When in Rome....

Brasov, as we arrived by late evening, was a bit of a disappointment. It's a bit industrial with a large power plant and huge blue pipelines criss crossing the industrial estate. I must admit I was concerned that we may end up camping in the shadow of an incinerator or large factory. When we finally found Camping Darste though, it was a haven of tranquility. Pointy wooden huts and a decent looking camping ground. The team contemplated putting up tents, but then the heavens opened and lightening flashed around the sky, so we sat in the van and had a beer instead.
It was Holly's birthday. Mark, her husband, had perhaps foolishly put all of her presents on our van for safe keeping. It meant Holly had to wait until 8pm for her presents, which we had bolstered with a group Windy card and some flowers and a vase. They'll just have to gaffer tape the flowers to the dashboard for the rest of the journey.

It had been a long day of driving. I had two airport appointments. Firstly dropping Jo off at Debrecen Airport at 8-30. It's a very military looking airport. I walked Jo to the terminal building for our goodbyes. As I walked back to the van, I was wiping a small tear from my eye and some goat poo from my sandal. Now that wouldn't happen at Terminal 5 at Heathrow.
I was at this time the only insured driver on the van, so my driving duties extended to 5 hours as we crossed the border, avoided the speed trap that the Mobster had fallen foul of and hoofed it through the villages and tatty road system of western Romania.
The Romanian police held Steve up for 20 minutes for his driving faux pas. I was wondering if they were real Romany police officers, and if so, would the telling off he received be a gypsy's warning ? Anyway, the driving standards of the locals left a lot to be desired. They are very skilled at overtaking, or very lucky. As I was held up by a slow moving tanker, with traffic pouring past me, preventing me pulling out to go past it, I suffered the ultimate Windy 500 embarrassment. Team Red 5, Doris the 52 year old Morris, with Martin and Harvey grinning like two Cheshire cats, swooped past me and overtook. Oh God Jezebel, how would I live that one down tonight ?
The Lotus boys, Jedward, texted to say they were at Turgu Mures airport. We weren't yet, by a few hours. They managed to collect a third team member, link up with Eileen (guessing a white Lotus with Windy 500 stickers was a bit of a giveaway) and depart for Brasov well before we got there.
I got Eileen to drive soon after he joined us. After the luxury of a relatively modern car with decent brakes and the peaceful tranquility of London roads, Romanian driving in a 32 year old camper may have been a little surprising for him. Much crunching of gears and expressions of concern over braking distances.

He got us to Sighisohara ok though, where we met Team Milly and went to peruse the medieval town centre. This is one of the 15 or so birth places of Count Dracula if the Romanian tourist board have got their history correct. The tat shop owners will back up this fact.

Marc took over for the final leg, as I had now managed to put him on the insurance. Now, there is a man with experience of dodgy vans and dodgy brakes.
And so, to Camping Darste. They tempted us in to the local restaurant with the promise of 'local music'. Mmmm. The local 'Champagne' was also interesting.

23 of us sat down to celebrate Holly's birthday and to make plans for the following day. The Transfagarasan Highway. Described by Jeremy Clarkson as THE best road in the World. And we shall be camping wild.
The irony hasn't really struck any of the others yet. We are in Romania, famed as the origin of the Romany gypsy race. And today, our plan is to travel in a convoy of vehicles, find a place to pitch up by the roadside and make it our home for the night. When in Rome....