Crossing into Bulgaria, you can almost still feel the old communist ties. Many of the buildings still have that look and feel. As well they should; it’s only been a little over thirty years since Bulgaria abolished the Communist Party’s leading role in the country, and held its first multi-party elections. It’s clearly a country that is still working on capitalism. While it is an inexpensive place to live, it is one of the poorest countries in Europe.
As we headed north towards Sofia on backroads, we could see that the infrastructure was definitely in worse condition than Greece. The main roads were good, but as we got deeper into the countryside, potholes prevailed. At one point my phone was knocked loose from the X-mount it was held in (I had forgotten to put the rubber tether on it). Fortunately I had it plugged into the USB port to charge, and amazingly the charger cord stayed attached to the phone and caught the phone before it plunged to its’ death. I stopped and reeled it back in, put it back in the X-mount, and strapped the tether around it. I also decided to slow down and try a little harder to avoid the potholes.
The countryside in southern Bulgaria is green and pretty, but there isn’t a lot to look at along the route we took.
Our first night in Bulgaria was spent in Sapareva Banya, at the base of Rila mountain. This small town was known as Germania in Roman times, and today is mainly known for its’ mineral baths.
We stayed in a nice “cabin” at Camping Verila in Sapareva Banya. It was down a short dirt road, but just a five minute walk to town.
Besides the mineral baths, the other big attraction in town is this geyser. Yes, this is a geyser. It’s been re-imagined a bit, but still draws tourists to see it “erupt”. (Spoiler Alert: it’s no Old Faithful).
The following day we headed for MotoCamp Bulgaria, and due to a short time frame (ugh…schedules. I hate them), we were really just passing through Bulgaria to get to Romania, where we wanted to spend a few days before heading back to Bulgaria, at which time we would have a few more days to spend before storing the bike briefly and flying home.
We headed east, skirting south of Sofia and towards Idilevo, the home of MotoCamp Bulgaria. This place is relatively famous among motorcycle travelers in Europe as a great stopover and staging point for touring eastern Europe. Idilevo itself is, as MotoCamp describes it, a “town that time forgot”. With a total population of 100 residents, the population can double on a summer weekend when MotoCamp hosts a local Horizons Unlimited meeting.
Aerial view of a portion of MotoCamp Bulgaria.
Communist-era bar stools.
It’s a great place to spend some time, relax, do some bike maintenance, and meet other travelers. Located in between the towns of Sevlievo and Valiko Tarnovo, when it wasn’t raining we made a couple of trips into town for meals. Otherwise, there’s food, snacks, and drinks available at MotoCamp.
We spent just one night at MotoCamp, but we were coming back here in about a week. This allowed us to meet everyone and finalize some plans for our return trip.
The next morning, it was time for another border crossing, and Country Number 59. And that’s when our border crossing “comedy of errors” began…
We were headed north into Romania for several days before making a U-turn and heading back to Bulgaria to park the bike for a short trip home. Leaving Bulgaria and crossing into Romania, we experienced Self-Inflicted Border Crossing Screw-up #1. But first a little background…
At most border crossings in Mexico, Central and South America and Africa, there is a separate Customs or “Aduana” area where you must import the bike into (and out of) the country. This requires you to park the bike, fish out the title or ownership papers, and enter the building. A little paperwork later, and you’re usually free to ride away. The most often-asked question by the Customs officers is “La placa?” or the plate number of the bike. After doing a number of crossings, one tends to memorize the license plate number so you can repeat it. Alternatively, I take a photo of the plate so I can just show it to them, since I can recite the number in Spanish well enough, but not so much in Swahili.
So back to Europe. In Europe, most non-EU borders do not have a separate Customs office. You approach the border crossing at a small booth that looks much like a toll booth, with the Border Officer seated in the booth. You hand him your passport, then, on request, the title of the motorcycle, and he stamps your passport, enters the information on the bike into a computer, and hands you everything back. One-stop shopping. Easy. You ride away from the booth of the country you are leaving and repeat the process at the booth for the country you are entering, which is usually a short distance away; sometimes across a river, or just across “no mans land”.
In eastern Europe, we started seeing shared “Double Toll Booths”. These look just like they sound… the booth is twice as long, with two windows, one after the other, separated by about two or three meters. The first window has a flag over it denoting the country you are leaving, and the second window has a flag over it denoting the country you are entering. Officers from both countries sit in the same booth, next to each other. You hand your passport to the first guy, he stamps it, hands it back, and you ride/waddle up a few feet to the second window and repeat the process to enter the new country.
Here’s a photo of the dual border crossing booth, this one between Romania and Bulgaria. Normally there are cars, not just people standing at the windows, which is usually an indication that something has gone terribly wrong and you should pick a different lane. Or it could just be that these are single-occupant drivers and the window is on the wrong side of the car (a problem motorcyclists never have). Photo courtesy of Mircea Moira/shutterstock.com
I think our first experience with this was leaving Albania and entering Greece. After stamping our passports, the officer asked for “the document for the moto”. I had done a poor job of planning ahead, and the title to the bike was still locked in the pannier with all of our other paperwork. So I asked Diana to get off the bike and dig it out. As she climbed off, the officer in the booth said “No No. Wait.” We looked at him confused. He stood up, picked up his mobile phone, walked out of the booth and took a photo of the bike’s license plate, and walked back into the booth. After entering the plate number into the computer system, he said “okay, you can go”.
