Well

Well?

Well! It’s about time.

Well, it’s not about time.

It’s about lights.

Of the low and high kind.

And it’s about trains.

Romanian trains.

Trains that are “trains” and train employees that make little girls cry.

And then it’s about Hungary and hotels that are boats or more accurately “Botels” that are hotels and Botels are hotels that make little girls cry.

The day came that Swell’s visit with her Bucharest/Pantelimon family came to an end.

The plan for this day was simple – catch a taxi to the train station take a train to Sinai where we had a hotel already booked.

Easy enough plan.

And the execution was surprisingly simple.

Swell spent a great number of days trying to find the perfect hotels in our different locations. A great number of annoying days but she did a great job.

The hotel in Sinai was perfectly situated. Very near Peles Castle and near enough to the Tele Gondola.

Peles Castle is really more mansion than castle and was the summer home of Romania’s monarchy (four kings in total with the fourth still alive today but not in Romania as he was exiled during communism).

We acted like big shots by buying the more expensive tour ticket that included the regular tour and a special pass to visit the bedrooms on the upper level. It was a really great tour and although rain threatened throughout the morning it didn’t hit until late afternoon.

And when the rain hit it hit hard.

We were sitting at the bottom of the mountains in the town of Sinai when a very heavy (VERY HEAVY) rain started. It continued for quite some time trapping us under the umbrella at the dessert shop we had stopped at.

There were some lightening bolts throughout the storm but one in particular created a thunderclap so loud that we all jumped out of our chairs. The lightening must have struck very nearby as the restaurant and the shop next to it lost power.

Very scary.

We ended up calling a taxi and we had to run through the heavy rain.

Narrowly avoiding being swept away by the river of water running down the street and sidewalks we headed back to the hotel.

I was a bit afeared during this cab ride as the front window of the taxi was so fogged over I couldn’t see out the front. The taxi driver must have been driving by memory rather than sight.

At our really nice hotel we sat around playing canasta before bed.

The next day included a very long hike up a mountain to a Gondola that we took up to 1400 m where it was freezing cold and windy and foggy.

We hiked back down and went to the train station to move further along our tour.

And here is where train stories must be told.

Trains for most people who grew up in the western part of North America evoke a romantic picture of people lounging in quaint sleeping and dining cars as the train chug-chugs through snow capped mountains and rushing rivers plunging down spectacular waterfalls.

In Romania trains are divided, much like society, into two classes. The haves and the havesalittlemores. The train company didn’t think much of those classes so they took up less descriptive, more bland names – 1st class and 2nd class.

The difference between the classes is less than you might think. About 33% more money will buy you two less seats in your compartment but an equal amount of filth and stink.

A steal!

So first class has 6 seats in each compartment and second class has 8 seats.

8 big enough seats or 6 roomy seats?

8 people trying to squish luggage of all kinds into one compartment or 6 people trying to squish luggage of all kinds into one compartment?

For the first train we chose 1st class.

For other trains we went back and forth. Basically 1st class for long trips. 2nd for short.

As a train pulls up in Romania the uninitiated often gasp.

“We’re going on that!?”

Swell and I?

“That’s about typical for Romania eh Swell?”

“Why yes it is dear – oh how was I so lucky as to marry you? – I’m sure glad it’s not the train we took in Egypt! That was horrible with a capital ORRIBLE.”

“Why I agree beautiful!”

Smooch. Smooch.

The trains are old. I assume they have been in use since communism and no one has bothered to replace them.

The paint is peeling off of them. Windows are dirty and scratched.

Inside is no better than the outside.

The seats have never been cleaned. They are in desperate need of reupholstering. The drapes – if they are still there – are frayed and a completely different colour than they began.

Ick on top of ick in the train.

But it’s cheaper and seems safer than riding in a car or bus.

But you run the risk of breaking down.

Which we did.

On the way from Sinia to Brasov.

We were to meet some of Swell’s family in Brasov – their home. This is her Dad’s side.

Some really nice folks who would treat us like royalty. Feed us mightily nightly and drive us around as if they were our private chauffeurs.

It was great.

