Halloween in the city of Dracula

  We catch a train to Brasov that evening.  The trains are always late and at least 2 hours slower than they should be anyway.  It's dark and raining and the city lights sparkle in our sleepy eyes between the rain.

  We knew before we came that cannot stay in a hostel; they are all booked out by the Serbians.  It's the Serbian Christmas and for some reason they al decide to go to Brasov.  Meanwhile, we didn't have a host
yet. The only reply we'd recieved on couch surfing was a decline, and eagerly we'd replied:

'do you have friends who could help us? we don't want to miss Brasov and need a place to stay'.

  The lovely girl told us to come anyway, call her for a coffee, and we'd see what was going
to happen.  David and I wait in the rain for our internet chat friend, discussing possible options for the night; sleeping in the cinema, David becoming my hoe, training to Sinia, begging at a hostel...

  Chris takes us to her favourite bar; 'For Sale'.  She explains that she likes it because its warm and cosy and you can throw peanuts all over the floor.  We duck our heads through the entrance of a rackety wooden door and enter a dark smokey bar.  The roof and walls are hidden with notes and numbers pinned to them.  As I step over an uneven surface, the floor crunches.  Peanut shells make mountains across the floor.
  We order coffees (wanting to stay alert) and start with general conversation.  Chris doesn't seem to understand the situation.   I feel, and I start to believe that she'd told us to come simply so she could go out with friends.  Whatever, we remain relaxed (and meanwhile pull out my laptop and cross our fingers that something will fall from the internet heavens.
  I asked the bar tenders if they knew of anything we could do and they appeared blank and unwilling to help.  But then people begin to ask us questions.  These give birth to conversations, and soon there are many people leaning into our table as we discuss the world and politics and all that bar talk (we got a beer by now).  The bar tenders began to sit with us between working, and then the drinks began to appear before us! They started to play Bob Marley so we couldn't help but to relax
and before we know it the bar is closed with us warm inside it, (continuing the party) and David and I are offered numerous options for where we can sleep.  We stayed at the bar tenders house who is an epic fantasy nerd - and you must know I say that with the uttermost respect.  There were some exciting conversations.

a clouds journey to brasov city centre (hahaha)

drinking wine and cola!

The city of Brasov is even grayer by the day time.  In it's centre is a big mountain, and the citadel (the old city) is strangely hugging it's base.  The city is full of young people (due to the univercity), crowding the streets in noisy gangs.  The city's outer suburbs are made up of communist apartment blocks, but otherwise the houses are all very medieval.  THe streets are lined with a wall of houses, sqeezed side by side, each with compltely different shapes of a red roof, windows chimney, etc.  As the streets bend, so do the houses and their rooves, making them look one-sided.  Like a cardboard theatre set.

  The people suffer from the economy.  Chris couldnt afford to study so she worked in the Cheque Republic for a year.  Gabriel (who hosted us) worked constantly, two jobs.  He said that Romanians still feel the stress of communism, and thus work harder than other people for their country.  He was particularly stressed about work, and believed it was instilled in him by the old regime.  But for most people I met, they had the opposite approach.  Generally, the people aren't patriatic.
They don't support working for the government who seems to never have worked for them - they tell me that its the same old corrupted system stealing from the people.
  Cip was moving to Belgium the next day, where a friend had bought his ticket proposing a business idea together.  Otherwise, he'd dropped out of school and hadn't worked in ages.  Young people aren't motivated
to work because the pay is rubbish.  While food and everything costs the same as it used to (the same as germany for example) salaries are four times less.  The average salary is around 500 euro a month.
  But they work, inspired (I believe) by the strength and resisilience inspired by their parents (and the simple fact that they have to).
  The revolution was supported, as communism restricted the happiness freedom and development of the people, but it confused the generation who were raised in the communist regime.  The regime which taught them that they didn't have to strive for anything - they would automatically get a job and a house whatever they did and this ensured comfort. Stabilty. To suddenly have to have motivation.  To work for your self.  To  work for comfort and stability swept the ground from the feet of many Romanians.
  Most young Romanians I met had been raised by their mother and abanonned by their father.  Their mother raised them on such demeaning salaries, and many returned to University with their children in need of work.  It seems to me that the women survived communism far stronger than the men - who in many circumstances fled to other countries or now live alone.  The mothers don't show a wrinkle of weakness, it's inspiring.

the view!

we looked more like hobbits in my memory...

