Well, I’ve finally arrived in Singapore with body and soul intact, and for once I have actually managed to reach my destination in something vaguely resembling style. Long story short, I basically pooled every last Avios point I’d accumulated over the years, in the process somehow contriving to fly out business class for less than the cost of economy.

I must say, it was all rather civilised – or, that is, about as civilised as it gets when you’re 30,000 feet up, trapped in a giant metallic tube, breathing heavily recycled air, alongside several hundred other random fellow travellers.

Still, champagne on arrival; a seat that turned into an actual bed (still didn’t sleep a wink though…); one’s choice of wine poured from an actual bottle; plus food that was, well, at least recognisably food (if not about to win a Michelin star any time soon) – can’t complain!

Good while it lasted, although I’d best not get too used to such extravagance in future – or at least not until I’ve managed to rebuild the Avios stockpile over the next couple of years at any rate. Till then, obligatory travel-brag pics:

The return journey in economy will, I realise, be a rude bump back down to earth again, but ho hum – first world problems and all that… I do get that I’m supremely privileged to be doing trips like this at all (thanks, as ever, to the trusty lodger fund) – cattle class or not!

Having checked in at the ibis Budget Clarke Quay, despite rapidly flagging energies, I took a snap decision to head straight back out again to catch the nightly light show at the Gardens by the Bay, which if I hurried I’d still just about make. My night mode photos / vids didn’t really do the place justice, but think this kind of thing – not a bad way to pass 15 minutes (and thanks for the recommendation Anita!).

After that, I went on to explore the rest of the Clarke’s Quay by night, but I’ll talk about that more another time. At this point I have officially gone about 40 hours with no sleep, and need to say goodbye for now, before I start fallliinnnggg asleeeeep at the keeeyboard as I typppppppeeee…

Seems I’m not having much luck with holidays this year.

Last spring I was due to go to the Balkans for 10 days, but had to re-plan at the last minute when my Dad had a major wobble that Serbia was on the verge of descending into bloody civil war (spoiler alert: it wasn’t).

I duly decamped to Romania, only there to endure literally one of the most excruciating weeks of my entire life – not my Dad’s fault, nor even Romania’s, but rather that of the singularly tedious, relentlessly didactic cyborg that was Alex-RO (and for those who haven’t read it, that whole sorry saga begins here). Come to think of it, even open civil warfare would have still been preferable to a week in the enforced “company” of that infernal, history-obsessed, monologue machine…

I thought this time I was safe as houses booking in Thailand, especially given that I was bypassing Bangkok (occasionally prone to the odd military coup) – but not so, it seems!

My plan had been to do a yoga retreat at The Spa Koh Chang, with a stop-off in first Singapore and then Trat along the way.

A mere four days before flying out, however, my Dad sent me this worrying little article. Turns out a border “skirmish” between Cambodia and Thailand had recently broken out, prompting cross-border shelling on both sides and the FCO advising against all non-essential travel to… exactly the bit of Thailand I was effing due to go to. Naturally.

Bugger.

Now, I am no stranger to travel to some of the world’s, let’s say, dicier areas – and I do fully realise that in practice the risk of any associated shelling heading my way is ridiculously small. But the fallout were something to go wrong would of course be hugely far-reaching, particularly given my insurance would likely be invalidated as a result. Which – in the unexpected event of injury or need for repatriation – would also leave me with some serious egg on my face back at the office, given my line of work…

Does my Dad have an algorithm set up to monitor political and otherwise events in any country I am even tentatively thinking about visiting, I wonder…? (Still, in all seriousness, thank you Daddy for the heads up on this one!)

Luckily for me, after 50 plus countries and a good few years’ living abroad, I am now something of a travel ninja. Within just an hour or two, I was able to book a different retreat on safer Koh Samui, re-route internal flights and put in an insurance claim for the non-refundable aspects of the Koh Chang accommodation.

Unfortunately, in my somewhat “harried” process of hurriedly re-booking, I neglected to notice that – while November is one of the best months weatherwise to visit most of Thailand – it’s actually one of the worst for Koh Chang, its very own self-contained eco-system, apparently, and right now slap-bang in the middle of the sodding rainy season too.

Urrghhh.

Still, in my experience, rainy season in the tropics usually consists of one or two daily deluges, rather than the characteristic unrelenting British-style constant drizzle – so hopefully one I can work around (or, failing that, decamp for a nice Thai massage instead…). And, all things considered, probably better to occasionally end up a bit damp than take a dirty great shell to the head really.

