Bulgaria

 Arrived at MotoCamp at 3:30 AM, tired, but relieved to have survived the 2.5-hour taxi ride from Sofia Airport.

Up after just four or five hours of sleep to meet the new travellers and prep the bikes. I love MotoCamp Bulgaria. Ivo, the host, is such a star, and every guest has a story. Today we met a guy travelling on a Ural complete with a sidecar, a German "Itchy Boots" type on an XT600, a Scot on a Tenere 1200, and a German chap in a blue T-shirt. (Ha! Can’t remember much else about him, but he was nice.)

We packed our bags with supplies, including some local rakia that could probably fuel an engine, checked the bikes, and set off toward Serbia.

Stopping every 100 km to rest or grab a can of Monster, which is where this young fella jumped on.  Managing to cover 336 km with relative ease. 

There was a bit of off-roading and one road that ended abruptly at a train track with no way to cross… and whole convoys of plodding HGVs. Other than that, the kilometres came and went.

Our constant companion this day was the heat, like riding into an open oven. It blasted us relentlessly, drying our eyes and turning our bodies into raisins.

Thankfully, crossing the border was easy. We were the only traffic and passed through smoothly.

Below, huge family graves adorned with flowers along the roadside. Some graves had photos of the man and wife, where the husband had died, but the woman still lived. Her death date empty on the stone, as was her place in ground.

Next stop and only 10k from the border, the Urban Guerrilla Camp. A cyclist-friendly establishment on the Iron Wall cycle path, owned by Bojan, an exceptionally friendly host who met us with a smile and a cold beer. Legend.

In the evening, we explored the town of Negotin. Serbia felt different from Bulgaria, even in this first 10k, every village we passed through seemed in good repair, no ruins (so far). Perhaps tmrw will be different.

We shared little common language, but the people were hospitable and gracious. We had three pints and two meals for £11. I really like it here.

Interestingly, playing music on your phone doesn’t seem to be frowned upon in restaurants. Two different people unashamedly blasted music while we ate. One older man even played what I assumed was traditional Serbian music—accordion and crooner—and sang along, right there in the restaurant! Still… it was £11. Did I mention that?

Above. A dog drinking from a fountain, when he'd finished, a local man did the same. They both had their lips on the tap. Yummy.

Above, classic Slag. A teenage boys dream.