I made a mental note to take a photo of the plate and try this method at the next border crossing.
Border Crossing Screw-up #1
So as we approached the border to leave Bulgaria and enter Romania, I pulled our passports out and my phone, and thumbed through the photos until I found the photo of the plate number.
After stamping our passports out of Bulgaria, the officer asked for the document for the motorcycle. I handed him my phone, expecting him to be impressed at how prepared I was. Instead, he looked at me and laughed. Then he showed the photo on my phone to the Romanian officer in the other half of the booth, who had a similar reaction.
I was confused and embarrassed. I felt sure that showing him a photo of the number plate would work. As he handed me the phone back, I was about to ask Diana to climb off and get the paperwork out of the pannier when she spoke first:
“Your finger hit the screen when you handed him the phone and it swiped the photo.”
I looked at the screen, and realized my mistake: I had handed the border officer a nice photo of Tupac ShaCorgi, the dog we had been sitting in Larissa.
Just a heads up: showing a Border Patrol officer a photo of your cute dog usually won’t get you into the country.
I quickly swiped back to the photo of the number plate and gently handed the phone back to the officer. He noted the number and handed me back my phone, all the while still joking the the Bulgarian officer about my trying to enter Romania with a photo of a dog. He entered the required information into his computer, then passed my phone to his Romanian counterpart, who did the same.
Duly noted: know what you are handing the officer before you hand it over. Things could go bad. (As in, see Self Inflicted Border Crossing Screw-up #2, coming soon.)
As we rode off into Romania, I swore I could still hear those two guys in the little booth laughing.
Little did I know that the next time wouldn’t be so funny. That story is coming in a couple of posts.
This was our first time in Romania, and with only several days, we had a couple of “must see” items on our list.
First, we were headed to the Transfagarasan Highway. This road is very famous among motorcyclists and others who love scenic, twisty drives. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to do the entire 94 mile length of the road, as it was too early in the season and the road was still closed due to snow at the higher elevations. We stopped for our first night in Romania at Camping Arges, where we found a small cabin to rent for the night. I wasn’t aware when I decided to stay here that it was such a popular motorcycle campground, but as we rode up and saw the motorcycle sign on the side of the main home, we knew we had made the right choice.
Another rider at MotoCamp Bulgaria shared this photo with us, showing the north end of the Transfaragarasan Highway just a couple of days earlier. There was lots of conflicting information going around as to whether the Transfagarasan and Transalpina roads were open yet. This seemed like pretty solid confirmation, and the best info we had at the time.
It doesn’t seem to matter which country, or continent for that matter, these cabins have virtually identical layouts. Comfortable, especially on rainy nights.
One of the cats at Camping Arges looked nearly identical to Ike, our black male cat at home. We took it as a good sign.
As is the custom, we added a 2RTG sticker to the window at Camping Arges.
Due to the DN7C road (the Transfagarasan) still being closed, we were the only motorcycle guests when we arrived, and we had our choice of cabins (though they’re all the same). After unloading, I asked and was told by the owners that there was a small grocery store in town, about 400 meters up the road. So I jumped on the bike and made a quick trip to the store to find something to eat for dinner.
It took me a couple of tries to find the market; it was on the back side of a bar. I rode up to the bar and asked a few of the guys sitting at an outside table drinking where the market was. They clearly didn’t understand English, but it was also clear to them that I wasn’t there to drink with them. They pointed around the corner, and I found the entrance to the store.
As I walked into the tiny one-room store (about the size of a typical living room), the woman behind the counter watched as I wandered around. Finally, in somewhat broken but easily understandable English, she asked if I needed help.
“I’m looking for something to eat for dinner”, I said and at the same time spotted loaves of bread behind her. “I’ll take one of those”, as I pointed to the bread. “Do you have anything to put on the bread?”, I asked.
She walked over to a small deli counter, reached in and pulled out a small package of sliced ham. “I have this pig”, she offered.
“I’ll take it.”
Then she reached in again and pulled out a small wheel of cheese. “And this cheese”, she added.
“Good”, I said.
Then she looked me up and down and said “And that is enough”.
It was hard to keep my composure. I had never been told when to stop buying food before. I’m not sure if it was a compliment that I didn’t need more than she offered (“You are a fit man and this is plenty of food for you”), or if it was a somewhat sharp insult that I didn’t need more than she offered (“You could stand to eat less”). Either way, I heeded her advice, paid for the food, and returned to camp, laughing as I recounted the story to Diana.
