Day 18

"This isn't a road, this is a fricken donkey path," S2 snarled at Carmen, as she told us to turn left onto Ulitsa Tri Mart.  NS and I laughed uproariously as we spotted the sign (in Cyrillic) declaring the bumpy path we were set to drive down as indeed, Ulitsa Tri Mart.

We'd gone off the main road for S2 to see some frescoes painted in caves (UNESCO identified).  Probably due to our cycling days, we avoid retracing our route if at all possible.  Thus, we were attempting to connect a series of very small roads (those kind not on the map) to get back to the main route.  This is where, usually, Carmen is a big help.  We have discovered, however, there are just as many roads Carmen doesn't know about,  brand new, oh-so-smooth, 4-lane expressways, that she tells you to make a U-turn on.  She provides us with countless laughs.  NS and I have toyed with the idea of changing her voice to a male voice for our drive home next week (as S2 won't be with us).  The debate is what we would name HIM.

Anyhow, she'd taken us on a road that I approved, in conjunction with the map (I can't let her be the sole navigator).  Neither of us had any way of knowing that the bridge was being re-built.  Hmmmm, this might have been what that sign back at the last junction was telling us.  S2 went to pull the car up to the edge of the road (just before the drop off) to start a T turn.  The three dozing construction workers popped out of nowhere yelling and screaming.  I could only imagine their thoughts 'crazy German tourist, just because they won the World Cup doesn't mean they can fly over bridges.'  They gestured up the 'path' in the direction we were traveling, yelling 'most, most' - bridge in Russian, Czech, and apparently, Bulgarian.  

Sure enough, Carmen announced she was recalculating, and we bumped and lumped our way up this incredibly narrow road, managed to make room for two vehicles going the opposite direction to pass, and at the next, uh, intersection, Carmen announced that we should take a left turn onto Ulitsa Tri Mart.  Even more hilarious, once we made the turn and S2 made his proclamation that we were on a donkey path, she told us to continue for 8.9 kms!

This was the stretch of road where I noted, all this corn and none of it is fit for human consumption.  Somehow, sweet corn has not made it from the New World to the Old World.  Those seeds must be restricted from being exported.  Every ear of corn we have eaten in Europe (and we've lived here 10 years now) has been disappointing.  I've seen the seed signs, declaring which rows of corn come from which kind of seed (just like in Nebraska and Iowa), but as far as I'm concerned, none of it is worth eating.  I've been disappointed too many times.  Peaches, however, are another story.

Other first impressions of Bulgaria: lovely rolling hills, I mean, really romantic rolling hills, lots of flowers, especially in the stretch of grass in front of the high fences at roadside, many fruit trees, and somehow, more Mediterranean, and mosques -  not big ones, small village-sized ones.

Bulgarian is in the Slavic family and uses the Cyrillic alphabet. Perhaps it is a concession to being an EU member, but the road signs are in Cyrillic and Roman letters.  So, when we stop at a T-junction, we aren't being asked to choose from 4 different destinations, there are only two choices, it just looks more complicated because of the similarities in letters that have completely different sounds.  

Our next stop was Madera to look at the national symbol of Bulgaria, a carving in a rock face of a horseman stabbing a dragon, his faithful dog by his side.  It was pretty impressive for being there since before the year 1000.  The body parts of everything looked in good proportion, well-muscled.  I would think dragons were a bit bigger, but having never seen one, who am I to assume?

On to Varna, the beach resort of the Black Sea.  It's probably the French Riviera to Eastern Europe.  During the Cold War, those of us in the U.S. could only see photos of it in National Geographic.  We knew it would be a much bigger scene than we were comfortable with, but decided to gawk anyhow.  How hard could it be?  Drive east until you reach the ocean and then go left or right! Multi-story malls, designer stores, people everywhere, lots of traffic, where is the beach?

We meet the Black Sea.

These people don't need no stinkin' Smart Car to take one of those narrow parking spots!

We continued south along the coast, heading to Nesebar, a pre-Roman fortified city, surely there would be less of a crowd there.  The 8-km Sunny Beach, prior to Nesebar would surely be THE place to be.  In the end, we discovered every square centimeter of the coast line appears to have apartments, hotels, shops, tourists, and beach umbrellas.