Anyhoo, first world problems and all that! The new place, the Sanctimony (not real name, obvs), looks nice enough (if not as “bijou” as the first one), and a holiday’s a holiday after all – even if at this point I’m genuinely considering simply staying at home with the cat next year…

As for now, watch this space! I’m officially posting this from Heathrow Terminal 5 (pathologically early, as per usual) and – barring any further last-minute outbreaks of war or any other forms of force majeure – I’ll hopefully be updating from sunny Singapore very soon. Assuming, of course, that the universe behaves itself for the next few hours, that is…

I knew from the beginning she was different. Quiet. Observant. Her eyes – greeny-hazel – suggested someone always thinking, always questioning. I saw the signs of a woman who studied too much. It’s not always good when a woman has too much education. It makes her unsettled. Discontented. Difficult to please.

I joined the tour after three days. My husband, Alex, asked me to join. He told me there were “last-minute cancellations.” But I don’t know. I think perhaps there were never any others. But Alex – he is not comfortable with small groups. He feels better when there are more people. There is “safety in numbers”, he tells me. One guest alone – it is difficult for him.

I could see she was tense from the beginning. Especially when Alex started again with his long historical monologues. I know it is a lot. I told him. The office told him also. People leave feedback. But he doesn’t change. He cannot change. One time I looked at her, to say with my eyes, “I understand. I am sorry. Please try to be kind.” I think she got the message.

Alex is a good man. Maybe too good. He takes everything very literally. He loves history, but with people… it is not so easy for him. At the office, they try to give him labels – Aspergers, spectrum, these words. But I don’t believe in those things. It is just one more way to say someone is not normal, to put them in a box. When did we stop accepting people who are a little different…?

I tried to make the tour softer for her. I chatted with her, changed the topic when Alex was becoming… too much. I shared with her my memories of childhood, when I was growing up under the dictator. I wanted to give something more emotional, more real. But Alex – he interrupted. Always, he interrupted. Back to the facts he loves – the list of rulers, the restoration dates, the exact length of the fortress walls. These things make him feel safe. I felt ashamed for him at times. I think maybe she felt that too.

She was running a lot. Very early in the morning, before breakfast, through the small towns still sleeping. She said it was peaceful. But I think also maybe she wanted space. To be far from us.

She was never rude. Not once. I respect this very much. Most people would get angry. Only one time did I see her come close – when we arrived at Curtea de Argeș and it was under scaffolding. I didn’t know. But Alex – yes. He knew. I don’t think he saw the jaw tighten, the face twist, the small signs of someone enraged. But I saw. And I understood.

At the end, she said thank you. Very polite. Very short. No big goodbye. But in her eyes I saw something. A hunted look. Like she was running again, but this time not with her legs.

I hope she liked Romania. I really do. But I think she was looking for something. Something she didn’t find. Freedom, maybe. Or connection. But not the kind my husband knows how to give.

She will write about us, I think. Maybe she already has. I don’t want to look. I don’t think that it will be kind. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe she will remember something gentle. Because I know Alex is a good man. Not a perfect man. Not an easy one. But good. Always, he is good.

Client name: Sarah
Nationality: British
Duration: 7 days
Group size: 1
Diagnosis: Anomalous subject

The tour has concluded.

I delivered the subject to each historical site precisely on time. I relayed all necessary information about fortified churches, Saxon guilds and minor princely disputes of the 17th century. I did not deviate from the prescribed cultural points. All commentary was within tolerance parameters.

The subject’s behavioural patterns were inconsistent with the tourist norm. Observed traits: autonomous navigation, low dependence on guide input, increased disengagement from itinerary-led interaction.

Per protocol, I informed her that questions were welcome. Her queries, however, fell outside operational scope.
She asked about my hobbies. My interests. She mentioned having a cat. And training for a triathlon.
These fields are irrelevant and not itinerary-compliant. I redirected to a lecture on ancient Byzantine funeral rites.

She asked about the dictator. About Romanian living memory.
These topics are not approved for commentary. Live historical subjects may trigger deviation errors. I rerouted the conversation towards the defensive features of a fortified church tower.