Shortly after dinner, two more bikes pulled up: a BMW and a Ducati. Kris and Marek were from central Poland, and were headed to Turkey on a quick eleven day tour. We talked a bit about the Transfagarasan and Transaplina roads, and I showed them the closed gate photo at Transfagarasan. They had attempted to cross Transalpina (even though it was “closed”), but encountered deep snow several miles in and had to turn back.
Marek (left) and Kris from Poland.
The following morning we headed up the Transfagarasan. We knew we would eventually have to turn around, but we wanted to at least make it several miles past the lake, and to get a distant view of the remains of Poenari Castle, Vlad the Impaler’s home.
Looking up to Poenari Citadel from below on the ride up the valley.
Looking back down at the beginning of the Transfagarasan road climbing up to the dam at the south end of the lake.
Looking across to the ruins of Poenari Citadel, the one-time home of Vlad the Impaler. Vlad Dracula (1431-1476) was a Wallachian ruler and the basis for Bram Stoker’s Dracula character.
We rode about 27 miles up the road, but knowing that we had to come back the same way before taking the main road further north, we decided to turn around before we got to the good part. We still had several hours to get to our next destination: the city of Bran.
Follow-up Note: Kris and Marek made it most of the way across the Transfagarasan, but eventually were stopped by the road crew clearing the road at this point. There was obviously still just a little bit of snow…
The city of Bran, Romania is most famous for its’ castle. In fact, the opening line of the Wikipedia post for Bran Castle says — and I quote — “Bran Castle is a castle in Bran.”
Now that’s some high-level investigative journalism there.
So, just a warning, but this could get a bit (more) sarcastic.
Bran Castle is indeed a very famous and nationally beloved landmark. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture, positioned well on a hill surrounded by forest, and makes for some stunning photos, mine not included. The castle (as well as the city) lies in Transylvania, just across the historical border from Wallachia, where Vlad the Impaler ruled and lived.
Bran Castle is an imposing sight as you enter Bran.
Advertisement on the castle gate for a 100k ultramarathon, which according to the official instagram page starts and finishes at “Dracula’s Castle”. Nice view of the castle just above the banner.
The stone castle was first built somewhere around 1377 by the Saxons. It was used in defense of the Saxons against the attacking Ottoman Empire around 1438-1442, and as a border point between Transylvania and Wallachia for many years. It sat empty for many years before being acquired y the Kingdom of Romania when Hungary lost Transylvania in 1920. Shortly after, it became a favorite home and retreat of Queen Marie of Romania, who had the castle extensively redecorated, and the castle was inherited by her daughter, Princess Ileana. However, with the rise of Communism in 1948, the castle was seized from the former royal family. In a movie-plot twist, in 2005 Romania passed a law allowing claims for restitution on property that had been seized during communism, and Princess Ileana’s son, an American, submitted a claim for Bran Castle, and was awarded it. The family continues to operate the castle as a tourist attraction to this day.
And that’s where I (and many others, it seems) have a problem with Bran Castle.
First, to be fair, if you are visiting Bran Castle because you understand the real history of it, and are a fan of Queen Marie and Princess Ileana, and want to see Marie’s decorating, then you came to the right place.
But, if you are visiting Bran Castle because it’s the “Home of Dracula”, or “Dracula’s Castle”, as it has been severely hyped and marketed as, then you’ve been duped and are bound to be disappointed.
The person that Dracula is very loosely based on, Vlad III Dracul, never set foot in Bran Castle. Seeing as it was on the opposite (and unfriendly) side of the border from the land which he ruled, and he didn’t live there, another theory was put forth to attach his name to the castle: he was briefly held prisoner in Bran Castle. Historians have since debunked that theory as well.
Also, it turns out that Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula, had never heard of Bran Castle, and never visited Romania. The castle described in his book bears little to no resemblance to Bran Castle.
Strike Three?
Regardless, the hype has spread so far and so thick that droves of people (720,000 in 2022) arrive every day by car and bus, to see Dracula’s Castle. So many people apparently were miffed by there being no references whatsoever inside the castle to Vlad or Dracula, that a new approach was undertaken: the fourth floor of the castle has a small “History of Dreads” exhibit. (The marketing on the official castle website is of much better quality than the actual exhibit, which looks like what would happen if a class of 8th Graders tried to recreate Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion).
The lack of any real connection of Bran Castle to Dracula, despite years of marketing of it as such, has apparently caused enough bad response that the official website spends a great deal of time and effort explaining that “Visitors to Bran Castle should make the distinction between the historic reality of Bran and the character of the Count in Bram Stoker’s novel. Dracula exists in the imagination.”
I was aware of this prior to visiting the castle, but it’s hard to enjoy the castle tour while watching the hordes of people pay their money to climb through rooms anxiously expecting to eventually read some placard that explains Vlad’s connection to the castle. It’s also a fairly small indoor space, with just enough room for a line of people to snake through, yet they admit so many people that the entire path through the castle, from entrance to exit, is a cattle drive. And we were there before the tourist season really begins.
