ISTANBUL BOUND
We rolled up on to the forecourt of the Intercontinental Hotel, Bucharest, the biggest and best in town. This hotel made up for the Astoria (bug-ridden beds, one toilet per floor – Ed), as it really was posh. It was the one where any visiting officials or journalists would stay, with a cocktail bar on the roof so upmarket that it didn't sell beer.
It's not far from Bucharest to the Bulgarian border, about 10-20 miles, so we had a relaxed start on a Sunday morning. I was leading through the city, across huge squares paved with slippery granite setts, some of which were missing, leaving deep holes in the road surface, along with the usual missing manhole covers, all of which concentrated the mind.
When the city centre was behind us, Allen and John were overtaken by a police car, the ‘Stop’ baton came out of the window and they were pulled. The Sergeant in the passenger seat could speak some English and he told them that they had driven across a pedestrian crossing, in violation of