We had decided to take tomorrow, the 25th anniversary of that day we got the piece of paper in Japan that says we are married, and spend it at the Black Sea.  Thus, we set ourselves up to stay two nights in a hotel, with a balcony, a short walk from the beach.

What are celebrations?

NS asked us at dinner to name some memorable anniversaries.  I was stumped.  I've long preferred to celebrate November 4, 1981, the day we were introduced.  The 25th anniversary of this came in 2006.  It was celebrated in Moscow, where we rented the Near Dacha (courtesy of the U.S. Embassy) and invited close friends for a dinner.  Our then 9-year old and 12-year old, wrote a reader's theatre about their interpretation of our meeting, and directed the guests as it was performed.

I told her I couldn't remember notable anniversaries but I could remember noteworthy events: being handed a naked, warm, pink, wet baby; coming home from Quilt Camp watching my son proudly ride his bicycle up and down the street,  sending my crying daughter out my classroom door to the new playground that she had to face without any family, watching her dress as Audrey Hepburn to emcee a concert, laughing until my sides ached and tears ran down my cheeks as the three people most precious to me lay on our big bed playing windshield wipers.  It was the moment I realized the difference between enjoying life and celebrating, concluding I'm not much of a celebrator, but more of a liver. That doesn't exactly look like the liver that I mean...but somehow, lifer doesn't look right either.

Knowing all that, you might appreciate the events of the past 24 hours...  We checked into our hotel, and were grateful for three beds, air conditioning, a BIG bathroom, even if there was no shower curtain, one of those the bathroom is the shower types, but with lots of room and plenty of space to store the toilet paper from getting wet.

We enjoyed a lovely grocery dinner on the balcony in the fresh sea air.  S2 bought the wine.  The grin on his face told me he was pleased.  Brand name: Bear's Blood. He never would tell me how much it cost.  

We headed out for a walk on the beach while NS cozied up with the AC and TV remotes.  Upon our return, she reported the shower never got warm.  While switching the plugs, we blew a fuse.  Everything went off, TV, AC, fridge, lights.... Did I ever tell you we forgot to pack a flashlight?  or candles?

S2 and I headed downstairs to try to explain to the non-English speaking woman who checked us in that we had no electricity.  No one there.  Oh, but there was a phone number taped to the counter.  I assumed it was for emergencies.  Something about the Cyrillic writing with it was the tip off.  Hmmm, big mystery, we had no cell phone service.  Not a no signal, or weak signal or searching for signal...No Service.  No wonder none of us had received the two text messages from Vodafone.  We were in no service land.  We went to the basement in search of a fuse box.  Found one, and hey, our room number was the only fuse in the off position.  Flip that switch and return to the room ....  No change.  After knocking on some unmarked doors, finding no one to help us, we gave up and went to bed.

It was quite the night, laying there thinking about how freezing cold the shower had been and how how warm the room was getting, but unable to open the balcony door because the mosquitoes would come in eat NS and S2 (she had 17 bites at last count). The restaurant across the street had a lively crowd until 4 in the morning, so even if I did open the door it would be even noisier than it already was.    All this on the eve of our 25th wedding anniversary.  Well, none of our anniversaries have been especially remarkable, so did I really think this one would be any different?

Unable to sleep, I tried to think of best possible scenarios, all of which included moving to a nicer hotel room where the fuses did not blow.  Even though that meant packing up and moving, the very thing we DIDN'T want to do today.  By 6, S2 was up, ready to eat his BIG breakfast before he tackled the problem.  He said to me, "why don't you comb your hair, you might feel better!"  As if that would help.

As he ate and ate (and ate) he went over various scenarios.  He would demand our money back and move to a different hotel, but should he find a new hotel first.  If she was able to fix it, would we still move to a new hotel?  What if they offered us a different room?   The room was certainly cheap enough that even if they didn't give us a refund, we could walk away.  On and on and on he went, while bleary-eyed me tried to comprehend what was even going on.  Somehow, NS just kept sleeping.

So, off he goes to find the desk clerk, who walks in the room, points to the small fuse box above the door and motions for S2 to flip the switch that is obviously in the wrong position.  He couldn't stop laughing.  I failed to see THAT much humor in it, set the AC on high, and went back to bed.

