More transport woes

Nothing too bad, in fairness. After a pleasant night’s kip I had a last quick wander around Brasov and got my bags packed. I opted for an earlier train – a little more expensive, but quicker and more comfortable. I was cutting it a little close so I caught a taxi rather than use the bus. After all, at Romanian proces it wasn’t going to break the bank.

The driver was a nice old geezer who’s English was marginally better than my Romanian. Still, you can just tell when someone’s not pulling a fast one and he got me to the station in good time and was happy with the tip I gave him. I bustled in, bought my ticket, and with a good ten minutes to spare strode onto the platform.

And waited over an hour for the damn train to arrive. I wonder if they modelled their system on the UK? Regardless, once I was on the train the journey was pleasant enough though there was the usual problem of arriving at a station and not knowing where the hell I was. Roughly a third of the Romanian stations I passed through had signage visible from the train windows. Not useful if you’ve not got a route planner for the railway system!

Directions to the hostel were a doddle. Two Metros later, I strode down a main street, into the large entrance for the “Heaven” night club (yes – that type of club) and up some steps to a lovely warm welcome.

I very quickly got talking to a bunch of people in my dorm and ended out at dinner with a lovely gaggle of young ladies in a bistro not too far away. Our waitress was phenomenal, badgering away in sing-song English as she translated the menu and took credit for all the cooking. Seriously, if you met her in the street you’d pray that she’d not sit next to you on the bus. Utterly hatstand. But brilliant at giving you a giggle round the dinner table and making the meal that little bit more enjoyable.

I settled on the peppers stuffed with meat (nice Romanian grub) followed by the local equivalent of a jam doughnut. Being a fat person I had two while the girls had one each. For Romania, it was a little pricey. But for a quality bistro with top-notch food, it was stupidly reasonable.

From there we hooked up with some guys we’d been talking to earlier and bar-hopped for an hour or two before returning to the hostel… to find one of the hostel owners in full swing at karaoke with several drunk Spaniards. I pity the people who’d wanted an early night. I also pity the hostel owner as he’d have his wife to face in the morning!

A couple of us did a u-turn and headed back out to find a club. After a short wander we found one playing fairly naff music but packed with teenagers. The price to get in was less than a beer back home, and they sold the local brew in huge bottles for barely a quid. An hour or so was spent in there before I decided that my eyelids really were serious about this whole “being closed” lark and dragged my heavy feet homeward at something approaching 4am.

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