Entering the back of beyond...

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, two young women embarked upon a great adventure from the distant city of Budapest, in Hungarz. They were excited to be leaving this town as it was distinctly uninspiring and had rotten kezboards, so they prepared to board the 8.15 train to the beautiful country of Romania with much joy and eagerness.

As misfortune would have it, their journey was to be an eventful one... on the 'train to hell'...

They began the day as it was meant to go forth - by consulting a previously-used reservation ticket (for another train) to find their seats, therefore getting on the wrong carriage, as the one they were searching for did not exist. The train began to move - the Romanian folk think nothing of leaving train doors open whilst in transit, so the two young women were almost swept into the pretty Hungarian countryside in htheir search for their seats, but luckily our heroines survived intact.

After much woe, and walking up and down the train looking for the nonexistant carriage, they settled in a compartment with a nice Chinese girl (who was also much perplexed, as the Chinese tend to be) and a helpful Romanian fellow. This train was rather old and tired, and in a humourous way, one of the women commented to the other that it was so old, she wouldn't be surprised if it broke down - how she would laugh at this comment later!

Due to a severe lack of air-conditioning, and a rather pressing heat, the girls were rather uncomfortable. Even more so when the train broke down. There were clanks and groans and loud banging noises, and the train rolled to a stop at the border of the lands of Hungarz and Romania. The train hooted 'SOS' and saviour train-fixers climbed under the train in their hard hats, and within 30 minutes, the train was moving.

The Romanian countryside was beautiful, with tree-covered hills and fields of sunflowers, rushing rivers and quaint white churches nestled in the valleys. It seemed to the girls that Romania was 'the land that time forgot', 60 years behind the rest of the surrounding lands. Farm labourers guided manual ploughs through fields of corn, pulled by sturdy horses under the beating sun. A young boy leaned with all his weight to pull a stubborn cow along to join the rest of the herd. Small hamlets dotted the landscape with horse-drawn carts bouncing along the winding country lanes. Clouds like cotton hung motionless above the far-distant mountains, breaking the azure-blue sky like paint strokes on canvas.

Our heroines passed the time reading their novels, admiring the view and eating bad food like crisps and pretzels - soon enough, after 11 hours, they arrived at their destination of the medievel citadel 'Sighisoara', in the heart of Transylvania.

Off the train they hopped at 7.30pm, with their backpacks and tent, and skipped through the dark, dripping underpass to the hostel, where they were sure hospitality would await. As they entered the reception, a blank gaze met them from behind the desk. A blonde woman stared vacantly at them as they hesitantly stood in the doorway.

'Hello!' They chirped, eager to make a new acquaintance and check in to their abode.
Blank stare.
'We've made a reservation, for tonight?'
'You Andre?'
'No. It's under Amalia'
Much checking of checking-in book.
'You not Andre.'
'No. It's under Amalia. We've booked..'
More checking of checking-in book.
'Amalia Lemp.'
'Yes. Amalia Lempriere.'
'Sit. Fill this in please. Give me passports'

The girls acquiesced and filled in the necessary forms, their excitement slowly melting away. They were told to follow the kind woman up to their room, she opened the door and stood and stared vacantly once again before returning downstairs to her desk. Inside the room, a Belgian man awaited. He was in his forties and rather a creepy man. The room was a four-bed squeezed into a single room, so there was barely a few inches between each bed, three next to each other and one along the bottom next to the bathroom. In which the Belgian resided.

The girls left quickly. They made their way towards the centre of the town, which lay across a wide river. The hills surrounded the citadel, with mist hanging low over the buildings and dusk quickly approaching. The place had a medeival, eerie air, with strange people wandering about, staring at the newcomers with frosty eyes.

On their way to seek out an ATM, they passed a sweet old lady selling flowers. She held the flowers out to the girls, and they shook their heads at the offer. The sweet old lady then growled audibly, menacingly at the girls, as she passed them by. Not so sweet, after all, and possibly the growl was a curse on these sweet young women. Time will tell.

The girls, visibly shaken, found a cash machine and attempted to withdraw money with which to buy food. The cash machine refused. They pleaded with it but it rudely spat out the card and displayed a blank screen.

With aching feet and sore limbs, our young heroines discovered another ATM, which decided to serve them, and proceeded to withdraw money. At which point a group of menacing youths pressed up close behind them, breathing heavily on their necks, giving them the heebie-jeebies, so they hurried up the transaction and found shelter in a nearby cafe for some much-needed nourishment of chicken fried in egg, chipped potatoes and pickled peppers. All around, the town seemed to erupt with members of the Romanian mafia and gangs of youths sporting back-to-front caps and broken teeth. Gang-leaders swaggered along the pavements with their 'girls' hanging off their arms, and odd people with squints and limps emerged into the twilight zone. Doo do do doo, doo do do doo...

As darkness was nearly upon them, the girls hurried back over the bridge and into the hostel, avoiding the girl-gangs hanging out on the nearby corners. They wished to enquire after the internet, as access had been promised, and the vacant receptionist informed them that the reception computer provided the internet. The girls sat down behind the vacant receptionist's desk, preparing to update the online journal they had been keeping and read emails. The vacant receptionist continued to stand behind them and stare vacantly at the computer screen. So the girls decided not to spend too much time with the vacant receptionist, and left promptly. But not before asking whether the hostel offered international calls, as the girls wanted to call their homeland, but the vacant receptionist replied 'No phone.' Right, then.

The girls went to bed, trying to stay awake lest the strange Belgian did anything odd, but, in spite of the loud snores emanating from the man from Belgium, fell into an uneasy sleep until the sun rose the next morning. Whereupon our heroines decided to stay no longer and catch the afternoon train to Brasov, another, larger, more normal, town in Transylvania.

They spent that Friday morning exploring the Sighisoara citadel, and birthplace of Vlad Tepes (Dracula) in the safe hours of sunlight. They climbed to the top of the citadel and viewed the miles of trees and hills all around. They took photos, climbed steps and watched two dogs perform a bizarre mating dance. They were still stared at, as they were very 'different' from the locals, and one man on a stall menacingly called 'He-llo, he-llo' as they walked past, but the morning passed without trouble.

They caught the train to Brasov at 13.53 and, as previously organised by phone, were met at the station by a kind man called Eugene who runs a small guesthouse with his mother. Visions of Norman Bates and the Bates' Motel ran through the girls' minds but all was well - Eugene really was a nice man and his mother met the girls at the door (telling them to wipe their feet in Romanian sign language), so she wasn't sitting in a rocking chair upstairs in the attic.

So the story, my friends, ends there. The girls are safe and well, and plan to go bear-watching at the weekend with Eugene. As their plans have changed, they wish to let you all know that they are staying in Brasov for 5 nights, leaving for the capital on 19th July.

(Lots of love to all of you... H&M)
(P.S. It's Helen's birthday tomorrow, in Romania, woohoo!)