Greetings From the World Trade Center
Sep. 17th, 2002 10:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lawnrrd(I originally wrote this entry longhand on the morning of September 9, 2002.)
It is 6:30 A.M., and Malev Airlines flight 853 is nearly full. We are flying from Bucharest to Budapest on the second leg of our 2002 European tour. After a few days in Budapest, we will go to Amsterdam, where I expect to get fucked up. At that point, I will return to New York, while my wife and a friend will go to Scotland for nearly a week.
There's no theme to our choice of destinations, although my wife does have ex-boyfriends everywhere on our itinerary. It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type.
We went to Romania for the wedding of one of the ex-boyfriends. He is Dutch and he married a Romanian girl. Although legally married in a civil ceremony, they also chose to have a traditional village wedding for the families. For some reason they invited us, and for some reason we went.
The wedding took place in Bran, which is in Transylvania. To get there, we flew to Bucharest, leaving New York (actually, Newark) on Thursday afternoon and arriving early Friday morning in Amsterdam. My wife slept on the flight. I couldn't sleep, so I watched Changing Lanes with Samuel L. Jackson and without headphones. After a four-hour layover on comfy lounge chairs at Amsterdam's Schiphol airport, we got on another flight to Bucharest, arriving at about 2 P.M. on Friday.
The ex-boyfriend was at the airport to meet us and several other guests, who were coming from Holland. He had thoughtfully hired a mini-bus and a driver to take us all from the airport to Bran. Unfortunately, some guests were on a later flight, so we couldn't leave right away. Instead, we went to a small cafe in charming downtown Bucharest.
This was when we certified the winner of the Ugly American award. The surprise winner was an unseeded Dutch contestant, a friend of the groom. We had some trouble ordering, as no one in our multinational group spoke any language known to any member of the waitstaff. We managed to order nonetheless, and after the waitress left our table, the Dutch guy said to the rest of us, "You'd think that they'd speak English at a place like this."
We finished our refreshments, then got back into the van and returned to the airport to pick up the late arrivals. Our group complete, we left for Bran.
The trip to Bran took about three hours. The highlight of the trip came about half an hour from the end, when we saw a mama bear and her cub by the side of the road. It was easy to see the animals, as there was a TOTAL FUCKING IDIOT who was feeding them, throwing them bread from his car.
We shortly thereafter arrived at the hotel, the Vila Bran. The Vila Bran is three or four wood buildings that look a little like a ski lodge. The rooms were small and somewhat rustic, but clean and comfortable. Our room was on the third floor, which wouldn't have been a problem, except that after twenty-four straight hours of traveling, I wasn't in the mood to carry our bags up the narrow stairway. We had a late dinner, then went to bed.
Probably the best feature of our room was the unobstructed room we had of Castle Bran, a kilometer away. Castle Bran is famous, although it is better known by the name Bram Stoker gave it: Castle Dracula. The castle is less imposing than I had expected, even up close, but it was cool to be there.
If I were single, or even in a poly relationship, I'm sure I could use this story to my advantage with some of the less discerning goth girls, but it's not a perfect world.
The wedding was the next evening. It began with an Eastern Orthodox (Romanian Orthodox?) ceremony at a village church that could have come right out of an old story. Afterward, we went back to the Vila Bran for the party, which lasted until five A.M., and included Romanian folk dancers and a D.J. playing the greatest hits of the 80s. Five courses were served throughout the night, each nearly a complete meal unto itself. By the time the wedding cake came out, it was nearly three A.M. My wife and I went to bed around four, as we had to get up early to catch our flight.
And by that point, we were ready to leave, too. The hills of Bran were lovely, but they were mostly obscured by a smoky haze. The entire country smelled of smoke, too--outdoors smelled of wood smoke, while everywhere indoors smelled of stale tobacco smoke. The food was downright nasty: everything--wine, meat, cheese, vegetables--had a foul aftertaste.
The only upside was the girls. Romanian girls have spectacular bodies, at least before Romanian life grinds them down. A bunch of us men decided that this was probably due to communist-era pollution of the drinking water, which ultimately led us to conclude that maybe communism wasn't so bad after all.