On day 3, the subject submitted a support request for less historical detail, expressing instead an interest in the broad themes of 20th century history onwards.
The above contravenes core programming. The request was denied. I instead defaulted to an explanation on regional population movements in the early Anno Domino era.

One time, she asked for a restaurant recommendation.
I told her: none are good. Buy food at the supermarket.
She offered no reply. I was unable to assess gratitude levels.

She requested to know if I was aware that the Curtea de Argeș was under renovation.
Her eye twitched when I replied in the affirmative. I noted this as a possible neurological irregularity.

Over time, her verbal output diminished.
She began to look out of the window for extended periods. Occasionally she would sigh.
The sound did not correspond to a recognised query. I did not respond.

On the fifth evening, I passed her in the town square, when there was no scheduled activity. She was seated at an outdoor café, drinking an orange liquid. Possibly medicinal. Her expression was difficult to categorise. She did not see me. Or pretended not to.

When we reached the final destination, she thanked me. Smiled. Shook my hand and said it had been “lovely to meet me.”
I analysed the statement. It did not register as accurate.
She did not look back.

Still, I have performed my duty. I have fulfilled the Schedule. My Mission is complete. The subject has departed.

End of report
Reset for next tour

Well, with the trip nearly over and home on the horizon tomorrow, now seems as good a time as any to look back – for better or worse on this occasion.

Romania itself was lovely. Genuinely. It certainly helped that the weather was kind – apparently it had been pissing it down all week prior, but I only had a touch of rain at the start in Bucharest (which, in fairness, suited the place), then glorious sunshine from that point on.

I particularly loved the Transylvanian towns of Brasov, Sighișoara, Sibiu – all very much “my” type of places – what with pastel facades, cobbled streets, and a sense of old world civility and calm (I’m fairly certain I must have been Germanic or Austro-Hungarian in a former life). My favourite parts of the trip were really the simple things here – such as long early morning runs around town, while the streets were just coming to life (and Alex-RO was still on overnight charge), or sitting on sunny squares enjoying an Aperol spritz early evening, once blissfully alone again and liberated from the daily demands of The Schedule.

Beyond the towns, I also really enjoyed the various drives through the countryside – think pretty painted villages, horses and carts, and the occasional traditionally dressed Roma (though I wouldn’t recommend raising that particular topic with Alex or Diana anytime soon…). I didn’t see any bears (apparently Romania has them in multitudes), but I did spot a red squirrel, a hare and plenty of nesting storks along the way.

The food was a pleasant surprise too. I definitely developed something of an addiction to sarmale – which are pork-stuffed cabbage rolls – but also tried a decent range of soups (tripe, borscht, goulash), lots of fresh salads (tomatoes and cucumber here are seriously tasty), as well as a particular peasant meal called bulz ardelenesc: a gloriously stodgy pile of polenta, cheese, sausage, egg and sour cream. And with the Fitbit logging an average 25,000 steps and 100 active minutes a day, I figured I’d earned it.

As for the rest… Well, fair to say this was not quite the trip I’d signed up for. Being the only person on a supposedly group tour (still not sure I buy the “last-minute cancellations” line) unfortunately meant I ended up with the worst of both worlds here: namely the premium price tag and fixed itinerary of a group holiday, minus any of the camaraderie or social interaction that type of travel usually brings.

Now, several of you have asked – quite reasonably – how Alex can still be employed in a client-facing role (one he’s had for twenty years, apparently!), and how he possibly handles larger groups. Believe you me, I’ve been wondering the same.

My best guess is that, in a group setting, his more – let’s say – intense qualities are somewhat diluted. There’s more dynamic interplay, other people ask questions, and there’s safety in numbers when it comes to requesting a loo break. You can blend into the crowd a bit, and maybe even quietly skip a sight or two without a moral reckoning. But as a solo traveller? There’s no buffer. No distraction. Just relentless one-on-one scrutiny. Like being on a week-long school trip where you’re the only pupil – and the headmaster is at least part-cyborg. It was, at times, genuinely excruciating.

And that’s the thing – being a good guide is about more than punctuality and historical knowledge. It’s about rapport, intuition, knowing how to read a room (or in this case, a person), and pitching your delivery accordingly – not just droning on endlessly about historical detail with zero awareness as to how it’s landing. It’s understanding that travel isn’t just about facts – it’s about the experience as a whole – the joy of a good meal, a chance encounter, or simply sitting still and just breathing in a place. Case in point: when I asked Alex for a restaurant tip one evening, he replied – deadpan – “None of them are good. I just buy food at the supermarket.” Right. Thanks for that, Alex.

