We have reached the Bulgarian seaside town of Tsarevo, 25 km from the Turkish border. It has been a challenging week rowing almost 200 km along the dramatic coast of Bulgaria. The shores are composed of jutting capes and rocky headlands with beige fine-sand beaches tucked in between. Many of the beaches are lined with holiday resorts carpeted with umbrellas and sizzling bodies, while others, where there is no road access, are lonely wild places.

It has been important to pay close attention to the weather and to have back-up plans in case of equipment failure. In some areas cliffs and exploding waves stretch in an unbroken line for many km. The remains of broken ships remind us of the power of the Black Sea. The town we are currently, Tsarevo, has lost five swimmers in the past two weeks due to strong currents and powerful waves.

Camping has been much easier than in Romania, and we are usually able to drag our boats onto a secluded beach to set up the tent. Crystal clear waters are ideal for refreshing dips at the end of sweaty days behind the oars.

In total, since reaching the Black Sea we have voyaged almost 270 km along the coast. From here we have approximately 170 km until reaching Istanbul in the Bosporus Strait (the channel connecting the Black Sea with the Mediterranean). We are still working on the tricky logistics of entering Turkey by rowboat.

We will do our best to post an update from Turkey next week, but there is a possibility we will not have the means until reaching Istanbul (in about two weeks).

- Colin

PS.  You can read more about our adventures rowing the Danube river in the L.A. Times Travel Online and about misadventures with a G-string celebrating our first anniversary in a Bulgarian spa in the National Post Ampersand.

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We rolled our boats down the rutted sand road towards the Black Sea, desperately dodging Romanian tourists who flocked to Eforie Nord in unimaginable numbers. Curling waves washed against the beach 100 metres away when the gunshot sounded. Shrieks filled the air, and staff from the nearby kiosks came out to investigate. It turned out to be Colin’s trailer tire exploding – a final indignant retort to the weeks of torture we had put it through. This didn’t matter though, for we would be on the water from here all the way to Istanbul. Or so we thought.

The Black Sea is an enormous body of water, several hundred km across. Consistent winds create an ocean-like swell, and we would be encountering conditions similar to the West Coast of Vancouver Island in the summer. The shoreline itself alternates between sandy beaches, cliffs and rocky headlands. Today the winds were perfect, a mild breeze from the northeast creating two foot waves, which our boats could handle easily. We launched our vessels quickly through the surf break and began pulling long strokes towards Istanbul 400 km distant. Except for a few speed boats and jet skis, we had the sea to ourselves, a stark contrast to the overcrowded beaches. Purple-rimmed jelly fish crowded the waters beneath us and hissing swells broke over occasional offshore reefs.

Our main concern was how we would camp. Any areas safe for beaching the boats were also prime resort destinations crowded with Romanian tourists. These regions are liberally adorned with no-camping signs and security guards to enforce the rules. An obvious solution would be to catamaran the boats, anchor them and sleep on the water. The catamaran platform, however, is designed to use two poles from our trailers, and unfortunately one of our trailers had been stolen in France. Luckily, we had been able to find a large beach umbrella with a pole approximately the right size.

We camped comfortably the first night in a small sheltered bay, and our plan worked well. A large rock was used as an anchor, and we placed an air mattress over the catamaran platform for a comfortable bed. Apart from a slight fear the pole from the umbrella might collapse under our weight, it was a peaceful night.

Our excitement of departing Romania for Bulgaria was short lived. Upon reaching the border we were stopped by guards who informed us we could not cross the frontier by boat. Instead we would have to haul our boats overland on the road. The blown tire was fixed with duct tape and a pop bottle and we finally pulled our boats into Bulgaria.

Within one hour of arriving in Bulgaria a family invited us in for lunch and gave us a tire. They wouldn’t accept a penny in exchange. As we continued back towards the sea people gave us friendly waves, and one fellow, a photographer, gave us a beautiful coffee table book of the region.

We are currently in Kovarna, Bulgaria and expect to reach Turkey in a week. Unfortunately, the Turkish border crossing is looking very challenging. The authorities have informed us that we cannot enter Turkey by water, and there are no roads paralleling the coast at the Turkish/Bulgarian border. We will continue working on a solution.

- Julie

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We’ve been working hard for the past few weeks, and our efforts have finally brought us to the shores of the Black Sea. Perhaps the toughest part of the expedition so far, began only 60 km from the sparkling waters of this inland sea. Instead of rowing on the Danube to its terminus, we opted to follow the “Canal of Death”, a sixty-km waterway built with slave labour and costing a staggering 100,000 lives (almost 2 people per metre).

