In the middle of the road, a small man with a confident step leads a herd of fine horses. I reach my phone to capture the moment. No! No pictures! he shouts at me from the distance. I obey him. How many do you have? I ask him as we get closer. That's a secret, he replies. My father has left them to me, he concedes after a few silent seconds. We befriend each other and I learn his name. Alexei, nine years of age. But how about my horse? Do you like it? I finally dare ask him. His eyes scan my road bike from wheel to wheel and gives me a sign of approval. It is to his liking. But, mine eat grass and are hungry so I must leave you. And off he goes, driving his jewels off the road and up on the hill to the green pastures.

I mount and continue my journey. Right after entering the village I'm blessed with another encounter, a kid on a flimsy bike, his knees almost touching the handles. I'll race you! he shouts, his white teeth showing, and off he goes before I get a chance to let down my visor. The victory is his by a small margin. But that's not fair! You've let me win, I know it! he scolds me. I, this summer, he continues, have pedaled all by myself to the next village and back. The math tells me that's more than ten kilometers. I'm impressed and loudly praise his courage. At his request, I tell him about my own journey, the villages and towns I've passed through to reach this realm of glory. His eyes sadden. I quickly see the problem he's having. But I'm big and you're still small, I encourage him, you'll pedal more and more and grow big until one day you'll go even farther! Life flows back into this little spring of a human. He went from happy to sad and happy again in a matter of seconds. We strike a deal, shake hands and part ways like warriors not knowing if they'll again see each other. Mihai! he calls me after no more than ten seconds. I turn around. Look! Look how fast I'm riding! and he begins to pedal madly. I'm impressed, I again give him our brotherly sign and go on with my travels.

I'm in the village now. The road is perfect but the houses and surroundings are different from what I usually encounter. The fences, where they are still standing, are swallowed by crawling plants and everything seems abandoned. Tall, wild grasses adorn the yards, unlike the perfectly manicured lawns or the usual corn, tomatoes, roses or chickens and pigs that I usually see wherever I'm riding. Some houses are not even finished. Some are barely standing. The cars are few, old and rusted. There is a curious air around here. In a strange way, I kinda like it.

A thick white smoke covers the road ahead and some kind of music is growing more loudly and wildly. As I keep advancing I encounter shirtless big-bellied men in the middle of the road, laughing, swearing and dancing. On a barren patch of land near one of the houses, other men are grilling meats and big loudspeakers are blazing the local songs most of the civilized people around here find so repulsive. This must be the heart of the village now, I gather, this must be their royal council. I fear a bit as I was not invited, spur my horse and soon reach safer surroundings.

Mister, mister! somebody is again calling. I turn around. A little kid again. The streets are teeming with these little precious curious bastards. Surrender your bananas! he demands me. I have two bananas poking their behinds in my shirt pocket for the long journey still ahead of me. I need them, kid! I tell him, you can't have them! He insists. I make him a proposal instead, just to make him happy, how about I give you some money? At this, he is indeed delighted, yes, yes, give me the money! I strike a deal with him in exchange for these cheap riches: share the spoils with the beautiful doll besides him, his little sister. His name, he tells me, is Pizza. I ask him three times, the magical number, if this is really his title. He confirms, Pizza is what they call him.

A side road opens up on my left and the tarmac looks in perfect condition. I temporarily take it. It's narrow, shady and lightly climbing, the kind I usually find in the mountains. But it ends as soon as I reach the top of the hill ten minutes later. A dirt road fit only for carts and horses follows after. I spot even more decrepit houses in the distance. Even more poverty and sadness. I would have liked to go ahead and see who lives there, talk with the locals, snoop on their secret assemblies. But my mode of transportation is not fit for rough journeys. I turn back to my newly discovered village which is oh, so charming!

A cart full of kids and young ladies drawn by two princely horses advances slowly in front of me. I spot Pizza in the back smiling complicity at me. Thank you so much! his mother, at the helm, begins to praise me. Pizza was so happy! He instantly came to tell me about how he got this money, she continues. But, what did he buy with it? I'm curiously asking. Food, for him and his little sisters. He always takes care of them, she says proudly and happy. I pedal along this noble chariot for a few moments and I continue to receive splendid language. Out in the grass, on the side of the road, besides a house with no fences, there's another party. Five or six ladies surrounded by lots of children are breastfeeding. They see me gallop and send me smiles, greetings, wishes of good journey and lots of God-bless-me's. I finally take my leave of Mother. She again thanks me, herself wishes me a good journey and from her too I hear a final God-bless-me.

I soon meet the youth, they too in the middle of the road, smoking and chilling, swearing and spitting, acting cool and still trying to discover life's hidden meaning, if there is any. One joins me and pedals besides me for a few seconds. Where are you heading? he asks me like we are childhood friends but a long time passed since he saw me. He approves of my daring once he learns my answer. I invite him to join me. No way, that's too far, he says, bows and wishes me a good journey. I zigzag through this crowd dispersed across hundreds of meters like I'm their hero. Left and right I see high-five hands stretched out towards me. I stretch my hand, too, and one of them catch so loudly the birds in the woods fly for safety. From behind me, I hear a damn, that was a clean one, did you guys saw it? as I victoriously exit the village.

The next three hours I'm happily riding. I pedal through woods, slopes, beautiful scenery and now and then the usual village. I stop to replenish the liquids at a local market. That would be 2 euros, please, the lady says without raising her eyes towards me. At home, I look up this village that chance has placed on my path in my wanderings. Ah, I find it! A local newspaper has this on the top of their page in big, bold letters, the most dangerous Romani village in the whole county.