through Romania

People complain about the Romanian road system - and I used to be defensive since I do know some good parts. But, as I tried - for he first time for a deacde- to descend from the North West to my house in the carpathians (near Brasov) I realised what they meant.
Monday dawned misty – I wanted to avoid the Monday morning traffic through Cluj and took a detour which promised Turda (definitely the ugliest town!) and contemplated writing a complaint to the Prefect as I tried to avoid being forced off the appalling and winding forest mountain road by great trucks. Eventually, however, I found myself bypassing Cluj and on a spectacular new motorway which took me to Turda over the mountains. The complicated access system, however, seemed typically Romanian.
I assumed that the Sibiu-Brasov section is not yet complete and therefore chose to go via Tirgu Mures – which required me to go through Turda and the very long village which borders it. Very frustrating. But then the road to Sighosoara was very scenic –although a detour almost broke my suspension!
Stopped at the various fortified churches I encountered – all were locked with no indication of who held the keys (at Busteni I was told the house which had them but it too was locked!). And why don’t they put a notice on the door indicating who has the keys?
Eventually I arrived home at 15.30. They too had suffered from torential rain - and therefore no question of my being able to use the muddy track at the bottom of my garden to ease the emptying of my overloaded car. I made at least 5 journeys up the hill before calling it a day - and talked with the French artist who had arrived just behind me. Marcel Moulin had used the Hachard Guide (like others) to locate the guesthouse - and had travelled alone from his place near Mont St Michel in Normandy.
It was lovely to be back in my house - Maritsa fed me with one of her soups and I prepared at home pork and the rice I had bought in France. Two amazon packages were waitingfor me. After some internet posts to bed

Slovakia to Romania

Left Moymirovce just after 06.00 on Sunday and was soon coasting along what must be one of the most wonderful motorways in Europe. Made a mistake, however, in deciding to try the middle route East (not, that is, the one which goes via Poprad to the Tatras and not the one which skirts the border with Hungary) – since a car rally forced me into detour with an execrable mountain road. Dagmar had recommended the town her father had been a priest in – Betlar – since it boasts Slovakia’s best Kastiel. It is clearly very popular. From there, the best connection to Miskolc pointed me backwards. The pic is of Lupcianski Hrad (thanks to Miroslav Blaho)
At the border I had an argument about the vignette which is compulsory – and almost double the price of the Slovak one. In fact it is a real cheat since the road system had hardly changed in a deacde for the section I was travelling. Hungary was never my favourite country and I crawled through it as what seemed a snail’s pace - already missing the Slovak countryside and friendship.
I made my entry to Romania at my old crossing point of Satu Mare – and started to look for some accommodation. I thought Zalau (one of the ugliest towns) might offer something but none which offered the security for the car I needed with its contents on the back seat so visible – let alone the bike on top. At last, at 20.30, on the downward section of the steep hill which leads to Cluj-Napolca I found what I needed – although the accommodation was a bit communist (no hot water and a leaking shower system). I had missed Slovakia’s second match – played in the afternoon – which they lost 3-0 and watched on the floor another forgettable one on the tiny TV set.

time in Nitra

Friday was wet again – but only after I had cycled to and from the morning swim. Thunder rumbled in the distance all the gloomy afternoon. Eastern Slovakia was badly hit with floods in recent weeks.
Still looking for decent art books on Slovak painters. Bought Dagmar, my hostess, two things her well-endowed house seems short of - 6 good-sized wine glasses and an apron! And browsed in a large book-store. Reading Zeldin’s The French. The Nitra wines are disappointing – Mojmirovce ones are vastly superior but not available in shops.
Thursday I visited Tesco’s in Nitra and picked up a selection of Nitra wines to taste and hopefully find some I could take back in bulk. Also a pair of comfortable German shoes; a tent (in a sale for 20 euros) and a pillow (ditto for 5 euros). It was a warm and sunny day – so I strolled the back street where I used to have a bank account and had left some cash – only to find that a new bank was in its place. Nothing daunted, I went in with my passport and was told that customers of the previous bank were customers of the new one. After some difficulty, my file was duly produced and a figure of several thousand euros duly appeared on the screen. I was stupid enough to ask whether this was DM or euro (since my account in 1996 had been in German marks). I could barely believe my luck as the money was counted out in euros! I shared some of my good fortune with Tatiana and Edit – who certainly need a break. Cooked the meal for Edit and family who had been working hard on their house – mildly marinated pork and basmati rice – with my exotic side dishes of banana and yoghourt and orange and onion.
In evening met up with Stefan – whose father-in-law has taken a bad tumble.

idyll in Mojmirovce

Tues-Wed
Swimming at 07.00 in the morning – and cycling around the village is a great luxury. I realised that, starting from the stay in Wezembeek-Oppem, this journey has become quite nostalgic. Time spent in WO and in Mojmiriovce was always quality time – both places treasures in their different ways. Both offer quality living – but the first as an artefact of the 20th century with the emphasis on private wealth; the second is a real society very much centred on the Kastiel and the wider cooperative. Tuesday was the day Slovakia played its first ever game in World Cup Finals – against New Zealand – and, an hour before kick-off, a large TV screen was duly assembled in the Kastiel restaurant as we ate our lunch. Then a reunion with Edith, Tatiana and Theresa who had been so kind to us in 1996 when we rented the house from them. They have fallen on dark times in the last few years – and it was moving to see them all in such good spirits. They have been homeless for the past month or so – and with typical generosity Stefan has put them up at the Kastiel as they manage the Herculean task of making a home from the shell they have bought in the village.
At 14.00 the match started and within hopes were raised when Slovakia scored a goal. I had to leave for a haircut (afternoons only – and only 2 euros!) and my return seemed to bring bad luck as New Zealand equalised in the dying seconds of the match. The Kastiel is so successful that I was unable to prong my stay there (they have 100 beds) and the girls too had to leave – but fixed us all up at a friend’s who has a very large modern house in the village.
Wednesday I had promised to take Edith to the Nitra Hospital for her check-up - but the arrival of missing workmen called her back while we were en route. Later we resumed the journey – by which time steady rain had set in. I wanted to see the antiquarian shops – and duly bought Stefan a Czech ceramic tea set and entertained Edith and Tatiana to lunch with the rain drumming overhead. I had left Stefan with my material on Bulgarian and Belgian art – and presented him with the tea set.

