Pretty day in Brasov.
When the train pulled in, the platform was swarming with
Hungarians wearing Hungarian flags as capes and football scarves. Big match
here I guess! Left the platform, and the station was stuffed with riot cops.
Like, an aggressive show of force. Plastic shields, helmets with visors. Yikes.
Grabbed a cab and split.
Despite her not being flexible with the check-in, Claudia
was excellent with the directions and instructions. She told me to make sure I
only paid ten leu for a cab ride. First taxi told me fifty leu. "Fifty
leu!" I said. "I am not honest," he said.
That was so funny I almost paid him.
It reminded me of the time Mother and I were at the Grand
Bazaar in Istanbul. The first guy we passed under the first arch we walked
under was selling embroidered pillow cases. He looked us in the eye and said,
"'Hello, my name is Reasonable Charlie."
I wonder if she remembers that. She must. We loved that and
repeated to one another.
Right away there was an uplifting feeling here. After the
doldrums of Bucharest, it was exciting to be in a vibrant, colorful, curvy
little town again. A different sort of pleasure.
I reckon the experience in Bucharest helped solidify what I
was thinking about before the trip started. Like, the ways you discover
yourself through travel. If the whole trip is one constant tickle whisper
party, then cool, you had a good time, but the real… discoveries happen when
things get all radishy shaped.
All the guide books say that Bucharest is in a down cycle.
The Lonely Planet guide actually says, "Most tourists flee after one
day." But.. that was part of the appeal. My stated reasons for going were
wanting to see a city overrun with wild dogs and crushed by the ghosts of
communism. I wanted to see misery, because for whatever reasons, it was
something I identified with. All my reading as a teen was about drunks or crooks
or dystopian post-apocalyptic lamescapes, and not the kind where a cool guy and
his gang of awesomites kill mutants, the kind where people just wander around
until they lie down in a chest of drawers and die.
Bucharest showed me that I don't…want that. Like, that isn't
me anymore. Being a misery chaser has held me back, I think. I've been
attracted to "broken" girls for a long time. I'll be attracted to
someone purely because they have bad teeth or their arm is crooked or they're
violent or whatever. Hearing a girl say "I have a serious problem"
was a bigger turn on to me than "I sure love cooking delicious food and
curling up to watch a movie."
Misery chasing sure served a purpose in my life. Like, I
don't think I was lost the whole time. If I weren't into that shit, I never
would have made it in New York. If I wasn't cool with suffering (a little) and
starving (sort of), I would have been like, "this place is dirty and the
four Jews who run the place want to keep me down! I'm taking this cage of
parrots and this suitcase full of house dresses back to Tallahassee!"
Instead, I accepted it for what it was until I could turn it
around. What was the catalyst for that? I think it was being in a bad play.
Like, at first it was funny to me to be in a bad play. Like, ha ha, I'm in a
shitty play in the back of a warehouse. This would be a funny scene in a
movie." And then I was like, "This is fun, but wouldn't it be better
if it were… fun."
Then I started making my own plays and having a good time. Still,
misery chasing lingered. I kept sad people close and drove good people away
still thinking I needed the Sorrow Sword and the Dolorous Shield.
So for this trip, Bucharest whispered "I have a serious
problem," and my tongue rolled out like a carpet and steam came out of my
ears, and I was like, "Doris, cancel my appointments! Cancel everything,
and hold my coat. I am going in."
Then I didn't like it.
Rolling into Brasov, I was like, "I prefer happiness
now. It's who I have evolved to be."Smiles, everyone, smiles. Thanks,
travel!
It was Day One of a week-long Oktoberfest for some reason,
so the town was pretty packed. Um, guys, I know you got your own time zones up
in here, but it's September.
Classic charming little town turned into tourist Mecca.
Ringed with hills, crazy cathedral in the middle (The Black Church of Brasov!)
and sweet little shops. I met Claudia. She taught me how to lock and unlock the
gate "because it is not a classic gate" and I took a little photo
walk.
Then I took a bus to Bran, which is just a ways down the way
to see what the locals call "Dracula's Castle."
Um, the historical Dracula, Vlad Tepes didn't build it, nor
did he live here.
Yes, but he was imprisoned here once
No he wasn't
Yes, but Bram Stoker saw this castle and had it in his mind
when he wrote Dracula
His personal letters say it was a different castle
Yes, but this castle was used in movie Bram Stoker's Dracula
as Dracula's castle.
No it wasn't
Is Dracula's Castle.
It's pretty anyway. The best part was a hilarious little
collection of kiosks and shops selling tacky Dracula garbage. Just awesome
vampire kitsch and Germania. Like, stags and hunters in green hats and stuff.
Mugs with fangs, piles of beads, peasant presents, scary roosters painted on
clay dishes, and for some reason, fake plastic tits.
Who would buy that? Who would drag their coffin full of
earth all the way to Bran, Romania in the middle of nowhere, see some fake
slip-on plastic breasts, and think, "Oh my god, we're in vampire country,
and here are some falsies. It's too, too perfect. You know Vlad Tepes wore
these when he stayed here."
I bought a bunch of crap for friends and coworkers and a
magnet for myself.