In the town of Cerdavoda, Romania we bade goodbye to the mighty Danube and turned into the harbour leading to the canal. We were not allowed to row in the canal, so opted to cycle (pulling our boats) on the track that paralleled the waterway. As we readied our boats for land travel, a poodle-sized rat scurried brazenly around our boats. Local residents, enduring an economy ranked as one of Europe’s worst, fished beside the outfall of the nuclear power plant for their dinner. Children pressed around begging for money, and packs of vicious stray dogs only granted passage if we brandished watermelon-sized rocks.

If we’d know what was ahead, we probably would have continued on the Danube to its delta. Instead, though, we pedalled through a dusty no-man’s land of empty scrub beside the canal. It soon became apparent why human-powered craft weren’t allowed on these waters. The channel is a death-trap with sheer concrete walls rising eight feet out of the water with no ladders or stairs. Exiting the water would be impossible once underway. People or animals unfortunate enough to tumble off the edge edge would be required to swim for tens of kilometres to save themselves.

Fortunately, we weren’t in the canal, but the difficulties on the track weren’t much better. Bogs, ponds, collapsed bridges, boulders, and blazing heat made passage all but impossible. Our equipment is tired, and we did our best to massage shredding tires and rusted components to complete this final land leg. We spent two nights camped aside the canal and they were a time of sleeplessness, where we took shifts guarding the tent (heavy pipe from the trailer in hand) from wild dogs, and anything else our imaginations could conjure up.

Even reaching the Black Sea was an anticlimax, as the canal led into a huge industrial loading port and the entire region was barricaded with barbed wire. In order to skirt the loading cranes, factories and giant docks, it was necessary to pull our boats along a congested freeway to the town of Eforie Nord, a holiday town on the Black Sea. At last we reached the golden beaches! The water and beaches are beautiful, but the throngs are beyond belief. It seems all of Romania has come to this tiny seaside village, and it is hard to see the sand for the people.

We are excited, however to launch our boats on this crowded beach and head along the coast of Bulgaria and Turkey. Ahead lies a convoluted coastline of cliffs, promontories and beaches and despite the challenges of travelling through Romania, rewards have come through chance encounters with kind strangers and experiencing the beauty of sandy beaches on the Danube and now the Black Sea.

See our slide show from Bulgaria and Romania here.

- Colin

Ps. We’re sorry we weren’t able to post an update last week from Bulgaria.  It was a great country to travel through with the most amazing grilled meat dishes.

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Much of this week has been spent voyaging the Iron Gates Gorge, one of the most dramatic parts of the Danube River.  Sheer limestone cliffs drop 2000 ft to the river’s edge, as the Danube follows a sinuous route through the Carpathian Mountains.  Historically this was a dangerous part of the river with fast chutes, rapids, and jagged shoals.  Now it has been tamed by the Iron Gates Dam, which has raised water levels giving the river a lake-like temperament. 

The area is steeped in history and recently Europe’s oldest agricultural village (8000 years) has been discovered near the banks.  As Julie and I rowed between towering cliffs we saw plenty of evidence of the region’s active past.  A 2000-year-old tablet, inscribed by the Romans, was placed at the base of a cliff marking the beginning of a road they created through the canyon.  An archaeological dig came to the river’s banks, and hundreds of caves in the limestone were home to Europe’s first inhabitants. Castles were numerous – perched on cliff tops, or semi-submerged in waters raised by the dam.  We felt we were passing through a great outdoor museum constructed of limestone and water.

After reaching the end of the canyon we traversed the giant Iron Gates Dam through a double lock system, sharing the great chambers with a cargo barge and a cruise ship.  We are now in the lower Danube region with Romania on the left bank and Serbia on the right.  In two days we will reach Bulgaria.

Click here to see our slideshow from this week.

- Colin

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From Slovakia to Serbia, through Hungary and Croatia, this last week has been a whirlwind of new experiences as the Danube led us through four countries.  We left Komarno, Slovakia somewhat hesitantly, reluctant to leave the thermal spa across from our Soviet-style “sport hotel” and the abundance of cafes and ice cream shops that proliferate in the charming city centre.  But within hours we rowed into Hungary, a country that embraces the Danube more than any we’ve seen so far.   The river churns with activity—kayaks, canoes, rowing shells—while the beaches are crowded with bikini and speedo-clad bodies playing volleyball, splashing in the warm waters, and simply enjoying sand so fine it looks more like a Caribbean Island than the shores of Europe’s largest (by volume) river.

