The Romanian post office in Sigisoara doesn’t accept international packages for mailing except on Thursday. God forbid they should just take the damn package, charge me for it, and put it on the shelf for two days. So now I get to haul the small box of souvenirs all the way to Germany to mail. Either that or try to find the post office in Cluj Napoca when I get there tomorrow. Germany it is!
People in Sigisoara are friendly, helpful, and most speak English. Chatted with the bartender last night for a couple of hours. Adrian speaks decent English (I got to talk again!!!) (and be understood!!!) and told me a lot about Romania’s history. Gave me perfect directions for getting up to the Citadel, the original town ruled by Vlad Tepes aka Vlad the Impaler, on whom Stoker base the character Dracula.
Tourist shops and beggars abound. I usually ignore both.
Even Romanians agree that their trains are the pits. Another five-hour ride tomorrow, fearing to drink anything because the toilets are unusable.
The sun’s out and warm for the first time in over a week. Mist covered the morning; a blurred waning moon shone through the skylight in my room. An Impressionist dawn.
A magazine chinise (No idea why it’s called a Chinese shop other than the people who run it are orientals) kept me occupied for twenty minutes, and I found packets of Kleenex and dental floss in among the bras, kitchen gadgets, shoes, electronics, toys, and makeup. It was like a miniature Wally World. The towns I’ve been in tend to have shops that specialize in just one thing: groceries, clothes, cosmetics, and so forth. Haven’t seen a department store since I left Paris. And no bookstores that sell books in English.
A ten-minute walk from the train station in the rain led me to the Doubletree, the first “luxury” lodging I’ve found on my travels, except my friend Livia’s house in St. Jean Cap Ferrat. Since the rain increased from sandpails to buckets, and since my feet and back were ready to call the International Society for Abused Bodies, I sprang for a 50-minute massage. Oooooh, yes!
Now my random stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten for almost eight hours, and I know it’s five o’clock somewhere.