| The Caucasus - My Journal |
Musing on the Train
9th July - Oradea -> Sighisoara
As today was a Sunday, the trains to my next destination were infrequent and the first one wasn't until early afternoon. So after a lazy morning, I headed down to the train station at 11:15 for my 12:30 train. I'd heard that it was always best to turn up 40 minutes or so before a train, to ensure you can get tickets. As I had nothing much to do in Oradea, I sauntered along at this hours, with the intention of passing the excessive amount of waiting time by reading a book on the platform. Well...that's what I'd intended...
After buying my ticket without problem, I wandered over to the nearest platform and made myself comfortable, lounging around on my backpack with my dog-eared book out. However, after about 5 minutes, a Romanian guy tapped me on the shoulder, "the lady in there [at the ticket desk] said you should get on that train over there, don't wait for the next one". The guy jabbed a finger in the direction of the worn, blue train, sitting on the far platform. I looked over, thanked him, then darted through the underpass to the other side of the station.
Looking up at the solemn train, I tried to work out which one it was and if I was really meant to take it. I had the right destination written on it, but why was it here at this time? I'd chosen the first train of the day, so it couldn't have been an earlier one, but my train wasn't due to leave for another hour and 10 minutes. As I was standing there pondering the situation, a girl with a backpack asked me if I talked English then asked which way the train was going. I told her the direction and she seemed happy, indicating that it was the right train, but not confused by the earliness of the train. Her travelling companion then sauntered up, having obtained the same information from a guard on the platform. I questioned them about the early presence of the train, and they countered by saying it was going to leave in 10 minutes...not the hour and 10 minutes I thought. It slowly dawned on me, that by crossing into Romania, I'd also crossed over to another time zone! Romania was an hour ahead of Hungary, and so by arriving an hour and 10 early...I'd actually only arrived 10 minutes early!
I quickly boarded the train, counting my lucky stars, and sat down in my cabin with some elderly Romanian people. The journey to Sighisoara was a good 5 or 6 hours, so I made myself comfortable.
Romania is a huge country, and most of the journey took me through vast, rolling green and yellow fields. The outposts of inhabitation only appeared occasionally, like tiny oases in a sea of crops. Every so often the train tracks would cross a road and I'd stare out of the window at a weary farm worker, sitting on a horse-drawn cart, who would gaze back at me; our worlds, like the road and the tracks, crossing briefly and instantaneously, before continuing off into infinity, never likely to meet again.
Looking at these people in the middle of rural Romania, I thought about the continual paradox faced by travellers trying to seek out an experience of true life in a foreign country. When most people travel, they zip between the most popular cities and sights, using their guidebooks to dictate their decisions. Due to limits on time and money, this is a sensible way to travel. The popular places are well visited and well documented for very good reasons! However, many backpackers, who often have the luxury of time, are keen to seek out something a little different and off the beaten track. They would like the opportunity to meet locals, mix with them and gain a better insight into life in the country. The places where it would be best to do this, are the places where the trains and coaches just fly on through, never stopping for even a moment's thought. These places, untouched by tourism, could offer great opportunities. However, the fact that tourism hasn't reached them, means there is little or no infrastructure for travellers so it is difficult to find a way or getting to or staying there. No guesthouses, no eateries, no regular transport. And the irony is, when a few of these conveniences appear, tourism has now began to seep in, and the place has begun to follow a definite and irrevocable change, and the very reason the intrepid travellers wanted to visit, has now gone. Hmmm....these thoughts to be continued later.
 I had already booked a hostel in Sighisoara on-line (I didn't want to go through the same thing as I did in Oradea!) and I knew that it was near the train station. However, flicking through my guidebook just before arrival, I noticed that all of the hostels were near the train station, grouped together on the main road into town. I subsequently realised that I couldn't remember the name of the hostel I'd made a booking with! I'd written down the reference number, but not the name or exact address...
As soon as I stepped off the train, I was accosted by a number of people brandishing brochures for the local hostels. I firmly brushed them all aside, telling them I'd already made a booking on-line. However, as I reached the part of town were the hostel were, I realised I had no chance of working our which hostel I'd booked. A friendly English guy then waved me over to one of the hostels, and I decided to go with it. As I wandered across the road, one of the touts from earlier appeared with another backpacker, claimed from the train, and smiled, saying that he knew I'd choose to stay there in the end.
As the booking charge is only 10% of the total bill (which make its less than 1 pound) I wasn't too concerned about the loss of the fee, but made a mental note to write down clearly the name of all future hostels that I booked! Anyhow, this hostel, Nathan's Hostel, was really nice; bright, clean, spacious and friendly. The wide dorm rooms were colourful and the staff were very welcoming. The hostel was a little quiet though, only a handful of people appeared to be staying, which I thought a bit strange for the summer, but apparently it was just a quiet week.
The only other guests that I could find were two friendly Japanese girls, a quiet American guy and a very talkative English guy. The English guy was particularly interesting as he seemed to really like Romania, so much so that he'd bought a house and a car here! He was also a regular patron of the hostel and had built a good rapport with the staff. However, the most interesting fact...was that he knew my home town of Gosport. In fact, when he asked where I was from, I said Portsmouth (the nearest big town, which people have at least a small chance of knowing). He then asked me if knew Gosport, where he'd worked in the War Memorial Hospital! Crazy! It really is a small world sometimes!
It was quite late by the time I'd settled in, but I still had a chance to wander down in the town centre, but I'll talk about that tomorrow, when I properly explore the town.
The evening was a pretty quiet one, Sighisoara is a small town and the tourist numbers seemed to be pretty low. All of the hostel guests and staff just headed down to the small underground bar to watch the World Cup final. And the evening ended with Zidane head butting one of the Italians and Italy seize victory after a pretty dull penalty shootout.
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