My wife and I woke Sunday morning after five hours of sleep, finished repacking, and left for the train station. This is when things got ugly.
For starters, first class was sold out, which meant we had to ride in a second-class compartment. In Romania, this is a big deal, not mere snobbery. It was a hot day, the car was unventilated, and we couldn't get the windows open until the ride was nearly over.
We shared the compartment with a couple of guys and a stylish Romanian woman and her three children. The oldest of her children, a daughter, clearly had been drinking too much contaminated drinking water, and could probably have a spectacularly successful modeling career.
Someone in our compartment had a train schedule, and we then discovered that a terrible mistake had been made. If the train arrived on schedule, we would have only one hour and ten minutes before our flight's scheduled departure. As it turned out, the train arrived a half-hour late.
We ran for a cab. After a frenzied race through the streets of Bucharest, and a surprise cab fare that was roughly tantamount to anal rape, we missed the plane. Worse, there was not a single representative of the airline to be found anywhere; the ticket counter closed even before the plane left.
Tears were shed.
We had rented a cell phone in America that promised to work anywhere in Europe, and once we figured out how, we called our travel agent's emergency number. We wanted to get on any flight out of Bucharest, going anywhere. (If you've been there, you understand.) But all remaining flights that day were either sold out or had only business class left, at a thousand dollars a seat. So we got a reservation on the first flight in the morning instead.
This left us with the problem of where to spend the night. At this point, I was determined to find the most un-Romanian hotel possible. We wound up at the lovely Sofitel Bucharest, located about fifteen minutes away from the airport, in a complex that had optimistically been named the World Trade Center. That last part struck me as ironic.
We had an early dinner, then went to bed, exhausted, at about eight o'clock. As exhausted as I was, I was still somewhat wired, so I watched the first quarter of the Philadelphia Eagles-Tennessee Titans game on satellite TV. I'm a big Eagles fan. I slept for a while, then we woke up in time to watch the Eagles lose a close one.
The wake-up call came at four A.M., and we checked out of the hotel and caught the shuttle to the airport.
And that's about the end of the Romanian part of the trip. Except maybe to note the sign I saw in the window of the Aeroflot booth: "If we aren't smiling, it is because we are working hard to make you smile."
It is 6:30 A.M., and Malev Airlines flight 853 is nearly full. We are flying from Bucharest to Budapest on the second leg of our 2002 European tour. After a few days in Budapest, we will go to Amsterdam, where I expect to get fucked up. At that point, I will return to New York, while my wife and a friend will go to Scotland for nearly a week.
There's no theme to our choice of destinations, although my wife does have ex-boyfriends everywhere on our itinerary. It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type.
We went to Romania for the wedding of one of the ex-boyfriends. He is Dutch and he married a Romanian girl. Although legally married in a civil ceremony, they also chose to have a traditional village wedding for the families. For some reason they invited us, and for some reason we went.
The wedding took place in Bran, which is in Transylvania. To get there, we flew to Bucharest, leaving New York (actually, Newark) on Thursday afternoon and arriving early Friday morning in Amsterdam. My wife slept on the flight. I couldn't sleep, so I watched Changing Lanes with Samuel L. Jackson and without headphones. After a four-hour layover on comfy lounge chairs at Amsterdam's Schiphol airport, we got on another flight to Bucharest, arriving at about 2 P.M. on Friday.
The ex-boyfriend was at the airport to meet us and several other guests, who were coming from Holland. He had thoughtfully hired a mini-bus and a driver to take us all from the airport to Bran. Unfortunately, some guests were on a later flight, so we couldn't leave right away. Instead, we went to a small cafe in charming downtown Bucharest.
This was when we certified the winner of the Ugly American award. The surprise winner was an unseeded Dutch contestant, a friend of the groom. We had some trouble ordering, as no one in our multinational group spoke any language known to any member of the waitstaff. We managed to order nonetheless, and after the waitress left our table, the Dutch guy said to the rest of us, "You'd think that they'd speak English at a place like this."
We finished our refreshments, then got back into the van and returned to the airport to pick up the late arrivals. Our group complete, we left for Bran.