  Anyway so we woke up early so Gabriel could get out of the house and Cip took us on a tour of Brasov.  First, we wanted to hike up the mountain.  Like little hobbits, waddling through the cold, breathing our warmth out as smoke.  We wandered throughe the clouds.  The mountain wore a crown of clouds.  Hovering, circling the tip of the mountain like a guard.  We marched through it (and stopped to take some photos mid way!) and onto the mountains tip where we could admire the awesome city from above.  My oh my. I have the photos (above) to say the rest



So it's halloween in the city of Dracula, and after a night of carving out pumpkins in a pile of peanut shells at the bar, (we stayed at Cips that night) David and I head over to Bran to see Bran castle - like traditional tourists in Romania.
  Bran castle is all historical and blah blah but I fell in love with Vlad Dracule, or Vlad the impaler, a ruler from the 15th century.  The people were slack and robbers and the country was threatened by war on all borders.  This ruler fought off the Ottoman empire, and taught the people not to steal though all the man got was disrespectful nicknames and a book supposingly sugesting the man was a count vampire.


In the middle of our tour of the castle, it begins to rain.  I watch the rain with confusion.  It's falling so slowly. I wander if there is a lack of wind which I'm used to in Australia? I wander if I'm tripping - did I eat lunch? What did I eat today... have I drunk from any strange drinks?  I imagine that the rain is simply lighter, a really sparkling mist....then David comes running up to me
  "It's snowing!!!"
whhhhhhackkkkkkkkooooooooooo we begin to play in the very pathetic amount of snow falling, asking the workers to photopgraph us (who are totally confused by our excitement in the cold), holding out our hands and smiling like idiots
Romanians don't believe you when you say that you've never seen snow before ! 'so you've never skiied!??' they reply.  Well duh. (duh means yes in Romanian, but if you say it sarchastically they understand you too)

'step this way!'

its snowing!!!

writing my name with the peanuts !

the pumpkin i made!!!!!

Sinia. A villiage lost in Autumn

 We got up early to leave the Bucharest after Dor showed us 'the best times you'll never remember' (I remember everything was fun and fine, no problems, But one could get wasted on 10 australian dollars if they wished)
  We train to Sinia which I knew nothing about, simply trustnig a recomendation by a friend we'd made that night.
  The train arrives in a cloud of mist, and walking down the station we are approached by a stout, eager man wearing a little bowlers cap.  He offers us a room, and we begin to bargain with basic english and basic romanian.  We bargain for 60 lay; equivalent of 15 dollars for the two of us.  Breakfast was meant to be included...
  The little town of Sibiu is made up of odd little houses, each one coloured differently, with odd triangular rooves (those are generally red) and little chimneys poking about, smoking here and there.
  The well tendered gardens and grass glisten with rain drops, and old men and women walk their dogs in mittens and ear muffs.
  The first man hands us over to another little woman who resembles a muppet, with cross lips and a stubborn tounge. She changes the deal to 70 lay without food. We didn't dare to say anything.
  We arrive at our new hosts house, curiously.  The house appears cosy.  We are greeted by a fluffy white dog, jumping at our (new) jeans, and follow a cobbled path lined by a colourful garden of wildly placed pot plants. Within, there sits a big pot brewing a creamy lamb stew.  Beside the stove, I spy little jam cakes and biscuits on trays amongst the flower pots which found their way inside.  Around the table, watching TV, sit our hosts.  They nod in greeting, the young girl smiles awkwardly and takes us to our room.  The family was cold.  As though they had a secret and lived in fear of anyone finding it out.  They didn't want us there at all - it was such a shock after couch surfing, where people want to get to know you and share with you.
  So we dropped off our stuff and began on a mission into the mysterious villiage.  We ate traditional chorba. soup. (Our fist of many). Chorrrrrrrrrba. With cream and bead.  Everythings creamy here.  Such wintery goodness to warm your belly.