So that’s my review of Bran Castle. The rest of Bran is a lovely tourist-centered town with nice scenery and restaurants, and lots of hotels, AirBnBs, pensions, homestays, etc. We stayed about a half mile away from Bran Castle and were able to walk to it and around town. While in town, we took part in two of the local “street food” delicacies:
The local version of a giant churro, this pastry is called Kürtöskalács, or Hungarian Chimney Cake. It originated in Hungarian Transylvania, and consists of a sweet yeast dough rolled out and wrapped around a cylinder, then basted with melted butter and coated with different toppings, in our case crushed walnuts.
The other is called Lángos, and is a fried flatbread, like a small pizza, topped with various items, in our case sour cream and cheese. This is also a Hungarian specialty that remained in Transylvania after Romania took over the area. (Image courtesy of happyfoodstube.com)
Several people we met suggested that if we were going to see castles in Romania, we really needed to see Peleș Castle, and with a little research, we agreed that it looked beautiful. But after Bran, we were approaching Castle Burnout, and we decided that we would ride up to Peleș Castle, admire it from as close as we could get without paying an entrance fee, snap a few photos and then get back on the road.
Peleș Castle is even more beautiful in this photo taken from Wikipedia.
So we left Bran and headed towards Brasov before turning back south towards Bușteni. Entering Bușteni, I noticed a large building off to the left that looked vaguely familiar. And then it hit me: having recently watched the first twenty or so minutes of the Netflix series Wednesday, I recognized Nevermore Academy. I had no idea it was in Romania, or that we would ride past it. In reality, the building is Cantqcuzino Castle, completed in 1911 for Prince Cantacuzino. Apparently the Netflix show was filmed mostly at a Romanian studio in Bucharest, but this private residence (now open to the public) and a few other buildings around Romania were used as well.
Nevermore Academy as seen in Netflix’s Wednesday.
Nevermore Academy, aka Cantacuzino Castle, as seen from the road through Bușteni. Yes, it is the same place, even though it looks very different.
Within an hour of leaving Bran we were turning off to begin the climb up to Peleș Castle. A mile or so later, we began to see signs of what was to come: the density of tourists on foot increased. We were thankful to be on two wheels and able to snake through the people and make additional forward progress towards the castle. We passed multiple signs for parking areas, and the GPS was telling me to take one, as we couldn’t get closer. But we were on a bike, and there were still open streets, albeit packed with foot traffic, so I kept going.
Eventually it felt like we were riding through the crowd walking up Main Street at Disneyland. We had long passed the last tour bus, and aside from a couple of cars coming in the opposite direction, we were the only vehicle on the street. We were directed into a parking lot, and the parking attendant nicely pointed to a premium parking spot, right at the front of the lot and in a great location, IF we were planning to park and walk another half a mile or so, which we just couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm for. The castle was nowhere in sight, but the hordes moving in one direction made it clear which way we had to go if we were going to the castle. I can’t imagine what this place (and Bran) are like in another month when it’s actually tourist season.
With the our castle burnout and the somewhat sour taste of Bran Castle still remaining, we made a quick decision to turn around and head back down the mountain. Perhaps if we were tourists in a car, or on a bus, or with less of a “schedule” (there’s that dirty word again), we would have stayed. But we hadn’t planned to go inside the castle, or pay to see it, so we rode away and back through the crowds to the highway, heading south once more.
We once again looped around Bucharest, this time on the east side, and continued to the border. We had originally planned to spend a couple of days touring Bucharest, but Florian, whom we met at MotoCamp Bulgaria, and who is a resident of Bucharest, convinced us to skip the city, especially after we mentioned that we really aren’t big-city-tourist-types anyway. We rode in and out of rain for a while until just short of the border.
Self-Inflicted Border Crossing Screw-up Number Two
As we approached the border crossing at Giurgiu, I once again made sure I had both of our passports ready, as well as my phone opened to the photo of the license plate for the bike, hoping this time that I didn’t swipe it to a dog photo as I handed it to the Border Officer.
We pulled up to the first (Romanian side) window, and the officer asked for our documents. I handed him the passports. He opened my passport, immediately closed it, and handed it back to me. My first thought was, “that’s weird. He didn’t stamp my passport.” He then stuck his hand out again and, with a stern look, said “Passport”. I reached out to hand it back to him. He shook his head no, and mimed opening the passport.
Now I was confused. Does he want it or not? Perhaps, I thought, he wants me to open it to the photo page and then hand it to him. So I opened it to the photo page. Which is when I realized that there was cash in my passport. Somehow along the way, I had stuffed some folded bills into my pocket, and they had found their way into my passport. We usually carry our passports in a waterproof pouch, but since we had used them numerous times in the last few days — crossing the border, checking into hotels, etc — I had just stuffed them in my jacket pocket in a hurry. The officer thought I was passing him a bribe when I first handed him my passport. This was not good. I immediately withdrew the cash, apologized profusely, and handed him my passport. His mood didn’t improve, but at least we weren’t surrounded by border guards and handcuffs.
