Many of you know that Homer is my idol. Unfortunately on Wednesday 22 August, the wrong Homer was my inspiration for a long and rather trying journey.
Normally, I'm the master of forward planning for holidays. I know exactly how I'm getting from one place to another, timetables and the like. For some reason, before leaving London, when considering how to get from Sighisoara, deep in Transylvania, to Varna on the black sea coast, which is about 450km as the crow flies. All I did was set a day aside for the trip.
My "detailed" planning began the day before when, as I was waiting for a train in Brasov to take me to Sighisoara, I causally enquired how I'd get to Varna by train. It was about 6:45pm. They said I had two options. The first was to get straight to Bucharest now and get the overnight train (its about 3 hours by train from Brasov to Bucharest). Not an option as I had to get my pack from Sighisoara, two hours further away from Bucharest. The other option was to get a train tomorrow morning leaving Bucharest at 9:30am and spend the day getting there by train, changing at Russe on the Bulgarian border. That meant getting the 6:10am train from Brasov, which meant getting a train leaving from Sighisoara no later than 4am (no such train existed).
It was then I thought this might get a bit awkward.
By option was to take the first train to Bucharest from Sighisoara. That was just before 9am, and being a fast service it got to Bucharest about 1:30pm. Added to this, I had enough money on me for the hostel or the train ticket but not both. One of them had to let me pay by card because by the time I got back to the hostel it was dark as I wasn't overly keen to wander the streets with a wad of crisp notes.
So I headed to bed, and awoke about 7:30 to grab some breakfast, settle my bill and make for the train station. Plenty of time. After getting ready and packing, I grabbed some toast and the only other bloke that was up told me there had been an incident the previous night. A bloke had been beaten up and robbed by Gypsies. The idiot had got into a car full of men that had stopped to give him a lift. Still, I was happy that I decided against walking through town with heaps of cash the previous night.
I saw the owner of the hostel and paid her - in cash unfortunately which meant I needed to pay for the train ticket by card. I wasn't confident that would be possible, given the ticket office was in an old shipping container. And my fears were confirmed about 20 minutes before the train arrived. Luckily there was a taxi waiting outside the station so I raced into town to get money out and raced back, with about five minutes to spare to buy a ticket and board. Once on board all I could do was relax and watch the countryside go by (not quickly enough for me).
Upon arrival at Gara du Nord station in Bucharest, more or less on time at 1330, I set out to find a way to get to Varna. This was where the real fun began. My first priority was to see if there was any way of getting to Varna by rail, so at the train station I headed to the crowded window for international bookings desk. It seemed the line took ages to move and it seemed like there was literally no one attending the window answering queries. While I was waiting, with my pack over my shoulder, a tubby bloke in a yellow t-shirt walked up to the line.
"Varna? Varna? Anyone go to Varna?"
I asked him about it. "Thirty-five. It cost thirty-five [about £9]. We find one more person and we go. I drop you in Mangalia [a resort town on the Black Sea coast in Romania, about 6km from the Bulgarian border], you go to Varna from there."
My trusty Lonely Planet told me that Varna was about 25km from the border. I was initially very interested. But he looked a little shifty. He was hanging around, looking for a second person while I asked at the window about trains. I had a bad feeling about him.
The only train they offered to Varna was the overnight which I already knew about and wasn't all that keen on. You hear bad stories about overnight trains in this part of the world, and besides, I'd already paid for my accommodation. As I was finishing up I decided to bolt in the opposite direction. He called after me but didn't chase me, and I didn't look back.
It was almost 2pm. Famished, I got something to eat out the front of the station for lunch. Whatever it was, it was awful. There was a bus station around the corner. I looked for it, but couldn't see it anywhere. I asked over the road at an Ibis hotel. I got a dirty look on entry (must be coz Ibis Hotels are so classy they didn't want my type). They said there was no bus station in Bucharest. Turns out the bus station is actually just a bus stop over the road. I had to think about trains again.
Consulting my guidebook, I saw trains to Mangalia and nearby Constantia left from another station, Gara Obor. I decided to see what trains were on offer there, and got in a cab. The meter seemed to be rising awfully quickly, and I noticed the tariff was RON7.90/km (normal is RON1.40 - about 30p - per km).
I asked how much it would be. He said about RON40, which I could deal with.
I asked why it was RON7.90. He said "I am independent, not part of company" as if that answered it. Infact that made me a bit more scared - he could've been kidnapping me.
"That's way more than usual."
"It will be about forty," he reassured me. "You want me to stop cab?" I said no, but made sure he knew I was not happy in my usual loud way.
He proceeded to take the main roads in town which all had road works. The meter kept climbing. It got to thirty and he weren't moving. I silently decided there was no way I was paying more than forty no matter what the meter came to.
We were less than half way there when it hit forty. Its at this stage that I should mention what my chauffeur looked like. He was middle-aged and sported the mandatory Romanian moustache. He was big too. A little fleshy but definitely solid, and looked able to handle a rough customer. The meter kept climbing. In my mounting panic I convinced myself I could take him.
