Right, where were we. Set off for Transylvania after Budapest. We got as far as the other side of the Romanian border and we all immediately decided that this is where the hard work begins.
Roughed it in some farmers field, what with the word ‘campsite’ being still very much foreign for at least another few hundred miles. Makeshift BBQs off a grill and beer cans are fantastic, waking up early to the now infamous call of ‘There’s the farmer!’- we successfully evaded him, his stick and his army (not herd) of goats, which had a taste for English meat. read more
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