Brasov is not a great distance from Sinia and it seemed to us that the schedule the train followed would take far more time than the distance would indicate.

As the train chugged we noted that it was moving slower than most trains. Ah ha! This is why it would take longer. It’s a slow train.

The train slowed more and more until it came to a stop.

Red light?

The train stopped moving and then the engine stopped engine-ing.

After 15 minutes the conductor came through saying that the engine broke down and that it would be 20 minutes to before we were up and running.

An hour later - minus a few people who jumped off the train to hitchhike the rest of the way – we were on our way again.

The really good train story doesn’t actually involve a train.

It involves a train schedule.

And Swell.

And Romanians.

We were going from Sighisoara to Sibiu. (We went to Sighisoara after 3 full and wonderful days in Brasov.)

Sighisoara is a small town with a lot to do but it is small.

And a little out of the way.

And our route was a little odd because we scheduled around the arrival of our friend Gilda who would be in Sibiu and Cluj toward the end of our Romania stay.

Upon arriving in Sighisoara we decided it would be prudent to buy our train tickets out for the next day.

Swell, being the only one who speaks Romanian, would do all the ticket purchases.

She, being the wise woman she is, went to the purchase tickets window. She asked the woman selling tickets how we could get from where we were to where we were going.

The response? A computer screen with teeny-tiny print on it listing all trains from here to there with connections and total trip times in different columns. Some rows were red. Some black.

The line behind Swell was not all that short. The ticket seller not all that patient so she makes the wise decision to ask “Can you print that screen so I can study it?”

“No.”

“How long does it take to get from here to there?”

“Go to the information counter!”

Because there was no direct train and the connections were a little funky Swell thought a bus might be a better option.

So she asked a dude on the street where the bus station was.

He looked her up and down and said “I suggest you take the train.”

And that was good enough for us. Train it was. Paging information counter lady!

The information counter lady was not a fount of information although I believe she had ants in her pants.

She couldn’t sit in her chair for more than a few minutes before she was up and scurrying to the back office for various lengths of time.

It didn’t matter if there was a line, a mob, or it was completely empty she would find her way away from her post as frequently as she could.

Which was a lot.

The info lady went over the options with Swell. Basically she was told we could choose from a very early train (6:30 am) and get there at 9 am with a 30 minute layover at another station. There was also a 9:00 am train that would layover in the same city and get us there at noon as well (BINGO!) the last train would be an evening train and we didn’t even consider it.

Swell thought that the Bingo train would be perfect. We would get to our destination at a good time and wouldn’t have to be up particularly early.

So with info in mind she returned to the purchase counter where she was told to “go back to info-lady and buy from her! She already knows what you want.”

Sigh.

One flaw in Swell’s plan. She was told that the noon train doesn’t run on Sundays. But she was confused and misunderstood what that meant and said “book the Bingo train!”

And she got her tickets and they would have us in to Sibiu at 2 pm. No good as we were arriving in Sibiu on a Sunday and everything touristy is closed on Mondays. We needed to be there in time to see some stuff.

You see, the Bingo train ran from Sighisoara at 9:00 am but its connection to get us there at noon didn’t run on Sundays. Swell thought that there was a Noon train from Sighisoara to the connection city that didn’t run on Sundays and, therefore, didn’t care as Bingo would get us there.

Swell hadn’t left the counter when she realized our arrival in was so late but Romanians being Romanians felt, heard, and sensed a pause in her dealings with the ticket lady and pounced. Elbows flying every which way forced Swell away from the counter and she was unable to rectify the problem.

She fought her way back to the Information lady but between others and the info lady’s frequent breaks it took a while.

Swell showed the woman the discrepancy but was yelled at and told that she was told that the noon train didn’t run on Sundays so tough luck.

“Can we change out tickets?”

“Go to the purchase counter!”

Purchase lady was busy working with some yellers from America and it looked like it would take a while so she went back to info to get yelled at.

Info lady ended up sending her back to purchase lady to get tickets stamped for change as info lady was adamant that tickets couldn’t be torn up and reissued.