The rest of the process went smoothly, both at the Romanian and Bulgarian windows, and we rode off across the Friendship Bridge over the Danube River and back into Ruse, Bulgaria. I had once again been reminded to be absolutely sure what you are handing to an official before you hand it over.
The line of large trucks waiting to cross the border is a little under two miles long on the Romanian side. This photo was actually taken as we entered Romania from Bulgaria a few days earlier, but it was the same as we approached the border on the return. Fortunately we were able to ride past all of them and right up to the border, where there were only three cars ahead of us in line.
It may sound strange, with us suffering “castle burnout” and “church burnout” after our second year in Europe visiting all of these amazing places, but we were headed to visit some churches and a monastery in Bulgaria. Though admittedly these are a little different.
Shortly after crossing the border from Romania and riding through Ruse, Bulgaria, we turned off the main road and snaked our way down a small backroad to our lodging for the evening: Complex Orehite, aka Hotel Walnuts in Bozhichen, Bulgaria. About a mile before our destination, the skies turned black and the wind picked up. It was obvious that the weather was about to get very bad. We pulled up to the entrance to this small family hotel, and I walked past the rooms to the main house and restaurant. Finding nobody available, and the rain starting, I quickly returned to Diana, who was standing near the six or so rooms. There was a key in the door of Room 3, so I opened it and looked inside. It was empty, and clean, so we made the executive decision to check ourselves in. We ran back to the bike and pulled our luggage off just as the hail began to pelt us and the lightning began to strike nearby.
It hailed hard for several minutes, mostly just pea-sized, but some larger. We sat on the back balcony of our room watching the hail and rain, thankful that we had made it to the hotel just in the nick of time. Had we stopped for coffee or a snack earlier, there would have been no place to hide from the storm, and it could have been painful.
The rain eventually let up and we began to see movement down towards the restaurant. I walked down there, and found several young men who clearly worked there, and I’m guessing were probably brothers as well (as I said, small family hotel). They confirmed that we should take Room 3 (good to know), and we agreed to return for dinner around 7pm.
I can read exactly one word on the menu…BBQ. Thank you Google Translate Camera Mode for allowing us to order, and thanks to the staff for some great suggestions.
“Fresh Grilled Bacon with BBQ Sauce”…More like Pork Belly…and “Broccoli with Four Types of Cheese”. Excellent.
“Boneless Pork Knuckle with Wild Mushroom Sauce” and “Chicken Herb Filets with Parmesan”. Delicious. Not the cheapest meal we’ve had at about US$29 total, but worth every penny.
The next morning we rode a short ten minutes or so north to Basarbovo, to the rock monastery of Saint Dimitar Basarbowski.
The Rock Monastery of Basarbova. It was founded in the 12th Century, but is best known for St. Dimitar Basarbovski, who lived (and died) in the rock cliff in the 17th Century.
After waiting out another small rain shower, we headed south another 15 minutes or so to the Rock-hewn Churches of Ivanovo.
This small path leads up to a ridge that then leads to the main church.
At the top of the short climb you can look across the valley from this cliff to another cliff. We had been talking for a while about the idiots that climb over the railings at National Parks to take photos in dangerous situations, like at the geysers at Yellowstone National Park, or at the rim of the Grand Canyon. Some of these idiots insist on doing “yoga poses”. There’s a website that logs the antics of these morons in the hope that the National Park Service will identify and arrest/fine them (and it’s working). The owner of the site coined the term “Touron” to describe Tourist Morons. So here’s Diana doing her Touron Yoga Pose, but on the correct side of the railing. (And just to finish the rant, we consider anyone who insists on blocking access to these places for the rest of the general public while they spend long minutes taking dozens (if not more) Instagram pose photos to be dangerously close to the Touron category.)
The entrance to the church is a bit narrow…
The frescoes on the walls are original and unrestored, but preserved (to some extent), and date back to the early 14th century.
This painting on the ceiling of the Last Supper pre-dates the famous DaVinci painting by 150 years.
Our religious tour complete, we headed south once again to Idilevo and MotoCamp, and once again got caught in the rain. We spent a night at MotoCamp, which now had many more visitors than the first time we arrived a week earlier. In all, we counted riders from thirteen different countries this time, including Austria, Norway, Finland, Switzerland, Belgium, France, UK, Australia, Romania, Netherlands, Saudi Arabia, Hungary, and Germany.
We stopped at a roadside station for petrol and a quick snack, and while seated at a picnic table, happened to notice this dog who had found a cool, shady place to take a nap.
While back at MotoCamp, we briefly ran into Chloe Jones, who is riding this Honda C90 from her home in Wales to Tajikistan. She has a great Instagram and YouTube channel.
The next day would be our last riding day in Bulgaria for a while. We headed south from MotoCamp, back over the Shipka Pass that we had come over a week earlier, to the Buzludzha Monument, formally known as the Buzludzha Memorial House.
