Transylvania will suck your blood, and your enthusiasm

After being kicked out of the same restaurant twice for wearing sandals, sneered at for putting Tabasco on my kebab and getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of streets in Bucharest, I came to an inevitable conclusion: Romania takes the fun out of life.

Expectations were high as our train lurched into Brasov, Romania's most popular and beautiful city in the heart of Dracula country. I didn't lose a quart of blood to any fanged menaces in black capes, but I certainly lost my desire to return to the European Union's newest member. Romania, once a province of the old Roman Empire and home to the real dracula, has beautiful farmland, gorgeous mountains worthy of talented climbers and deep, dark forests that give chills even to the garlic-eating, cross doting doubter. 

Besides the castles, hiking and the scenery, there isn't much to see. We met some splendid Romanians on our train ride from Suceava to Brasov, who spoke in hushed tones of the incredible beauty of transylvania and how Brasov was the pride of their country. I really did enjoy the jam-filled pancake they gave me and our discussion, but felt far less nostalgic about Romania's capital city, Bucharest.

Our train-riding friends spoke better english than anyone else in Europe, and after a riveting discussion of American politics they disclosed their admiration for our political system. In Romania, the people expect to be robbed. Our friends did vote, but were highly cynical of politicians and thought the elections to be a farce. They were very impressed that the ex-Governor of Illinois, George Ryan, had been rightly indicted for corruption and fraud and put behind bars. Such a thing would never happen in Romania.

Although our friends were delightful to talk to, that same cynicism for government seemed to be the general outlook of all Romanians on life. Brett and I had heard from friends that Romanians were like this, but I have never experienced a people so cold, rude and unwelcoming as the folks in Bucharest. It is an incredibly dirty city, its streets even more confusing in layout than Rome(I got lost in Rome after living their for 5 months, Bucharest is worse) and without any green space to speak of within its walls. 

The owner of our hostel, Luigi, was from Bologna, Italy, and was thrilled to speak Italian with me. The girl who worked the front desk, Alex, was the only Romanian I got along with in the whole country. She was open enough to share some of her own problems in life; school, boyfriends, money and jobs with me, and I with her; travel, money, future and career. She and Luigi made the trip to Bucharest worth it.

The day we left, we bought a bus ticket for both of us to the airport,  but weren't told to validate it twice. Of course, that was the one time the ticket cop was on the bus and singled us out. I talked my way out of a 50 lei fine(about $20) and never looked back.