At the End of the World

The morning starts when the bright rays of sun penetrate through the windows and tickle me into getting up. I set out after quickly getting rid of the daily chores.

I’ve been told that hitchhiking is pretty common in Maramureș (this region), so on the road towards Sighetu Marmației I try to thumb down cars, but they keep driving on. Well, at least they extend their hands and point downwards with their index fingers, which I take to mean that they are travelling within the village itself.

Finally, about 1.5km and 30-odd cars later, a navy-blue BMW stops. Two young guys are on their way to Sighet. We get chatting and they ask me how to say a few words in English. And when they find out that I am Indian, they ask me to teach them a few words in Hindi! (Well, to be 100% honest, like most „we know so much more about the world than the ignorant Americans” Europeans, they ask me to teach them a few words in „Indian”, but even so...)

While they do not understand any languages except Romanian, they are big fans of Indian actress and former Miss World, Aishwarya Rai. Evidently beauty and music do transcend borders.



BUNTY AUR BABLI Kajrare (Ochi negri)
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As we get closer to the town, the question of where I want to be dropped arises. I tell them that I am going to Săpânța, but before that I want to buy a train ticket from the gara. They offer to drop me at the gara, but need to stop by at a place for 4-5 minutes on the way, if that’s okay with me. That’s okay with me.

The place they need to get to is on Ștefan cel Mare street and once inside town, we ask literally dozens of people for directions. Nobody has the faintest idea of where the Ștefan cel Mare street might be or, for that matter, which street we are on.

Finally, by sheer dumb luck I see the road marker and get onto the correct street. We stop at a café with orange walls. Getting out of the car, we see some steps leading up to the, well, nowhere really. They seem to have been built for any ghosts that might be passing by and decide to enter the shop through the wall.

At the café bar, we have some ceai, which I am not allowed to pay for because I am a guest in their country. Thereafter we go to the auto-parts counter right outside where they need to get a quotation on some components. While the shopkeeper telephones his contact to get the required details and my two friends laugh inexplicably. Back outside they tell me they were laughing as the shopkeeper was talking in Hungarian on the phone.

At the station, I thank the guys and go to the ticket counter to buy a ticket for tonight’s train to București. There are 2 options for the sleeping couchette – I can choose a berth in a 6-berth cabin or one in a 4-berth version. The 6-berth cabin option sets me by back by RON 96.

Outside, I find the guys waiting for me. They asked around and nobody seems to have any idea as to where a bus going to Săpânța can be found. So they have taken it upon themselves to find me the bus stop, which they reckon, sensibly, should be somewhere towards the road going to Săpânța.

In a couple of minutes we stop by a bus stop to ask where the one for Săpânța-bound buses is and, as it turns out, this is it. I take leave of my kind friends, and as I am waiting for a bus, I figure that now time is at a premium. So I quickly buy an Africana Cocos and a Primola Lapte from the concessions stand and head across the street to the taxi stand.

I ask a driver whether he’d take me to Săpânța and bring me back, and what he’d charge for it. Asks where I want to go to in Săpânța. And before I can answer, he follows it up with „Cimitir vesel?”

Well, that’s right, my good man. The next question is about how long I am likely to stay there. About an hour, I think. I am offered a price of RON50, which I think is a fair price considering that Săpânța is about 20km away.

At the cemetery, one is greeted by a grim reaper, who is not that grim and, in fact, displays remarkable levity. It is while buying the entrance ticket that I realize that my greeting has changed yet again, this time to „Servus”.

I half-expect the cemetary to be packed with people chatting and roaring with laughter. But it looks deserted, which is par for the course for Monday morning. In fact, the „merry” part of the cemetery’s popular name comes from the 2-3 night wake wherein the „mourners” eat, drink, and make merry to celebrate the life of the deceased friend or relative.

The scaffoldings suggest that the church is undergoing restoration work. Right in front of the entrance to the church is the grave of Stan-Ioan Patras, wood-carver and the creator of the merry cemetery. It is said that Patras began carving the epitaphs on the oak crosses in 1934.

The „headstones” in the cemetery are made of wooden planks typically carved into stylized crosses and painted „Voroneț blue”. They usually also have floral motif and geometrican patterns painted in red, green, white and gold.

Additionally, they have painted on them, their subjects, mostly describing their occupation, but sometimes referring to their passions, salient qualities, or mode of death. The cemetery is almost like a collective memory or an open-field history-record of the little commune.

Another fascinating aspect of the cemetery is that instead of the typical third-person inscription „Here lies < Name>”, the headstones here speak in the first person „Aici eu mă odihnesc… (Here rest/lie I < Name>…)”

A few of these crosses also have photographs of the deceased, in line with mid-twentieth century graves from around the world. Also, while a few of the graves are covered with concrete slabs, most have little green patches growing flowers (and even berry bushes).

Not all the headstones are bright and chipper, of course. The chipped paint on many shows the many storms they have weathered. Even the flowers seem to be sun-burnt.

As I turn left by the twin candle-chambers, I discover the only human presence on the lot in the form of two girls, in their early twenties, brandishing cameras. I ask them „E frumos, nu?”

„Sorry?”

„It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Turns out that they are visiting from Bratislava. Their next stop? The painted monasteries of Bucovina!

On the way back to Sighetu Marmației, there is a Roman Catholic church in Sarasău. It is an interesting, modern-looking building with a thin, tall bell-tower.

Click here to check out my pictures from Săpânța of 29 Sept 2008.

The cab drops me off at Memorialul Victimelor Comunismului și al Rezistenței (The Memorial of the Victims of Communism and of the Resistance) as requested.

The entry fee is RON 2.50 payable at the reception desk. There is also a RON 3 photography fee, but the gentleman at the desk suggests that I should go around the museum, and if I decide to take pictures, I can buy the ticket on my way out.

The memorial has been created in the Sighet prison building, and is spread over 3 floors. Before you start going around the memorial, you may want to take the 4mts introduction, available in English or Romanian, at the entrance. You may also want to borrow a copy of the detailed museum write-up in either English or Romanian.

As you go past the timeline boards, and enter the prison, you will encounter John 8:32 „Then, you will know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” in several languages. On the board, I am delighted to see the Hindi version: „तुम सत्य को पहचान जा ओगे और सत्य तुम्हें स्वतन्त्र बना देगा”, in spite of the small errors. For one, they probably made an error converting it from a printed copy to the brass moulds – the 5th and 6th words on the wall should actually be one word. In other words, the space between the two is erroneous. The other two errors are not so much errors as lack of sophistication in the understanding of the nuances of language – the current version says „You will recognize the truth and the truth will make you free”. In my opinion, John 8:32 should read „तब तुम सत्य को जान जाओगे और सत्य तुम्हें स्वतन्त्र कर देगा”

There are cells upon cells that used to house political prisoners, but have been converted into showcases of historical record. While some cells have granular themes in terms of people (e.g. – Iuliu Maniu, the Bratianu family), location (e.g. – the one about the Pitești prison, the home of „brainwashing”) or event specificity (e.g. – the one about the formation of Solidarnosc), most are thematically wider in scope (e.g. – Art behind bars, Poetry in prison, Intellectual life in prison, Women in prison, Persecution of church and culture, Torture methods, etc.). Also marked are the respective cells where Iuliu Maniu and Gheorghe I. Bratianu died. There is even a monument in the memory of the victims in the little green patch in the backyard.

However, the most poignant and provocative, from my perspective, are the gallery of victims (wall upon wall plastered with names of people fallen) and the cell dedicated to life in the communist era. When I walk out of the memorial museum, I have improved my understanding of the era a little bit, and this understanding feeds into to formation of my thoughts and opinions.

I need to mail something, so I buy an envelope from a bookshop and finish the packing and mailing at the post office. The young lady who collects the packet saw me use my laptop when I was checking the address, and she tells me that if I want to access the Internet, I could go to Café Moka on the other side of the park, which has a bust statue of Liviu Rebreanu smack bang in the middle of it (interesting for me as I am reading his „Pădurea Spînzuraților”).

The café is being cleaned. A young guy is trying to give me some complicated directions to another café when the landlady tells him to let me come in and use the Internet. They find me a place in a private room while the floor of the bar and restaurant area is being scrubbed and washed.

As I enjoy my lemon ceai with honey, I try to connect my laptop to the supposed wireless connection, but am unable to. Not only can the laptop not recognize any wireless networks, but the Windows wireless service isn’t running at all.

On the train from Suceava to Piatra Neamț, the computer had shut off in the midst of installing an update due to insufficient battery. Could that have messed up the system files? I am able to find a „Restore point”, but restoring my system configuration doesn’t help either. This is frustrating. Maybe I should find an Internet café that has its own computers.

So thinking, I set out towards the far side of the park. A couple of cab drivers chilling by their respective taxis can’t seem to agree with each other on where an Internet café might be, so I keep going. I ask a youth standing in a doorway, and he too pleads ignorance.

As I am turning the corner around Curtea Veche, the young man comes running to tell me that he just remembered that there is an Internet café on the back side of the building. Great, thanks!

A tween, presumably going home from school, invites my attention to a dead rat; he wants me to take its picture. So I ask him to pose with it, which he does to the charging of his more coy companion.