Built in the 1970s during the socialist communism era of Bulgaria, Buzludzha was intended as a museum to communism. It opened in 1981 and was shut in 1989 at the fall of communism in Bulgaria.
The monument sits in a remote location atop Buzludzha Peak.
An adjoining 70m (230ft) tower has a Red Star on each side that measures 12m (39ft) across and is made out of synthetic ruby glass. The stars were lighted and reportedly could be seen as far away as the Romanian border to the north and the Greek border to the south.
With the fall of communism in 1989, the massive structure sat empty for many years, and was quickly stripped of all of its’ finer materials. It became a destination for “adventure tourism” until within the last fifteen years or so when an effort was made to try to save what was left of the building. More recently the building has been barricaded (too little too late?) to prevent entrance by vandals, and a guard has been posted.
We left the haunting structure of the Buzludzha Monument and rode back once again to MotoCamp, where we would spend our last day preparing for a trip home. We had planned several months ago to surprise Diana’s mother on her 90th birthday, but to our surprise, Diana’s parents turned the tables on us and planned their own trip for her birthday (yep, they are amazingly healthy people who continue to live happy lives on their terms at 90+ years of age). So she wasn’t even going to be home when we arrived! Nevertheless we were happy for them and we were ready to take some time off and be home.
Often we get asked “Where are you from?” Sometimes we just answer “Texas”, as if Texas is a country. To Americans, and especially Texans, it sort of is. It’s bigger than many countries. Texas even used a slogan for a while that called it “A whole other country.”
Cover of the 2013 official Texas Travel Guide. Yep, “It’s Like a Whole Other Country”.
Texas is well known around the world, mostly for cowboys and, still today, J. R. Ewing and the television show Dallas.
But occasionally people laugh when we say we’re “from Texas” as if it’s ridiculous to expect people to know Texas is part of the United States, or as if we are disrespecting our country. After experiencing this multiple times we switched to answering that we are from “America…Texas”, because, in the end we are still proud Texans.
It is humbling to meet people who aren’t sure where Texas is. It’s not that they are any less educated than us; it’s just not important in their world. I’m willing to bet that most people in the US couldn’t quickly point to Bulgaria on a map or name the countries it borders. It happened in Africa when, after answering that I was from Texas, the gentleman responded, “That’s in Canada, right?”
In hindsight, I think he confused “Texas” with “Toronto”, thinking that I was telling him the city I was from.
It happened again this morning as I caught a ride from the Sofia airport back to Idilevo to pick up the bike. The driver knew Texas was part of America, and knew that it was generally in the middle of the US, but that’s about it. Which is about as good as most Americans could do to describe Bulgaria in relation to Europe.
It’s a nice reminder of why we travel. I love meeting people that share an interest in the world, and enjoy learning about others as much as I do.
If you Google “Best Motorcycle Roads in the world”, you’ll get a number of pages featuring a lot of different opinions on the subject. Depending on whose list it is, it may focus on highway-only riding on a touring bike, or slant more towards the offroad enthusiast. Everyone has their own personal criteria that determines what is the “best” motorcycle road for them. For some, it is smooth pavement and fast twisting curves. For others it may be steep mountain climbs with sharp switchbacks. For many, regardless of the elevation change or surface, a stunning scenic view is as important as the road.
For us, it’s often necessary to add that it must be in, or lead to, a place that is quiet, peaceful, and uncrowded. This criteria can be difficult, as many of the “Top 10 Motorcycle Roads” lists are mostly limited to places that are so popular that it’s almost impossible to not ride in traffic or be stuck in a crowd at the scenic vistas.
Last July, as I was riding the Transalpina Road in Romania, I began to think about these rides and all of the places we’ve seen across the last eight years of riding around the world. And again the following morning, as I rode the Transfagarasan Road, I kept thinking about the various internet articles I had read that called it one of “The Best” motorcycle roads in the world, and what criteria made it qualify.
We have certainly not covered even a decent percentage of roads in the world, but we have ridden through 63 countries now, and we’ve come to have some favorite roads. So here are our “Top 15 Favorite Motorcycle Roads In The World So Far” and a bit about the good and bad of each, in our opinion, of course.
15. Stelvio Pass, Italy Stelvio Pass is a motorcyclist favorite; for us not so much, because while the climb and the view of the road from the top is pretty awesome, the switchbacks are very tight and you have to compete with tour buses and RVs, which can make it physically and mentally exhausting. The top is a tourist mecca; in other words it is crowded and anything but peaceful. Many riders and locals will tell you that Stelvio is the tourist trap…there are many other passes that are less crowded, just as scenic, and more fun.
Much of the Alpine roads in Austria, Switzerland, and northern Italy just can’t be missed. I could spend a couple of months just riding this area (in July and August perhaps, due to the elevations and snow other times of year). Spend time talking to the locals, and you’ll inevitably hear “There are better passes than Stelvio”. We agree.