 The villiage is walled by an array of mountains. Mountains layered with colourful trees. Like a collage of autumnal colours.  Red orange yellow brown overlapping in a panoramic dance.  We walk up a mountain to the monastary, through a path rooved in autumn trees, teasing us with little leaves, raining down along it's own random path.  The monastry was carved from maple and oak trees by monks.  Incredulous designs suggesting both sweet develish ideas.  Did I mention we are now in Transilvania? It's full of amazing woodwork - gargoyles and transforming creatures shaping all sorts of things; walls, tables, chimneys, etc.
  The villiage houses are very medieval, influenced by the Saxons from around the 13th Century.  The houses poke out bewteen the trees, brightly coloured against the gray sky and wet brown of the soil spotting the fallen leaves.
  We meander through the forest of red yellow orange like pixie people and find a palace at the top !
Designed by Gustav Kilmt! And theres a Gustave Klimt expedition on !!
  We drink hot coffee and eat cheesey apple pies in the rain.

  I might mention that for the first day or two in the cold of Romania, I was wearing half of my luggage of summer clothes dressed like a sleeping bag.  But Romania thankfully is full of second hand stores where I have oh so wonderfully cheaply bought jeans, boots, sweater and jacket.  Plus my beanie (thanks Izzet !) and boom no winters stopping this snug little bug

  Though the villiage was beautiful and seemingly sweet, the strangeness of our home encouraged us to head off the next day.  Before we moved on, hwoever, we wanted one last hike through the autumn forests.  We head off to a local villiage, where the autumn mountains interweaved with spookey mountains, crackelling with shades of gray and black, encircled by a misty cloud of smoke which could only suggest danger.

  We begin to trek up the first mountain we find.  The wind cooed around us, and we scavenged through the trees and swirling leaves for what resembled a path.  But everywhere you would look, the trees and leaves stood similarly, and our trail was lost in raining autumn leaves.  We walked up and around, telling stories, sharing oranges and grapefruits, ignoring the warnings in the wind.

bucharesti

  Our first day of Bucharest was all in a rush.  After two nights on a bus, we were probably tired.  Our hosts in Bucharest
live in the city centre, but it turned out they were travelling to Sibiu - a cute medieval villiage - that night.
  We could eithergo with them and tay in a hostel there or stay in Bucharest.  But we couldn't say for sure, for we were on
a mission.  Whether we stayed in Bucharest or not all depended on whether or not we could find the grave of David's
 great grandfather.  We knew the name of the cemetary and had a description of the grave but that was all.  Our hosts
were very helpful.  When Aniela (Our primary host's girlfriend) came out of their room David and I were starstruck.  She emanated with a divine light. She was so soft.  And she made the most amazing berry tea. She helped us all morning to find several possible cemetarys.  We had a list and head off to the most likely option.
  The metro is awesome.  Painted colourfully with fun and bubbly graffiti.  Very old school :P We were suddenly out of the city in a picturesque scene of forested fields by a river.  We found the cemetary along a path of ancient churches - each very active, with many monks roaming around, and activities happening.
  Every grave had a cross on it.  Huge crosses.  Everywhere.
  There was no grave there which wasn't Romanian orthodox and cetrainly no Jewish graves either.
So we hitched back to town with a monk's helper. An inspiring guy dedictaed to both religion and the science. 95% of
Romania is Romanian Orthodox, we discovered.  And more than that - they're very dedicated and religiously active.  We've been to several (beautiful wooden) churches and in every one you will find many people praying.
  We head toward the Jewish cemetary - our last resort.  It's huge and the graves are impossible to read.  We sat back with the grave diggers and local drunk beer whilst we waited for the main man of the place.  He was buying lottery tickets.
The grave diggers said Romania was 'no good', and from then on I noticed most locals simply want to get out of the country and feel imprisoned in it due to the economy /lack of an income. No pride for their country, as they feel that the govenment has betrayed the people and thus they feel alone. Abandonned.
At last the priest arrived and said he was busy and to come back tomorow.

