On the return journey, crossed Hungary and into Slovenia.
What a difference there was in 300 miles.
In Romania families work in the fields cutting the grass with scythe and turning the grass with pitchforks, building stooks and transporting the grass by horse and cart. Then into Hungary there were modern looking tractors and trailers loaded with round bales.
Small strip fields in Romania, in Hungary they have fields we would recognise in the UK.
At the Border I pleaded with the crossing guard to stamp my passport, he just laughed but stamped it, the others just laughed at me but they also got them stamped.
We had to admit defeat at the Hungarian camp site, biting bugs when we arrived at the camp site, hotel nearby got our business.
No comments:
Post a Comment