Some have floated the idea that neurodiversity might be a factor here. I really couldn’t say – and it’s certainly not my place to armchair diagnose here. If so, then I have genuine sympathy: I can only imagine navigating a people-facing role with such challenges must be very tough. All I can speak to is my own experience here, which involved being stuck all week with a monotonous bore who couldn’t shift tone, take a hint, or simply know when to STFU – not much fun, whatever the underlying reason for it.

The other alternative, of course, is that I’m the problem…? Though I really don’t think so. After all, I nodded politely. I smiled. I stifled several silent screams and – more than once – the very real urge to commit first-degree murder. And frankly, I don’t think the occasional request for a sandwich or a toilet break marks me out as some sort of diva. And if it does, I’d argue I’m a remarkably self-restrained one.

Would I have chosen this version of the trip? Absolutely, categorically, not. But I’m still glad I went. Romania’s a place I’d happily return to – though next time with a bit more freedom, a bit more flexibility, and ideally with someone by my side who knows when to shut up and just enjoy the moment.

And that’s a wrap on this gloriously weird little adventure. Genius-level bonus content incoming shortly… ☺️

Well, I’m now officially back in the Romanian capital of Bucharest – having taken the very scenic route, over many hours, via a series of B-list historical sites and several optimistic stretches of dirt road. All this, apparently, in the grand service of visiting Curtea de Argeș, a sixteenth-century Romanian Orthodox church famed for its intricate Moorish and Byzantine-inspired architecture.

Which, when we finally rocked up, was almost entirely hidden behind scaffolding.

I asked Alex-RO, in as neutral tones as I could muster, whether he’d known in advance that the church was under renovation. “Yes,” he replied, in his usual monotone, “but it was still on The Schedule.”

Reader, I could have cheerfully swung for him at this point. This cannot be normal behaviour, right? This is straight-up pathological. Or am I simply being systematically gaslit here, one absurd detour at a time?

I mean, what kind of a man forces a group – especially a group of one – on a multi-hour, dirt road detour to view what was, in essence, an ecclesiastical building site? With no warning. No heads-up. No alternative offered. Nope. It was on The Schedule – the holy, immutable, motherfucking Schedule – and so that was bloody that. I swear, if the place had been nuked overnight, he’d still have insisted on pointing out where the church was once situated within the blast zone.

Grrrrrr. Rant over (for now at least!). At least the long car journey was scenic, and also proved an opportunity to surface up some more of Diana’s, let’s say, “unconventional beliefs.” In addition to being a proud iridologist (the belief that eye colour determines personality / physiognomy), she also attributes autism to “too much phone time,” is a devout anti-vaxxer, and firmly believes that “too much education is bad for women” – causing wrinkles and madness, apparently. Reminds me of this Harry Enfield classic from back in the day!*

Anyhoo, by the time we crawled back into Bucharest after nearly seven hours on the road, I was pretty much hanging on by a thread. Unfortunately, this was the precise moment Alex-RO happened to suffer a major glitch in his navigational system, driving us through gridlocked traffic across the entire city – only to realise when we got there that he’d brought us to the wrong hotel. It took best part of another hour to get where we needed to be again – by which point my reserves of patience were running dangerously low.

Still, when we finally pulled up – at the correct hotel this time – I did what any self-respecting Brit would do after experiencing many hours, if not days, of barely restrained fury: I swallowed down my rage, adopted a outward stance of performative politeness, smiled through gritted teeth and thanked them both graciously for the trip. And then – social niceties fully observed – I then immediately hit the bar for a very stiff drink in order to celebrate my newfound freedom. To independence. To solitude. And to never, ever having to see either of these two outlandish individuals ever a-bloody-gain.

The next day I had all to myself in Bucharest, but gave the galleries and museums a swerve in favour of a different kind of cultural immersion altogether – with a visit to Therme Bucharest, Europe’s largest wellness and relaxation centre. Think thermal pools, outdoor beach, swim-up bars, multiple saunas and steam rooms, and body treatments galore.

Now this was far more my scene! I spent almost the entire day here in blissful anonymity – having a swim, chatting to people at the swim-up bar and treating myself to a well-deserved prosecco lunch. No massages available on the day sadly – but no matter. It was still the most peace I’d had in days.

