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Romania - May 1—May 15, 2001 Walhalla Club  Located on B-dul Dacia, Walhalla Club (more pub than club) was our favorite hang out in Bucuresti. The employees were super nice and spoke English well enough for us to have meaningful dialog. Our last night in Romania was spent at Walhalla Club, where Charles and I were treated to one waitress's giggly rendition of the Romanian National Anthem after we performed a stirring rendition of ours. From Piata Romana to Piata Universitatii B-dul Gh. Magheru/B-dul N. Balcescu had the most interesting shops, including an antique bookstore, music stores, and clothing stores. You can also find McDonald's here, usually packed with young people. One thing that stands out in my mind in retrospect was how young the average person in Bucuresti appeared to be. Go to the arts building by the Hotel Intercontinental (near Piata Universitatii); there you can hang out on the front steps and people watch, as many young Romanians seem to do. Getting Around Bucuresti 
 Riding the Metro is pretty easy once you get the hang of it. One buys a ticket at one of the red ticket booths (usually located conveniently by the turnstyles). You get a swipe card for either 2, 10, or some other number of journeys. It's a flat fee for each ride, much like Atlanta Georgia's public transportation system. At the turnstyle, you insert the card into a reader, it sucks it down, it spits it back up, you take the card, and you pass through.
In the larger metro stations I never felt completely confident about which platform to be on and found it useful to ask people in my broken Romanian for clarification. In the smaller stations, routes were clearly indicated on placards over the tracks with arrows denoting the direction of the train that would be coming down that particular track and the metro stops that lay ahead. Trams (trolleys) are also popular. One buys a small, green ticket from a yellow booth (there are several of these around town; also a flat rate). They always seemed to be very crowded when we rode. However, there are some ways one can clear some room for oneself. For example, if you are an angry gypsy boy who spits at random intervals on the floor between bouts of shouting to no one in particular, you are guaranteed to increase your personal space. Gypsies Anyone planning to go to Romania has probably heard about the gypsies. While it is true that many gypsies lead a life of begging and stealing, we met several nice ones, as well as thoroughly modern girls who had gypsy ancestry and were proud of their heritage. As for the gypsy beggars, most were little more than pushy nuisances. Our only hairy encounter was in Constanta, where two men attempted to pickpocket Charles (they were forcibly tugging on his pants, they said to test the durability of American fashion). I yelled at them ("Maybe we're from out of town, but THIS CAN'T BE NORMAL!") and they left with little more than dark parting glances. I was told that in some parts of Bucuresti the gypsies will hold knives to people's throats and take their wallets. But in the parts we stayed we weren't menaced at all, and we were often out past 1 AM. The clash between gypsies and so-called "normal" Romanians has no analog in America. Gypsies arrived in Romania as nomads (their ancestors came from India), and they settled where they would. Today, in cities like Bucuresti, begging and stealing is a normal way of life for many of them. In the Gara de Nord, despite increased security, one can still watch adorable gypsy children palm off bills they've collected to an adult who manages the scene. Gypsy has become more a lifestyle than an ethnic group. I was told that many Romanians had become gypsies and many gypsies had joined the mainstream middle class. It seems that any beggar or pickpocket earns the "gypsy" moniker these days. Their culture is markedly different, and stands defiantly against modern Romania. On a street in Bucuresti one might hear a gypsy woman singing from atop a horse-driven carriage as she rolls slowly past, an interesting contradiction to the world around her. Many teenagers in Romania are heavily into gypsy music (including modern, dancy sounding tracks). Perhaps this is partly to rebel against their gypsy-hating elders. Perhaps they just like gypsy music. Gypsies speak a number of languages; every one we encountered (from kids who looked to be five and up) knew enough English to ask for money. "I'm HON-gry," said one adorable little girl to us at the Gara de Nord. Picking up on the rehearsed quality of her words, Charles replied, "You don't look hungry." He was right. She had nice clothes, a clean face, and a good haircut. He gave her two thousand lei; pennies by American standards. As she left us Charles saw her snatch something wallet-like off a table. In a small town outside of Brasov, we saw some very well-dressed gypsies strolling around some decent property. They were earning their own livings through agriculture, and appeared better off than their city counterparts. (Note: "*There is* a similitude between the Romanian-Gypsy relation and the WASP-Afro-American one. Although they came here as nomads during the medieval period, the Gypsies were soon enslaved by the local nobles and stayed thus until the mid-19th century. As in the AA community, the incidence of crime and poverty is [relatively] high. However, you are right saying that the cultural differences are more evident in our case (Romanians vs Gypsies) than in your case (WASP vs. AA). The Gypsies in Transilvania are more settled (acculturated) than those from South (Muntenia) and East (Moldova) Romania."--MP) The Waiting Game One thing some Romanians are very good at is waiting. This is a skill that, in the hands of pushy cabbies or beggars, can be tremendously annoying to Americans. Say you're an American cabbie hanging out at some club venue. You ask somebody if he needs a cab. The person replies, "No, I don't need a cab." You then move on to the another person, right? I mean, if the guy said "no," there's no reason to hang around him any longer. It's in your best interest to move on, to find someone who might say "YES." This, to us, is common sense. But in the Gara de Nord, as we got off a train that had come from Constanta and prepared to buy a ticket for one heading for Brasov that same day, the following dialog took place: Cabbie (greeting us as we get off the train): "Do you need a cab?" Charles: "No, we're just switching trains." Cabbie: "You're switching trains? Where are you going?" Charles: "To Brasov." Cabbie: "To Brasov? Maybe there are no trains left for Brasov." Charles: "We're pretty sure there are trains left for Brasov." Cabbie: "I could drive you to Brasov for forty dollars." Me: "We're taking the train to Brasov." Charles: "I'm going to go find a bathroom." Cabbie: "How about I wait for you? If you can't get a train to Brasov, I drive you to Brasov." Charles: "All right. Maybe if we can't get a ticket to Brasov we'll take the cab." [Charles leaves to find bathroom. Cabbie stands beside me looking around.] Me: "Look. We're not going to need a cab. You're wasting your time. We're taking the train to Brasov. If there are no trains to Brasov, we're going to spend the night in Bucuresti." Cabbie: "I could drive you in Bucuresti." Me: "No, because if we stay in Bucuresti we are going to take the metro to Piata Univesitatii, so we will not need a cab for that either." Cabbie: " . . . " Me: "I'm sorry. I know things are tough. But it's in your best interest to find somebody else." Cabbie: " . . . " Me: "?!?" Cabbie: "OK." [Cabbie leaves. Charles returns.] Charles: "So, did he go?" Beggars played similar games to get cigarettes. On the train to Brasov the following dialog unfolded between Charles and a boy. Boy: "Can I have a smoke?" Charles: "A smoke? How old are you?" Boy: "Fourteen." Charles: "Fourteen! You're too young to smoke." Boy: (laughing) "Is no problem!" Charles: "No. I'm not going to give you a smoke. You're too young. I'm sorry." [Pause.] Boy: "Please can I have a smoke?" Charles: "No! You're too young to smoke. I can't be giving kids cigarettes—it's not right." Boy: (laughing) "Is no problem!" Charles: "No. I'm sorry." [Pause.] Boy: "Please?" Charles: "No. You're too young." Boy: (laughing) "Is no problem!" Charles: "I'm sorry—" Me (thinking): JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD KILL ME NOW!!!!!! (The boy eventually got a cigarette.) . . . shall we move on to Constanta?
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