Right in front of me is an interesting church. I decide to check it out before looking for the Internet café. The church is rectangular and the building architecture doesn’t conform to the byzantine pattern most common in these parts. The inside, though, is beautiful in the more traditional way.

Suddenly, I have a feeling that I need to check the time and that I’m probably cutting it too close to the train’s time. I ask someone on the street and, indeed, I need to make haste. Asking for directions a couple of times, and looking around for apparently non-existent cabs, I hurry down the roads.

Click here to check out my pictures from Sighetu Marmației of 29 Sept 2008.

As I run to the gara, Explorish’s words echo in my mind „This is the only train from Sighetu Marmației to București.” Knowing me, what he was actually trying to say was „Don’t miss it!”

I miss it! I reach the station at 5:44, a good 3mts after the train’s scheduled departure time, and „the trains do run on time.”

A haggard man in a worn-out suit approaches me and tells me that I could still catch the train from Petrova, and that I can take a taxi there for RON 50. I have been warned against swindlers, but I think this guy lives in Petrova (or in its vicinity) and is merely trying to make an extra buck on his trip home.

„Well, RON 50 is too much, I tell him, how about RON 30?”

„Maybe 40”, says he.

„But I don’t have 40”, I tell him. I have a vague feeling that I have RON 40 in my inside right jacket pocket, and I take them out to see that my recollection was accurate.

„This is all I have, and I need to have 10, don’t I?”

Into his battered and well-weathered car, and off we go. He explains, using as few words as possible and well-aided by hand gestures, that the train goes down to Valea Viseului, where it has a scheduled 15mts stop, and only then gets to Petrova (scheduled arrival - just before 7pm), while we will drive straight through the high road, which is why we will beat the train to Petrova.

Some places in the countryside give me a feeling as if I have crossed over into Ukraine. Even the names of places like Crăciunești and Rona de Jos etc. are written in Cyrillic in addition to Roman script. And the name of my destination, Petrova, sounds very much like an Ukrainian name. Not surprising, considering that Sighet is closer to the Romania-Ukraine border than the nearest Ukrainian town, Rakhiv.

Petrova is about 30km from Sighet and the drive affords pleasant views of the valley from positions of vantage. The station in the village doesn’t feel like a station at all – there are no buildings in sight, no benches or covered platforms – none of the usual signs of a rail station. This effect is further enhanced by the fact that in Romania, the platforms are hardly elevated and are almost level with the rails themselves. But some people are waiting there with luggage, which reassures me.

Looking at a couple of gypsy families waiting here, I realize that in his movie Crna mačka, beli mačor, while using caricatures and stereotypes for comic effect, Emir Kusturica actually hasn’t exaggerated too much, as far as the attire, looks and mannerisms are concerned.

Somehow, it reminds me that while Moldova and Transilvania have amazing natural beauty, it is the people that have really moved me. They have been very nice and generous to me, and I am grateful. And I don’t, at all, subscribe to the famous half-joking expression, „The only problem with Romania is that it has too many Romanians.”

Also, in many parts of the world, the people from the mountains (did I hear „hillbillies”) are considered „slow” or just plain stupid.





I don’t like generalizations, but even otherwise I think this is a ridiculous idea. Some of the smartest people I have had the good fortune to know are from the hills. I think what is usually referred to as their „stupidity” is a certain gullibility owing to an inherent trust in people, which I think is actually a very endearing quality. But of course I might be biased - That people are trustworthy unless proven otherwise is also my own approach.

Waiting at the Petrova station, I try, for the first time, the old movie-cliché of pushing one’s ear against the rail to hear the sound of an approaching train. While one knows that sound travels faster through metal than through air, it is very interesting to actually conduct this little experiment and see that one actually does hear the train through the rail quite a good time before it can be heard through the atmosphere, and long before it is visible.

I have waited for about 20mts when the train arrives at the station. The bogie-attendant gives me a 0.5L bottle of water, and keeping my ticket, also issues me sheets, a blanket and a pillow for the night. The journey to București is uneventful, most of it spent sleeping.

Back in București, I can’t find my eticket and only have a vague sense of the time of my flight, so it is right away 133 to Piața Romană and 783 from there. At the airport, I have to wait a while before the Swiss counter opens, thereafter I get my boarding pass for the 12:55 flight rather quickly. The return flight is to the London City (not Heathrow) airport through Geneva.

The Geneva airport has several “plug in” points, little pairs of cubicles with all different kinds of electric sockets, in most lounges and waiting areas, which is a very smart move for any city that aspires to be a global business destination.

The London City airport is small, but it is great in how close it is to the central London. And since the City is where London’s financial institutions are concentrated, it must be very convenient for the Swiss bankers to be able to fly here directly.

So there you have it folks – I have been to Romanian Moldova but not to Iași, to Transilvania but not to Brășov, to France but not to Paris, to Switzerland but not to Geneva, to Germany (though admittedly it was only a flight stopover) but not to Berlin, to Tanzania but not to Zanzibar…

Click here to check out my pictures from the journey home of 30 Sept 2008.

To the End of the World

My host asks me again if I am sure that I really want to go „to the end of the world”. I am sure.

At the autogara, it is easy to find my bus, for it is the only one around. By the door of the bus, we meet a gentleman headed to Sighet, where he works though he resides in Piatra Neamț. He is a government servant who spends a couple of weeks at work, and then a week off at home. We chat a bit and board the bus when the driver arrives.

The bus snakes along the mountains lining River Bistrița through some beautiful scenery, which I enjoy ever so often when I wake up. That’s how I reach Vatra Dornei (literally „the hearth of Dorna”) – alternating between awake and asleep states all through.

At the autogara my Sighet-bound companion finds that there is a minibus that goes to Borșa (a town on our way) around noon (almost a half and one hour before the direct one to Vișeu de Sus). From Borșa it should be possible to find something for Bârsana, or at worst the originally planned bus to Vișeu de Sus. Time to get a ceai.

After we finish our teas and return to the bus station, there are still 20 mts before the departure time of our bus. So I decide to walk around town a bit and especially have a look at the church in the distance that looks interesting. The church is under renovation and construction work is being carried out even as people turn up in their best Sunday clothes.

Soon, I head back, clicking away as I walk. As I turn around after taking a picture from the bridge, a minibus stops in front of me. My good friend from Sighet is in the bus and signaling me to get on. This was serendipitous timing.

My friend from Sighet / Piatra Neamț is a frequent traveler and has a road map of Romania. Looking at it I realize that about 20km after Borșa, around Moisei, the road forks into two parallel routes to Sighetu Marmației, one through Vișeu de Sus and the other through Bogdan Vodă. The former is just 70km long compared to 85km for the latter and most buses from Borșa to Sighetu Marmației take the former. However, Bârsana is located off the latter, and therefore it is probably hard to hitch a 50km ride from Vișeu de Sus to Bârsana because certainly not many people are likely to undertake the journey involving a U-turn in their day-to-day lives. One option could be to go to Sighet and hitch a ride for the 20km and the other would be to get off at Moisei and hitch a ride for 40km.

At Borșa the bus drops us off at the Unicarm supermarket. It is quite an interesting sight – on your right you see this modern glass and metal building and on the left you see nature growing young in the mountains.

Here we try, unsuccessfully, to find if anything goes to Bârsana. So maybe I should go to Sighet and find a way to continue my journey from there. There is still time for the bus so we have lunch at the nearby restaurant with așa-și-așa food and very interesting interiors, jam-packed with knick-knacks.

At Sighetu Marmației, my companion finds his driver waiting for him. But instead of going straight home, he insists that he’d drop me at Bârsana. So a pear-juice each later, the three of us are off to Bârsana. My benefactor drops me off right at the gate of the monastery.

Mănăstirea Bârsana is a convent built in the post-communist era around a reclaimed church that was reputedly built around 1720 and had been abandoned since 1790. The village itself has been dated to 1326.

As is the norm for the wooden churches of Maramureș, the wooden structures do not employ any metal nails etc., owing to the ban on use of metal during the Austro-Hungarian reign. I don’t know if the little metal stabilizers used in the helical wooden stairs of the peripheral buildings are a later addition. The steeple of the old, main church goes up 56m from ground making the church the reportedly tallest wooden structure in Europe.

The monastery complex is a sight for sore eyes. The tall wooden steeples and floral carvings, the vibrant flower-beds and fruit-laden trees, the haystacks and the pet deer, the scenic mountains and the colorful forests on them, all weave a certain magic, which is only paralleled by the freshness of the air and the peace of the environs.

Beyond the quarters, are the fields belonging to the monastery. I believe they are used to grow food-crops. The tiny reservoir for the little spring in the complex has been converted into a wishing well by the faithful, as is evident from the multitude of coins, and even currency notes (!), in it.

I am lucky to have arrived when I have at the church, as the evening service has just started. A young nun is on her knees doing penance. Two other, relatively young, nuns standing respectively on the left and right side of the room take turns to read (and sometimes sing) from the scriptures in front of them. I like the stand that their open books are kept on – they are essentially turntables for books, and it is fascinating to see that the nuns often switch from one book to other. The fourth, seniormost, nun stands in the background, occasionally joining in the hymns but mostly praying quietly, and every so often goes out to sound the toacă (bellboard).

