Roman(ian) Holiday

Well now, I seem to have considerably overshot this elusive spring thaw. It is, it has been for quite some time, and it is rumoured to continue to be, incredibly cold in Bucharest. On disembarking, two Quebecoise exclaimed, “Il fait crissement froid ici!”—my French lessons clearly did not end in Tunisia. Because things like ‘liability’ and ‘public mandate’ aren’t quite entrenched in Romanian civic administration, we gingerly tiptoed along the uncleared, icy sidewalks and waited in the -6 weather* for almost an hour for a bus to finally pick us up and take us to Gara du Nord, which was not an entirely helpful option. What was helpful was my packing Romanian currency to pay for my bus ticket, and those of the Quebecoise, a useful ploy to ensure a warm welcome and ice-cold Unibroue Chamblay Blanc when I finally go to Quebec.

Halfway to my hostel at midnight, slipping on ice and wet up to the knees, all I could think about was that my assessment of Converse All-Stars being the ideal all-season footwear possibly needed revisiting. My next goal in Bucharest, even before having a gander at Ceausescu’s Palace, was to find the Romanian equivalent to Canadian Tire, and buy some gumboots. Braving snow, stalled buses, and harsh wind, I made it to a Hornbach in the far reaches of the suburbs, and found the perfect pair of black gumboots for $10. When I returned to the hostel, the young receptionist was beside himself with disbelief:

“What are you wearing?! Oh my god, oh my god, what are those?!”
“Gumboots. It’s snowing.”
“Yes, I know it is snowing, but WHY are you wearing those? Oh my god. Those are for farmers. You look like you are…like, umm—how do you say?—ah yes, ‘From the willage.’ Everyone will laugh at you.”
“Yes, but then they will see I have an iPod Touch, and they will say, ‘Oh, he’s from the West. Those boots must be fashionable in New York or something.”
“Or they will say, ‘Oh look, that peasant stole some tourist’s iPhone.’”
*pause, look of contempt*
“Look, I have dry feet.”

Romanians are so fiery.

So, Romania gets cold. This is something I never would have expected despite constant stereotypes of Eastern Europe being frigid and perpetually gray. To be fair, I have never really placed Romania within the ambit of “Eastern Europe.” In 2007, I stayed in Targu Mures where a man informed me that Transylvania was all one needed in Romania. Once I cross the Carpathians, “[I’m] suddenly in Moldavia, Moldova, Ukraine ... in Eastern Europe!” Obviously I believe everything this man tells me, and most of my reading has led me to believe that Romania is decidedly Balkan. Why for, you ask? Simply because Romania is one of the few countries to have based its entire public infrastructure network on my sense of humour. Romanian trains are an absolute zoo, and there are so many zany antics by so many people going on at once that it is hard to understand what is ever going on.

For example, if you’re in Bucharest and planning a budget weekend getaway to Bulgaria, look no further than the following instructions:

1. Buy a ticket to Giurgiu. Without your knowledge, it will be the Giurgiu Nord, which is nowhere near the actual city of Giurgiu. This should be outrageously cheap and for the
2. Consult a map. You will learn that there are zero road crossings on the Danbue between these two countries, and only one rail crossing between Giurgiu, Romania and Ruse, Bulgaria. Reflect on the possibility that Turkey was probably never particularly serious about her European possessions.**
3. Inquire at the well-publicised and clearly demarcated “Informacion” booth at Gara du Nord. Ask to extend your ticket to Ruse. The following conversation with your charming hostess, whose cigarette break you would appear to have interrupted, will go:
   

   “What want?”
   “Hello, is it possible to extend my ticket to Ruse?”
   “No ticket here. Tickets at ‘ticket booths.’ This is Informacion.
   “Right, but is it possible to extend my ticket from Giurgiu to Ruse?”
   “No! It’s no possible to extend ticket. You go to Giurgiu.’
   “Okay, but—“
   “Ees NO possible!”
   “Can I extend the ticket on the train?”
   “Yes! Yes of course you can extend ticket on train! What you want here?”
   “Multumesc.”
   So. Fiery.

4. Wait for your train, which should be in the ballpark of 2 to 14 hours late, depending on the strength of the blizzard, and lethargy of track-clearers.
5. When you board the train, wait for the conductor and ask about a ticket to Ruse. He will tell you, “yes, yes, no problem” and then wink at you.
6. Wait for a man to come in with a clipboard collecting money for orphans. Give him some money and when he presses you for more, ask for a receipt for tax purposes. He will disappear.
7. Another man in the cabin will explain that you just supplied the man with the clipboard with alcohol money and that “there are no children” (this is sort of a lie because there are a lot of orphans in Romania). He’ll then explain to you that you’re in the wrong seat and that you need to go to another cabin. He will guide you there, and then another conductor will walk in and say, “Hello, yes, why are you in my office?” The man who was trying to rob you will have disappeared.
8. Wait for Giurgiu, and then hope the conductor forgot about you.
9. He won’t have, and will come in to ask for your ticket. He’ll remember your situation and ask for 10 lei ($3). You’ll ask for the ticket and he’ll explain that you don’t need a ticket.
10. Express concern.
11. He will then explain that a printed ticket would cost you 40 lei, but no ticket will cost you 10 lei.
12. Ask him to explain again.
13. Once you realise he is soliciting a bribe, give a knowing wink and then feel bad about perpetuating a corrupt system when you were raised better than that.
14. Arrive in Ruse and wait for half an hour to disembark because they are checking the train for whatever could be stowed away (typically drugs, contraband, or Turkish grandmothers).
15. Play the “English Card” and coerce everyone on the train to demand that your passport be stamped so that you may exit the train and withdraw money from an ATM to buy your ticket for the remaining journey.
16. Be happy you spent less than $10 in total for a 12 hour chunk out of your life.

See? Now people who pay 50 euros for a direct ticket on an InterCity train between Bucharest and Sofia miss all that. And from February 9 onwards, Bulgaria was my oyster.

*Yes, yes, -6 is nothing when you live in the Great White North, but I don’t live in the GWN. I’m soft and spend my winters either languidly reading classic literature under a palm tree in the tropics, or rusting in 2 and rainy Vancouver. Usually the latter.
**Yes, this is me employing gendered language. Deal.