Puchase lady ended up stamping the tickets which, apparently, is all that needs to be done to change train reservations in Romania and was asked; “when does the train leave exactly? when and where and how long is the connection?”

“Go back to info lady for that info”.

Info lady don’t much like giving out info. She was very mad exclaiming that she showed Swell this info many times and Swell should know it by now.

At this point both Swell and info lady were done with each other. There were raised voices on both sides and info lady was M-A-D that Swell had dared to bother her so many times.

Swell insisted on poking the bear by continuing to ask if she could get the new schedule printed off or written as our tickets still bore the old information and new tickets cannot be issued (apparently it’s a sin).

By this time I had the information memorized and I told Swell to forget it but yelling and screaming continued and the info lady used her vast knowledge to disparage Swell’s friends and family.

Tickets in hand we walked out to the cab that had been waiting patiently for 15 minutes or so and Swell hopped into the front seat to guide the cabbie and she started to cry.

Because she was dealing with Romanians.

And worse than that Romanian train people.

Who are lazy.

And can’t cancel tickets or write down schedules or be polite.

Or helpful.

And we did what people do in Sighisoara. And we got up early the next morning to take our train to Sibiu and did what people do in Sibiu and we waited for Gilda’s phone call.

And we hung out with Gilda while Zumi (JDL’s new nickname as coined by Swell) and the Good One walked around on their own looking for a McDonald’s and a movie theater so that they could escape the fact that they were still in Romania.

And Gilda was kind and nice even though she was dealing with some issues. (She leads a team that works in a camp for orphans/poor kids two weeks every summer. Some of her team came to Romania early to tour and there was a lost backpack incident that Gilda had to resolve – among other things.)

And Gilda took us by luxury motor coach to Cluj – her hometown. And she showed us around and found us free housing at her aunts and it was fun and we enjoyed her company and then we left.

Early in the morning.

On a train.

For Budapest.

Where Zumi had booked a hotel on a boat.

A “Botel”.

But it was further from the city center than she thought.

But it was quaint.

But quaint to me means dirty to Swell.

And far from the city center means less fun for us.

As Swell gets tired.

And Swell didn’t want to have to walk to the bus stop (not a short walk) every morning and walk back from the bus stop every night. (A very, very nice Budapest woman showed us the way to the bus stop the only time we did it. If she hadn’t we’d still be looking.)

And Swell didn’t want to take the bus (much longer than the advertised 10 minutes) to the start of the city center every day only to have to catch something else somewhere else because doing those things would tucker her out before we even started seeing stuff.

So Swell cried because the Botel wasn’t going to work for her but we didn’t want to disappoint Zumi or anyone else. But Zumi said it would be ok to leave the Botel if we could find something closer for not much more money.

So we took the long walk to the bus stop (thanks again nice Budapest woman).

And we took the long bus ride to the city center.

And we made the VERY long walk to the train station (oops – shoulda taken a bus) shortly after we arrived at the Botel.

And Swell went to the Hotel/Hostel/Tourist Info place and talked to a guy who gave her some options.

And she chose – cheap and in the center.

And it is cheaper and in the centerer than the Botel.

But it’s not a Botel it’s a hostel.

With a button.

With a bell printed on it.

With a Hungarian word above it.

In red.

With an exclamation point.

But we were told to “push the bell. The girl she’s coming”.

So I pushed it.

And we nearly died.

Of fright.

Because pushing the button with the bell on it with the Hungarian writing in red (with an exclamation point!) above it turns on five large industrial fans two floors above our heads causing excessive noise and a disconcerting rushing of wind up the winding stair case.

A veritable hurricane.

Probably the wrong button because it didn’t make the girl come.

But it made me pee my pants.

Because, and I don’t know how to express this through the written word, it was scary.

Very, very scary.

Hitting a moose in a red and white 1970 VW bus scary.

But the girl she did eventually come and we got our hostel.

With cold water.

But no hot.

And it wasn’t the ripoff we expected.

A surprise because the guy who owns it is the same guy who was manning the Hotel/Hostel/Tourist info booth when Swell went in to find a new place.

And he’s Romanian.

You just can’t get away from it.

No matter how hard you try.