The monastery also has a little museum, which is surprisingly still open. The entry fee is only RON 1 and the place showcases, apart from historical and religious documentation and artifacts, articles characteristic of life and culture in this mountaneous region. It also does display and sale of handicrafts, mainly wood-carving and weaving related, from the nunnery.

Bârsana is variously spelt as Bârsana and Bîrsana, depending on which rule is followed (the pronunciation remains the same). I prefer „Bârsana” not due to any intellectual leanings towards using the grammar rule favoring the use of â, not î, but merely because in that form it resembles the name of the Indian town of Barsana. Incidentally, the pronunciation of the names of the two towns is exactly the same, though if push came to shove, Romanians would spell Barsana as Bărsana.

Like Bârsana, Barsana has religious significance. The legend goes that Lord Krrshna (Crîșnă to Romanian folk)’s lover Radha grew up in the town. While Bârsana monastery is a female monastery, Barsana town is devoted to Radha and has women in more prominent roles.

Even more interesting than the legend of Radha, though, is the Holi tradition of Barsana. From what I have heard, even as everyone is engaging in color-play, throwing colored water on each other, several packs of women set out with bamboo-staffs and wet sheets twisted into whips in search of unmarried men, especially those from out of town, to flog.

Anyway, it is dark now and I seek refuge in a pensiuna (did they use to be the only source of income of old folks?) managed by a little old lady. Romanians have a saying „Apără-mă de găini, că de câini nu mă tem. (Save me from the chicken, for of the dogs I am not afraid)”, and they probably coined it with the little old ladies in mind. Some would really try to fleece you.

Once in the room, I plug in my laptop and phone. There is a message from Explorish. Făcea treișpe-paișpe (he has been pacing up and down). He is surprised, and happy, to hear that I not only reached Bârsana, but reached here much earlier than expected.

After the SMS’s are over, I figure that I am a little hungry and venture out on the dark, deserted road. The little store is closed, but I am able to find an ice-cream and some sugary, chocolaty drink at the gas station.

Tomorrow we’ll get to see the merry cemetary and the communism museum. Good night!

Click here to check out my pictures from Bârsana of 28 Sept 2008.

The Pilgrimage

As Explorish had guessed and warned against, I wake up at every stop of the train. At one such stop, I open my eyes and look outside to check which station it is, but don’t see any indication of a name anywhere. There’s no one around that I can ask.

As I am still rubbing my eyes, searching for a name, the train starts to crawl. A clock at the station says it is 1.30am. Bacău! This is where I was supposed to get down. Should I „pull the chain to stop the train” and get down? Neaah...then I'd have to wait at the station till 4.30 or so. Instead, I should go to the next station, and take the train back here, for trains are cozier than the stations.

It takes almost an hour to reach the next station, Adjud, which suits me fine as my train from Bacău is at 4.30 anyway. Asking around at the station, I discover that the next train to Bacău is at 3.30, which is cutting it a little bit too close since it is about an hour’s journey. It doesn’t matter now – the deed is done.

There is a sandwich shop open but they have no vegetarian food. Outside on the platform there is a bar-cum-game-saloon where I find a packet of potato wafers and pear nectar. The wind is cool and nice and I enjoy walking on the platform, which is deserted except for a stray dog sleeping in a dark corner.

My train arrives at its due time, and delivers me to Bacău in one hour. Unfortunately, I have missed the connection literally by seconds – I can see its tail rolling out of the station. The next train is at 9am. So I walk out of the gara and to the nearby autogara and minibus station. Nothing goes to Piatra Neamț.

So I return to the station and catch a few hours of sleep. In the morning a gypsy guy comes to me, strikes a conversation, and talks about how he knows about Mahatma Gandhi, Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi, and how Mircea Eliade spent a good part of his life in India. He tells me how the Turks are the worst enemies of Romanians, and tries to sell me some t-shirts and belts, which of course I politely decline. Finally, he asks me to swap pens with him „for friendship” and I see no harm in that (I have a very cheap ballpen with more than half the refill empty) even though I know that the ballpen he is about to give me is almost certain not to work.

The public toilets are locked, so I go up to the first floor and freshen up in the toilet-bath suite of the railway officials’ (apparently deserted) office, and get back down well in time to catch my train.

The train to Piatra Neamț is a „personal” train („passenger train” to Indians, slow train to everyone else) that stops at every station and has a lulling rhythm. Since I am still sleepy, this suits me just fine, and I doze off almost as soon as I sit down.

I am woken up by Miss Green, a 20-something girl sitting across from me, whom I have thus named in my mind since except for her hair and nails she is wearing all green stuff - from shoes to dress to jewelry to accessories. She tells me that the ticket checker is almost upon us.

I am having a little trouble finding the ticket – in my half-asleep state I have forgotten where I kept it; this jacket has way too many pockets and I am way too eccentric to have a predictable pattern of keeping stuff. The ticket checker goes on to check the tickets of the other people in the compartment and returns a little later. I have found the ticket and by now I am fully awake.

Looking around, I see a sea of faces - old, young, bored, cheerful, chirpy, silent. The compartment is packed, but I can only clearly see the faces of the folks nearest to me: An old lady a few rows down is completely focused on weaving whatever she is weaving as the rest of her companions joke around eating sunflower seeds. There is one grey-haired moustachioed man smoking a pipe as the woman sitting next to him is apparently trying to sleep. There is a bunch of tweens fighting each other in jest. There's the family whose toddler wants to roam about freely. And there's Miss Green.

Towards the end of the carriage a group of 4-5 young girls is singing folk songs to a guitar. Their songs are lively, youthful and just pure fun to hear, and they keep going tirelessly from song to song. And once as they change the song yet again, I suddenly think „Wait! That tune sounds familiar.” It seems a little bit slower than I remember it, but…yes, I know it! Involuntarily and spontaneously, I break into „Cine trece valea seacă...”

I have barely uttered 2 words when I realize that the girls have stopped singing and it feels like all eyes in the coach are on me. Well, can’t stop now! So I keep going, „Cine trece valea seacă, cu hangeru fără teacă. Și cu pieptul dezvelit..” and signal with my hands for the girls to pick up the refrain „Andrii Popa cel vestit”. Sure enough, they pick it up, but they aren’t the only ones to do so. Many others join in – it’s as if the entire coach is singing now. It is surreal!

Even though I sing (read remember) only two paras of the song, I am showered with kisses, and offered pears, grapes, and sunflower seeds along the way - as if I am a homecoming hero or something. Ah, good thing I missed the 4.30am train, I think to myself.

Stepping out of the station at Piatra Neamț at 11am, I am reminded of my hometown Haridwar in India. It’s not that this place looks like Haridwar; it’s just the orange teleferic (skilift) cars here remind me of the the ropeway trolleys in Haridwar.

Though apparently only personal trains come here, I have a feeling that the small town of Piatra Neamț is a beautiful and popular tourist destination. Of course, I could be wrong, but I do not have the time to prove or disprove my hypothesis. There is a hill waiting to be climbed.

As I am trying to find how to get to Izvorul Muntelui (Spring of the mountain), the village from where the Ceahlău climbing track begins, a taxi driver offers to take me there for RON 60. I think that’s pretty steep. Well, the driver tells me, even if I get to Bicaz by bus, I’ll have to take a taxi from there and they’ll charge me at least RON 50. Hmm…thanks for the advice, but I don’t believe you at all.

Bicaz is 20km from Piatra Neamț and soon I board a minibus that charges RON 3.50 to take people there. On the way, we pass by Lake Bicaz, which is absolutely spectacular. If I were driving down this road, I would have stopped to take a picture or two and just sit down and take it all in. The water is placid, completely devoid of waves. The mountains on the other side stand proudly with the snowy hair declaring them to be old and wise. And a bright reflection of these mountains and forests is clearly visible in the waveless lake, making it look like one of those landscape paintings that are sold as posters and greeting cards. Maybe I’ll stop by here on my way back.

Izvorul Muntelui is 20km from Bicaz, and there is no indication that there is a bus service to there. The taxi charges me RON 24 for the journey and drops me right at the gate of the national park. I have not seen a spring or a creek around the village, so I guess Izvorul Muntelui probably means the origin or the start of the mountain.

The „taxă access” (entry fee) for Ceahlău National Park is only RON 3.50, which is a steal when you consider that the entry fee at Voroneț, which one enters for a very short duration, is RON6. The guard who sells me the entry ticket also hands me a map of the national park and advises me to follow the punct albastru bandă albastră (blue point blue band) trail.

He is a little uncomfortable with letting me go up all alone, especially after I tell him that I intend to return tonight itself (it is already quarter past noon). Apparently the diverse fauna of the mountain includes the lynx and the bear. There’s absolutely no problem if you are in a group, but there is some risk if you are alone.

I shrug that off, and assure him that I will stick to the trail. Now, where can I buy a bottle of water? He directs me to a restaurant close-by.

When I return with a 2L bottle of sparkling water in my „rucsac”, I find him slightly happier as a pair of other climbers has arrived. He asks the three of us to stick together and to stay on the trail, and we assure him that we will.

My companions are a București-based computer programmer in his early-20s and his mustached, religious friend in mid-30s. They are pleasntly surprised to find that I can speak a little bit of Romanian, and I am happy to be able to practice with them. They plan to climb up to Cabana Dochia (1750m) today and rest there tonight, venturing further towards Vârful Toacă (the peak - 1904 m) only tomorrow.

