Hotel Condor seemed to be the only oasis of civilisation for miles around. Oravita turned out to be a town where nothing exists. (Lesson learned: pointing at a map and saying "we can sleep here because it's halfway to point Y" is not an ideal way to plan a trip.)

I can't stop smiling. We caught this disease the moment we landed. The corners of our mouths shot up and settled there as if it were their natural position. Welcome to St. John's, Newfoundland — a land where happy living isn't just a concept, it's a way of life.

A pepper seller waves at me. "What are you doing?" "The gentleman wants a photo with the peppers." We wander through a fruit and vegetable market in a grimy town called Targu Jiu, which either had its glory days long ago — or never had them at all.

On the road from Pitesti to Targu Jiu, I noticed it for the first time. We were driving through villages that were essentially rows of houses lined up along the main road – no centre, no village square, nothing that visually defines a village. We wondered why there were no side streets – everyone lived on the main road. But we soon understood why.

We left Bucharest airport heading for Targu Jiu. Crawling through traffic on the motorway, surrounded by nothing — peeling walls, faded signs on neglected houses, and yellow fields of dried-out grass. That divine, romantic Romanian landscape was nowhere to be found in these parts. Just dust carried by the dry southern heat.