Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I had stopped by the Tourist Info center in Eger the day before to figure out my travel plans to Romania the next day. It was slow travel... A three hour train ride to the far eastern Hungarian town of Debreceen, with a twelve minute layover, to catch a train heading northeast to Baia Mare, Romania, getting in at 9:30pm. It was a long day, but at least it was convenient, with only one transfer.

Just after Debreceen, at the border, there was a passport check. This came as a surprise... I hadn’t had to show my passport since landing in Iceland two months ago. I almost forgot about this process... The first check occurred while leaving Hungary, and again a few minutes later crossing into Romania. It is funny how that process is always nerve racking, no matter how legal you are... Romania is (are? I am not sure the proper verb) not a member of the Schengen Area, a sort of European internal nation eliminating internal border controls with other Schengen members, while simultaneously strengthening external border controls with non-member states. The Schengen rules include provisions on a common policy on the temporary entry of persons (including the Schengen visa), the harmonization of external border controls, and cross-border police and judicial co-operation. (I have copy/ pasted the above from Wikipedia, to learn more follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schengen_Area). Explained to me by a Romanian, their admission being denied by France and Holland, based on a misassociation between Romanians and Romas, or Gypsies. The Romanian population has been saddled with an unfortunate stereotype incorrectly connecting them with the nomadic, and at times dishonest, gypsy tribe. Based on this misinformed stereotype, the Romanians tend to get a raw deal... When described by a northern European, the vetoing of Romania’s acceptance has more to do with the rampant crooked politics... in order for acceptance, they are requiring that Romania clean up its act and eliminate bribery and corruption. As with everything, the real answer is probably somewhere in the middle.

As we crossed into Romania, the trains got slower and slower, and the cabin I was occupying seemed to get colder and colder. It was rough travel... and it was Thanksgiving. I probably should have planned this 38th Thanksgiving a little better... I sat wrapped in every piece of clothing I have with me. My Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a leftover coldcut sandwich pilfered from my B&B that morning, two slices of leftover pizza, a jar of gherkins and a Twix bar, with red wine out of a plastic bottle to wash it down... is that bad? Somewhere after Satu Mare, about 5 rough looking middle aged gentlemen joined me in my cabin, where I had been solo for the last four hours. I was a bit intimidated at first, but after some broken conversation (really broken), I learned they were on their way home from a long day at work at a local steel factory to the next village, 45 minutes down the road, they learned I was A) traveling for the next year and B) that today was the American holiday of Thanksgiving... then they accepted my offer to share my water bottle of wine with them... it was a nice experience. As we pulled up to the next stop, they but on their coats and hats and packed up their bags, wishing me well on my trip as the exited the cabin. At 8:00 I looked out the window, as we pulled into a relatively large city, full of communist era towers. I was curious... I was heading into a remote part of of Romania. I remember passing through the last big town, Satu Mare, and thinking the next built up area should be Baia Mare. According to my map, there wasn’t much in between, and I was still an hour and a half from Baia Mare, according to the schedule I’d been given. Well apparently schedules don’t mean too much here... as the train slowed, I read ‘Baia Mare’ on the station awning. Great news, I was in an hour early.

I walked through town, first strolling along the 1960‘s futuristic Soviet era main square, Piata Revolutiei, and then on through the old square Piata Libertatii, before crossing over the river to the Lonely Planet recommended pension. I got there around 9:30, rang the bell, and about ten minutes later the portly and mustachioed owner came out in a bathrobe and flowery slippers to check me in, not at all impressed by the lateness of my arrival. The TV didn’t work, the internet didn’t work, so I went out to get some cash, go to the pub next door to have a beer, watch the football match, and hopefully check in with family back home for the holiday.... no luck again... as I walked in at 10:30, the place about a quarter full, I was informed the bar was closed... Just one beer? No... we are closed...

So I retired to my shitty pension, watched a movie on the laptop and went to sleep, recognizing that Baia Mare was just a gateway to my destination, the peasant villages of Maramures...

The following day proved to be much better... I just needed a good night’s sleep. I checked out of the pension and went to the Tourist Info office, located in a crazy communist era administrative building... the building was really fascinating though, it wasn’t your run of the mill, efficient and characterless concrete monster. The building had a personality... it was undoubtedly communist, but there was detail and interesting materials, and the thought behind doing it... it was almost playful in a way... I loved it!

I had been in communication with Rada at the office, and she was going to help me put a little agenda together for my visit to Maramures. Rada was great... (And really cute too!). We came up with a plan, to take the bus over the pass into the mountain villages, get off in Desesti to visit an old wooden church dating back to the 1500’s, and hike out to the village of Breb, where I would spend a few nights. I would have to move fast though, so that I could arrive in Breb at a decent hour, as I would be hiking between villages and the roads could be confusing... So I called an audible, and I decided to spend one more night in Baia Mare and just catch up, a kind of mental health day... it was much needed.

Rada hooked me up with a new pensiune, this one with working internet and friendly people, lacking a shower door and hot water... but I was OK with that sacrifice. I checked in and headed out to have a bite to eat. Anything you have ever heard about service in Romania is true... it is always an adventure... I ordered a local dish, a sausage and pork stew served with polenta and cottage cheese. Then I noticed other groups coming in, ordering food, getting food , and leaving.... well that’s strange. Then after about 45 minutes, a guy walks through the front door carrying a couple bags of raw meat. Low and behold, my food came out 35 minutes later! I thought it was great! Talk about fresh ingredients...

That evening I was able to catch up on some blog posts and video chat with my mom and dad, and Casey and Mike, and then another chat with my buddy Johnny... just what the doctor ordered. It was a low key evening, as I’d be getting up early to catch my bus back in time to Maramures.