are amused to find the hotel owner at the wheel of his stationary car, towelling dashboard cover in place.  Just waiting and watching. Just in case they try to park anywhere near him.  He will not be quite at peace until the Land Rover has gone. 

Day 25
Friday 21st November
Bratislava, Slovak Republic

The Child Bride wakes with a premonition that is born out by a sprinkling of snow on the top of Gordon.  Shaking off the last vestiges of the post-communist world they set about consumerism.  While Grandpa Pete resists buying a little something from the axe stall in the market, the Child Bride gets a new camera bag and a warm purple jumper. 

Bratislava has rejuvenated the travelling energy exhausted by the Czech Republic and they climb up to the hill to the castle.  The terracotta roofs of the old town only take up about a few square miles of the view - further afield is an industrial behemoth and endless blocks of cheap housing.  Full of bonhomie for the city, GP and the CB find it beautiful anyway and look further down the River Danube over purple hills, and miles into the distance over a sea of wind turbines.  The centrepiece is the UFO tower, providing a glimpse of past ideas of the futuristic.  It now squats over an ugly traffic filled bridge, brilliant now in its eccentricity.

They wander into the old market hall at the end of the day and there around the edges are cafés full of folk enjoying a glass of wine.  Men are telling stories, animated and cheery.  They know how to have a good time.    

They stock up on beer in Tesco's and take dinner in another cellar restaurant.  Grandpa Pete's theory about intellectuals seems robust.  Here is the only maudlin place in Bratislava and it is populated by people in jerkins, berets, arty glasses, sitting alone reading philosophy books or engaged in earnest debate.  Staff serve grudgingly and the room is cold.  Regardless, the CB has the best meal of the journey so far and tucks in happily to a tasty bit of trout amid a collection of old wedding photographs that decorate the walls, providing the only bit of cheer. 

Day 26
Saturday 22nd November
Bratislava, Slovak Republic - Budapest, Hungary

Another day, another border, more road tax.  The signs in the lift of the Gold Hotel warn men against ladies of the night on the prowl in pubs and bars, after the wallets of tourists.  GP takes note.   As they take to the town that night snow is falling and the Christmas market is in place.  Budapest seems more well-to-do since the CB's last visit.  The international brands are out in force in shopping malls, restaurants are full and joggers take to the hilly city with zest regardless of the snow. 

The pace of travels is beginning to tell as the cities begin to merge into one and a routine is set of switching guide books, looking up a different country's rules of the road, and currency changes.  Full justice is being done to none of these countries, a snapshot is all they are taking.  Partly this is because this is just a way through, because there is an itinerary that pulls them onward quickly.  But it is hard to judge when to move, to decide between the pull to burrow further into a country and the travelling imperative just to keep moving.  There is also an impulse not to commit and prejudice the chances of what might be, further down the road.  This is the traveller's promise, that there is always a bigger view a more fantastic place at the end of the next motorway.  Tomorrow another border and the prospect of a longer time in Romania.  Because it is larger country, it will take longer to cross, and because they need to slow down a little.

Day 27
Sunday 23rd November
Budapest, Hungary - Arad, Romania

Standards of the international buffet breakfast are slipping and there is a shortage at the cooked breakfast counter.  The American coach party have exhausted it and this causes a run on the cold meats counter.  The Euoropeans are stockpiling and waiting for a refill of the counters.   It is a long wait and when it comes there is a stampede on the scramble.  The CB notes this and disquieted, adjusts her expectations of breakfasts to come.   

Snow has fallen again in the night and it is a frosty morning.  As Gordon turns out of the hotel a new and strange noise begins, a slushy-sounding ticking noise.  They persevere for a few miles as Grandpa Pete tries to diagnose on the hoof.  Soon they are heading out of town and, as with every town, they begin to pass the colony of car dealers and garages.  The Child Bride has decreed this the best place to break down, within reach of qualified aid, and forces a stop nearby.  They park up in a side street as GP investigates. 

