Thanks for coming back for our third (and final) installment of my trip to Romania.
Let’s set the stage (again)-
A naive American girl from the suburbs takes a spur of the moment trip to rural Romania with a group of guys she hardly knows. On her journey she breaks toilets, cracks a sink open with her head, befriends stray dogs, scares monks at a monastery, has multiple run-ins with the local police (who usually wanted her autograph and nothing more),m and gets the sunburn of her life hiking above the treeline in the Romanian Alps.
Just when she thought she couldn’t cause any more international incidents, along came her weekend escape and a hitchhiking adventure.
After several weeks volunteering in rural Romania our accident prone world traveler was itching to get out of the village and see the sights. Some of the locals were driving to a music festival on the far end of the country and said she could tag along.
Lessons learned:
1. Always ask a Romanian how far something is, and whether or not they plan to drive directly there.
2. Never believe their answers.
The trip began late at night when the four soon-to-be-friends piled into a Dacia (popular car model in RO) and began driving towards Bucharest. Our weary traveler fell asleep in the backseat and slept for a few hours until the car stopping suddenly woke her up. She found herself in the middle of nowhere, staring up at the brightest stars she had ever seen. It was pitch dark outside, and she had no idea what was going on. Her companions were making plans in Romanian, and she sat quietly, attempting to pick out the five vocabulary words she knew. She failed.
A moment later the driver got out and started walking. One of the passengers turned and explained that the car was out of gas, and that the driver was going to walk to the nearest house to get some. It was nearly 2 a.m., but no one seemed concerned that the nearest house may not appreciate this. After a few minutes everyone got out of the car and started walking in the direction of the driver. A minute later they found a quaint farmhouse, with a beautiful garden trellis over the entry walk. There were lights on in the house, and they could see the driver inside speaking with the family. They went to go join him.
But our calamity prone, bleary-eyed heroine never made it inside the house. As she walked under the grapevines on the trellis, something fell and landed on her head and shoulders. She screamed and tried to brush it off. That was when she realized, there, in the pitch black darkness in the middle of nowhere Romania, that a snake had just fallen on her head. (You remember how much our girl heroine hates snakes, don’t you? How they paralyze her and cause her to go into hysterics at the same time?) Her screaming woke up all of the occupants of the farm house. Her traveling companions came running to see if she was okay. But by then the snake had disappeared back into the bushes. No one seemed to feel any sympathy for our poor girl. Someone scolded her in Romanian, then they picked up a gas can, and all walked back to the car. Our girl had a feeling her trip was off to an auspicious start.
A few hours later she found herself eating breakfast in Bucharest when she noticed her traveling companions were not speaking much in English suddenly. She got that sinking feeling that someone was about to change her plans on her. But she didn’t care. She had the weekend off and was up for a new adventure. She wasn’t surprised when they told her that the driver had decided he didn’t want to drive on to the music festival, and wanted to stay in town. Everyone else would be taking a bus to the next town, and then a train on to the music festival. It sounded good to her, so she didn’t complain.
They boarded a bus and took off to a town with a name she’s long forgotten. That was the first time she was ever charged money to use a public restroom. Well, not really. It was the first time she was charged money for the toilet paper when she used the otherwise free public restroom. It was also her first time to use a “squatter.” In sandals. That’s all you need to know.
The traveling trio switched buses and took off for another small town with a name she has long forgotten. They got out and started walking. She should have been more surprised when they went up to a small home and one of her traveling companions introduced her family to them. And she should have been more surprised when that companion decided to stay and visit with her family, instead of continue on to the festival. Left with one male companion she barely knew, our girl boarded a train and left for the music festival.
They arrived close to midnight (nearly 24 hours after they had left on their supposedly 6 hour trip), long after the festival had ended. They met up with other friends, joined them in a hotel room, and slept for the night. In the morning they all ate breakfast together, walked through the hungover town, where for the third time another police officer asked her for her autograph, and they headed back to the train station. Our heroine was starting to think her weekend had been a waste. Little did she know her weekend was just beginning.