No human audio guide. No conspiracy theories. No kooky new age beliefs. No one trying to teach me bloody anything. Not the most culturally enriching part of the trip, maybe – but unquestionably one of the most enjoyable!

No schedule. No glitches. No robot. Bliss!

* These are idiosyncratic Diana beliefs, rather than widely-held Romanian ones, btw. All the Romanian women I know are highly educated, scientifically minded and see eye colour as nothing more than a genetically inherited aesthetic trait.

Well, after a brief period of system stability, the recent Diana patch is unfortunately already starting to degrade, with the Alex-RO as a result increasingly defaulting back to factory settings – complete with legacy bugs, unremediated inflexibility, and communication settings reverting to outbound only.

Today’s itinerary started with a meandering drive through a string of impossibly pretty Saxon villages – think pastel walls, geranium-stuffed window boxes, and the occasional horse and cart en route for good measure.

Along the way we visited five fortified churches – namely (and in no particular order that I’m aware of): Prejmer, Hărman, Viscri White Church, Saschiz Keisd, and Biertan. A fortified church, for those who don’t know, is basically a church encircled by defensive walls, inside which the Saxon community (or then Volksdeutsche) lived, worked, and went to school – in some cases right up to World War II.

The first church was genuinely absorbing. The second much the same. The third was interesting-adjacent. By the fourth, it was starting to feel like ecclesiastical Groundhog Day. By the fifth, I was contemplating throwing myself off the steeple.* I was also – not for the first time – abso-bloody-lutely starving, as the Alex-RO had once again made no allowance for coffee, snacks, or basic biological needs along the way.

By the time we reached the lovely town of Sibiu, a full five hours into the day’s activities, I was desperately clinging to the hope of food, rest, or maybe just thirty blessed minutes of silence. But no – instead, the Alex-RO proposed launching directly into another two-hour guided tour around the town (no lunch breaks factored into The Schedule) – a prospect which quite literally filled me with hanger-induced rage. It genuinely took all the self-restraint I could muster (and believe me, it was in seriously short supply at this point) to say – as politely as possible – that I’d actually prefer to just drop my bag at the hotel and explore solo for the rest of the afternoon.

As it turned out, I was very glad I’d held on to the tattered remnants of my rag, as to my surprise, the guy suddenly looked… crestfallen. Genuinely hurt. In fact, the most human I’ve seen him yet. “But it’s my duty,” he uncomprehendingly replied, as if I’d just asked him to abandon a sacred oath, rather than skip a walking tour.

I didn’t have the heart to say what I was actually thinking – that perhaps his real duty was to ensure that his guest (singular, mind you) was actually having a halfway decent time, rather than being dragged through an increasingly joyless itinerary with military precision and accompanying barrage of historical monologue.

Still, if the Alex-RO is more machine than man, I by contrast am decidedly not – stupid bloody human empathy and all that. And so it was that I ended up reassuring him that this wasn’t a reflection on him, I just needed some space – in short, adopting the “it’s not you it’s me” defence. A massive face-saving lie, of course. Because it absolutely was all about him. His unbending rigidity. His complete and utter inability to read the room. The fact he ignores every gently raised suggestion about loos, snacks and a touch less data download. And quite frankly, if your bloody software can’t process basic user feedback, you can’t exactly act all surprised when your users force quit the app and seek to re-boot in manual mode.

Suffice to say, I felt infinitely happier exploring picture-postcard Sibiu solo for the rest of the day – a genuinely lovely town with cheerful facades, cobbles underfoot and just enough breathing space to feel human again.

Still, somehow I found myself plagued by unrelenting pangs of conscience throughout the afternoon. Misplaced guilt, I know, given all I’d done was politely assert a boundary and request some much-needed alone time, in as diplomatic a way as possible at that.

But ultimately, this is my trip, not his. I didn’t fork out this much money to feel frustrated, patronised, and semi-starved along the way – and if asserting myself on this front scrambled his operating logic, then so be it. At least this way I get some bloody lunch!

Anyhoo, that’s it for this entry – it’s nearing six and aperol spritz on the sunny town square now beckons… Unscheduled, unaccompanied, and now officially top of my own personal itinerary – and blissfully guide-free to boot! 🙂

* I really do hope it’s clear from the above that I am not knocking Romania or its many sites of interest in any way at all here – I am and remain genuinely interested! I’m simply knocking the one particular guy who will relentlessly insist on downloading the entire history of any given site ever to (or rather “at”) you, regardless of how hungry, thirsty, bored, frustrated and desperate for the toilet his intended audience might be...