There was a haunted house with a speaker pointed to the
street that kept playing thunderclaps and going "I. Am. Dracula. Ah ah
ah!" and that, my friends, is exactly how it is done.
Bused back. Thought about seeing what Oktoberfest was all about
but got a soft pretzel, arranged a cab for the morning and went to sleep
instead. And that, my friends, is exactly how it is done.
Now it was all logistics:
6am flight from Budapest on the 8th. Immutable. Can't be
changed.
Train from Brasov at 6am on the 7th gets you to Budapest at
5pm. That would mean you have to get another hotel, sleep there a few hours and
take a 3am cab to the airport.
Train from Brasov at 4pm, giving you another day there,
arrives in Budapest at 5am on the 8th. You will never get to the airport on
time.
So, your ONLY CHOICE is to take the 6am train from Brasov.
12 hours. No problem. The Romanian countryside is beautiful. If you don't
sleep, you will have plenty to enjoy.
You get in the cab at 5am. It rockets through the stone streets of the medieval village blasting 90s dance music. The hilarity of hearing "I GOT THE POW-UH!" as you storm toward the train station is overwhelming. The driver smokes and shoots off Axe Body Spray to mask the scent. He is the funny Euro character from the quirky comedy.
You get to the station with no trouble. You ask for the ticket
to Budapest. No Budapest. Um… sign says Budapest, 6am? No Budapest. Only train Budapest
is Sibiu. Leaves 8:30. How do I get to Sibiu? No train. Take taxi.
You go outside. The taxi you just left is gone. Plenty of other
taxis. Hello, my friend. Where do you want to go? Sibiu? I take you to Sibiu.
$100 American dollars. Claudia has warned you about this. Another taxi driver
says, "He is dishonest. Come in my taxi. I use the meter." You take
this taxi.
The train to Budapest from Brasov was canceled because of
the Hungarian football fans from yesterday. The cops didn't want them back at
the station. Sibiu is…. not close. Sibiu is far away. You are in the taxi for
over two hours. The meter passed $100 American dollars about halfway there. You
have no choice.
You thought Sibiu was close, but it is far. It would be like
a train being canceled in Seattle and the lady at the ticket counter saying.
"Don't worry about it. Just go to Portland."You're also a rich
American who has been living on soft pretzels. You can afford it. You decide to
just lie back and think of Ink-lant.
Also, the driver is hysterical. He tells you the names of
his girlfriends in every little village you pass. He tells you his wife is
fucking other men, and that it doesn't bother him as long as she doesn't tell
him who they are. He says he practices Zen Buddhism and when you are Zen you
know people are just animals and must make love with variety. So, he sleeps
with girls in villages and she is free to be an animal. "We are still
love," he says.
You don't care about the money anymore. He gives you some
sunglasses with yellow lenses, "because they make everything look
better." His cab has wireless internet, so you can check to make sure the
train is on time. He stops to smoke. The meter is still running. He stops at a
convenience store where a friend has been charging his laptop for him. The
meter is still running. Will you get to Sibiu on time? You care about the money
a little bit.
He tells you he has a son in the hospital. A garbage can is
in the middle of the street. He stops and puts it on the side of the road so it
doesn't bother other people. He gets back in the car complaining about his
countrymen. He says Romanian people
don't "think German enough." If they thought German, they would plan
better. He tells you they built a road near his home but forgot to put
something in the road, so they had to tear it up and rebuild it. "This is
Romania," he says, "This story about the road is all you need to
know."
You pass a crazy person in a robe on the side of the road.
"He is Santa Claus," says the driver. The man's beard is amazing.
White and black with braids. It's a triumph of color and design. You remember
the old man from the train a few days ago. The sailing man. He got off in
Sibiu. Would he still be there? Could it possibly be? There seems little
chance. You arrive in Sibiu. The old man is not there. The bill is twice the
driver's estimate. You don't have enough in Romanian currency to pay him let
alone buy the train ticket.
He tells you he will go with you to buy the ticket and then
take you to a bank where you can get more money. The window at the train station
door is broken and he sticks his head through it "Heeeere's Johnny"
style and cracks himself up. "Hello!" he shouts in English, "Is
anyone home?"
You buy the ticket. He flirts with the ticket girl. He says
to me, "I am making her smile." He is waiting for a text from his
Sibiu girlfriend to see if she wants to have breakfast with him. She does not
want to have breakfast with him.
There is no ATM in the station.
You remember you have the Graveyard of Currency in your left
pocket. There is more than enough in American money. You pay him in a whacky
Happy Meal combo of colored bills from many nations. In your mind it adds up to
exactly what you think the meter says. It seems fair to you based on the
circumstances.
He wants a larger tip,
and you like him, but you remember he is totally ripping you off and probably
lied about having a son in the hospital.
You wave to him and leave. He probably brings breakfast to
the Sibiu girl anyway. You will never see him again. You have made the train to
Sibiu. You have used your resources to recover from a bad situation. You feel
good. You want very badly for the train to make Budapest at 6pm as it promised.
You stash your bags. You remember all the children from the
Narnia books got into a train crash and were wrenched back to Narnia to stay
forever. You sleep.
Your hotel is waiting in Budapest. Your cab is waiting to
take you to the airport. Your plane is waiting to take you home.
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