By the time I wake up, S2 was nearly finished hand washing all our laundry (having figured out how to turn the hot water heater on), NS had eaten breakfast, and both were happy to see me in a better mood.

So, as the two of us splurged and rented a beach umbrella and two lounge chairs on the shore of the Black Sea, going in the water to cool off, we reflected on our 25 years of marriage.  We both admit, it hasn't always been easy, but we've learned a lot about adapting and being flexible, and about leaps of faith.

Maybe the next time someone asks if we ever had a memorable anniversary, I'll remember this one, or maybe I'll try to remember and only come up with memorable moments of living: my daughter's squeals and wiggles as she read the menu at the Three Broomsticks, my son's incredible graduation speech, my husband's laugh when our daughter squeezes into our embrace and says 'y'all make room for Jesus.'

NS excused herself from dinner and went for a walk on the beach.  Shortly after she left, there were fireworks in the sky, lovely bursts of orange, gold, yellow, red and green.  Yes, us romantics had to kiss and say we saw fireworks.  They lasted a short 5 mins, and when NS returned, she announced, "so you thought I was in the room all day, but really ...."  I finished her sentence, "you were arranging fireworks for our anniversary."

I slept much better that night.  No noise from the neighbor restaurant with the AC running all night.

Day 18 and 19 are coming

You get behind a day, enjoying air conditioning, and the next thing you know, you're in a hotel with no WIFI, and enjoying other things.  

Day 17

"Are those the pockets of her shorts?"  So asks the 16-year old who has attended private schools all her life (apart from that one year at the one-teacher school house in rural Wyoming).  We could call it naïveté. We could call it a sheltered life.  Or we could just call it common sense.  As near as I could tell, she was seeing a prostitute standing by the side of the road, cell phone in hand, decorative pockets sticking out from under those skimpy shorts.

We were on the ring road around Bucharest.  In an attempt to avoid the traffic-clogged city, we were attempting to take the bypass, but so were countless semi trucks.  Thus, we were in bumper to bumper traffic, easing our way around the outskirts of a city with limited infrastructure.  It was a two-lane by pass, with no paved shoulder.  Thus, the occasional car-in-a-hurry, went speeding over the incredibly bumpy, pot-holed side of the road, attempting to cut in line before their shocks gave out.  There were countless vendors walking up and down the middle of the road, some wearing those umbrella hats that protect their heads from the sun.  What were they selling?  Not the flowers or newspapers we often see when we are stuck in traffic in Denver, but a shoe...that's right, a single shoe.  You can imagine the fun NS and S2 had with that.

We were en route to Bulgaria, trying to get across the border and stay the night there, since we were down to our last Romanian leu, there was no reason to stop.  We'd only have to go to an ATM.

The day had dawned back in Sibiu, another great historical city.  We had a lovely room in a pension on the corner of two very busy, one-way, narrow cobblestone streets.  It had not been a restful. Ought, as we all jumped every time a car came zooming by, or at least that's what it sounded like they were doing.

We packed up and headed out to drive over the Trans-Carpathian-Polyhedron highway (NS added that last bit).  It was a gorgeous stretch of incredible hairpin curves (google maps shows 15 on each side of the pass).  It was fairly exciting starting up, wondering exactly what the top of this pass would look like.  Trees? No trees?  Snow?  No snow?  Semi-trucks or not?  How much traffic would there be?  This was the road the border guard told us about.  It was  spectacular winding up to the mist, leaving timber line, passing countless cyclists pedaling their way up.  There were so many, with their obvious sag wagons, walking-talkies in hand, grins on their faces, that I did wonder if we were driving through a race or something.  

We were a sag wagon as well, it was just that our rider was getting out at the TOP,of the pass, and we'd meet him at the bottom of the hill.  Hey, when you are over 55, you know life is a lot more about having fun than proving anything.

NS squealed with delight as we went in and out of the mist, as the "land below" disappeared before her very eyes.  When she saw the cable car on the wire overhead, she gasped and wondered why we couldn't ride up the mountain that way.  We stopped at an open space near the top as she wanted to feel the air, touch the raging waters of the stream tumbling down, and take the traditional Uncle John photo

Courage in the face of a brisk wind

She remarked how Victoria, Klaus' Singaporean girlfriend would freeze just looking at the water (we all marvel,at her complaints about how cold it is in LA).