Ceahlău is by no means the tallest mountain in România (the tallest is Moldoveanu), but this is more than a climb – it is a pilgrimage. This mountain used to be home to Zamolxe, the God of Dacs. So sacred and legend-rich is the mountain that it is often compared to Olympus.

Among the legends are those of Panaghia, Vârful Toacă, tower of Bugha, stone of lime, crying stone, shepherd's stone, and lilies, etc.

Ceahlău is also home to some unusual flora and fauna. Apart from the lynx and bear, it has the black stag, marten, grouse, aquila and hedgehog. Among plants, it is has lion’s paw, lady’s slipper, warrior’s blood and larch to name a few.

About halfway to Cabana Dochia, we see hoofprints in the wet ground and the programmer tells me about the tales he has heard about a government biological laboratory somewhere on the mountain guarded day and night by horse-mounted armymen.

The mountain intermittently offers clearnings that afford spectacular views of the lake and the surrounding peaks, but the most stunning views start appearing at higher altitudes, and most of them involve forests of coniferous trees, on a mountain-slope, topped with snow.

The programmer doesn't think that it is snow on those trees, and he'd hate for there to be snow on this mountain. He asks the few people we meet on their way down whether there is snow up there, and gets conflicting answers. He stays in denial till I step on a wet broken branch and exclaim „Zăpadă!”

Sure enough, there is snow on the branch and it is quite likely that this freshly broken branch fell off the tree under the weight of the snow. We are approaching a cover of snow. There are only small patches of snow to start with, but as we step out of the forest and onto a knoll, it pretty quickly transforms into an all-encompassing cover. The good news for my programmer friend, though, is that now that the forest is behind us, the cabin can not be more than half an hour away.

The snow-covered Cabana Dochia is surprising large and preceded by a 4-part signboard that says nothing. This is even more hilarious than the several "Information panel coming soon" boards that we encountered on our way.

I wonder if the cabin is named after Baba Dochia, whose legend is behind the Dragobete celebration. Apparently Dochia was an old shepherd lady who wore 9 lambskins on a particularly cold day on the mountain. But it snowed heavily and as the snow melted, the lambskins got wet and heavy. So she took them off one by one, and finally froze to death.

Another tale goes that he was the daughter of the Dacian king when the Roman emperor was on his conquering spree against the Dacians. She escaped to the mountains disguised as a shepherd to avoid marrying him. She underestimated the cold and took off her lambskin garments, and froze to death along with her herd. As is the case with so many of these legends, a heartwarming story indeed!

The reception area of the cabin is also the communal dining area and I am almost surprised to see it packed. The stewards are running around with ceaiuri and cafele as climbers gathered around tables chat animatedly.

The landlady tells us that the Vârful Toacă is 2 hrs away, each way. Since it is almost 5pm, it doesn't seem to be a good idea to take up that enterprise if I am to reach Piatra Neamț tonight. So leaving our bags at my companions' room, we decide to pay a visit to the nearby skete, even as it is snowing lightly outside.

Upon our return to Cabana Dochia, we have a cup of warm and very sweet (almost Indian sweet) ceai each, after which I pick up my rucksack and take leave of my companions and set off on my way back down to Cabana Izvorul Muntelui.

As I reach the fork in the road, with one going up to Vârful Toacă and the other leading down to the blue band trail, I stop and take a look to the left and then to the right. On one hand it makes me uneasy to leave the mountain without reaching its peak, while on the other I must reach Piatra Neamț tonight if I hope to find a night-train to București.

While I stand there deliberating, a group of 3 youngsters comes from behind me and takes the path to the left. They plan to go to the peak and return to Cabana Dochia, where they have been staying for 2 days. That does it! I didn’t come all the way here for nothing.

It gets progressively foggier and the visibility keeps reducing as I scale the heights in the last stretch of today’s expedition with the assistance of directions provided by the 3 young climbers. The peak is more of a plateau than a peak, somewhat like the peaks of Scottish hills, except that unlike the Scottish peaks the plateau here is more elongated than round. In fact, it is easy to see why it is called Toacă – there is a marked similarity to the item in question. Anyhow, I don’t have the time to ponder over such issues – the visibility is low and the cold wind is slapping my face with a pack of needles. Rushing down, I feel pretty good as I pass by Cabana Dochia again.

As I get into the forest, the fog clears quite a bit, but I can see that it is getting darker. Soon the sun will go down completely and while the moon may be bright enough for me to make out shapes, I won’t be able to see the trail markers in that light. I really need to hurry down.

One of the unsaid guidelines of hillwalking is „never run” for it can be hard to manage your momentum, especially on the way down, and hills are strewn with treacherous traps like loose gravel, tree stumps, etc. I don’t have much of a choice, though, as the sun is going down fast, which is pretty much the norm for mountains.

I am sure that I will fall, but that’s not necessarily such a bad thing – all I need to do is make sure that I fall down the right way and avoid any serious injuries. I give myself 3 falls – if I fall thrice then I will reevaluate my plan of running all the way down to the base.

Finally, I beat the sun to the base – I can see the last red sliver sink behind a mountain as I reach Cabana Izvorul Muntelui - and that too with just one fall on the way.

The guard is happy and surprised to see me again and asks if all is well. There are no taxis in sight so I ask him where I can get one. If I have a phone, he tells me, he can call one for me. Well, I don’t have a phone. Hmmm…that’s a problem.

Well, what about the restaurant? They should have a phone. I ask if he thinks the place might still be open. So he takes me directly to the establishment, which is great as I couldn’t have navigated to it by myself considering that among all the log cabins around, the restaurant is almost unmarked and easy to miss.

He requests the landlady on my behalf to call a taxi. I haven’t eaten all day so as I wait I gorge down some vegetable ciorba and munch on some delicious cașcaval pane with the best chips/ fries/ French fries/ Greek potatoes that I have ever eaten in my life. All for the grand price of RON 16.50

The cab duly gets me to the minibus stop in Bicaz for Piatra Neamț for RON 25, and another RON 3.50 in bus fare takes me back to Piatra Neamț gara. I would like to read my email and charge my cellphone at least long enough to read my messages, if any. Therefore, I walk into a grocery store and ask the middle-aged proprietor if there is any Internet café around. Truthfully, I am just taking a shot in the dark and don’t really expect her to know. But she does, and tells me to go straight down Bulevardul Republicii and the café should be on the right after the third traffic light.

Upon reaching the intersection with Bulevardul Decebal, which seems to be the spot the lady indicated, I do not see any Internet café around. So I check with the old gentleman (yes, I am picky about whom to ask about technology-related issues) manning the movie-rental place. He tells me to go straight down Decebal. When I see a church after about 1km, I should keep going as further down the road is the restaurant Laguna. An Internet café by the name De Muerte (no kidding) is in the same building. He even sketches a little map for me on a scrap of paper.

„Indian?” he asks.

„Da,” I smile back. Finally!

Upon reaching Laguna, I have trouble finding De Muerte. I even ask the girls managing what seems to be a spanking new superstore, but they have no clue. I try to look around the building in the hope of finding the café but without success. Crestfallen, I start to lumber back when I see a 12-13 year old in a parking lot. Jackpot! When I ask him, he drops what he is doing, and leads me to De Muerte, which indeed is in the same building as Laguna; it’s just that somehow from the side it looks like the building has ended much before it actually does.

Internet usage charges at De Muerte are just RON 2 per hour, and I am able to plug in my laptop and mobile phone for charging, and check my email. Explorish îmi ținea pumni (has had his fingers crossed for me) since our call got disconnected last night and I reply to his email telling him that I’ve reached Piatra Neamț safely.

He calls me right away. I tell him that I’ve returned to Piatra Neamț after climbing Ceahlău and that I do not have a plan as to what to do next. Perhaps I could go to Maramureș. I am about to scour the Net to see if there are any trains tonight, and if not I’ll check for hostels to spend the night here.

„Wait!,” says he „I have a friend from Piatra Neamț and he should be able to help you find a decent place for the night. Let me call him.”

As luck would have it, Explorish’s friend, who is an advertisement executive in București, has just arrived in his hometown for a little vacation and offers to pick me up and host me for the night.

A hot shower later I feel almost human again. My host and I talk about Explorish, România and travels. His wife and 8-month old son are asleep, but he shows me their pictures on his iPhone. They are adorable. His wife and he are both originally from Piatra Neamț, but they met each other in București – talk about meant to be.

His son is very cute and loves being in front of the camera. He also loves to suck his big toe, which is considered very lucky in India. This kid is destined to be a star.

As hunger strikes, we cook some eggs and cașcaval for dinner. And then Explorish calls. He’s been hard at work, trying to figure out what I can do for the next part of my trip.

„Here’s the deal: It’s tough to get to Maramureș from Piatra Neamț - no trains at all. But I checked with another travel guru and he said there are buses. So i checked, and found this: Piatra Neamț - Vatra Dornei : 5.45 AM – 11.01, Vatra Dornei - Vișeu de Sus : 13.30 -17.14. Can’t find anything beyond that, but from there you should find some way to get to Bârsana, which has a beautiful monastery. You can sleep there. From there you can go to Sighet and visit the Communism museum. And Săpânța, which is close by. The train to București leaves Sighet at 17.14 and arrives at 7.19. So what do you say? How does it sound?”

„Sounds impossible.”

„So, you’ll do it?”

„Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The morning begins early as I would like to catch that 5.45 bus to Vatra Dornei. My host’s wife and son are awake, and I meet them in the kitchen. The little one is perky and energetic this morning. He’s definitely among the most social and friendly babies that I have met. A quick but engaging conversation and a hot breakfast later we are off to the autogara to catch that bus.

Click here to check out my pictures from Ceahlău of 27 Sept 2008.

The Bull Country

The train arrives in Suceava after sundown. I walk out of the station right into a „non stop”. The lady selling me the bottle of water has no clue where Mihai Eminescu street is, or for that matter, where Nicolae Balcescu street is, but she asks a supposedly more knowledgeable customer to help. He doesn’t know either, but thankfully I have a printout of the High Class Hostel’s webpage, which includes a small sketch-map.

„Aaaa!”, he points to the McDonald’s on the sheet of paper I have proffered „Centru!”

I am a bit taken by the prominence that was seemingly just accorded to McDonald’s, but ask where I could get a bus to get to the town centre. The bus stop is right by the side of the shop, though he doesn’t know which bus goes to the centre. At the bus stop, it turns out that all roads lead to Rome, and as luck would have it, there is a bus currently parked and boarding. Excellent! But I am still a little lost – from where do I buy a ticket, I ask the folks in what looks like a transport office? It is given in the bus itself.

The girl selling the tickets is nice and promises to tell me when to get down. And she keeps her word even though I doze off in the admittedly very short trip. The map on the hostel webpage could be better, but it isn’t too hard to find the place.

My hostess Monica is perky and welcoming. She shows me around the neat and cozy little place. My bed is in the smaller room, which is otherwise empty. So essentially I have the whole room to myself. Finally, we go back down to the lobby to complete the formalities. Like Villa Helga Bucharest, the per night per bed charges are RON 50. Unlike Villa Helga Bucharest, here one pays at check-out, not at check-in.

Monica gets folks to write down the countries they are from, and it turns out that I am the first Indian here. Don’t get me wrong – it doesn’t have to mean that I am the first Indian to visit Suceava, only that I am the first Indian to stay at the hostel, which, in any case, has been in existence for only 8 years. Even so, it still feels good.

I detect a hint of Northern England in Monica’s vocabulary and accent and ask if she has ever lived there. She nods but doesn’t answer my follow-up: “Whereabouts?” and moves on to other things, among them being the availability of wireless Internet. Excellent!

Another visit to infofer.ro reveals why I got a nonsensical schedule showing very few trains from București to Suceava the last time around – the system is station-specific. If, for instance, one searches for trains departing from Gara de Nord, departures from other București stations are not included. Moreover, if one searches just for trains departing from București the default setting is to show trains departing from Gara Basarab.

Anyhow, I manage to find a late night route to Bicaz, which is to be my next destination as the nearest train station to Ceahlău trails. Though Explorish has emailed me advising that I keep aside 2 days to enjoy the painted monasteries of Bucovina, I would really like to climb the Ceahlău, and I would really like to be back in București by Sunday morning. So, the idea is to get up early, visit the monasteries in Sucevița, Moldovița, Voroneț and Putna, and take in the culture and art (specifically, black ceramics) of Marginea, all in a day.

Of course, for all my bravado, I ultimately wake up not too long before 10 when the sun is shining brightly through my room’s window. Oh, just as well! Monica told me that the shop that sells cameras doesn’t open before 9 anyway. So I rush through the chores and head out into the town.

Suceava is a strangely interesting town. For one, it would seem that McDonald’s is the centre of life here – it is the centre of the city anyway. Secondly, the large Alexandria bookshop encourages people to read by putting up huge banners of quotes from Confucius (Natura ne aseamănă. Educția ne deosebește), Leonardo da Vinci (The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding), Constantin Brâncuși (Trebuie să încerci ne contenit să urci foarte sus – dacă vrei să vezi foarte departe), Mahatma Gandhi (Live like you’ll die tomorrow. Learn like you’ll live forever), Eugène Ionescu (Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together), AND Donald Trump. No, your eyes didn’t fail you; you read it right the first time around: Donald Trump.

Anyhow, the Photo Shop (not my fault, that IS the name of the place) is right next door to the bookshop. They have 7 cameras in stock, 5 if you count out film cameras. They follow “What You See Is What You Get” to the T, as the display cameras are the ones that are sold – which is not surprising considering that it is a small shop in a small town.

The establishment is “manned” by three ladies – the bored middle-aged one looks like the proprietor and the two enthusiastic young ones are probably the apprentices. None of the cameras are to my liking, but the gushing shop attendants manage to sell me a crummy Kodak C743 for RON 389, which is more than I should be paying, but the proprietor has made it clear that no negotiations are possible and I don’t have much choice. I also buy for fair measure a 2GB SD card for RON 89.

Back at the hostel, Monica offers me some tea. We get talking about food, and she apparently loves Indian food. Almost 8 years ago, she used to work in București for an expensive Indian restaurant owned by a Briton of part-Indian descent. Well, that explains the slight suggestion of Northern English in her.

She is a „certified” tour guide, and takes groups on trips to the monateries and Marginea. There is no fixed schedule; she is up for it whenever there is a willing group of 3 or more people. It is a 200km roundtrip and she charges RON 100 for it (she drives the group to all these places in her car). I think it’s a good deal. She suggests I look around the town today and take the monasteries tour tomorrow. It is a great idea, but tomorrow I intend to be climbing Ceahlău, no matter what.

Leaving my bag with her, I head out for my „sightseeing”. The first stop is Biserica Sfântului Nicolai, which is just around the corner. The church is dark inside but the glimmer of the blue and gold paint still comes through.

Just a short way down from the Piața 22 Decembrie, also known as town centre, is Biserica Domnițelor (Church of Principality), which looks pretty interesting. It is white and has a small garden. As the name suggests, it was the church of the principals of the town, and the royal babies used to be baptized here. The inside of the church is pretty small, dark and austere.

I think I should grab a bite before starting my exploration. Pub Chagall is closed for some reason, so I stop by the Melibeea Pastry shop. They have a few meat-topped pizzas, but no vegetariana, so I must be content with a couple of croissants. As I pay for them, the shop attendant asks me if I am Italian. A year ago I would have laughed at that, but by now I have been called everything from a Peruvian to (most incredibly) an Irishman, and besides she is only a teenager, so I politely tell her that no, I’m not Italian.

A path by the McDonalds goes through the woods and leads to Ceteatea de Scaun (literally Fortress of *the* Chair). It is an easy walk, with a few stairs, and a sizeable wet patch, and you are at the statue of Ștefan cel Mare (built in 1977), with Moldova’s symbol – the head of a bull – carved on the plinth, before you know it. The area around the statue and the path leading up to it seem to be a favorite haunt of young folks bucking school.

The road is flatter hereafter, and goes past a large cemetery. Soon after the cemetery one suddenly finds oneself on a paved tarmac. A left turn takes directly to the citadel, which, incidentally, is not visible from the junction as it is at a lower altitude. It is said that Petru Musat built the citadel between 1375 and 1391 to protect Suceava, the then capital of Moldova, from Turkish invasions. In late 15th century, Ștefan cel Mare added 8 bastions, raised the walls to 33m high, and widened the moat. The Turkish army under Muhammad II nearly blew it off in 1675, but it is said the citadel remained unvanquished. Later it was also victim to a strong earthquake.

As a result, only ruins remain of what must have been a source of might and pride for the Moldovans. Unconquered islands in an empire become potent symbols and an eyesore for the ruling overlord. One can only imagine the battles that were fought here.

Well, anyway, the walls must have been much higher for sure. There is a definite martial disadvantage to building a citadel at a point lower than its surroundings. If the relief of this area was in the 14th century as it is today, the walls must have been very, very high. Unfortunately, they aren’t here to be seen anymore. But what we do see, and what impresses me most about the citadel, is the moat. It is deep and wide, and in my mind I imagine it being filled with water and alligators or worse.

The building itself is angular and square with black-tiled inclined roofs. From some angles they look like a human face with a black hat. Several points in the Cetatea de Scaun afford nice views of the city, and I am sure Sf. Ștefan enjoys them as he stands alone above the chapel day and night.

Click here to check out my pictures from Suceava of 26 Sept 2008.

Back in town, I ask around how I could get to Voroneț, which is at the top of my list of the Bucovina’s famous painted monasteries. There are no trains that go there, but I should be able to find a bus at the autogara. The information officer at the autogara tells me that I should get to Gura Humorolui and find my way from there. He also points me to a „minibuz” ready to leave for there.

To confirm this information, I ask the driver if the bus goes „spre Gura Humorolui” and whether he could drop me at the right spot for Voroneț monastery. He replies in affirmative to both and tells me the ticket price of RON 6, in English. After purchasing the ticket, I contently retire to the back of the bus.

As a backup, I ask the young guy in the next seat if he’d let me know when we arrive at Gura Humorolui, and he tells me that that’s where he is going so I can get down where he does. Great!

At this gent’s stop, I ask the driver if I should get down for Voroneț, and he tells me it’s a little further ahead and that he’d let me know. So I stay there, standing by the door waiting for my stop. After a while, he suddenly turns around with an „Oh, shoot!” look on his face, and tells me that we passed my stop about 2km ago. Considering my options, I tell him to drop me off at the next stop, which he does.

There’s just one other person at the spot - a young, suited gentleman who appears to be waiting for his friends rather than a bus. There are no signs indicating that it is a bus stop – no seats, no shelter, so trash cans, no signboards. So I ask the gentleman if this was the bus-stop for buses going towards Gura Humorolui. He hasn’t a clue.

Luckily, we are standing in front of a hardware store, and I am able to find the proprietor who confirms that I’ve been dropped at the right spot. Another interesting thing that has happened in my transit from cosmopolitan Muntenian city of Bucharest to this rural location in Moldova is that the greeting has transformed from „Salut” to „Sănătate”.

A minibus going towards Gura Humorolui arrives pretty soon and I board it telling the driver where I want to go. When I ask him how much the ticket costs, he tells me that though the ticket costs RON 2, I don’t need to pay anything. I try to pay nevertheless, but he doesn’t accept. I suspect my original driver must have met him on the way and told him to pick me up and drop me at the right spot, which arrives soon enough. I am told that the monastery is 4km down the side-road of this T-junction.

A peasant is herding his 2 cows, sitting on his tiny horse-cart, going in that direction. The road itself if tree-lined. The wheat(?) in the fields is golden and ripe for harvesting. In the distance, a bird is chirping. The trees are changing colors and look positively beautiful. One can see, in the hills, forests of beech, from whom the region Bucovina gets its name („buk” refers to the beech tree in Ukrainian – the Romanian name of the region was apparently „țară de jos” or upper country). These forests remind one of the lush green forests in Shi Mian Mai Fu, which was shot in Ukraine.

Soon I pass over a bridge over the nice Voroneț river with a campsite on its bank. Also nearby is a paintball arena, of all things! I have walked about 3km, consistently trying to thumb down the occasional car going in that direction, when a Portuguese girl gives me a lift. She doesn’t speak any English but speaks Romanian fluently as she has been living here for over 4 years.

The first encounter with the monastery is the high, strong surrounding stone-wall, which makes you wonder why a monastery would need to be thus fortified till you realize that the monasteries of Bucovina had to defend against Turkish invaders, and sheltered large armies inside their compounds.

Mănăstirea Voroneț was built by Ștefan cel Mare in 1487 to commemorate his victory over the Turks at the Battle of Vaslui to fulfil his pledge to hermit Daniil, who inspired him to take on the Turks. But, if my understanding is correct, the feature for which the monastery is known – the spectacular frescos – were actually made on the order of Ștefan cel Mare’s descendant Petru Rareș in 1547.

The blue-painted monastery is quite a sight: magnificent and austere at the same time. The colors are bright, and yet have a humanlike warmth to them. Depending on where you look, you can see either lines of saints and martyrs, or Biblical scenes painted on the walls. Local and periodic references are everywhere. The archangels blow the bucium and the blessed souls wear Moldovan towels while the condemned souls wear Turkish turbans.

A fresco of The Last Judgement takes up one whole wall. Kings, popes, and most importantly Turks and Tartans strive to get out of the fire of hell, while to the right and left demons quarrel for ownership of the condemned. Beasts tear apart human torsos while the deer stands alone, watching.

Another wall depics genealogy of Jesus, and interestingly includes some European philosophers like Plato.

The characteristic vivid blue color is often referred to as Voroneț blue within Romania, and the composition of the color, drawn entirely from natural sources, remains shrowded in mystery.

Such is the artistic influence and historical significance of this monastery that it is sometimes referred to as the „Sistine chapel of the East”, and it is easy to see why.

According to the Smithsonian, creation of the frescos required expertise, stability and swiftness. Teams of painters would first even out the church’s rough stone walls with a thick layer of mortar, then smooth it out with a thin layer of lime plaster mixed with natural fibers such as finely chopped straw. After that, the artists had only a few hours to complete the paintings before plaster dried. Artists had to be chemists too, mixing pigments from rare clays, semiprecious stones and common minerals: Azurite and malachite for blues and greens, heated clay for reds, yellows and browns, etc. Since no organic binders (like egg white) were used, the colors have proven to be unusually durable.

Towards the back of the church are the characteristic fixture of Romanian Orthodox churches: stalls to light candles for Vii (the living) and Morți (the dead) respectively.

The inside is as vividly illustrated as outside, and though the lighting is dim one can only marvel at how well the colors have been preserved through the centuries.

As seems customery for Romanian monasteries, there are large murals of The Nativity and The Last Supper signifying, I guess, the cycle of life. Also true to the style of the other Romanian Orthodox churches that I have visited, the church here doesn’t have any pews either. Metal sheets, whether covering ornate wooden carvings or just engraved by themselves, seem to a favorite style at least in the region.

Interestingly, there are a couple of mosaics that seem very similar to the Hindu Yantras. I wonder if they are an artistic coincidence or a matter of some lost tradition.

The Romanian Tourism website says that a portrait of the donor family presenting a miniature model of the church usually appears to the right of the door in the nave of each of the painted monasteries of Bucovina, though I do not see one here at Voroneț.

Next stop – Marginea. This comuna is supposed to be still very traditional, and is known for producing characteristic black ceramic pottery. Outside the monastery’s compound, a family is taking down their make-shift curio stall. I ask them how I could get to Marginea village, and find that it is about 40km from here and there is no way I can reach there before nightfall.

Oh, well, maybe I’ll just check out the Humor monastery near Gura Humorolui (the town name literally means „The mouth of Humor”). While it is probably the smallest of Bucovina’s painted monasteries, it is unique in at least 3 ways: For one, it was built by the boyar (the local landlord), not the ruler. Secondly, it is surrounded by a wooden stockade instead of the standard stone rampart. Finally, and most importantly, it is one of the world’s select few houses of worship from the age that depict the devil as a woman.

On the way back I have barely walked 1.5 km when a middle-aged man in a beat-up sedan gives me a lift. He drops me off at the T-junction where the minibus had dropped me earlier as he is going left from there. I don’t see any bus-stop markers around and inquiries with the locals reveal that there is, in fact, no bus stop right here, but that I need to walk down further towards Gura Humorolui.

On my way to Gura Humorolui, I try to thumb down the few cars and several trucks going my way, but in vain, which is understandable as it is past dusk.

At one point I decide to cross the road to the other side. To do so, I must step over a concrete slab before landing on the tarmac and finally reaching the other side. I take the leap, and as my foot touches down, it starts sinking in the concrete – evidently they made the slabs recently, the concrete is wet and the cement hasn’t set yet. Thankfully my other foot lands squarely on the tarmac, and I walk on. A few slabs down, I see a slab with 4-5 foot imprints in it. So, if you are ever in the area, check out the slab with a singular foot impression in a concrete slab on the right side of the road while going from Voroneț to Gura Humorolui, and if you hit the one with several feet imprinted in it, you know you have gone too far. So much for leaving an impression!

It is almost pitch-dark by the time I reach the town, so it isn’t a good idea anymore to visit Humor monastery. As I look around for the bus station, I find the first Roman-Catholic church I have seen in Romania so far. It seems fairly new and relatively straight-lined.

At the autogara, which is unlit except for one little corner, when I ask the older man, who seems to be giving directions to the other two, whether there are any buses going to Suceava, he sneers at me, „La asta ora?” (it is past 8pm). Nothing till tomorrow morning.

Well, I have to catch the train to Piatra Neamț from Suceava tonight, and I’ll get there one way or the other. So thinking, I keep walking down the road that leads to Suceava. Soon, I see 3-4 people who are apparently waiting for transportation. I ask them if it is a bus stop, and they point me to a point about 15m further down. They themselves are trying to hitch a ride in a lorry.

At the bus-stop, the woman, the only person at the stop, confirms that this is indeed a bus stop for minibuses going towards Suceava. While waiting for my bus, I keep trying to thumb a ride in vain. Soon a minibus arrives, and the people from 15m up the road and the lady board it. This minibus is not going to Suceava, however, and I need to wait a bit more. I do walk into the little grocery store close-by and confirm with the proprietor that even at this hour I can get a minibus to Suceava.

Finally a minibus going to Suceava arrives, and I board it. There aren’t too many people inside, and I take the navigator’s seat – one of my favorite spots in a bus, the other one being the last seat where I can stretch my legs, lie down, and sleep.

The driver is a young boy, and we chat a little bit even while the bus’s radio keeps piping music, mostly English. And then, I hear something that seems out of place and ask the driver to increase the volume. Sure enough, Impact FM is playing „Shikdum Shikdum” from the 2004 Bollywood hit Dhoom, which, by the way, I panned unequivocally.

Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.

Interestingly though, the song being played isn’t what I believe to be the original Hindi version, but sounds more like Telugu, though I can’t be sure as I don’t know any Telugu and didn’t even know there were any other language versions of the song.

I have barely gotten over the excitement of “Shikdum” when suddenly, out of nowhere appears a Luna-like moped, wavering all over the road. It is manned by a haggard-looking guy who doesn’t quite seem to have noticed the minibus in spite of being bathed in its headlights.

„HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNKKKKKKK,” blares the horn of the minibus and the the moped finally moves out of the way.

„Prost!” I exclaim „Sau beat.” („Idiot! Or drunk.”)

„Prost și beat (Drunken idiot),” the driver responds.

Upon reaching Suceava, I pick up my bag from the hostel and take the bus from town-centre to Burdujeni (the rail station). My train is scheduled to leave Suceava at 11:11pm and to arrive at Bacău 1:28am. For the next leg of the journey I hope to get on the train to Piatra Neamț at 4:15am. If I succeed in doing that, I should be in Piatra Neamț by 6am. After buying the ticket, I plug in my laptop and, sitting on the marble-grain floor, transfer the day’s pictures and charge my phone before walking down to the platform.

While I wait for the train, Explorish calls. He is probably even more excited that I am about my visit to the remote parts of the country. When I tell him my plan, he warns me that it would be hard to catch a good night’s sleep AND be able to catch the right connection, but I arrogantly boast about all my numerous train journeys in India, and brush off the concern.

Our conversation moves on to more interesting topics. In the meantime, the train arrives and I board it. Explorish is telling me about a funny mix-up with my phone number, the train starts moving, and the connection is lost. At first I think I’ve lost cellphone signal, but as it turns my phone has resorted to its by now extremely annoying habit of rebooting in middle of conversations and losing all battery-life. Can’t do much now, except settling down on a seat by the window.

Click here to check out my pictures from Voroneț of 26 Sept 2008.

Quotation of the Day

"What is the point of attempting something you know is possible?"
- yours truly The Maverick

București din nou

Swiss Air is selling tickets for flights to Bucharest leaving next day (on the 23rd) for £180, so I take the plunge and buy one online. The latest check-in time is 5.20 am, and the flight through Zurich arrives in București at 1pm. No problem, I’ve done worse times than that.

In line with the plan, I get home by 1 am on Monday night (or Tuesday morning, depending on how you look at it), grab stuff from around the place under the euphemism of „packing”, and get out of the house by 3.30am, proud of my acievement.

As it turns out, however, travelling in London at night isn’t all that it’s slated to be – many of the famed 24-hour and night services get cancelled, and all you can do is wait for the next one. And if you are stuck in an area with no taxis in sight, it could take a while to get there. Revising my plan of how to get to Heathrow a few time, I finally reach the Swiss check-in at 5.35 am, via Oxford Circus, Paddington Station and the trusty Heathrow Connect.

I’m told there is no way I can check in now even though I don’t have any luggage to check in. So I go to the Swiss ticket counter to figure out what to do. The person on duty there is extremely understanding and helpful, but he can’t get me on this flight. How about the next flight? There is nothing he can get me today that would help me catch my connection. How about from City airport through Geneva? There’s just one flight, and it has already left. I can get the same flight tomorrow for £180 if I like. Waitaminit! How about I get the same flight tomorrow, but get only one way, since I still can use the return I bought yesterday is still valid, right? Wrong! Apparently, if I miss the first leg of the flight, the whole ticket is cancelled, including the return journey. Whaaat?! And in any case, a one-way ticket is more expensive than the return ticket. Again, whaaat?! Yes, he calmly tells me – while Lon-Buc-Lon costs £180 „only”, Lon-Buc would set me back by £430 or so. Hmmm...mindboggling! That’s all I can say about that.

So the £180 is sunk cost, and the best offer he can make is same flights, with outgoing on Wednesday morning for an additional £180. Well, since I am already here, how about you get me to Zurich today, and I’ll take the Bucharest connection from there tomorrow.

„Sure! That will cost you £380”

„Nevermind, then.”

Maybe I should check Tarom, British Airways or Lufthansa, he suggests. Well, I know from my web search just yesterday afternoon that BA and Tarom are horribly expensive. Perhaps I could check Lufthansa out. Lufthansa is willing to take me there today for a sum of £520. And while Tarom counter is not open, their associates at Alitalia inform me that it will probably cost me about £600 to get on this afternoon’s flight.

Back at the Swiss desk, the helpful agent hands me a leaflet for http://www.missedaflight.com/, a service for (as the name indicates) helping passengers who have missed a flight to make alternative travel arrangements through the company’s supposed special deals with budget and regular airlines, which has been operating out of Gatwick for a while and just yesterday distributed flyers to airline desks at Heathrow indicating that they would be serving this airport too now. The Swiss agent doesn’t know whether these folks are any good, but reckons that it’s worth a shot. So I call the number, and am told to go to Terminal 5 and speak with BA because they have a direct flight and SHOULD have the cheapest rates. What about all your special deals with all these airlines, folks? I already know about BA, its flight, and its expensive fares. Ehhh!

So, it is clear: I am not leaving today. It’s like a sign – the last time I ran into so many roadblocks and missed a flight was when I was going home to India from USA in 2006…and the airline (BA, which is why I hate them with a vengeance) ended up losing ALL my luggage. But now, as then, I will trudge on.

So, back at Swiss desk to buy a ticket for tomorrow. The agent suggests that I should go up to the lobby, log in to the Net and buy the ticket online as there is a £15 fee to buy the ticket at the counter (or a £15 discount to buy it online, depending on how you look at it). Also, while I am at it, I should file a request for refund of my unused ticket for today, because though the fare class is unrefundable, I should be able to get the taxes refunded and, as it happens, taxes form almost 67% of the amount I have paid.

After buying the ticket online, I get back in town and finish off a day’s worth of work. I was scheduled to have a telephonic interview with an Australian company tomorrow morning but since I’ll be flying at the time, I reschedule it for my stopover in Zurich. The day done, I return to Heathrow the next morning with some time to spare.

The flight to Zurich is painless, and my interviewer calls dutifully at the appointed time, and I take the call in the Smokers’ Lounge which is quiet and has an electric plug to charge my phone’s battery which seems to have run out. The interview is going well when my phone reboots itself and then shuts down completely – evidently the battery wasn’t being charged. A few futile attempts later, it is clear that nothing can be done, and that I must proceed to the boarding gate. The only glimmer of hope is that I did warn my interviewer that this might happen and apologized in advance.

Thankfully the connection is slightly late too, and I get to București Otopeni International Airport safely on the afternoon of the 24th. The Immigrations Officer is having a little bit of trouble accepting that I am the same guy as the one whose photograph is affixed in my passport, but finally I am able to find a picture with short hair on a visa and thereby to convince her.

Walking out of the Arrivals lounge, one is confronted by taxi drivers aggressively vending their services. But they are not half as aggressive as those outside train stations in Delhi, where I have been trained, and hence I skilfully dodge them and make a beeline for the ATM – I have pledged to do this trip using public transportation as much as possible because for one it is the way to really discover a country and for another it provides a greater interface with local people.

I remember from the Hostelling International’s website that bus number 783 goes to the city centre and that Villa Helga is 200 metres from there. So the task at hand is just to find the bus stop. The teenager at the information desk doesn’t understand English, but when spoken to in Romanian sends me downstairs to the other side of the building. As I walk outside of the building, I am perplexed as there don’t seem to be any signs or queues or any other indications that there is a bus stop around. Did I even understand the instructions given by that boy correctly?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a man in a reflective jacket in some distance. So I go up to him and ask, “Unde este stația de autobuz?” He tells me that it is in front of the gate, and points me back to where I came from. I turn around to see that a group of 3-4 people has gathered around the place.

On my way back towards the gate, a lost looking guy asks me if I know where the bus stop is. Come along, I say. He is a Swiss computer programmer, has lived in San Francisco for about 6 months, and is on his way to Bulgaria for the wedding of a friend. His destination is closer from here than from Sofia, which explains why he has landed here, and he plans to spend the few hours he has in București to explore the city. He tried to find a locker or a cloak room to keep his luggage at the airport, but evidently nobody understood him.

We don’t have to wait long at the bus stop after buying the RON 7 return ticket (valid for 3 months) for the express line 783 from the nearby ticket-counter. I’m impressed by the bus we have boarded – it appears to much nicer than many of the TfL buses back in London. Oddly, though, even though passengers can board the bus from either of the two doors, the ticket-validation machine is installed only by the driver’s seat. So when the bus is crowded, one boarding through the back door must have to wrestle through the crowd to get the ticket validated.

An LCD panel shows the updates on the journey – the route, approaching bus stops, connections available etc. – quite a bit like Jacksonville FL. And it is pretty amusing, due to the harried and rushed people around us, to hear the endearing calm recorded voice go “Uitați stația...” announcing the name of the stop and the connections available from it.

What throws me off a bit is that I can’t see any shelters or boards that indicate a bus-stop at the places we are stopping. I’m sure that because of the adequate help of the LCD and LED panels and the announcer-lady, we will find the right stop to get off, but my concern is about how, if one is walking down the pavement, does one find a bus stop to board a bus. Finally, I notice the tiny, easy-to-miss signs reading “RATB” and bus numbers, stuck on what seem to be electric poles near the bus stops. Well, that’s not much help, I think to myself. My concerns are finally alleviated as we enter the city and proper bus-stop shelters start appearing.

By now, I have sort of unofficially become the București guide of the Swiss guy, telling him about the places to go to and places to see (I must say that it is a strange feeling to be doing this in a country that I don't reside it). I forewarn him as we are approaching Arcul de Triumf and he manages to take a surprisingly good picture from the moving bus. Alighting from the bus at Piața Unirii, which to the best of my knowledge and belief is the city centre, he wonders aloud how to find a place to keep his bag for a couple of hours to as to freely roam about and get a feel of the town. Since the hostel is supposed to be close-by, I tell him that he could probably leave it at the reception there.