Every night we camp on one of these sandy beaches, quite often on a tiny island isolated from the beach goers, although the occasional fisherman stops by.  It’s warm and idyllic, even if sand does work its way into our dinner, sleeping bags, and just about every nook and cranny. 

On our third day out of Slovakia we rowed through Budapest, which rivals London as the most stunning metropolis we’ve rowed through, with turreted buildings crowding the shore and an abundance of bridges connecting Buda with Pest.  Just like London has the Tower Bridge eclipsing the neighbouring spans in beauty, Budapest has the Széchenyi Chain Bridge built in the 1800s of stone, cable and cast iron to enchant those passing near.

From Budapest it didn’t take long until we reached the Hungarian border and we were staring at the shores of Serbia to our left and Croatia to our right.  Wooden, flat bottomed fishing boats replaced kayaks and canoes, and small fish camps sat on the beaches instead of sunbathers.  But besides that, the landscape was unchanging – endless forests of poplar trees dotted with white beaches. 

We’ve now reached the Serbian town of Novi Sad in the middle of Serbia which is home to Europe’s biggest music festival, EXIT.  Next week we will be passing through the infamous Iron Gates Gorge between Serbia and Romania.  Finding internet connections to post our weekly updates has been increasingly difficult, so if you don’t hear from us next week, don’t worry.

Click here to see our slide show from the week.

- Julie

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(Komarno, Slovakia)

Progress has been steady this week, and we have continued rowing and cycling through Austria and into Slovakia. Although no official border exists between these countries, there is no mistaking that a line has been crossed.

Austria’s weedless farmer’s fields, pruned trees, freshly painted homes, and grass that looks like it’s been mowed by a military barber suddenly transformed to weedy overgrown verges, cracked pavement and large apartment blocks of crumbling concrete. Almost fifty years of Soviet rule has left Slovakia with a battered economy, and some rather dismal architecture.

The good news, however, is the country is rapidly going through a state of transition as the European Community’s latest addition. Slovakia’s assets – friendly outdoorsy people, pre-Soviet architecture, and good food – come shining through and we have enjoyed our time in this former Eastern-Bloc country. All around construction is taking place with stylish new buildings being erected and roads re-finished as EU development funds facilitate a national makeover.

Julie and I have been travelling on both the river in our boats and along the adjacent bike paths giving us a well-rounded perspective of farmland, villages, lowland forests, and shipping along the widening Danube. Next week we will be travelling through Hungary. Bike paths have come to an end, so we will be exclusively on the river all the way to the Black Sea.

See cliff-side castles on the Austrian Danube and the charm of Slovakia in this week’s slide show.

- Colin

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The Danube isn’t really blue at all, as Johann Strauss’ famous “Blue Danube Waltz” would have us believe, instead it is a milky brown like most great rivers. It is wide and fast-flowing, and gushes across Europe all the way to the Black Sea. In fact, it is the only major river that cuts eastwards across this continent, and is historically an important transportation corridor. Now barges continue to ply its waters but conveniently for us, they are much less numerous than on the Rhine River.

We launched our boats in Regensburg, beside an impressive stone bridge that was once the only fortified bridge to cross the Danube. Church spires and onion domes faded into the distance as we rowed away from medieval architecture and into forests and farmland. The weather was delightfully hot and according to the barometer on our Suunto watches we knew it wasn’t about to change anytime soon. As dusk approached we pulled our boats over the boulder-lined river’s edge and onto a secluded grassy bank. A white distance marker was situated near the edge indicating it was 2369 kilometres to the Black Sea. It was a beautiful spot, but sadly others had discovered this place and left it less than pristine. The ground was scarred with a fire pit and trash overflowed its perimeter. But the view across the river was still awe-inspiring. A small town sat on the other side and the evening sun set its church spires ablaze, fish jumped nearby sending ripples across the water, and storks flapped awkwardly overhead.

In the morning we discovered that our ideal camping spot was also a fishing hotspot. It was only 6 am but we already had company. A man in his 50s sat on a collapsible chair a few metres away, his fishing rod propped up and dangling in the river. He cast sullen looks towards us and responded to my “Hallo” with silence. As soon as we pushed off from shore, he shifted his chair to the spot we had just vacated and continued fishing with a dour look.

We have come to realize that many of the fishermen on the canals and rivers of Europe are a very different sort to the rest of the people we meet. They are remarkably unfriendly, coughing or grumbling as we row near them, worried that our creaking oars are scaring the fish or their line may be compromised by our boats but never retracting their monofilament an inch. They fish just as frequently in waters lined with factories belching malodorous waste or dripping with bloated rodent corpses as they do in more inviting settings. And most of them never catch anything. On this trip we have seen hundreds of fishermen but only one hooked fish.