We let S2 out and watched him glide downhill, while we tried to set up the do to the radio for musical entertainment.  Of course, we caught up to him, took some photos and continued on down the hill until we saw THE lake and a place to pull off the road.  He joined us 26 kms later.

Border crossing was easy, once we got in the correct line.  It is a bit confusing, the car is EU, but we are not.  We joined the Ukranians, and were waved in.  All while listening to Bulgarian radio playing the soundtrack of Mary Poppins!

We programmed Carmen to get us out of Ruse, but stopped at a Kaufland first (mega grocery store).  The ATM provided with Bulgarian Lev.  We got dinner food.  It's so easy to point and agree at a deli or bakery or fast food place.  This, we ended up at Ray's Tourist Complex with a gorgeous room, eating some concoction of liver, rice, cheese and humus with great bread.  Oh, and another GREAT bottle of wine.  The air conditioning that night was stupendous!  Yes, I do like my comfort!

The colors of Eastern Europe need a comment or two...

In 1991, S2 and I pedaled through eastern Germany, Poland, what was then Czechoslovakia, and Hungary.  The lack of color was noteworthy.  Having recently jumped ship from the Communist bloc, there were lots of new things going on, and I suspect getting rid of the dull, drab, concrete grey was not as high on the priority list as a few other things.  Actually, a German colleague of mine, who grew up in the east, told me the first thing she wanted to get when The Wall came down was a Barbie doll for her daughter and to try Nutella (they could get western advertising In the east).

So, this time through, I've noted substantial differences in the color of houses.  It started just after Prague, when driving passed Brno, I saw apartment blocks (at least 20 stories, or more, high) that were painted lovely pastel colors ....  Liliac, mint green, periwinkle, soft begonia, and lemon yellow.  What does it do to one's disposition to wake up in the dead of a cold, grey Northern European winter and look at a 20 story lilac building?  Surely, it takes the edge off of any grumpiness.

The colors are evident everywhere we drive.  I like to try and decide what to call them.  I have identified Barney purple, E.U. Blue, Holland orange, Christmas green, carnation pink, dusty rose, daffodil, mauve, aquamarine, teal, sky blue, ocean blue, lagoon blue, lagoon green, emerald green, red orange, burnt orange, coral, apricot, peach, WYO brown and gold, sand, mahogany, chestnut, UPS brown, and maroon.  Those shade of purple and green are the real eye catchers.  Not only houses are painted these colors, but shops as well.  I wonder if we had the SHADE of yellow that Andy's grandmother's house was, perhaps we would have been able to find it!  :D

I Vant To Drink Your Blood!!

Bran Castle was the destination for today.  S2 was up early and headed down the five flights of stairs (just like home) to pedal the 50 kms up and over the Translvanian Alps.  He was able to do this all before the sleepyheads were out of the room (we were up, just not out).  It was jaw dropping to round that last curve and see that BIG castle. 

O.K....that is taken from the steps of the entrance.

NS loved this overgrown set of stairs behind the locked gate.

The knocker on the door ....

Yes, it was all very cool.  The real story of the castle, however, has little to do with Bram Stoker actually spending any time here.  The character he based Dracula on was known as Vlad the Impaler.  Look him up on Wikipedia if you want to learn gory details ... He sounded like a fierce soldier to me.

The interesting history of the castle was the Romanian royal family who lived here.  The Queen, actually worked as a nurse during World War I.  The family was exiled during the Communist regime.  it's been in this century that the surviving members of the family gave the castle back to Romania.  I got chills of excitement reading the letter from the Prince, thanking the "elves of Bram" and proclaiming it a true fairy tale that they had all taken such good care of the castle sine the family was forced into exile.

the courtyard

The Queen 's bedroom

Our traveling artist

An itty bitty cannon

we continued on to Brasov (and their Hollywood-type sign)

The streets were lively on a Tuesday night

And yes, there is a Bank of Translvania with ATMs that give money, not blood.

Has it really been two weeks?

Each of us counted three different ways at dinner, but we all agreed, we'd been on the road that long!