In Romania there are different types of trains. There is the express and the personal. The express is as it sounds, and it swiftly moves from city to city. The personal is a slower, more local train that moves at a snail’s pace, stopping frequently, and goes so slow that you can run and jump on as needed. For some reason there were no express trains running that day. What would normally be a 2-3 hour train ride back home was destined to be an 8 hour train ride on the personal.
But there was one more catch. There was no one working at the train station that day to sell them a ticket. Her friend assured her it was no big deal and that they could just bribe the conductor when they got on the train. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew she should be more alarmed by this, but after 36 hours of traveling, snakes falling on her head, and police asking for her autograph, she just didn’t care anymore.
They ran and jumped on the slow moving train and for a moment she imagined she was in an old timey movie, running to catch up to her lover and say goodbye. But once she was on the train and realized she had no place to sit for the next 8 hours, reality came back to her. The conductor came by, eying her suspiciously. She had yet again failed in the anonymity department thanks to her long, blond hair amidst the sea of dark black Romanian hair. The conductor attempted to speak in English, and she attempted to bribe him. A crisp five dollar American bill settled any problems he may have had with her sitting in the aisle, and he let her be.
About two hours later the train stopped in yet another little no name town in the countryside. This time they made a loud announcement and suddenly everyone got off the train. She had no idea what was going on. She quickly searched for her friend that she had lost in the crowd, panicking slightly as they got separated. A man who’s name she hadn’t even known four days ago, but had now been no further than ten feet from her for the last 48 hours, was becoming her lifeline. He explained that there was flooding on the tracks and the train couldn’t go any further. This seemed strange as they had not encountered any rain in days. But the bigger and more pressing problem was that they still had to find another way home.
The bus schedule proved useless. There was nothing going in their direction for another 24 hours. Our girl began to feel more than just a little cursed. How could so many things possibly go this wrong?? But her new friend assured her they would find alternative way home, and asked if she minded walking. She didn’t. In fact, after 24 hours of sitting in trains and cars, walking sounded nice. So they set off on foot, and walked a few miles to the next small town over to a cafe her friend liked. That is one place she remembers the name. It was called the Casablanca, with English writing painted below it that read, “Or a white house.” It was a little brick building, with a little piano inside the cafe. They went in and enjoyed lunch, which is when her friend suggested they hitchhike the rest of the way home.
Our little naive, suburban girl from the States smiled and said sure. Her friend smiled back and said, “You have changed a lot since you broke a toilet.”
And on that happy note her friend went outside, stuck out his thumb, and hoped for the best. If this story were in a romantic comedy movie, or even in a comedy adventure film, this is where it would start raining. After 2 days of traveling without a change of clothes, the worst luck ever, cars that run out of gas, and trains with flooded tracks, that is exactly what happened next.
Our girl stood inside the cafe laughing hilariously as her new friend stood on the side of the road with his thumb out, getting passed over by car after car. After an hour of this she couldn’t take it anymore, and she ran outside and insisted he go back inside to get dry. Because really, what car was going to pick him up all wet like that? He was a gentlemen and insisted she go back inside before she got too wet. But just then a car drove by and she stuck out her thumb. The car pulled right over! She and her friend jumped right on in, and began what they hoped was just another 2 hour drive home.
Right, whatever. You didn’t really think it would be over that fast, did you?
No, our two wayfaring friends stayed in that car for another hour before being let out on the side of the road as the car drove off in another direction. Our exhausted heroine stuck out her thumb one more time, and another car pulled right over for her. They climbed in, hoping this time they would make it home. They had now been traveling over 48 hours.
An hour later that car left them in a small town with a bus stop. That bus wasn’t running that day either. But there was a group of school children that were renting a maxi-bus (or van) to take them on a field trip. And there were two extra seats. Grateful and willing to take anything at that point, the two friends joined the schoolchildren. The children were not shy about staring at the American girl’s blond hair.
Finally, approximately 52 hours after they had started their supposedly 6 hour journey, our two friends arrived home. They were no longer strangers or mere acquantances, but now life-long best friends.