Flags and what they say about Belgian and German nationhood

I had remarked to Marie Claire that the small number of Belgian flags on the houses seemed a bad sign for the outcome of Sunday’s parliamentary vote in Belgium. And this was underscored by the plethora of German flags hanging out of German cars as I drove through Germany on Sunday – the day the German football team starts its attempt in South Africa at World Cup glory.
I left Brussels at 05.00 and decided to try a new route – via Trier and Heilbronn rather than Aachen, Bonn and Frankfurt. It worked – although I significantly made a false start through failing to remember that Luik is the Flemish name for Lieges and is the only designation given on the aurotoute to the town from north Brussels for 40kms or so until you hit Brabant county.
The Eiffel countryside is very pretty – and the German church service on the radio was an added pleasure on the morning drive.
Hit the Danube just after 14.00 and made a detour to Passau to try to find a village Gasthaus to stay in. Wolf an der Danau offered a lot of them but seemed too small. Standing was too busy! Returned to the motorway (without tolls!) and came off again at Deggendorf – on the Danube – a very charming small town where I put up at the StadtHotel – www.stadthotel-deggendorf.de – for 35 euros (inc breakfast).
A large TV screen had been mounted in the town square to allow people to watch the German match later in the evening – and there was a real festive feel in the air. A fantastic Asparagus soup, cordon bleu and Gruner Weltliner (Ried Sandgrube) – and quality service – in the courtyard of der Graue Hase rounded off a good day. Although I did join the German crowd in the bar opposite the hotel to see the German team score 2 gaols. I felt, however, a bit self-conscious about the academic way I reacted in such a gathering to the goals and quietly slipped away at half-time.

As anticipated, the Belgian vote (its compulsory there) produced another deadlock – with Flanders voting for independence and Wallony continuing to support the kingdom of Belgium. Support for the independence option is less than 25% - but, on that argument, we would never have seen a Scottish Parliament. Amazingly the Belgian Constitution has no provision for referenda. Admittedly the Czech-Slovak break-up took place without a referendum. And, when a country is divided into 2 equal parts, a referendum should technically be held in both parts and require a majority in both.

Serendipitidy finds my best bookshop

Friday morning sat in street cafe in central Brussels and watched the world go by – in all shapes, forms and colours. Quite amazing – if only I could shoot my camera unseen to catch the severe black burka, for example, with a colourful and sexy midriff dress; or the young woman in a fluffy white dress whose arms were covered with tattos!
I wandered through the old square as a tourist – and then ventured up the hill toward Gare Centrale to check the old bookshops I used to frequent there 25 years ago. What I discovered was my Aladdin’s Cave – an old house stretching to five floors and groaning with books and pamphlets. Surely the greatest bookshop ever for me! POSADA ART BOOKS Rue de la Madeleine 29 – http://www.artbooks@posada.be
I asked about Belgian realist paintings and Constantin Meunier and de Groux in particular – which established my eccentricity since few books exist on this period (mainly latter part of the 19th century). I did lose a bit of credibility, however, by revealing my ignorance that there were in fact 2 de Grouxs. Professional pride and curiousity was, however, aroused – and I had half an hour’s great help from an American customer who knew a great deal about the subject and who managed to track down exactly what I was after – which was a considerable feat as neither of us knew what that was! It turned out to be Arbeit und Alltag - soziale Wirklishkeit in den belgischen Kunst 1830-1914 produced in 1979. Even the toilet was crammed with sketches and posters. In one section I found a 1947 publication (in A4 size) on L'art Moderne Bulgare (which managed to omit mention of Nicolas Tanev (and others) but which was still worth buying for its woodcuts, perspective and rarity (I have seen no other book on the subject). I had paid and was (reluctantly) heading out almost 3 hours after entering (along with a catalogue for a Paris sale later in month of Orientalist stuff) when, typically, I hit gold – a 1904 first edition of a book on Die Belgische Mahlerei – with pictures of many of the relevant painters!

a place in Brussels?

Having praised the Belgian painting schools, it was appropriate that yesterday was a celebration of Belgian architecture. The apartment I was looking at was in the Simonis/Jette area – within sight of the huge Basilique St Coeur and round the corner from a stately park. The turrets of the red brick buildings with a mix of bay windows and balustrades stretch into the distance – with hardly a space between them. Images of elegant carriages (from Flemish painting) contrasted with the reality of burkhas!
The flat was from the 1930s with one of these marvellous see-through arrangements of 3 rooms - ie the 3 rooms opening out on one another and allowing the light from front and back windows to light the place.
Having a flat in Brussels makes more and more sense for me at my advanced age - with all the access it so easily offers to the cultural treasures not only of Belgium (or whatever will follow its presently anticpated demise) but of France, Germany and Netherlands.