14. Old McKenzie Highway, Oregon
Officially Highway 242, the portion of this road from the McKenzie River up to the Dee Wright Observatory is one of those roads that can feel like you’re in another world. It’s fairly narrow, lush with trees and dense foliage, and has very little traffic. The climb up to the observatory has plenty of tight twists and turns. It’s not a fast road, so you’re in it more for the scenery and technicality. The observatory at the top was built in 1935 by the Civilian Conservation Corps out of black lava, and sits in a 65 square mile field of black lava at an elevation of 5,187 feet. As you approach the top from the west and head down toward Sisters, Oregon, the scenery is vastly different than on the western side.
This ride would be much higher up our list, but it’s fairly short; the western climb from the McKenzie River to the Observatory is about 23 miles, and it’s another 15 miles to Sisters.
13. Road 7A, Romania
From Brezoi on the east end to Obarsia Lotrilui on the west.
The 7A road, west from E81 to the “T” intersection at the Transalpina (67C) marked by the stickered-up sign (above), is a beautiful road of about 65km or 40 miles, and as far as I’m concerned is comparable to a 40 mile long version of the Tail of the Dragon in the US (which is 318 curves in 11 miles). Similar to the Dragon, 7A is flowing curves in mostly forest as it passes by Lake Vidra. It doesn’t have a place to stop and take a photo looking down into a valley of spaghetti-shaped roads, but it is some of the nicest riding I experienced in Romania.
12. Carretera Austral, Chile
This one is for the scenery, as there isn’t a lot of elevation change or twisties. Much of the road is still dirt, though portions are paved. It reminded me of a Southern Hemisphere version of Alaska. The only downside is that in the summer (the only time the road is fully clear and passable), portions of it can be swarmed with tourists, backpackers, and campers. Still, it’s worth the ride if you’re in Chile or headed to Ushuaia and have the time. If you are heading further south from here, there is a great dirt road (X-83) just north of Cochrane that will take you across the border from Chile to Argentina and onto Ruta 40. It’s about 100 miles across, and there is a border control checkpoint on the dirt road and the two border guards there were extremely friendly and welcoming when I crossed (they also probably hadn’t seen anyone for hours or days).
11. Transfagarasan and Transalpina, Romania
I combined these two because you can make a loop out of them.
The Transfagarasan (DN7C) is a nice, scenic road, and the pass on the north side of the tunnel at the top is another photo-worthy stop, similar to the Stelvio Pass. However, while the Transfagarasan can be busy with both cars and bikes in the summer, the curves and switchbacks aren’t as tight and flow better than the Stelvio, which means you won’t find yourself having to stop in an awkward spot to wait for a tourbus to do a three-point turn to get around a switchback, and there’s less chance (though still somewhat likely) of someone running all the way into your lane around the curves. The crowd at the top can be as bad or worse than Stelvio, and there are two pay-to-park lots at the summit (though there is also room to park bikes without having to enter these lots).
The Transalpina is less famous, but what it might lack in Instagramability, it makes up for with a “Mulholland Drive Rock Store” vibe, where there is a restaurant and lots of food and souvenir vendors set up, making for a place to stop and check out the other bikes (and cars) that have come for the curves.
If you are in or near Romania, these are definitely a “must-ride”. I highly recommend spending a night or two at the cabins at Camping Arges; it’s the perfect staging point for a couple of days riding the Transalpina and Transfagarasan, and the owners are great people and riders as well.
10. Mae Hong Son Loop, Thailand
This is a long (600km) loop starting and ending in Chiang Mai. Portions of it are better than others, of course, but overall the scenery, the twisty roads, and the stops along the way make this a loop worth doing. Many (if not most) tourists are backpackers doing it on rented 150cc scooters, but you will run across locals on Harleys and big BMWs also. We rented a Honda 500 since we were 2-up, but the 500 is unnecessarily large for this part of the world.
Referred to by some as “the most dangerous road in Morocco” (a catchy phrase used a lot by people who don’t normally venture far from their living room or office). A combination of dirt and paved road, there was some construction when we were there which made for some muddy spots, but overall it’s a fairly easy climb and very much worth it for the cliff-hanging distant views as you climb up.
A portion of US Highway 212 between Red Lodge and the north entrance to Yellowstone National Park, Charles Kuralt once called this “the most beautiful road in America”. Those same people mentioned above in #9 have sometimes called this “The most dangerous road in America”, which is kind of why Diana wanted to go there. Like anywhere else, it’s a road. It’s only as dangerous as your approach to it. We met a 90-something year old couple at the top of Beartooth Pass in their Ford F350 pickup that didn’t seem to have any problem driving it. Great climbs and beautiful vistas.
No “Most scenic roads” list would be complete without PCH. The tourist traffic can be frustrating (the long lines of RVs especially), and finding a place to camp anywhere around Big Sur can also be difficult (best to plan six months in advance if possible), but the gentle curves, ocean views and great temperatures year-round make this one well worth it.