After a couple of surprising and scary sharp turns (see comments about kidnapping above), we arrived there. The meter read RON78. About twenty quid. I was careful to get out and get my pack from the boot before the question of money came up. He stood there and I handed him a RON50 note. His hand stayed out for more.
I looked at him with cynicism and said loudly "you're kidding - you ARE kidding - there's no way I'm paying any more." I was petrified though.
He just shot me a dirty look and got in the cab. But as he turned away from me I swore I saw a smirk escape.
He'd obviously ripped me off enough not to worry about the extra thirty or so.
It was 2:45pm. I headed into the station and it was much smaller. The information booth didn't offer too much in the way of English speaking. It was all pointing and writing times down. Turns out the next train to Constantia got me there about midnight. No good. They suggested I try the bus station next door.
No dice.
There was a bus station in Bucharest after all, and there were buses there, but noone who I could ask about buses to the coast and no destinations I recognised.
I had to get back to the main station again. With more than a little trepidation I got a cab.
It cost RON12, including tip.
It was 3:15pm now. I looked again for some sort of bus depot. That dodgy bloke in the yellow t-shirt must have some from somewhere. After about half an hour looking (lugging my backpack still), I finally found one. And there was about to Constantia. And it would go on to Mangalia. And it was leaving now. And it was a nice bus!
I asked how much. They said RON40. I smiled - less than the cab ride. It took about four hours all told. There were two stops. Constantia of course, but before that we pulled in to a truck stop in Calarasi, on the Danube.
Now my penchant for truck stop bains-marie is well known. And I've seen some very good ones in my time (road trips to the Kalgoorlie Cup top the list). But this one is right up there. Not just the usual deep fried gear (there was plenty of that), there was some classier stuff too: shishkebabs and the like. And there was also a load of traditional gear too. Fantastic! And not a bit healthy.
We were soon on our way again. After a stop in Constantia we got to Mangalia about 8pm. This place is a strange sort of seaside resort. Kinda like a Romanian version of Mandurah, pre-Dawesville-cut. But with more booze.
I was dropped there, basically without a word. I had no idea how to get to Varna. No confuse matters, there were buses going to a smaller town down the coast, Vama Veche. I kept waiting for one to Varna. After about and hour I started to get worried. After another half-hour I was looking for alternatives. Some locals suggested I head to the bus station. I hopped in a minibus and asked them to drop me there. It was another bus stop with delusions of grandure. And it was also outside a sh!tty hotel.
I stuck my head in. Buses to Varna?
An attractive girl said it was unlikely, but they'd be here if they were anywhere. The alternative was to get a bus to Vama Veche and get to the border from there. I waited. All the buses were doing a local circle route. A large Romanian family (is there any other type) got to the bus stop. They waited too. We were all waiting for the same bus, and I had no doubt that they'd let jump on to the bus infront of me.
It finally arrived at 10:30pm. They clambered on as expected. And I was about to shove on, backpack and all, when one of the guys indicated I should get on in the back. I hopped on, put my pack down and realised I would be standing with a few others in the back of this minibus. As I drove off I was thinking one thing.
This is exactly how illegal immigrants are taken to pick strawberries in slave conditions.
Luckily my fears were allayed as I was dropped off in Vama Veche. I walked down the main drag (which was crushed limestone, not sealed) towards the beach. The place was pretty cool. Nice small bars and eateries, and small hotels. I walked in to one.
"I need to get to Varna tonight."
"There are no taxis here. You'll have to stay I think."
Smelling a conflict of interest, I asked how far the border was. I knew it was close.
"About two kilometres. You can walk it in twenty minutes."
"Will I get a cab from there?"
"Maybe, but you won't get one here, that's for sure."
"OK, thanks. I might see you in half an hour, but I hope not."
I trudged off. I was happy to walk it until I realised it was pitch black with fields on either side. Noone was around. Another opportunity for kidnapping (I make that three). But I made it to the border OK.
I approached very very nervously. I donned a massive smile and said slowly and carefully, "do you speak English?"
"Yes."
"I need to get to Varna tonight. Is there a cab you can call?"
"Yes. Wait here please. On the Romanian side." They took my passport.
Fifteen minutes later the cab arrived. It was 11:30pm. I asked how much. He said 140lev (about 40 quid, A$100). I was aghast.
"Its 25km away! That's all!"
"25km?? No its 110km."
A couple of minutes down the road we passed a sign that showed he was right. Bloody Lonely Planet lied to me!
Anyway we made small talk as much as you can given the language barrier. He was an amiable chap. We drove in silence mostly. By the time we got to Varna it was 12:45am and I was utterly famished.
I saw a McDonalds.
By 12:47am I was full and in a taxi on my way to Gregory's hostel. The guy didn't know where he was going. We stopped in the "centre" of Zvezdesta where some juvenile delinquents were loitering. He asked one of them (the only girl, naturally) how to get to Gregory's.. It was hard to explain so she got in. A couple of minutes later we were there. Finally. It was 1:05am, and my Odyssey was over.
No cyclops. No sirens. And no sacred cattle (expect the Big Mac). But I got there safely. Eventually.
Now let us never speak of it again.
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