S2 returned from his morning bike ride after it started to get sweltering.  NS and I were still comfortably contained in our air conditioned room.  Remember, I said this place was a find!  He had a brand new scheme of us taking another over night trip without the car.  We'd take the 4-hr public ferry out to the mouth of the delta, with his bicycle.  We would stay the night and NS and I would get on the same ferry the next morning for a 7AM departure, while he cycled up River to get on at one of the towns. Using Google Maps and their satellite view, we discovered, there are no connecting roads!  If he wanted to ride in the early morning (more bird life) we would need to stay 3 nights!  NS called for a Swiss vote (S2 introduced this means of solving disputes while cycling over spring break with some Swiss friends).  It never made it to the ballot stage as he adopted the plan as not happening on this trip.  I pointed out it would be a great spring or autumn break trip, when we worked at the international school in Bucharest.

So, we packed the car and headed back west.  Our next stop ... Dracula's castle.

First, a traffic jam..

Another ferry crossing

And on down the road towards Transylvania!

However, in the foothills of Transylvania is the small village of Alunis.  This past school year, I had, for the first time, a child from Romania.  His family seemed to understand my fascination and delight with having a student "from behind the Iron Curtain."  Truth be told, he was no different than any other student.  At the age of six, he was learning three languages (Romanian, English, and German), he loved dinosaurs and Cars and Buzz Light Year, and on the field trip to the apple orchard, he wouldn't help cut the apples because he said his mom told him not to use sharp knives (I like to support anything a child says about their parents).  His little sister adored him, and it was clear when school was dismissed that she grew impatient waiting outside for him and pulled her mother inside to find him.  The hug she gave him was reminiscent of another little sister with intense feelings for an older brother.

Andy's parents consulted friends of theirs and provided us a list of places to go in Romania.  They provided us with the best map of the trip, and loaned us their GPS (we call her Carmen San Diego because NS likes to say 'where in the world are we Carmen San Diego?").  With the map spread out on the tables in my classroom, I asked Andy and his mother where Andy would be with his grandmother.  His father was taking him to Romania as his school was finished before his sister's and his parents still had to work.  She showed me the village, I circled it on the map, and Andy told me, "it's the yellow house."  His mom just grinned and confirmed it was a yellow house.

Can you see where this is going?

Despite Carmen's insistence of u-turns to head back down the mountain, we kept driving up, and reprogramming her until we were less than 10 kms from the village.  As we passed the road sign declaring this was now Alunis, we stopped at, yes, the first yellow house.  It would have to be a miracle, right???  That is correct, it would have to be a miracle, and it wasn't.  

What we did find, however, was a man, who only spoke Romanian, and armed with S2's pictionary page, he rode with us as we drove up this small valley, stopping wherever he told us to, as he proceeded to question anyone who would answer him.  From my perspective, it seemed like it probably went something like this... These people teach at an international school in Germany, Hannover.  They are looking for a student they had, his grandparents live in this village.  The boy's name is Andy, he's about this tall, his sister is Mare, she's about this tall, their mom is named Dana, the family name is Tudora.  Can you believe it...they don't have a street name or a telephone number?  Oh, and the grandparents live in a yellow house!

The quest was taken seriously by him, and several others, as phone calls were made, doors were knocked on, people gestured and yelled, and we were told countless times....you should have a street address.  Call Germany and get a street address!

We took a photo of the Primary school to prove we were here, and our quest leader in front of his yellow house.

  And just at the last minute, the son of the neighbor appeared, and he spoke Spanish.  S2 rattled off the whole story in Spanish, which enabled everyone to confirm they had the details correct (a crowd gathered whenever we stopped to discuss the situation with anyone).  As everyone seemed so sad for us, so disappointed that we couldn't find them, S2 explained in Spanish, 'we knew it would be a miracle if we found it' and tried to reassure everyone that it was fine.  Our Romanian thank you's hardly seemed like enough.

NS's sense of humor through all this was incredible.  How do you explain to a 16-year old that the world is full of kind-hearted people, just waiting for someone to come along so they can be helpful and kind?  You take her traveling, that's what you do.

It was not a failure that we didn't find the yellow house, it was a miracle that we TRIED to find the yellow house.  Life is for living, and seeing the miracles in our everyday experiences.