While they are parked the CB has witnessed what looks like the migration of Budapest's elderly.  A hoard stream past, purposeful, pounding walking sticks on the tarmac.  Some looking back, squinting as if pursued.  She only has half an eye to this as Gordon is passed for transit - it is not engine related and as they turn off to go it has settled down again - but she does later wonder what the scourge of the elderly was.  Gordon heads off, taking to Hungary's vast plains and is downgraded to a two lane rural road with associated potholes and cracks. 

Crossing to Romania and there is an edgy air, with hustlers at the border.  They do a quick black market money exchange as swiftly as possible and head into Romania's mauve sunset and even wider plains.  At Arad, through miles of mid-height housing blocks and into the centre of town with the late 19thC grandeur of the Austro-Hungarian empire, they pull over into the first hotel they find, a Best Western. 

Day 28
Monday 24th November
Arad, Romania -  Sibiu, Romania

Back on the road and they follow the railway in a snowy valley below the Transylvanian Alps.  A lunch stop is found, a desolate and cold café where a grey soup is the only menu option.  They plough through pretty Romanian villages, with bright yellow and orange houses, churches with silver spires, fields dotted with conical mounds of hay. 

The ubiquitous Romanian dog makes its presence felt.  Everywhere the louche animals range, straggle down the streets or hang in packs, occasionally making an ill-advised lurch through the traffic.  The Child Bride winces at every paw that touches the tarmac in front of the car, making for a tense drive.  She tries to develop the hardness towards them that the Romanians have and not notice the numerous furry carcasses on the road.

They share the road with horses and carts, as they pass the strutting ponies tossing red plumes on their bridles, they stare at the coachmen, the coachmen stare back at Gordon.  Who is to say which is the more barking.

On the motorway, hazard lights flash ahead suddenly and the traffic comes to a halt.  Truck drivers get out of their trucks to smoke and gossip, casually wandering across lanes as the impatient storm down the hard shoulder to find a way through the jam.  GP and the CB take advantage of the stop to read the instructions of the GPS before the traffic moves away again.  In a sobering moment they discover that the accident that has caused this, mauling the cab of a lorry without much hope for the driver, has occurred not 50 metres from where they had been stopped. 

Sibiu has a rich history, a centre for the Romans, the Saxons, the Habsburgs and the Austrian governors of Transylvania  The sandy coloured squares cluster churches and museums together on two levels.  As an EU Capital of Culture, money has obviously been spent here and at night the old town at the peak of the hill is lit.  Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride check into Gasthof Clara on the main road by the river.  The walls are paper thin and shake as lorries pass by through the night.

Day 29
Tuesday 25th November
Sibiu, Romania - Brasov, Romania

A shorter drive to Brasov and they find a busy, vibrant town nestling at the foot of Mount Tâmpa.   They settle into Hotel Montana halfway up the opposite hill with a grand view of the town and the Hollywood style lighted signs on the hill opposite.  They pick their way down a frosty hill, past the Black tower and the White Tower guarding the city and down to the stream and the city walls.  Furriers line the streets, every other woman sports a fox or a bear on their shoulders.  In the early evening the snow starts falling and they retreat back up the hill to the Hotel. 

The lady at the Montana speaks no English but perseveres with them in Romanian.  Romanian sounds likes a cross between Russian and Italian and takes its warmth from the latter, so a congenial sign language ensues.   The pink bedroom is freezing and they beg for the heating to be turned up.  Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride wrap themselves up in duvets and blankets and turn the TV on.  Romanians do not overdub Western films so they settle into a night watching Wall Street with flakes falling on the hill outside.  Satellite TV is standard and they find that on their travels they have watched far more TV than ever they do in the UK and caught up with many a film they had wanted to see, and many that they did not.

Looking over the town with the white neon letters of the BRASOV sign lit up on the hill opposite, there is a new sign alight in the trees just below.  In Communist days the Russian name of the town 'Orasul Stalin' was carved into the landscape of the hill.  Now in Green lights the name of the local, and very fine, beer is spelt: 'Orsus'.  The Brasovians seem very at one with the newer regime and have retained their traditions and way of being.  A sophisticated but at the same time firmly rural town with things to do and plenty of diversions.  The Romanian matron dots about the streets, well dressed, smartly practical they look a little like the queen with well kept skin, smart coats and little button hats, bright eyed and purposeful.