  We decided to stay another night and regrettfully said goodbye to our heavenly hosts.  Luckily we had a back up host, further out from town, but we still had another two hours until we were welcome there.  So we head off to the old city with our luggage.
  Slumped on a little bench with our big bags, we were hungry yet immobile and everywhere was too expensive. Then a guy comes up, asks us what we're doing.  He's travelled to all the countries we're going and shares great tips.  He gives us a ride to his house, we pick up pizza, we share 200 year old coniac and have a great time.   Our first day of Bucharest was all in a rush.  After two nights on a bus, we were probably tired.  Our hosts in Bucharest
live in the city centre, but it turned out they were travelling to Sibiu - a cute medieval villiage - that night.
  We could eithergo with them and tay in a hostel there or stay in Bucharest.  But we couldn't say for sure, for we were on
a mission.  Whether we stayed in Bucharest or not all depended on whether or not we could find the grave of David's
 great grandfather.  We knew the name of the cemetary and had a description of the grave but that was all.  Our hosts
were very helpful.  When Aniela (Our primary host's girlfriend) came out of their room David and I were starstruck.  She
emanated with a divine light. She was so soft.  And she made the most amazing berry tea. She helped us all morning to
find several possible cemetarys.  We had a list and head off to the most likely option.
  The metro is awesome.  Painted colourfully with fun and bubbly graffiti.  Very old school :P We were suddenly out of the
city in a picturesque scene of forested fields by a river.  We found the cemetary along a path of ancient churches -
each very active, with many monks roaming around, and activities happening.
  Every grave had a cross on it.  Huge crosses.  Everywhere.
  There was no grave there which wasn't Romanian orthodox and cetrainly no Jewish graves either.
So we hitched back to town with a monk's helper. An inspiring guy dedictaed to both religion and the science. 95% of
Romania is Romanian Orthodox, we discovered.  And more than that - they're very dedicated and religiously active.  We've
been to several (beautiful wooden) churches and in every one you will find many people praying.
  We head toward the Jewish cemetary - our last resort.  It's huge and the graves are impossible to read.  We sat back
with the grave diggers and local drunk beer whilst we waited for the main man of the place.  He was buying lottery tickets.
At last he arrived and said he was busy and to come back tomorow.

  We decided to stay another night and regrettfully said goodbye to our heavenly hosts.  Luckily we had a back up host,
further out from town, but we still had another two hours until we were welcome there.  So we head off to the old city
with our luggage.
  Slumped on a little bench with our big bags, we were hungry yet immobile and everywhere was too expensive. Then a guy comes
up, asks us what we're doing.  He's travelled to all the countries we're going and shares great tips.  He gives us a ride
to his house, we pick up pizza, we share 200 year old coniac and have a great time.
  Then we head over to our new couch surfing host!  He never stops moving.  We arrive and we leave - off to his friends
place where a bunch of young guys lye around making funny jokes and watch youtube movies.  Romanians our age speak amazing
english thanks to cartoon network, but the new generation is now watching dubbed television and thatll suck for them.
  It's hard to find a job, its hard to get by at all, for Romanians. I feel spoilt buying a meal over the equivalent of four australian dollars.
  Apart from the old city, Bucharest is made up of communist architechture.  Blocks of squished up apartment buildings which all look identical.
  Then we head over to our new couch surfing host!  He never stops moving.  We arrive and we leave - off to his friends place where a bunch of young guys lye around making funny jokes and watch youtube movies.  Romanians our age speak amazing english thanks to cartoon network, but the new generation is now watching dubbed television and that'll suck for them.
  It was almost shocking, being past from the rich, well educated Romanian to the average, working class boys of the same age.  The first guy was self employed and thus payed mostly by foreign countries and thus got a much better income.
  It's hard to find a job, its hard to get by at all, for Romanians. I feel spoilt buying a meal over the equivalent of four australian dollars.
  Apart from the old city, Bucharest is made up of communist architechture.  Blocks of squished up apartment buildings

every day, so many candles are lit
at a Romanian Orthodox Church

sofia in bucharest wearing new jeans ooh

nice old buildings in the city

David asking someone on a bicycle for directions

 which all look identical.