Breaking news from Romanian Skynet! The Alex-RO has officially now received a critical firmware update in the form of his very own wife (I know – just go with it), Diana* – who’s currently running in parallel for a limited trial period.

And clearly Diana is a woman well-acquainted with the particular quirks of the Alex-RO operating system. The very first thing she said to me – once introduced – was, “So, is he telling you all about Romanian history?” To which I diplomatically replied that yes, he certainly knows his stuff. Cue a knowing “I feel your pain” type look and a wry, “Yes. I have heard this said”.

Buoyed by the installation of a more compatible add-on, I seized the opportunity to put in a (very tactfully worded!) support request directly to the Bot for a reduced data dump overall, on the grounds that my brain had already reached max storage capacity. Not entirely sure the Alex-RO has fully processed this new input as yet, but it does at least seem that the living legend that is Diana has the enviable ability to partially adjust his settings and redirect conversation protocols – even if she can’t quite override the core programming entirely.

Anyhoo, away from the firmware and back to folklore… Yesterday I also made a day trip to the much-hyped Bran Castle – widely touted as the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’, a fact the local souvenir sellers are keen to remind you of every ten steps.

I’ve also been to the houses of Vlad Țepeș – or Vlad the Impaler – on whom the Dracula character is apparently based in the beautiful – if unpronounceable – village of Sighișoara, a UNESCO world heritage site and very lovely with it too.

So, all in all, system compatibility appears to be gradually improving, if only thanks to the temporary deployment of new third-party software. For now, the Alex-RO is visibly more relaxed in Diana’s company, and is showing much more of his human side as a result – or at least, a halfway convincing simulation of it. Turns out even the most rigid operating systems can seemingly run smoother – with the right tech support plugged in…. 🙂

* Not her real name.

Well, I’m writing this from sunny Braşov, a pretty town in Transylvania – where it’s still just Alexandru (name officially changed in order to protect the innocent) and… me. I’m beginning to suspect that these supposed “other people” due to join are purely mythical at this point – or perhaps they had an unfortunate run-in with a vampire en route…?

Speaking of the “not quite living”, I am increasingly coming to the conclusion that Alexandru himself may simply be a Romanian bot (or “RO-bot”, geddit?), programmed by the country’s powers-that-be to accompany tourists around the country while simultaneously boring them to death with the absolute minutiae of every single aspect of Romanian ancient history (while at the same time acting notably more coy on the by comparison far more interesting – not to mention hugely more relevant – 20th century onwards stuff…).

How have I reached this conclusion, I hear you ask? Well…

Exhibit 1: The Alex-RO’s conversational settings are locked to “guide mode” / “download only”. Any attempt to engage the guy in conversation beyond the officially pre-programmed talking points – or in anything resembling actual human dialogue – simply does not compute. To date, I can honestly say that he has not asked me a single solitary question about myself – not that I expect him to be interested in me or my life in the slightest, but a polite feigning of interest wouldn’t go amiss, especially given we’ve got to muddle through together for the best part of a week here still…

Exhibit 2: No deviation from the schedule is permitted, even though I’m the only person actually on it. This clearly goes against all existing programming, which cannot be adjusted, overridden, or reasoned with under any circumstance.

Exhibit 3: And finally, three days in and I have still not seen him eat, drink or use the toilet, and in fact the unit seems to react with some consternation when gently prompted around other people’s biological needs on this front. A clear sign, if ever there was one, that he was sent back in time by the future Romanian Ministry of Tourism, Terminator-style, to ensure no tour ever runs late.

Urghhh. Honestly, I’ve had far more interesting conversations with ChatGPT – which at least asks questions back! So in short, come back Lyle – all is forgiven! He might have been a massive bellend, but his one-man, entirely non-ironic karaoke sessions on the mini bus around Morocco were at least entertaining – albeit also undeniably excruciating.

Anyhoo – that was cathartic. But, on the upside, Transylvania itself is lovely! Today I visited the fantastic Peleș Castle, which is pretty much exactly what you want a proper medieval castle to look like – complete with soaring turrets and ornate woodwork, as well as some very troubled-looking lion statues.

