It's hitting midnight, and am in El Prat Airport about to check in. I gaze up & down the line - I see only Romanians, their huge suitcases and thick winter jackets. I make a mental note that it's going to be really cold, and wonder why no other Catalans had planned the same trip.
We're alone - aside the Romanians and myself the airport is practically deserted - There are only Romanians at the Security pass, when I go and take a leak, I recognize the man next to me from the check-in line; when I'm not sure what gate we're leaving from , I need not worry. Just follow the crowd - we're all going the same way. You wonder, with all this proximity, whether by the time you get to Cluj Napoca you'll be at the point were you're exchanging E-Mails and phone numbers with your fellow passengers.
The eerie airport silence is suddenly pierced by a repeated announcement over the public address system - last minute call for two guys travelling to Birmhingham. I picture them both passed out snoring on an airport seat obvlivious to it all, and cruely let out a grin.
Flight goes without incident (resonable considering I collapse into sleep as soon as I take my seat), and we touch down on Romanian soil in the pitch blackness that is 5am.
I grab my bags and head for the bus stop: I want to get to the Cluj's main railway station, and then head out to the countrysdie. I flag down a bus, ask driver if we're going to the station - he nods, I get on. After a while we stop - the driver waves me over and makes signs for me to accompany him. We walk over to another bus, he talks to the driver and tells him where I'm going. I think back to BCN and wonder whether a bus driver there would ever do anything remotely similar. When we get to station, I thank my new driver and, using universal sign language once again, ask him how much the fare is - I haven't paid a cent since leaving the airport - he gives me a warm smile and shakes his head as if to say: nothing, you're welcome...incredible.
I buy my ticket (Romanian prasebook coming in handy), give Cluj Napoca a quick whistle stop tour, and then board the train for a 4 hour journey through rolling countryside (unthawing by this stage) to Sighisoara, a medieval Saxon town: citadel perched on a hill-top, cobbled streets, half-a-millenium old townhouses...and also where Dracula was born. I've come at a good time - the streets are practically deserted and tourist-free, I can only imagine (and frown) at how this place must change with the summer tourist season.
Tomorrow, I'll keep on the move and head south to Brasov...more stories from there.
1 comment:
What about the ladies mate?
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