Three days after launching in Regensburg we reached the edge of Germany and the border town of Passau. Three rivers converge here and the Inn and Ilz pour water into the Danube, more than doubling its volume. This was a special place for Colin and me. On our last expedition we had cycled through Passau, and now we rowed under the very bridge we crossed almost three years earlier. Passau has to be the most beautiful city on the Danube. It is crowded with church spires, majestic domes, and the type of medieval architecture that takes fortunes to build. Being in a boat has many advantages and that night we were able to camp on a small sandy island providing the best view of the city.

We are now in Enns (just past Linz), the oldest city in Austria. From here we’ll continue on the Danube, making our way through Austria and into Hungary.

Click here to see this week’s slide show of Germany and Austria.

- Julie

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Of the countries we have travelled Germany is well advanced in embracing and creating infrastructure for human-powered transportation. Upon our arrival, we were very pleased to learn that all the canal locks were designed not only for mega-transport barges, but also for canoes, kayaks and rowboats.

As Julie and I rowed merrily up the Main River past crops of wheat, corn and grapes, we learned that our river route would intersect with one of Germany’s premier bike paths connecting the Main River with the Danube. The 450-km route runs through the heart of Bavaria through well-preserved medieval walled towns and villages in a landscape of canyons, forests, and agriculture.

We decided to take this alternative route, rather than continuing up the Main River and transiting the Main/Danube Canal in our rowboats.

We knew Germany has an excellent network of long-distance cycling paths, but seeing it first hand was inspiring. The path we followed was paved with smooth asphalt and was broad enough for two trailer-toting bicycles to pass with ease. Essentially we were following a well-groomed road, but designated for bicycles instead of cars. Every few km benches and picnic tables allowed cyclists to rest and admire the landscape. We passed through fields of wheat decorated with poppies, perfectly manicured towns, and medieval villages, their fortified walls still intact.

The route we were following is just part of a vast bicycle network in Germany tens of thousands of km in length. As Julie and I enjoyed Germany’s billion-dollar cycling infrastructure we admired other steps Germany has made towards creating a cleaner environment. Wind turbines can almost always be spotted spinning on the horizon, along with roof-top mounted solar panels.

Our enjoyable week towing our boats through Bavaria is almost over, and we are currently 80 km from Regensburg where we will launch Tantalum and Niobium on the Danube River. From here we will voyage 2,300 km through Eastern Europe to the Black Sea.

To see our weekly slide show from this cycling utopia click here.

- Colin

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The impetus behind this journey is to connect our ancestral homelands, which is the main reason we planned our route to traverse Germany. My mother grew up in the land of bratwurst, and to a certain extent so did I. I went to kindergarten in Germany and every summer my mom and I would return to visit my relatives in Meppen. But now it’s been seven years since my last visit and I was anxious to see my aunts and uncle again.

My family lives a short distance from our route along the Rhine and Main Rivers so it was necessary to take a side trip by rail. My mother, who was also visiting, and my Uncle Herbert picked us up from the train station and so began a whirlwind three-day visit mostly centred around food. We dined on meals of smoked halibut, roast beef, and cured meats invariably followed by puddings or rhubarb strudel, each hearty meal designed to fuel us for a week. Second helpings were mandatory.

My disused German slowly improved and Colin quickly learned a few key phrases like, “Ich bin zat” – I am full. Tracing my maternal family heritage was much quicker than Colin’s as we could only go back two generations. All the records were lost in World War II when my family fled the Russians in East Prussia taking with them just what they could carry. My mother’s family tree is flush with war-inflicted tragedy and it is an era they are happy to leave behind, instead focusing on the more comfortable lives they’ve built in Western Germany. Yet it is these hardships that have moulded them, instilling hardworking ethics and a “waste not want not” mentality that nowadays is called environmentalism. My Uncle’s backyard is crowded with plum, cherry and pear trees. A verdant garden fertilized by household compost provides onions, shallots, rhubarb, and lettuce. The clothesline trumps the drier and lights are used sparingly. Interestingly, these thrifty attitudes are quite prevalent in Europe and Europeans emit less than half the CO2 emissions of North Americans, while living comfortably and healthily.

