Back in Romania and in my Apartment in Targu Jiu -- September 15, 2007

Well, it's been a long, eventful trip, and I won't force all the details on every reader of this online journal. Suffice it to say that my baby grandson Janek is gorgeous, as are my granddaughters Mimi and Hanna, and if you go to the "back to home page" link, you can see more photos in the scrolling album. I'll just paste a couple of them in here, for bragging. I have to admit that I was still sick from the food poisoning I got at the Black Sea until two days before I returned to Romania. That made two entire weeks of being poisoned, and I had to wonder if I would ever recover completely. I was getting nervous about eating anything at all.

Here is Janek, and Peter with his kids:

Okay, that's enough for now, you can see how gorgeous my grandkids are, I guess, so I don't have to beat you up about it. Traveling through Romania to get to the airport in Bucharest and back again from there to my town were amazing traveler's tales of endurance and fortitude, and an indication of how much trouble you can get into by being a "smart" traveler. I'll tell you about it here, for those who love these stories about getting around in a still-developing country.

I left for the train at 11 p.m. the night of August 31. It's not far to walk from my apartment, and I tried to pack light. I had cleverly figured out that I could get off the train at Chitila station at 4:30 a.m., and call a cab to take me the 8 kms to Baneasa Airport for my low-cost 7 a.m. Blue Air flight to Stuttgart. I already had bought the train ticket online to Munich from there. Oh, what a wise and experienced traveler I am! I couldn't find any local Romanian who had made that direct connection from that train stop to the airport, but everyone agreed that this station is much closer than the main one in downtown Bucharest, where the connections are so bad that you have to spend the night in a hotel. My schedule gave me 2 1/2 hours to get from the train to the airport, which seemed pretty safe to me. Everyone knows the taxi drivers in Buc are famous for ripping you off, especially when you want to get to an airport, so I got lists of the honest taxi companies, and even practiced calling them the day before, to be sure I could be understood (I even found a couple dispatchers who spoke English!), and that they would send a cab for me. Someone mentioned that the Chitila gara (station) is in a bad neighborhood, but that didn't really bother me since I had it all figured out.

Well, I can tell you from experience NOT to do what I did.

First, the train was more than 45 minutes late, and although I called ahead for a cab, several times, the companies kept saying to wait and call again when I got closer. Well, I was still frantically calling them when the train finally jerked to a stop, but I had already been told by three or four dispatchers that there was "no car" available. I was sweating a little, but it turned to near panic when I looked out of the train and there was nothing but trees! I pulled my luggage forward through several cars, waking up sleeping passengers, asking if this was Chitila? Finally a nice helpful man said, "Da, esta Chitila", and he pushed the heavy door open, leaned w-a-y out and dropped my bag about eight feet down onto the gravel by the tracks. Disbelieving, I stepped off the train, down-down-down the bank, so when my feet finally hit the ground, my head was even with the lowest step! There was nothing around but trees and a narrow gravel path alongside the tracks. I'm a brave world traveler, so I put on my backpack and started yanking my bag along the gravel path toward some distant lights, as the train pulled out again. It took forever, and I was dirty, sweaty and scratched up by the time I finally reached a long concrete walking ramp.

The Chitila gara is a big one, with several lines and underground walks, so I went down the stairs and followed the arrow to the left, back up the stairs, and out onto... a dark alley with no lights anywhere. I mean nothing around at all. The only thing I could do was gulp, sob, and go back down the stairs and cross under all the tracks, hoping there would be something, anything, on the other side. Yes! There were lights, back up the tracks! I went into the little station, and there were four men standing around. In spite of all my entreaties, they all iinsisted that there were no taxis available for this station, that none ever came here, and that none ever would. They made it clear that there was no point walking up the street, because there would be nothing there to find. The station clerk wanted to sell me a train ticket back to Gara de Nord, the main Bucharest station, where I could find a hotel room. It finally sunk in that this is truly a bad part of town, and that no one comes here but local folks. The big train station must be left over from earlier days when this was an important stop.

My Romanian isn't that great, but they certainly got that I was desperate to get to the Baneasa airport, that my plane would be leaving soon! I was probably slightly hysterical by now. One of the men finally said he would take me there, that he had a driver coming to get him soon. Well, if you've been in Romania, you know that "imediat" could be hours or even tomorrow, so one can only guess what soon might be. But the driver did arrive in about ten long minutes, and after a long and torturous trip through nighmare traffic in north Bucharest, they dropped me at the main street in front of the airport. I was happy to give them money for beer and wine, in grateful thanks. I still had a long, wet (did I mention that it is raining all this time?) walk to the crowded terminal. They don't have queues to speak of, and no signs, just people pushing everywhere. Still, I somehow managed to get a boarding pass and get to the right gate, where when I went to get on the plane, the girl started hollering at everyone that I was supposed to be on a different plane, which, thank heaven, hadn't left yet. I was the last to board, but was finally in my seat when the plane took off.

The return was almost as bad. By now I expect nothing, though, and the return is never as urgent, anyway. I'm again heading to the Chitila gara, but this time I figured I could get a taxi from the airport, and surely they'd take me out there to catch my train. I have 1 1/2 hours to make the connection, but when the plane was an hour late leaving Stuttgart, and 1 1/2 hours late arriving in Bucharest, it was obvious that I'd never see that train station again. As the passengers are getting off the plane, I shake my head and tell the stewardess, rather resignedly, that I had definitely missed my train. I asked if she knew of a hotel near the main gara, and after she thought for a bit, said she would take me in her car. I couldn't believe it, I've never had a flight attendant offer personal help like that. It took a while to get through customs and immigration, baggage claim, and squeeze through the crowded terminal to get outside. I never expected her to show up, but she did. Turns out that Anda is an attorney who is taking a break from her law practice, she is a truly beautiful and kind woman. Thank you so much, Anda. She made sure I got a hotel room, and even wrote down what I should say to get a taxi to the autogari militari (bus station) the next day, to find a ride back to Targu Jiu. In the morning I checked the schedule on the internet (now that my Romanian cellphone was working again) and learned that I only had 40 minutes to get dressed, check out of the hotel, get a taxi and get to the bus station. Otherwise, I'd have to wait for many hours. To wind up this long tale, I got the fastest, wildest, most determined taxi driver in all of Bucharest, and he did get me across town to the autogari with five minutes to spare. If I hadn't been so exhausted and resigned to my fate, and already white-headed, I would have aged ten years on that ride. We were in the ditch, cutting in front of cars, running red lights, and being honked at by every other vehicle on the road. It was amazing, and then he spun around in the street so we were facing the other way, and ran right up on the curb in front of the station. Ah, life in Romania.