1999 Biking East Europe

Friday, September 10 – Sighisoara, Romania – pvt room, 160 000l

Last night we dined at the cute Hotel Chic opposite the Sighisoara train station on delicious Farmer’s soup (vegetables and pork meat) with sour cream and paprika, bread and tomato salad. Everything was well presented and the service friendly albeit very laid back. The Romanians in general are much darker skinned and shorter than the Slovakians and Hungarians and their Roman heritage seems evident in their unhurried approach to life.

When we arrived at Sighisoara from Arad we unloaded our bikes and luggage and were just gathering our thoughts when we were approached by a very diffident young man – all of 12 years of age – who asked if we spoke English. When we said we did he offered us a room for the night at $5 each. He was so nicely dressed, in pressed trousers, denim jacket and one earring, and so very polite and professional, that we were immediately willing to listen to his proposal. We went with him, after some discussion, to look at the room, and will be spending two nights there (mainly to husband our dwindling resources). We have a large room with two not very comfortable fold out beds and two red chairs. The shower proved to be a cold-only hand-held affair in a roofless enclosure outside (beside which 5 or 6 chicks clustered complaining to one another about something or other) and the loo clean but primitive. All the ablutions encountered here to date have smelt a little rank and it seems that one must, as in Greece, deposit used loo paper in the bin beside the loo not in the bowl.

Aside: The very irritating requirement that one can only reserve one’s seat on the train about 30 minutes before it departs is based on a simple practicality. The number of still available seats are called through from the previous station once the train leaves there. And so it is only then that the ticket office knows how many people can be accommodated. None of the trains on which we have travelled to date have been full, however, and were they it might make more sense to have a couple of cheaper unreserved carriages too.

Memory: At Arad station we encountered our first Roma and understood immediately to some extent the prejudice against them in this region. Besides being considerably darker-skinned they are clearly poorer and their begging habits are irritating. One little girl came and stood in front of me and made the same high-pitched request over and over again despite my initial No! and my subsequently ignoring her. I saw two girls, dirty and ragged 12 year olds, beating on a small teary-eyed boy. I yelled Hey Hey Hey at them and he made good his escape but I really thought for awhile they would turn on me. They were both smoking and moved with an assurance and aggression that made me nervous. They seemed a million years older then I – seemed to know and have seen more than I ever would. Lonely Planet warns of groups of children in this part of the world robbing you blatantly while they laugh and joke.

We’ve had a great albeit tiring day despite the fact that Charl was pick-pocketed on the No.4 bus in Brasov. We awoke and arose early and caught the 07h20 train to Brasov (at last). We caught a ‘Personal’ i.e. slow train. Which was more crowded than other trains on which we have travelled thus far. We shared our coach with many young men en route to work – probably gypsies. One of the young men began to sing at one point, in a deep lovely voice. At first plaintive and moving melodies, but later an irresistible tune with a beat to which a skinny young man in the seats behind could not help responding. He began, tentatively at first but later with passion and rhythm and enjoyment, to slap his thighs and tap his heals and click his fingers and finally to get up and dance – uninhibited and joyful and a pleasure to watch and listen to. Except to one of the other passengers who aimed a finger-gun over the back of his seat and ‘shot’ at our singer. The prejudice evident yet again. (We bumped into the tapping man on the train to Brasov again the following day and I grinned and tapped my thighs and he grinned back – instant rapport and no other communication needed.)

As we were disembarking in Brasov we saw both yesterday’s conductors walking along the platform. They asked, using sign-language, where our bikes were. We replied that we had left them in Sighisoara as it is too expensive to travel with bikes on the train. They laughed!

Our plans for the day included trying to resolve our train bookings both north to Bucovina and onward from Romania to Prague; cashing money; visiting Brasov’s famous piata; and seeing Bran castle. We were approached in the subway linking the various platforms by a fast-talking, fast-moving woman who turned out to be Maria (of Maria & Grig Bolea fame), mentioned in the Lonely Planet who point out that she “might seem a bit pushy”. She said she could help us, told us where to wait for her, and dashed off to accost some other foreign arrivals. In fact, during the time we spent with her on this day (and the next), she was constantly rushing off to either accost new people or finalise deals with people she had already met. She seems to live her entire life at high speed, speaks a few words in many languages including Afrikaans, and makes money through her interactions with tourists and the work she does at the military airbase on Mondays. Simply turbo-charged, an overwhelming  whirlwind who probably got more out of us – through kick-backs and commissions etc rather than direct payment – than she would have had we had more time to think. But hey, she was undoubtedly tremendously helpful. Through her we arranged our Bucovina leg of the journey and bought train tickets which would take us in the end from northern Romania to Prague.

We cashed travellers’ cheques – a slow and painful process requiring us to stand in queues at three different windows – and finally found a bus into town. We had had to run for the bus and somehow in the jostle of getting on, Charl was robbed of about $10. On the way back to the station later in the day we watched the pickpockets at work on board. One young man and a boy – both dressed in black, both cocky as hell. They watched with care everyone who got on and off, moved around the bus a lot, peered without shame over people’s shoulders at their watches and bags, joked a lot with each other. They made me feel naïve. And angry.

We sat briefly at overcast Piata Sfatului to imbibe beer and coke, picked up a takeaway McDonald’s lunch, and persuaded a taxi to drive us the 27-odd kms south-west to Bran castle and back. En route we ate our lunch and enjoyed the passing scene of green hills and abandoned factories set against a clearing sky.

Bran castle (1378) “originated as a toll station built by the German merchants of Brasov to regulate trade between Transylvania and Wallachia…[and was] a favourite summer retreat of Queen Marie in the 1920s”. It is a smallish castle – only 57 rooms – and a delight. The rooms are human-size and appear higgledy-piggledy off twisted passages and small staircases and behind almost hidden doors. The roof (actually several roofs at different levels and over romantic round towers and balconies) is of tile; the small courtyard with its well is paved with stone; the view is spectacular. Worth the trip.

Back in Sighisoara we decided to see if we could relieve the anxiety of travelling with our bikes the following day by booking them onto the train we were due to take back to Brasov. We were shown into an office at the end of the platform and given a seat and thus began the negotiations. With much to and froing, many a debate with the ticket sales lady, some phone calls. But finally we were asked to fetch the bikes which had to be checked and labelled and locked away (so we could add nothing to them) for collection tomorrow and officially paid for. Hallelujah.

Dined again at the hotel; slept again in our red-chaired room.