Back to Bucharest

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26-6-2007 Back to Bucharest

The bus stop is a wonderful place to sit and wait. High on the mountain you are surrounded by the view of other mountain tops. There is a bench under a pretty tree. I had met an old lady out with two cows the previous morning who had bewailed my single state and given me directions. She sees me waiting and comes and sits beside me. We chatted and shared details of our respective families. We both agreed that you couldn’t expect children to stay living with you. Her cows circled us. They are both hobbled as are many animals in these parts.
The bus eventually arrived and the driver gave me and my companion a very suspicious look. When I attempted to sit down in the minibus he stopped me and placed a large black cushion on his expensive upholstery. He wasn’t having one of my sort making direct contact with his smart new seats.

Once in Resita, a fellow passenger showed me the way to the station. Inevitably, this being Romania, it involved a short cut starting out along the line from about 500 metres from the platform. Stern notices say that only authorized personnel are allowed past this point but everyone sauntered past.

The train journey via Caransebeş takes about 8 hours. The weather was hot and the carriage windows would not open. I was sure that had I tried to open it there would have been a storm of protest. “Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to sit in a draught?” The young woman beside me was back from fruit picking in Europe and was telling everyone about it. I became very tired of her constantly expressing her opinion that Spain is far better than Romania.

Bucharest was very hot but I felt extraordinarily relieved to be back. I didn’t quite fit into my adventurer’s boots as yet and the emotional shock of hearing John and Katy’s news had also made me more fearful of the whole expedition. I hoped in the weeks ahead I could get over this.

The next morning I headed straight for the railway station to buy a ticket for the night sleeper through to Budapest. From there I knew I could easily pick up a cheap flight back to the UK and to my daughter’s graduation. There is no information about international trains from Bucharest on the internet and if you want information, or indeed need to buy a ticket, you have to head to a special couple of ticket booths in the corner of the booking hall of Bucharest’s principal railway station. That morning I was one of the lucky ones. Shortly after my ticket was issued others are turned away on the grounds that the machines are working too slowly for them to be able to cope with any more orders ‘til the next day. Those who were hoping to travel that day are left in a very perplexing situation.

The Memorial Service that afternoon was very beautiful. They had a wonderful choir from the theological college who, amongst other things, sang unaccompanied the Lacrymosa from Mozart’s great Requiem in D. This was very affecting and all the more so because the heart rending music was being delivered in this unusual form. Unaccompanied choral singing is the norm in Romanian Orthodox services. There was an appropriateness in the way they had taken this familiar music and made it their own. In the memorial book I wrote- “Dear Katy of the ready wit and the deep spirit I will take some of your light with me.” I felt very much in need of finding her support in my venture which, on the face of it, had been made to look impractical because of her sad death. John was lovely though plainly going through hell. He was accompanied by his elder sister and brother and planned to leave the following day for America.

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