The first major event I’d like to write about is my parents’ visit to Romania! Upon joining the Peace Corps, I left with the expectation that I would not see them until returning over two years later. Well, given that things in Uzbekistan didn’t work out and I found myself in Romania, the possibility for a visit increased significantly. Luckily they were able to find time to jet all the way over here for a week! All in all, the visit was a success, though not without a few snags; but as far as things go here in the far east of Europe, there were no major disasters. I decided to put my parents up at the Hotel Concordia, the snazzy hotel in town.

Although the service was friendly (by Romanian standards,) and the rooms spacious and clean, there was one particularly odd thing about the hotel, its artwork. You see, someone had gotten the bright idea that they would hire two models, one male and the other female, and take a bunch of shots of the two posing in and around the hotel. The result was a somewhat disturbing mixture of thinly veiled references to sexual acts, sexual organs and physical abuse. This image appeared on the wall behind the bed in the room. As you can see, the Romanian male (fly unzipped and shirtless) is lording over his female as she lays splayed across the spiral staircase….

After this rather awkward discovery, though, we explored the hotel’s sauna which was quite nice. The following day we visited my school, and my folks sat in on a few classes. Looking back, I think this was one of the true highlights of the trip, as my parents finally got to see what it is I actually do here! Luckily on that day I had a class with my 12th graders, my favorite class. Since I worked with them extensively last year and continue to do so this year, we have developed a close relationship. Add to that the fact that they are all very bright and (most of the time) hard working, and the result is a very fun and intellectually stimulating class. We talked that day about Edgar Allan Poe’s Tell Tale Heart, unreliable narrators, and the meaning of madness.

For the rest of that day and the next we spent time enjoying the city of Targu Mures. Unfortunately the weather was rather lousy, but we were able to make the best of it. Some highlights included visiting the local synagogue and speaking with the man there who is in charge of the small and aged Jewish community that remains in the area. He was a gracious host, giving us a small tour of the old building and some materials in English. During the entire time he tried to speak with my parents in multiple languages (German, French, Russian, Hebrew, etc.) but in the end I had to serve a translator – a job for which I was entirely unsuited. Nonetheless it was a sobering and touching moment.

I can not, however, say the same for the local museums. When we entered the first, our local museum of natural history, the handyman had to turn on all of the lights for us. After the lady sold us our tickets, she followed us around the entire place as we looked at the dated exhibits. She exhibited a typical (and highly irritating) Romanian behavior which is to follow one around at a short distance without offering any sort of chit-chat. This behavior can be witnessed in stores and other areas; while following you at a distance of about two meters, the clerk eyes you as if you are going to steal or break something any minute. After we finished our look about, one member of our party had to use the facilities to which she replied that none were available to guests. I had to bite my tongue and give here a sincere “va rog” (the formal form of please,) and she graciously relented… that’s Romanian hospitality for you.

Additionally, during their time here in town, they were able to meet a few local personalities, friends of mine from work and the Peace Corps. I won’t say more other than that this was another of the highlights of the trip. As a tourist, one doesn’t really interact with the locals at a certain level, but as a PCV, I have a certain privileged level of access, and I was glad to share that.

Since my life in my little bloc apartment is far from pretty (it’s not bad, but apartment life doesn’t compare to one and a half wooded acres,) I decided that we should pay a visit to my original host family from the town of Rasnov. So we headed down to Brasov by train. Now, getting from Brasov to Rasnov (which is about 15 minutes outside of the city,) was something that I did multiple times during our training. We would go by one of three means, a local train, a bus, or hitchhiking. Since I was familiar with all of these methods, I figured that surely we would be able to catch either the train or bus. However, upon examination of the train schedule, it appeared that service had been curtailed, and the next train was not for another few hours. We then stood at what used to be the bus station for about a half hour, only to watch 3 busses headed in our direction whiz by with nary a sign of slowing down anywhere in the vicinity.

This led me to the conclusion that the bus station had been moved – again, a familiar occurrence in Romania. This left us with two choices, either taking a taxi and paying through the nose, or doing it like the locals did and hitchin’ a ride. Luckily for us, after about 10 minutes of arm waving a new car pulled over and offered to take us to our destination. Needless to say, my parents were a little shocked (they admitted that they hadn’t hitchhiked since the 60’s) but the ride was uneventful. I was only sorry that were weren’t picked up in an old Dacia, the Communist-era Romanian rust bucket.

Our welcome in Rasnov, was, however, redemptive of any museum experiences. Immediately offered a starter plate of cheeses, meats and tuica (plum brandy,) we dug into a simple yet hearty meal. During this time my parents were able to meet the lady who affectionately called herself my adoptive Romanian mother!

Unfortunately, my adoptive mom’s daughter (I guess that would make her my sister,) was still at work, so we decided to forgo the trek to the ruins of a walled city atop the town hill. This, however, was a grave disappointment to my adoptive Romanian mother, so some phone calls were made, and soon she was home from work early. Now at this point, I have to explain that the road up to the fortress is not in great shape, in fact it is pocked and steep. It is just the kind of road that our Jeep Cherokee never saw for its 6+ year lifespan. However, my adoptive Romanian sister seemed to have no qualms taking her Daewoo Matiz straight to the top. After some absolutely stunning views from the fortress, we were taken to a secluded remote area where bungee jumping is offered in warmer months. On top of that we given a ride all the way back to Brasov! It was a really brilliant example of hospitality.

The following day was to consist of a simple sequence of events. We were to travel from Brasov to the Medieval German town of Sighisoara, sightsee for a few hours, and then catch the minibus back to Targu Mures. Then, with a few hours to spare, we were to head out to the local airport, and catch a quick flight to Budapest where we were to spend the weekend. However, this was not to be. On the road from Sighisoara to Targu Mures there was a horrible accident which backed up traffic for miles. Two trucks had somehow collided (Romanian roads are one way in each direction and thus lots of high speed passing occurs,) and completely blocked the roadway.

Sadly, the driver of the smaller truck had been killed, and I as walked up to the scene of the accident to investigate, saw him lying on the ground. Although this was a great tragedy, people had places to go, and the accident ought to have been cleared within an hour. However, as this is Romania, nothing gets done quite as quickly as one would like. Therefore, it was three hours later that the badly damaged truck was winched out of the way and the road was re-opened. We, of course, missed our flight, and as a result of this and the three hour wait in a cramped minibus, were not in the greatest of moods. This was the low point. But when we stopped to analyze our situation, that is, having missed a budget flight, we realized that it was minor compared to the awful misfortune that awaited the family of the deceased truck driver. Re-gaining our wits, we decided that the only option was to return to Sighisoara and take the overnight train into Budapest.

And we arrived! I believe it was my parents’ first time in a sleeping car. Was it the most comfortable night ever? No. But was it an adventure? Most definitely. Upon arrival in Budapest we taxied it to the Marriott, and I relinquished my role as guide and became a mere tourist! The hotel was fantastic, and our rooms overlooked the Danube and the Buda hills. For this and the next day we saw the sights, visited the Turkish baths, ate at fine restaurants (sushi included!!) and did a little shopping. It was relaxing, if too short lived.

After our final goodbyes Sunday night, my parents returned to the good ole US of A on Monday morning, and I, dear reader, boarded a train headed to Romania. And so the story continues…