Colombia and Peru have a lot of beautiful dirt roads in the Andes mountains and it’s hard to pick just one or two. In Colombia I fell in love with Route 60 from Villa de Leyva to Puerto Boyaca. Of all of South America, this is still one of my favorite rides, mostly because of the remoteness and the scenery.
5. Stewart, BC and Hyder, Alaska
If you’re headed north to Alaska, or from Alaska south, a stop in Stewart or Hyder should be a requirement. Especially if you’re headed north, because you’ve probably already been in the Rockies. The mountains here are like that, but on steroids. Bigger, steeper, more dramatic.
R704 From Agoudal to Boumaine Dades, Morocco: this is the western half of a loop that runs up from Todra Gorge on Road N12 to Agoudal, then turns to dirt for several miles between Agoudal and Tilmi. The dirt portion is a bit rocky but is easily done 2-up on the Tenere and has great distant views. It’s a good reward for a day of riding to get to the Hotel La Gazelle du Dades just south of the Dades Gorge.
The Dalton Highway is one of those “bucket list” or “check the square” rides that many riders feel obligated to do at some point, and most riders that have done it have no desire to do it again. It’s a long gravel road up to the Arctic Sea, and just as long back. On a good four days, it’s dusty gravel and some 18-wheelers who literally own the road and don’t have patience for tourists. On one good day and three rainy, snowy days, like we had, it’s a muddy, slippery, sketchy 800 miles round trip. The only truly impressive scenery, in my opinion, is Atigun Pass and the first glimpses of the tundra to the north of the Pass.
AN-107 from Carhuaz up to the world’s highest vehiclular tunnel (15,535 feet or 4735 meters) at Punta Olimpica, and then AN-106 back down to Yungas. A mixture of dirt and pavement, a peak of around 16,000 feet elevation (over 4800 meters) if you take the “old road” up and over the Punta Olimpica tunnel, and absolutely stunning. I will be doing this ride again in the next year or so, I hope. Note: when I went over the tunnel in 2016, the old road had been intentionally blocked with large boulders on the north side. Bikes can squeeze through, but nothing wider will fit. A fully loaded GS with wide panniers might push the limit.
Lots of people talk about Trollstigen, and while it is truly amazing for the waterfalls and scenery, for us the more spectacular part of the road (63) is south of Geiranger, between Geiranger and Hwy 15. In any case, we are constantly asked what our “favorite place” is out of everywhere we’ve been. It’s nearly impossible to narrow it down to one place, because there are so many influences: natural beauty, local people, local foods, history, etc. So we always have to answer with those caveats. But without a doubt, the top place we’ve been so far in terms of jaw-dropping scenery is Norway.
You might say “Where is the Going to the Sun Road?” or “What about the Blue Ridge Parkway?” Those are without a doubt great rides, and definitely belong on someone’s list. They reside a bit further down our list. I’m sure they will move up when I get old and go back to riding a large street-only touring land yacht and can enjoy being in the long line of RVs and Harleys. For now, at 63 years old, that’s not my style.
And as popular as Route 66 is for the European crowd, I will not include it in this list, yet, as we simply haven’t been motivated enough to do it.
Also, the Bolivian “Death Road” didn’t make this list because at the end of the day it is way over-hyped. However, if you are already near LaPaz and want to check the box, there’s about a mile or so of it that is pretty scenic and where all those edge-of-the-cliff photos are taken. The rest is just a generic dirt road.
There’s still a lot of world we haven’t explored, so obviously our list isn’t complete. We’re still looking forward to the ‘stans, India, Nepal, Mongolia, China, South Vietnam, New Zealand, Australia, and more on upcoming travels, and when we get there, we’ll be sure to update this post.
It’s hard to believe it’s been more than a year since we returned from our second season in Europe. We had planned to continue east, through Turkey, Georgia, and beyond, but some bad news had us changing plans and delaying our travels for a bit.
In June of last year, we came home for a surprise 90th birthday party for Diana’s mom. In a funny twist, the surprise was on us: Diana’s parents had taken a trip of their own, and weren’t going to be home on her birthday!
While we were back in Texas, Diana scheduled some regular doctor visits, and that’s when we found out she had Stage Zero breast cancer. At that point we decided to put a hold on our travels while we scheduled surgery and treatment. I flew back to Bulgaria in July, rode the bike back through Romania, Hungary, and Austria to Germany, made arrangements to ship the bike home, and flew back to be with Diana.
Fast forward to today: Diana just celebrated her one year anniversary of being cancer free. She’s doing great, and while we are still home and relaxing here (and hosting other travelers as they pass through), we haven’t stopped discussing our future travels. Even though I was feeling a bit “worn out” by years of travel across 66 countries, Diana didn’t get to go along with me on my first trip through South America and Africa, so even after all she’s been through in the last year — or perhaps because of it — she’s still itching to go. I’m getting there…a year home has helped rejuvenate my wanderlust, so perhaps we will hit the road again before long. There’s still a lot of world we haven’t seen.
Meanwhile, I realized that I had never posted our Morocco video to the blog. So, to clear that up…here it is:
