The day we left the city

Snagov Monastery (If we had actually seen it, this is what it would have looked like)

James left yesterday and I'm almost certain he'll never return to Bucharest again. We visited many a drinking establishment, found the city parks and generally wandered. It was only when James suggested we take a bus out of the city to visit a monastery in the middle of a lake did things start to go horribly wrong..

Lake Snagov is a lake situated north of the city. Perhaps only 40km away, it is in all the guide books and features high on the list of attractions the country has to offer. Guidebooks, we soon found out LIE!. Especially ones reviewing places of interest in this country. 

Looking back, there were many alarm bells which should have sounded the morning of our excursion. One of them being Jame's apartment manager's vague attempt at trying to give us information on how to get there and back. The only advice he could provide us with for returning to the city was to try and hitch hike the 40km back.  Undetered and possibly still drunk, we made it there by cab. The instructions to just get to the right bus stop to find the right bus out of the city were ridiculously complicated.

We were soon making our way out into the countryside, en route to Lake Snagov and the tomb of Vlad Tepes (Dracula).

As we arrived, the location looked like a 60's holiday camp after a nuclear disaster. There was an empty swimming pool and a outside shower leaking water, and the main buildings which looked like remnants of holiday apartments and chalets were dirty and deserted. There were however a hand full of romanians barbecuing on the grounds; seemingly having fun. A small cafe was open and so first stop was lunch, then there was the issue of  where the boat was located which took people across to the monastery. Arriving at the small jetty, there was not a boat in sight. Only a speed boat which seemed to be motoring around the lake, occasionally dropping people back to shore. Turns out this boat belonged to a family who were just out having fun. When I asked where the boat was for the monastery the guy nearly died as he thought I was asking if I could borrow his boat myself. He pointed to 3 moldy old rowing boats, rolling his eyes at me as he motored off in his giant propelled penis 

The small area where said boats were mored was fenced off and was occupied by what looked like 3 gypsy men who were busy raking grass. I ventured in and asked how much the boats were. 

"Maine dimmenata" he said giving me a bit of  a pervy, but confused look. "Nu Acum"

Basically, Tomorrow morning, not now.

Great.

A tad deflated be considered our options as it was only 3pm by now and we hadn't even managed to spot the monastery at all. The options available to us were... 1) try and attempt to hitch hike home or 2) go for a walk and put the hitch hiking off for an hour or so. Option 2 was decided upon and in no time we had taken a path into a rather beautiful wooded area. Following the gravel track seemed like a good idea as not to get completely lost or end up in someone's back garden. After 30 minutes or thereabouts, some houses came into view through the trees. The forest ended and civilisation appeared like a phoenix from the ashes. A small gap in the foliage allowed us to see what was on the other side. I pushed my way through to find a asphalt road, a few houses and 3 cute dogs lying in the afternoon sun.

Being used to encountering stray city dogs, I continued to make my way towards them and out of the woods. My progress was however well and truly scuppered when I realised these cute little beings were in fact rabid, tooth-bearing monsters. As they rapidly approached me, red eyed, salivating and crazy I turned back to james who I thought was behind me to tell him to perhaps retreat into the safety of the bush. James however it had seemed to have already legged it a good 50 yards back into the woods. Penny once told me the time when she had resorted to barking insanely at a pack of wild dogs in Siwa which seemed to do the trick. I however, turned around and retreated slowly, hoping to god they weren't pissed off enough to take a chunk out of my arse. 

4.30 and the days events hadn't exactly gone to plan. Least it wasn't raining. 

After enquiring about whether there was in fact any sort of public transport back to Bucharest we were pointed in the direction of the town. Things started to look up.

8km later and some rather ominous looking black clouds looming above us we made it to Snagov. There was one rather dilapidated bus stop with no times tables or useful information at all and no one in sight. A shop keeper told us there wasn't any buses, or in fact any taxis around. Hmmm, helpful chap. Assessing the situation for a moment it seemed we were stranded  in the middle of nowhere 40km away from the city  and it was about to rain. A lot.

Just before James decided to pull a wad of cash out of the ATM and wave it in the face of any passer by, I thought to try again in the shop. The thought of sleeping rough in a thunderstorm made me grimace. Only this time did the shop man point at the bus stop we had just passed. I'm sure he did it on purpose. It's always amusing to watch two ridiculous tourists, close to tears shit themselves.

Who would have thought 30 people could fit in to this.

A mini bus eventually came but it appeared that there wasn't just no seats available, there was no space full stop. Like hell we were going to wait for another one so we crammed ourselves in. I was sat under the dash board and James was squatting on the step. This is nice we thought. 

Every tiny bit of space imaginable was taken up by people standing, squatting or hanging on for dear life. Just when we thought it couldn't get any worse, the driver stopped to let more people on. Within 20 minutes we had gradually made our way down towards the middle of the bus. It had begun to hammer it down with rain and it was like standing in a greenhouse in the middle of a rainforest. But this greenhouse smelt of armpits. 

"This is Romania!" joked a lady, after realising we both found the whole sweaty situation fairly amusing. Actually I thought, no, it's absolutely ridiculous. If we crashed all 30 of the people in this crappy little 14 seater micro bus would be toast. Not nice tasty toast and marmite either; soggy squashed toast covered in bolognese.

Needless to say, we did make it back alive and headed straight to Lipscani and the nearest bar, to obviously toast our success at having possibly the most unproductive day imaginable. 

James vowed never to suggest anything...ever again. I have to say, he's had better ideas. 

But James' day wasn't over yet.

It turned out that evening James was chatted up by a prozzey pimp with missing teeth. After trying to sell him a 12 year old whore for 500lei she then proceeded to follow him down a backstreet. The rough old dog then decided to pin him against a wall, give him a distract-your-attention grope whilst stealing his phone and a cash!

The next morning James was describing to me this rather sordid chain of events of the night before and I was surprised she robbed him blind. He then proceeded to tell me he may have perhaps insulted her slightly in a previous conversation which could have angered the pimp lady somewhat. She had asked him why he didn't want to buy any girls and what was he afraid of. 

James then told her that the reason why he wasn't interested was because he had heard awful stories about prostitutes and he'll more than likely get robbed by them. 

Hmm. That'll be it then.

What a way to set yourself up for the most expensive grope in history. 

Jame's top tip of the day: Never piss off a toothless pimp.

Bucharest 1 month in

Shisha Alley

Firstly, the reason for my absence from the blogersphere recently is due in part to the fact that nothing of much significance has really happened. One month in to life in Bucharest and we've found ourselves counting down the days until we leave for the green pastures of Breb,Transylvania. 

We had a short snowy trip in the 1st week where the kids learnt how to snowboard and I had an incident with a bottle of Romanian moonshine and a snowy piste. Let's just say, I genuinely thought I had broken my neck. For a week afterwards I couldn't lift my head off the pillow. Instead I had to roll onto my face and slide my whole body off the bed feet first, scooping my head up in my hands. 

Bucharest is an interesting city. It's not hard to imagine it was only a mere 20 odd years ago that Romania was still under communist rule.  In 1989 Ceausescu and his wife were both executed in public which put a prompt end to that.
The city is gradually changing, a cultural scene is emerging and people are starting to learn how to live. However, you can't help but get the distinct feeling that the 2 million population are still somewhat scared to breath. The whole country is rife with corruption and stray dogs. If you happen to read anything articles on Bucharest, they rarely mention anything else. It's common to wander the streets and spot shady mafia folk everywhere you go. You see Bentleys parked along side rusty 80s Ladas and crusty tramps kipping in the doorway of Armani.

The architecture is a funny mix of neoclassical and art nouveau as well as neo-romanian. There is little medieval architecture left as it was destroyed by communist systemization. The whole historic center was demolished to make way for high rises and apartment blocks. The small pieces that were spared are impressive. I was walking past a building site the other day and happened to have a nose through a gap in the mesh fencing. There were more than 10 which I could see, intacted human skeletons sticking out of the ground in various places. In some areas, men were just hacking the bones out and dumping them into rubbish bags. Slightly odd but never mind.

I have been living with the kids and their Dad in an apartment near the centre. We have school as usual and then I do my website doodling. During the week when I finish I walk to Carrefour with Claudia. Not that I like shopping, but it's the only time I get to leave the apartment. Most days I have to still steer Claudia away from the stray dogs which she can't help but try and make friends with. She did make a friend in art class; but she obviously wasn't hairy or smelly enough. 

If it wasn't for the abundance of Vin Rosu and its tasty cheap availability, I would have certainly gone nuts in less than a week. I've recently found a rather disgusting bottle for the equivalent of a mere £1.10! It tastes like sweet gypsy piss, but beggars can't be choosers now can they.

My next blog is much more exciting, James came over and got groped by a prozzey....but that's another story.

Pe curand prietenii mea!