Road to Romania

So the plan was to travel from Denizli to Bucharest.  11 hours to istanbul, then another 11 hours to Romania.
All on the bus!
The first bus ride was fine - I wrote the last three posts or so and drunk free bus ride drinks.  I've been wondering on my trip when that really bad things going to happen.  That famous story people tell at dinner about the time when they were travelling and everything went wrong.  So far I've had a sweet time, really.
  I mentioned this to David, though probably in an incorrect way; 'David - something's got to go wrong soon!' he got angry 'what the hell sofe don't say that we're fine'

So we arrive in the familiar old Istanbul. Not so familiar - it's cold and grey.  Dark clouds are building. And the people are rushing around grumpily - its 7 oclock on a monday morning.  We drag our luggage around to the bus companys we suspect have buses to Romania.
  'they come every four hours from Katakoy' someone had told us ages ago.
The first company 'bus full'
next company 'no bus'
another company 'no buses until Friday'.
The next day is Ead - a pubic holiday - perhaps everyone is getting out of town?
Bus to Bulgaria?  Any trains? Other companys? Cheap flights? Anything!?
We were hopeless and no one wanted to help us.  It was the first time Turkey had really been cold to us - and not just literally. The workers were rude and knew nothing.
We find an internet cafe, begin to search bus comapanies and calling them. 'Bus to Bulgaria, Bus to Romania. Any bus. Any bus out of Istanbul. TODAY!'

We had no hope, but so much determination not to spend another day in Istanbul.

At last one lady answered our call who spoke no english but could say 'bus to Romania' '51 and 52 leaving 3:00' or something vague like that.
We sprint out of the cafe and catch a ferry across Istanbul to the address of the company (the worker of the cafe gave us directions).
We were lead in circles through unfamiliar, industrial alleys until we finally found a little bus port.
Al hamdullilah !  We buy the last two tickets.

So nothing actually went wrong, sorry for scaring you at the beginning of the blog, but it was a pretty scary time.

We eat out last 1 dollar kebab (then later complain about how sickening it was)
And get on our bus.

Two Romanian women sit in our seats.  We tell them this (because in the past we've had to move for others and have learnt its best to just find your seat in the beginning) and they start complaining with a 'so what' attitude in Romanian as they smoke cigarettes.  You can smoke on Romanian buses.  Some kids start sqealing on the drivers microphone.  This lasts around 5 minutes and all the adults did was scream back.  All I understood was the english expression 'mother fucker'.  The bus starts moving with half the bus standing, arguing about seats, luggage space and whether or not we should be able to smoke while the child is sitting on the bus.  The mother should stand at the front of the bus if she cares so much.
  They never stopped talking.  I had some nice conversations in arbaic with a man originally from Syria, and a couple from Iran.  Interesting to hear the different accents and terms which I generally understood from various villiages in Palestine.
I never knew what Romaninas were meant to be like but I didn't expect such noisy rowdiness.
Crossing the Bulgarian border, I smuggled ciggarettes, perfume and clothes in for some women who had too much luggage / things bought from customs.  It could have had drugs in it, I know, but my Syrian friend insured me there was no problem.....and I wasn't truly given a choice.

I wake up in Bucharest at 4 am and sleepily taxied to our couch surfers home.
Dani welcomed us into his apartment warmly, followed by the most beautifull woman in the world; Aniela.  Who I admire to be one day.  They lit up our path to bed.

A poem.

  The curse of the wind
Of the path
of everything;
The very thing that makes you stay in bed.

  It's with the swelling of your heart
And the choking of your breath
thinking this is all that got me out of bed.
This is all that's worth it in my head.

And as you leave
you can't believe
out of all that you have seen
That it's this stupid word again that you have said:

Oh Goodbye,
So good to know you,
I have to see you all again!
Come to Australia - it's not far -
  (Though the futures even further...)

  For when you travel on the road
There is one thing no one knows;
When your going
 and to where
What our destiny should bear !?

The real question one does wonder
is what awaits me there?
Why'd it choose me, etc
And the traveller forgets too see
The absolute stupidity of travelling searching
round so dumb
Photographing what will never come again
For searching always searching round
and losing all these things you've found
And incidently making them lose you.

The traveller is on the run
From love and loyalty
All for the fun
of searching searching
learning more
of someone else's stupid war
  And loving all the deep and meaning
To which you'll have to say again

Oh Goodbye,
So good to know you,
I have to see you all again!
Come to Australia - it's not far -
  (Though the futures even further...)

And as you leave,
you can't believe.
After of all that you have seen
It's this stupid useless word you've said
This word you've used before and swore
You'd never again
You'd rather die
You'd rather not have said hello at all!
Than say this stupid word again
Goodbye.