The trip to Bran took about three hours. The highlight of the trip came about half an hour from the end, when we saw a mama bear and her cub by the side of the road. It was easy to see the animals, as there was a TOTAL FUCKING IDIOT who was feeding them, throwing them bread from his car.
We shortly thereafter arrived at the hotel, the Vila Bran. The Vila Bran is three or four wood buildings that look a little like a ski lodge. The rooms were small and somewhat rustic, but clean and comfortable. Our room was on the third floor, which wouldn't have been a problem, except that after twenty-four straight hours of traveling, I wasn't in the mood to carry our bags up the narrow stairway. We had a late dinner, then went to bed.
Probably the best feature of our room was the unobstructed room we had of Castle Bran, a kilometer away. Castle Bran is famous, although it is better known by the name Bram Stoker gave it: Castle Dracula. The castle is less imposing than I had expected, even up close, but it was cool to be there.
If I were single, or even in a poly relationship, I'm sure I could use this story to my advantage with some of the less discerning goth girls, but it's not a perfect world.
The wedding was the next evening. It began with an Eastern Orthodox (Romanian Orthodox?) ceremony at a village church that could have come right out of an old story. Afterward, we went back to the Vila Bran for the party, which lasted until five A.M., and included Romanian folk dancers and a D.J. playing the greatest hits of the 80s. Five courses were served throughout the night, each nearly a complete meal unto itself. By the time the wedding cake came out, it was nearly three A.M. My wife and I went to bed around four, as we had to get up early to catch our flight.
And by that point, we were ready to leave, too. The hills of Bran were lovely, but they were mostly obscured by a smoky haze. The entire country smelled of smoke, too--outdoors smelled of wood smoke, while everywhere indoors smelled of stale tobacco smoke. The food was downright nasty: everything--wine, meat, cheese, vegetables--had a foul aftertaste.
The only upside was the girls. Romanian girls have spectacular bodies, at least before Romanian life grinds them down. A bunch of us men decided that this was probably due to communist-era pollution of the drinking water, which ultimately led us to conclude that maybe communism wasn't so bad after all.
My wife and I woke Sunday morning after five hours of sleep, finished repacking, and left for the train station. This is when things got ugly.
For starters, first class was sold out, which meant we had to ride in a second-class compartment. In Romania, this is a big deal, not mere snobbery. It was a hot day, the car was unventilated, and we couldn't get the windows open until the ride was nearly over.
We shared the compartment with a couple of guys and a stylish Romanian woman and her three children. The oldest of her children, a daughter, clearly had been drinking too much contaminated drinking water, and could probably have a spectacularly successful modeling career.
Someone in our compartment had a train schedule, and we then discovered that a terrible mistake had been made. If the train arrived on schedule, we would have only one hour and ten minutes before our flight's scheduled departure. As it turned out, the train arrived a half-hour late.
We ran for a cab. After a frenzied race through the streets of Bucharest, and a surprise cab fare that was roughly tantamount to anal rape, we missed the plane. Worse, there was not a single representative of the airline to be found anywhere; the ticket counter closed even before the plane left.
Tears were shed.
We had rented a cell phone in America that promised to work anywhere in Europe, and once we figured out how, we called our travel agent's emergency number. We wanted to get on any flight out of Bucharest, going anywhere. (If you've been there, you understand.) But all remaining flights that day were either sold out or had only business class left, at a thousand dollars a seat. So we got a reservation on the first flight in the morning instead.
This left us with the problem of where to spend the night. At this point, I was determined to find the most un-Romanian hotel possible. We wound up at the lovely Sofitel Bucharest, located about fifteen minutes away from the airport, in a complex that had optimistically been named the World Trade Center. That last part struck me as ironic.
We had an early dinner, then went to bed, exhausted, at about eight o'clock. As exhausted as I was, I was still somewhat wired, so I watched the first quarter of the Philadelphia Eagles-Tennessee Titans game on satellite TV. I'm a big Eagles fan. I slept for a while, then we woke up in time to watch the Eagles lose a close one.
The wake-up call came at four A.M., and we checked out of the hotel and caught the shuttle to the airport.
And that's about the end of the Romanian part of the trip. Except maybe to note the sign I saw in the window of the Aeroflot booth: "If we aren't smiling, it is because we are working hard to make you smile."
