First Impressions: Romania

When I made the decision to spend my summer holiday traversing the rural landscape of Romania instead of the tourist-dense museums of some of the more popular European countries, everyone seemed to have the same general opinion: watch out for Quasimodo’s damsel in distress, Esmeralda, with her band of Gypsy thieves and run in the other direction if someone asks you for your blood type—hospital staff included.

Dracula aside, I have to admit that I did have some reservations before traveling to Romania. I was unsure of the reliability of the infrastructure and the quality of hotels. Luckily I had native guides with me without whom this little Romanian adventure may not have turned out to be the tension-relieving trip that I so desperately needed.

In a matter of only two and a half hours from Cologne, Germany I found myself among a group of predominantly Romanian passengers hitting the tarmac of the country’s capital, Bucharest. As we landed, the group broke out in unison applause of gratitude that we made it safely to our destination. That was the precise moment when I knew I was going to have a great vacation—it was clear that these people didn’t just want to enjoy life, they wanted to appreciate it.

The temperature difference between Cologne and Bucharest hit me immediately in a wave of hot, humid and suffocating air. Finally, after six years of living outside of California I felt at home! Right away I noticed that the airport was in some aspects outdated. The customs had little order to follow, there were not enough signs directing travelers where to go, and flight numbers were nonexistent at baggage claim. Luckily, from that point we had an entourage waiting to drive us to our next destination more than two hours away from the capital. I say “luckily” because my first glimpse of the city’s trams had me rethinking my decision to visit Romania. These bad boys looked like they’ve seen a lot: as in they looked to be recycled trains from Germany going as far back as WWII.  I may be exaggerating slightly—but only slightly.

I knew that eventually I would have to experience the Romanian trains firsthand and when the moment came I was on the verge of tears. We were a group of eight gleefully skipping our way to the midnight train that would take us six hours away from our current location in Buzau to the vacation town of Constanta where we would spend six days enjoying the Black Sea. My excitement was immediately crushed, however, when our train came slowly rolling in from another (apparently rust-ridden) era. When the train screeched to a stop I had a brief mental understanding of what it would feel like to participate in a real life adaptation of The Hunger Games. Suddenly people started darting out from the shadows and running over uneven rock-riddled train tracks towards this antique train. I didn’t ask questions; I just ran. If I have learned nothing else from watching countless films I knew that when a large group of people start running, it’s probably a good idea to run first and ask questions later.

Once we finally found our compartment, we heaved ourselves up through the narrow opening that served as an entrance. We didn’t get far before there was a complete stop. I was eager to move forward. I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours at that point and I was feeling dirty from travel and extreme heat. Not to mention I was stranded by the bathroom, and even though the door was closed it smelled as old as the train looked. The aisle was abnormally narrow, clearly not adapted to the average size of today’s travelers. Yet, there we were.

People were crammed in this narrow passageway in over 100 degrees Fahrenheit with a toilet ambiance. The travel time to our happy beach destination would be six hours. That was the moment when I almost broke down. Six hours of standing shoulder to shoulder and back to back in the heat with an odor of urine so putrid that my eyes and nostrils were burning, combined with no sleep—the only thing I could think of at that moment was to take my chances climbing onto the shoulders of the nearest person and attempting to escape through the narrow window currently acting as a heater. The closest member of my group turned to me and said, “Welcome to Romania.” Welcome indeed! The train experience from hell lasted only a couple of hours. Luckily, Romanian ticket inspectors regularly make rounds and our tickets clearly indicated that we had paid for the use of a private compartment just in front of us occupied by a large family with children. Children or not, the ticket inspector had them out and us in within minutes. Once my body made contact with the seat, it was lights out.

At roughly seven o’clock in the morning, our train finally came to a hesitant stop in Constanta. I had two dominating thoughts in my mind: shower and sleep. Unfortunately for me, that was not to be. Our first mission was to negotiate ourselves and luggage through hoards of intoxicated partiers intent on staying out as long past sunrise as possible. The area was new for my fellow travelers so it took us forty minutes to locate our hostel/hotel/bed and breakfast (I’m still not sure what it was supposed to be). “Hallelujah!” was all that I could think, but my excitement was premature. Not only did we have to wait five hours for our rooms to be ready, but we had to wait out on the side of the dirt road. In the meantime, I entertained myself with the stray dogs that seemed to be a permanent fixture of Romanian towns.

These dogs come in all shapes and sizes, sometimes they go solo and sometimes they form packs. In a matter of one hour, I encountered several puppies, a three-legged dog, and every scruffy mix in between. I immediately noticed that these dogs shared common characteristics: they were funny, easy-going, and fearless. One smile and you’ll have one happily following you about, overwhelmed with pride to have temporarily adopted a new friend. Unlike in some countries with a similar problem, the Romanians were always sweet, gentle, and protective of the strays. They may shoo them away, but in a loving manner, and always making sure to stop oncoming traffic if one looks to be in danger.

After what felt like an eternity, we were permitted inside the bed and breakfast that functioned more like a combination of a hostel and a motel but charged as much as a hotel. The owner was a simple man of clear “country upbringing.” Even though we had made the reservations months in advance he took an entire hour to write down our eight names, collect our money, and find enough rooms for all of us. The room was small, but equipped with a double bed, television, and a large window overlooking a landscape that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be an orchard, farm, or trendy summer getaway for fun-seeking tourists. The bathroom was just one medium-sized room with a toilet, sink, and a shower. There was, however, no separation between the three necessities. After each shower, everything was covered in water. Despite the sheets on the bed being too small to cover the yellowed mattress, I found myself well-rested after much-needed sleep.

Our fears and premature judgments have a tendency of holding us back in life. Countries such as Romania continue to go  unexplored due to such misunderstandings. Based on Romania’s reputation I took a risk by traveling there, but I am glad that I did. I owe this unforgettable and eye-opening experience to the people, culture, and landscape of Romania. When you want to experience something right, you just have to go and experience it for yourself.

Photos by Jacqueline Perrier-Gillette

Jacqueline Perrier-Gillette is currently a resident of Paris, France, where she lives with her husband. Together the two of them operate their small translation company, giving Jacqueline the opportunity to observe the French and their culture up close. She is an avid reader, writer, and student of foreign languages.

By Jacqueline Perrier-Gillette