A road to nowhere…

We are slowly becoming besotted with Romania. We camped in a little village called Carta in the week. It's one of the many little German Saxon towns which are all over this part of Transylvania (mwa ha ha). It has a ruined monastery and a lovely little chapel where all the inscriptions, hymn books and dwindling congregation are German (we met the German priest). And everyone is just so damn friendly. We went out to get some milk from the village shop one morning and on the way back to the van we were beckoned over by a large woman who, as is legally required of all Romanian women, had been sat on the bench outside her house. She dragged us into her yard where there were a dozen chickens running amok and she offered us some of their eggs. We smiled and accepted the eggs. Erensie, as we think that's what she told us her name was, then led us through the chickens, through some sort of barn and into the biggest vegetable garden I've ever seen. She was growing produce on a near industrial scale. Beyond the rows and rows of beans, peas, aubergines, marrows etc she was growing about half an acre of sweetcorn! No shared language was spoken so we were communicating via mime, repetition of certain words and pointing. We were fairly confused by what was happening but she uprooted and gave us carrots, parsnips, a couple of onions and some potatoes before inviting us to pick our own tomatoes. These were then washed under a hose and put in a plastic bag with the eggs. Unsure of whether all this food was a gift or a sale we gave her 10lei (about £2) for her troubles. She looked distraught. Had we not given her enough? We were led back through the barn, like we were returning from Narnia, and into her yard where we were directed to sit at a table. After foraging in her fridge for a couple of minutes she returned with a plastic bottle from which she poured us two glasses of homemade schnapps. It was strong stuff and I wondered how the plastic bottle hadn't melted upon contact with it. We politely drank it only for her to pour two more glasses. It was still only 10am and we'd not had breakfast yet.

Before we could stagger away she communicated to us that with the money we'd given her she was going to treat herself to a haircut and that we should come back tonight at 8pm for supper! How much money did she think we'd given her?! Later that night it was raining but we thought it would be impolite not to go round. We were about 20ft from her door when she came out in her pinny carrying an umbrella and a small bucket in which were nine (that's nine) freshly cooked corn on the cob! We were sent back to our van with the still steaming corn and a cry of "drum bun" (good journey). A good tea that night.

The next day we left camp (returning Erensie's bucket on the way) and leaving at the same time were two German girls with heavily laden rucksacks. They turned out to be sisters – Elisa, 20, and Meike, 17 – and we offered them a lift which they gratefully accepted, as long as we were going along the Transfagarasans – the infamously long and winding road through the Carpathian mountains. I first became aware of the Transfagarasans a couple of years ago when the Top Gear team came here with three supercars and proclaimed it the "best road in the world". I think "longest pothole in the world" would have been a more appropriate description. Jeremy Clarkson probably enthused that his supercar cornered "as if it was on rails". Well, we weren't driving a supercar, we were driving a Portakabin and that felt like it was going across rails. For 56 miles. The route is breathtaking and it snakes through tunnels, over viaducts and through the most stunning scenery – we even drove into the clouds at one point – it's just that it could do with a better tarmac job. If only their were some gypsies around…

We thought the van did very well getting up those winding mountain roads, especially with two extra passengers on board. Those passengers might not have thought the same however. At one point, after we'd stopped for one of many photo opportunities, the van wouldn't start again and I could see the two girls looking nervously at each other, praying that we weren't going to ask them to push. And I'm fairly sure they weren't impressed by the burning smell that the brakes were giving off on the way down the other side. Or the table collapsing on their legs. It can't have been their favourite moment, either, when we failed to find a campsite that night and so decided to "free camp". We found a field where some local twenty-somethings were barbecuing and they said it was ok to camp as "nobody owns the land". I'm still not sure whether that was some hippy-mantra they lived by or if they were specifically referring to that bit of land. We camped anyway and had a great night's sleep being serenaded by the howling and barking from some of Romania's many packs of stray dogs that roam the countryside. I bet Elisa and Meike couldn't believe their luck.