How do we figure out which direction to take, though? No problem! I grab this excellent opportunity to practice my Romanian, and ask a lady at the book stall where the Mihai Eminescu Road is. She doesn’t know, but calls over another lady from a nearby stall and asks her. Apparently, it is not too far from Piața Română which we passed by on the bus. As the ladies utter Piața Română, my brain registers something odd about the pronounciation, though I can’t put my finger at exactly what it is. In any event, the lady from the bookstalls even opens up a map from her shop and shows Mihai Eminescu Road to us.

While it is possible to take a bus, we choose to walk up there, passing Piața Universității, and turning right at Piața Română. It has been significantly longer than 200 meteres, and the hostel is nowhere in sight. The Swiss guy gives up soon, and decides that a better idea for him would be to give a few bucks to one of the building security guards and have him take care of the bag for a couple of hours.

I keep inching ahead till finally I see a window with a YHA sticker on it. It seems to be the right place - the adjacent houses have respectively the preceding and succeeding building numbers. But where’s the entrance to Villa Helga? The shopkeeper next door tells me to use the black side-gate, which I open gingerly because there are no indications whatsoever that this is indeed the hostel. Thankfully it is, and though I don’t have a reservation, the welcome is warm and unreserved. As the hostess shows me around, I have but one question: Can I use Internet in here? Yes, I can, and it would cost me €1 per hour.

After laying claim on a bed by the window, and quickly cleaning up, I ask the hosts about whether Palatul Parlamentului might still be open at this hour – I’ve been there before, but my camera’s battery ran out, and it’s worth visiting again just to take pictures from the balcony. I’m told that most places, including Palatul Parlamentului and Palatul lui Cotroceni close at 4pm. Since it is already quarter to 4, it is not even worth an attempt right now.

So what CAN I do? Not much, right now, but at night I could eat at the Caru cu Bere and check out the Lăptăria lui Enache, both near Piața Universității, my hostess tells me. Caru cu Bere serves has been serving traditional Romanian cuisine for over a century, and though the name of Enache’s Milkbar may evoke images of Korova (from A Clockwork Orange), apparently we don’t live in the 70’s anymore. She hands me a Xeroxed map of the area, and retires.

So maybe I should check my email. To this end I try to get hold of the host, whom I find in the TV room watching what seems to be a FoxNewsesque tirade-dressed-as-debate. How do I use my laptop to access the Internet? Well, I can’t because he has let people plug out the Ethernet cable from the one computer in the house for use with their laptops, and his computer has been damaged in the process. So the only way to use Internet is at the PC in the TV room, though he plans to install wireless soon. Fine by me! Oh, by the way, what’s with the 200m from town centre? He looks genuinely surprised – apparently it’s a typo, and he corrects it right away: 200m from bus stop for buses going to centre.

Hmmm...I’ll just go grab a bottle of water from the non-stop shop (24-hour store) next door before I get online.

The shopkeeper is sitting on the steps and signals me to go ahead in. Inside, I don’t see water. So I ask „Nu ai apă plată?”

Turns out the fridge is behind me, partly hidden by the door. So I get a bottle of Dorna and an Orange prepaid SIM card. He says that I speak Romanian well.

„Nuuu!”, I protest „Vorbesc numai puțin.”

„Vorbiți puțin ba pronunțarea dumneavoastră e mai bună decât niște români.”

„Haha! Mulțumesc!”

Enough of an ego boost. Now on to more important things.

So I check my emails and write a few, including one to my interviewer asking if he could call be again to finish off the interview the next morning. Surprisingly, as late as it is in Sydney, he replies almost immediately confirming that he would like to do so. Load off my head!

An English guest of Spanish origin, who has been watching the music channels, asks me, for some reason, whether I am Belgian. Well, I am not, thank you very much.

From an email I gather that a friend in London had her place broken into and robbed. These days you never know!

Anyway, so far it looks like I should go up to Moldova and be back around Saturday night. In order to visit the Moldovița, Sucevița, Voroneț and Putna monasteries and Marginea village, it seems that the best thing to do would be to get to Suceava. The Romanian Railways website says that there is an early morning train to Suceava, and the next train is late in the afternoon. I should take the early morning train so as to save daytime for sightseeing etc.

All that settled, it’s time to walk around the city and enjoy the evening breeze. I have used the Net for about 2 hrs, but when I ask my host how much I owe him, he waves me away, telling me that I don't need to pay. Some way down the Mihai Eminescu road, a little „Fructe și legume” stall reminds me that I should probably eat something. The pears look nice and the prices are displayed in kilograms, so I ask if I can buy a quarter of a kilo. The lady is so happy to see me speak Romanian that she offers the ask for free. Of course, I pay her for the pears, but it feels pretty good.

Piața Unirii is as commercial and full of bustle as it was last year. I am disappointed to see that the green lighting is gone – it made the tree-lined sidewalks look so mystical and romantic.

So I walk down to Palatul Parlamentului, which looks much more regal and interesting at night. The weather has been dry, and the cool breeze feels nice – perfect for a long walk.

Trying to find the Caru cu Bere is turning out to be an exercise in futility and I am hungry, so I decide to dine at a restaurant with badly executed ceiling replica of the Sistine Chapel murals and eminently forgettable food. Lăptăria would have to wait for another day as I haven’t slept a wink in 3 nights and I have an interview and a train to catch early in the morning.

In the morning, my Australian interviewer calls dutifully and I have a good conversation with him. A quick look at the watch at the end of the conversation, however, suggests that I have missed the morning train to Suceava has left. So I’ll just go ahead and catch up on a few more hours’ sleep.

Finally upon reaching Gara de Nord (North Station), I buy a ticket to the first Moldova-bound train, which is the 12:00 noon train to Iași for RON 73.40. Since I have over an hour on my hands, I decide to go back to Piața Română and Piața Universitații to click some pictures.

The most striking feature of the Piața Română is the Academia de Studii Economice building with bold red letters saying „www.ase.ro” on its top. While the building itself is interesting, I am most intrigued by the fact that I have never seen a public high-education institution display its website address more prominently, or even as prominently as, its official name. I don’t know whether to attribute ASE’s display to the web-marketing savvy of its public relations people or more generally to the Internet-friendliness of the Romanian people.

While crossing the street I see a statue of the Capitoline wolf with Romulus and Remus (a stone replica of the bronze statue in Campidoglio). That’s when I finally realize that it is not Piața Română (Romanian Square) but Piața Romană (Roman Square).

Piața Romană is also home to a great, big visual joke, though most Romanians probably don’t give it as much as a second glance. One of the buildings flanking the square is a residential building masted with „Lukoil Uleiuri de Motor” in bold letters. And right next to this message is a giant Coca-Cola bottle pouring its contents into a glass. Maybe I have a very strange sense of humor, but I am certainly tickled by the visual.

Next, I walk down to Piața Universității with whose name I have had some cofusion. Well, it seems that though it is usually referred to as Piața Universității, its official name is Piața 21 Decembrie 1989. Additionally, my host was correct: there is a milestone here that clearly says „București 0 km”…this is the real town-centre.

I quickly take pictures of the milestone, the four statues, students’ church and Jos Pălăria restaurant, and return to Gara de Nord. The train station itself also has a few good subjects and I happily click away.

A couple of days ago Explorish had emailed me a list of some of the greatest places I can visit. Now, in order to figure out how to organize my trip, it would probably be best to see how they are located with respect to each other. With this end in mind, I visit the bookstalls and the bookshop at the station, but none of them sells a map of Romania.

Since there’s still a little time left, I decide to grab a bite at one of the restaurants. While nibbling on my pizza, I get distracted by a loud noise for a moment, and when I turn back, my camera is gone. It's time for my train, but I like the camera quite a bit so I feel I should at least try to find it.

I ask the janitor mopping the floor, but she doesn't seem to understand one word coming out of my mouth, so I go back to the nice girl who took my order. She directs me to a stout, moustachioed man who seems to crawl when he walks, drawl when he speaks, and think even more slowly. Anyhow, he follows me to the table I was at, asks the janitor, takes me back to the cas register, shows me the board that says that the shop cannot be held responsible for items lost, and shrugs his shoulders.

My train to Iași has left by now and, in any case, I have decided that I must allow for some self-doubt and allow for the slight possibility that I might have left it at one of the bookstalls I visted after taking the photos at the station. Unfortunately, as expected, nothing comes out of that quest. Last attempt is to try to find a Lost And Found office. The Information counter lady doesn't know anything about it, nor does the Public Relations lady. The policeman directs me to an officer around the corner, and the folk there direct me back to the police station. Ehh, nevermind.

While usually I am pretty aware of my surroundings, I guess I was a bit preoccupied because it's pretty clear that someone specifically followed me with the purpose of grabbing the camera - With the camera slung on my shoulder, I was basically roaming about with „TOURIST” printed in bold letters on my forehead. Come to think of it, even if I didn’t have the camera on the shoulder, I still have „TOURIST” printed in bold letters on my forehead anyway. So there!

Another RON 73.40 ticket and on to my train for Suceava.

Click here to check out my pictures from București of 24 Sept 2008.