It was here that the robot experienced a rare malfunction, when I casually remarked that I recognised the place from the epic masterpieces of cinema (ahem) that were A Princess for Christmas (2011) and A Christmas Prince (2017) – both still available on Netflix at last count for the less-than-discerning cinephile’s pleasure. This was apparently “not possible”, according to the Alex-RO, as during those years the palace administrators did not grant licences for commercial filming (an oddly specific fact to be able to retrieve at will, I thought…). Full-on system meltdown threatened to ensue when I showed him the evidence to the contrary on my phone, so I wisely withdrew and changed the subject to the comparative safety of the castle’s history – which kept him happily monologuing away on the subject till we finally reached Braşov an hour later.

As for now, I’m just settling into my guesthouse in town, which I plan to explore properly tomorrow – under continued escort from the Bot, naturally.

And if I have to hear one more unsolicited soliloquy on Dacian-Roman border tensions in the process, then I’m officially pulling his plug and defecting to the Ottomans. Or the vampiric undead. Quite frankly, at this point either will do – just as long as they promise not to talk “at” me literally non-stop or time any loo breaks against the itinerary… 🙂

Well, I’ve officially made it to Bucharest, where so far the supposed “small group” of travellers promised as it stands currently consists of just the guide, Alexandru, and, well… me.

Apparently the company has had a string of last-minute cancellations, which is seriously effing annoying, given the whole effing point of doing this kind of trip in the first place was to effing meet other effing people en effing route. And if not for that, I could have effing easily made my way around effing Romania perfectly well all by effing myself for a lot less money and a good deal more effing freedom and independence thrown into the mix too… But, ho hum, there we go, I suppose…

Grrr. Anyhoo, a few more people are apparently due to join in a couple of days’ time, which is just as well really given I’ve already exhausted my conversational reserves with Alex on day one… (And I know exactly where your dirty little minds are going Tara / Stu / Lorraine – no, he is not my type, and anyhow he’s already married. So sadly no, not even the faintest prospect of a titillating holiday romance to make up for the current lack of fellow travellers…)

As for day one in the capital – and I do sincerely hope this won’t break any Romanian hearts reading – Bucharest is perhaps not quite to be considered the most beautiful city in the world. It would be unfair to expect otherwise really, given that former megalomaniac dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu basically spent best part of 24 years in power studiously and deliberately carrying out a programme of architectural desecration so thorough it would make even a Slough town planner wince. The end result is that much of the city resembles the outside of Milton Keynes train station – albeit sunnier.

Apparently, that unremarkable building in the bottom middle photo is the very rooftop where the man himself was arrested, to the raucous cheers of a crowd of courageous protestors – only to be later shot by firing squad alongside his equally avaricious, unashamedly self-aggrandising and utterly venal wife, Elena (the official Imelda Marcos of the Eastern Bloc). Couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple, really…

The Romanian governmental powers-that-be have since commemorated this momentous occasion in their country’s history by erecting a monument that looks uncannily like a skewered potato (not my words, I hasten to add – that’s apparently the widely accepted local nickname too. I did check).

That said, there were some really lovely bits too – such as the serene Palatul Patriarhiei and Catedrala Patriarhală (Palace and Cathedral of the Patriarchy), where I was briefly overcome with the urge to yell “smash the patriarchy!” at top volume into the cloistered Orthodox stillness, but resisted. Obviously.

There were also some really nice pockets of the Old Town, which had a lot of nice bijoux cafés, funky bars and a lot of quirky street art, which I always love.

As a whole, the city really put me in mind of Prague and Budapest, but perhaps with less consistent post-1989 capitalist “gloss” applied. One street might offer up full-on hipster chic, and the next Communist-style grafitti-strewn throwbacks – all part of the charm, I guess, depending on your individual lens.

I’ll be coming back to Bucharest at the end of the trip, and there’s still quite a bit left to cover. I, for one, am keen to see the obscenely extravagant Former Ceaușescu Residence (will they let me use the famous gold-plated toilet, I wonder…) and a few more folkloric odds and ends while I’m at it.

Right – as for now, I’m officially off in search of Romanian food and wine. I’m not quite sure exactly what I’ll end up with, but if it comes wrapped in cabbage, chock-full of smoked meat (à la Stefan) and smothered in sour cream, I’ll consider it a proper win.

In the meantime, “până data viitoare” – or till tomorrow at any rate…