Becoming a biker in Denizli

izzet on one of the choppers

Denizli
So I organized our couch surfing for turkey, meaning the itinery was in my hands and I was rather nervous about it all.
Excited but nervous.  So far everything had been fine! But I took a chance and guessed that if we couch surfed in Denizli
we could visit the tourist attraction Pamukkale from there.  The couchsurfer guy looked sooo cool, sitting on a chopper in his
profile picture and I never once doubted I'd like him.  But arriving in Denizli (an hour early as usual) I wondered what
people do here exactly.
The town is huuuuuuuuge and colourful (typically) amongst these green pictuesque mountains.  Izzet (our host) picked us up
from the bus stop and we fell in love in minutes.  David and I put our feet up, began to make bad jokes,
laughing at them - and most certainly not caring.
  I will put you in context - I am currently sitting on the 11 hour bus from Denizli to Istanbul.  We just had to say goodbye
a few hours ago - to Izzet but the gang also.  They were so keen to accept us into their gang, and I was so willing to stay
learn turkish learn to ride a motorbike and to just see them again everyday.  They were a group of those really good people
this world has.  Really genuine loyal and fun.
  The shared house of the gang also hosted a Korean, Sin Hyun, and ."three germans." (who was one german one chezch and one
british).  In the evening we would dance from Turkish style to Gangdam style with a guitar or no - no one really minded.
Gangdam style is this modern Korean song and dance often played in clubs - now the second most played
video on youtube - every turkish person knows it.  Sin Hyun knew it very well, too, and was more than happy to teach us the
moves.
  Its really the funnest thing watching these motor cycle bad boys dancing and singing and mucking around. They were the
sweetest people and nothing superfluous.

  Our second day in Denizli we went to Pamukkale with the other couch surfers.  It was awesome.  After walking through
fields of ruined tombs from the hellenistic ages we found the mountains cliff face.  After decades of this peculiar
cement growing here, the cliff is frosted over with natural white cement, like sand or water it reflects the pattern of the
 wind's moment, but it has captured this moment.  Or at least, it lives in a much slower time frame - for these patterns
are engraved and evolve all too slowly.  We walked along the natural pools of the cliff and splashed around as the water
became hot (and weather became really cold).  As soon as we got into the bus home it rained yipee
  I forgot to put batteries in my camera :P
We had another musical night eating sesame seeds - though it took a while to convince the guitarists girlfriend not to be
jealous of the foreign girls hanging around...
the next day we went off roading!

In two cars (the other couch surfers had now moved on) we drove through up round the mountains bump bump bump
beautiful view and stopped to boil turkish tea half way.  You wouldn't find our in jokes funny even if I explained their
history, but the wonderful thing was that we all got along so well.  Like we'd known eachother all our lives.

da gang by the cooking of tea

gang of posers

izzet s2

  And then we said goodbye.

Antalya

 
  Couch surfing has truly made our journey.  After the amazing experience of staying with the
turkish family, we were blessed with a really lovely guy in Antalya.
Antalya is one of the more popular beach cities of Turkey along the meditteraean.  After all the hiking in Cappadocia
we were so excited to be lazy.  We spent the first day on the beach before going back to Adil's to make salad and paint.
That night he took us out to dinner! We sat by a view of the ocean, or an extended sky which reflected the moon and the
city's night life.  More importantly, We sat across from the band - three incredible musicians interchaning acoustic guitar,
bass, vocals, sax and the flute.  Adil knew the owner so we had wonderful service and an unforgettable evening.  Couchsurfing
also has enabled us to hear a variety of differing historiographies based on the forming of turkey.  For example, most people
we'd met were ardent supporters of Atatuk's regime.  Adil, however, enlightened us with the true story of how Atatuk took
power and implemented a neo-fascist government.  This forced immediate secularization - cutting out all arabic culture like
the alphabet and much vocab.  There are now problems in tghe Turkish language because the western alphabet can't differentiate
sounds.
Dinner gave me a taste for comfort, and I decided that the next day we'd get a Turkish Hamman just for my mum ;)
We did, as well as explore the old city, before going to a club playing live pop music...had a groove and woke up a few hours

after our hammam ! 

just the usual

ate a muscle stuffed with ricey tomato goodness on the beach !

later for our bus to the myssterious Denizli!