Arefu (area) Brasov (area) Sighisoara Maramures
After 34 hours in airports and airplanes without any sleep, I finally arrived in Bucharesti at 4:30 EEST…and it is almost 100 degrees. Understandably, I am not in the mood to be swindled or messed with. At customs, I have to fill out a form about the swine flu and as I hand my passport over, it starts:
“Where are you going?”
“Romania.”
“Where in Romania?”
“All over.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“You’re traveling alone through Romania?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know where you are going?”
“Yes, I am going to lots of places.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Wherever I am when I get tired.”
“You’re by yourself?”
“Yes. Alone.”
Doubtful looks and careful scrutinization of my passport and he reluctantly hands it back. I just smile and say thank you.
Then, I am immediately surrounded by taxi drivers willing to give me a “good deal” on the 45 minute ride into town. So I ask how much,
“Oh, not much, very cheap. About 30 Euro.”
“No way, you’re crazy.” And down to the lower level of Henry Coanda airport. More eager taxi drivers:
“Where you going? I give you good deal and get there very fast.”
“Gara de Nord, how much?”
“Yes, about 20 Euro.”
“Nope, too much.”
“But it’s long drive, maybe 15 Euro.”
“No, how about six Euro.”
“No, no not enough.”
And the next…
“I take you there for 12 Euro.”
“No, six.”
“Eleven.”
“No, forget it. I’ll just take the bus.”
As I approach the ticket booth for the bus, the very eager driver comes again while his buddies watch. “No bus, no bus, I take you for 11 Euro.”
“No, I’m taking the bus.” His friends all laugh at him.
The woman at the ticket booth is smiling and quite amused by their persistence. I buy a bus ticket good for two rides for…two Euro. As I walk by the group of taxi drivers I point to my ticket and shout, “Two Euro.” They all laugh and wave good bye as I think to myself, “I love this place already.”
After riding the bus for an hour, I get off and take out my guidebook to review the map of where the pensiune I want to stay at is located - ten blocks away. I start walking, and had I not been so tired, hot and hungry, I may have noticed that the map does not show every street and that the legend illustrates that in fact, the pensiune is over three miles away. But I never noticed and walked on, and on, and on. It’s very hot and I don’t use a watch, thus after reaching near exhaustion, I get the time and discover I have been walking for nearly three hours and passed my destination. Turning back and aimlessly wandering the increasingly heavily gated neighborhoods, I finally reach the place. The gate is locked and the doors are barred. Unable to walk any longer, I get onto the first bus I find and ride around on it for an hour. Then meet a taxi driver who speaks some English and tells me he knows where a good place is. And where does he take me? Right back to the vacant pensiune, of course. I demand that he call around to some other places in my book and we finally find a place open and available three blocks from back where I met him. Sleep at last!
Bucharesti is a city undergoing constant change and you needn’t be there very long to see that. Roads are all torn up, new shining buildings are next to old rustic brick ones. People generally ignore you and could even be considered rude. In attempts to “Westernize,” many younger people wear Converse® (advertising flags are all over city light poles) and with a pack of Marlboro costing $2, most start smoking before high school. This is by no means my favorite place, but there is a wonderful conglomerate of architectural styles and amazing restaurants around every corner. I found a winding alley with a roof which becomes vibrant and alive at night with tables for people to eat, drink and smoke hookahs. One road I wandered to was closed off for filming of an American movie about WWII Jews. My understanding is that it is called House of Glass or Glass House and will be released next year. I got to talk to some of the actors and get pictures with their weapon props. It was quite amusing to watch people dressed in peasant costumes suddenly whip out cell phones between takes.
After one night, I went to the train station to get a ticket to Curtea de Arges and learned a very important lesson: the people at the information desk do not care about where I need to go, what time it is, or just being generally helpful in any sense of the word. I get told this train at this hour for this price, and then go to buy the ticket and find out there is no train until four hours later, and to come back then to purchase the ticket. So when I arrive back to get it, there actually is no train until the next morning. I buy that ticket and spend another dog-barking night in Bucharesti.