We returned to our boats considerably more rotund that when we left. We departed from the historic city of Mainz situated at the confluence of the Main and Rhine Rivers and began paddling up the Main River against a current made negligible by frequent weirs made navigable by giant locks. We approached these behemoth gates with apprehension, nervous that we’d be yelled at and turned away as had happened all too frequently in France and on occasion in England and Scotland as well. But when I called the lockkeepers on the VHF radio and asked in my rusty German if we could pass the answer was invariably yes. One gregarious lockkeeper even emerged from his lofty tower to meet us and give us information on the upcoming locks.

After a day and a half of peaceful paddling on the Main River we reached Frankfurt, a city that looks every bit the financial hub it’s reputed to be. Modern glass buildings tower beside beautiful stone architecture from centuries prior. Fit people sip cappuccinos at waterside cafes, while others leisurely dangle fishing rods into the river.

It was of the greatest coincidence that Frankfurt turned out to be another home away from home. Our good friends from Calgary-based Wallace and Carey happened to be in Frankfurt on the day we passed through and we were able to get together for an enjoyable evening.

Human-powered boats are no longer a rare sight and we passed many ‘rudder’ (rowing) and ‘kanu’ clubs in the next few hours. Rowers would wave from their boats or docks, ask an array of questions in excellent English, and then invite us in for a coffee, snack, or even shower.

Although we’ve been thrilled at how well-suited Germany is for long distance paddling, the bigger surprise is that more foreign tourists aren’t doing this. I cannot imagine a more perfect way to see this country of rolling vineyards, forests, picturesque timber frame buildings and riverside bistros.

We’re now in Fechenbach in a riverside campground that serves amazing schnitzel and tomorrow we’ll continue travelling towards the Danube River.

See our photos from the week here.

- Julie

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All has been going well since our customized boat trailer was stolen two weeks ago.  Julie and I laboured in a hotel parking lot with 2X4s, bolts, angle iron and a few hand tools to create a substitute.  Compared to the unit it was replacing, our new trailer was rather barbaric, but nonetheless it proved to be robust and Julie and I were able to cover the remaining 230 km to the Rhine River.

Up until the loss of our trailer, things had been going rather dismally in France.  From Calais to Arzviller we had been barred from the canals, yelled at by the Calais harbour master, suffered two times from food poisoning, and had our trailer stolen.  The divide between the Moselle River and the Rhine River was the magic line where our luck changed, and we were able to experience the true delights of France.  At the summit of the pass Julie and I paused, resting beside our bicycles and boats.  Hundreds of metres beneath us a five-km tunnel allowed passage of the canal through this hill.

Dark clouds loomed over the mountains, and thunder rumbled threateningly.  A Toyota Landcruiser stopped and a moustachioed man greeted us, introducing himself as Jacques.  He beckoned towards the approaching storm, and invited us to stay in his home in the valley below. 

Half an hour later Julie and I found ourselves on a rutted track in the forest doing our best to follow the complex directions we had been given.   Torrential rain flowed along the ruts and thunder echoed explosively off the mountain walls.  Jacques had explained that his house was alone in the forest, but we wondered if we had taken a wrong turn – the muddy track we were following led up a thickly forested mountainside.

Like Hansel and Gretel we rounded a corner and reached an old sandstone home nestled in a crook in the hillside.  Instead of the wicked witch, Jacques came out and greeted us warmly.  We retreated from the rain and Jacques showed us our horsehair beds.  Dinner included wild boar from the local hills and in the morning we sampled “honey of the forest” from his bees.

 From Jacques’ house Julie and I continued cycling along a bicycle path that parallels the canal leading to Strasbourg and the Rhine River.  The path was completely flat while we passed through a dramatic landscape of mountains, forests and pretty canal-side villages.  As we neared the Rhine, a lock keeper looked at us curiosly as we pulled our boats behind our bikes.  He informed us that we were free to travel in the canals and to negotiate the locks.  This was a contrast from our earlier fruitless efforts to voyage the canals.  Nonetheless, with the trailers functioning flawlessly and a pleasant flat stretch between us and the Rhine, we carried on overland.

We launched in the Rhine River about 20 km north of Strasbourg, France’s biggest inland port.  The water level was high, and we were pleased to be travelling with the current as we moved at speeds sometimes exceeding 17 km/hr.  Traffic on the river is busy with cargo ships carrying gravel, coal, containers, scrap metal, and other loads.  Julie and I weaved on the river trying to catch the fastest currents while avoiding the ships.

We have now reached the medieval town of Mainz, Germany, at the confluence of the Main and Rhine rivers.  Here we will take a side trip to visit Julie’s German relatives in Meppen (her mother is from Germany) and then will continue up the Main River which is connected to the Danube by a canal.

You can view our weekly slideshow here.

- Colin

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