Our journey east - to Moldova

Last week, Koos and I made the second of our summer explorations to south eastern Europe. This time the final destination was the intriguing, unrecognised state of Transnistria, a long narrow strip of land across the Niestr river (hence its name), and now sandwiched between Moldova and Ukraine. Koos had been there three times before, and now I could go too and I wanted to see it. So, courtesy of some bargain flights from Wizzair, we arrived back in Cluj Napoca, Romania on the 27th August. The trip had to start in Cluj as any other route would have been just as time consuming and three times the price, but I didn't mind as I'd already fallen in love with Transylvania (see previous posts) and was happy to return.

Morning traffic in Cluj

We spent the night at the same hotel we'd been to before. Located in a rather run-down, former industrial area, it is a surprise to the visitor as it's really quite classy, but very reasonably priced. I've spent more on nights at youth hostels in Ireland and Finland and those were several years ago! We were met by a male, Spanish-speaking receptionist, who didn't smile much but gave us coffee on the house - which made up for the lack of warmth. It felt good to be back and good to be familiar with Cluj.

We were only going to be there a night, though, and the next day we left early to go to the railway station by bus. Before leaving, we had to buy Euros to change to Transnistrian rubles later on...dumb of us as we should have taken them with us from Holland. This was not the recommended way of doing it.

In any event, the train left on time. We found our compartment easily and it was great to be travelling on a Romanian train again. This time a young woman joined us with her handicapped son. I was very touched by her caring concern for him. I say she was young because she must have been, but she carried the care and responsibility in her face. As with our last visit, it was very hot - well over thirty degrees - but we couldn't open the window in the compartment. Several people joined us along the way. They all tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge and we became increasingly damp and probably not very savoury to sit near. Mother and son absconded to another carriage where it seemed to be cooler. Better for him, so better for her.

Passengers cross the tracks to get off the train

Leaning out of the carriage is the norm

Hay stacks for winter feed

I have to say the scenery was some of the most beautiful I have ever seen from a train. We meandered our way through the Carpathian mountains and looked out on scenes from another world and an earlier time. Old fashioned farming was very much in evidence with horses, carts, and people lifting hay with forks and loading it into the farm's trailers. Many fields had fence-like constructions that acted as hay driers and then there were the charming haystacks built like small huts. According to one of our fellow passengers, these provide food for the smallholders' horses/goats/cows in winter. There was also fruit galore: trees heavy with apples, pears and peaches. It all looked so rich - and romantically charming too.

The start of lovely scenery

Every station we passed had its own uniformed attendant standing out front. Men and women getting off the train had to walk over the tracks to the station, which seems to be the norm. I just loved the whole experience. But the heat. It didn't let up. And no one, not even the conductor, could open the window. Eventually, two strong and very determined young men managed to force it open. We were all very relieved, but even so, the carriage doors were left ajar. Passengers smoked at stops and then as the train moved on hung out of the doorways as they'd done on our trip to Timisoara. I know, I know. It was totally unsafe, but somehow, it added to the feeling of adventure.

A smartly dressed station master standing to attention

A family transports their pickings from the forest

At one stop, a family of six climbed aboard with several huge buckets full of berries, both blueberries and red currants. One of the sons who could speak a little English told me they'd picked them in the forests and were taking them home to make jams and other preserves. At another stop, a man boarded carrying a huge bag full of mushrooms. He told us he'd picked them in the woods and was taking them to sell at the market. We figured that these people may have had free train passes as the distances were great and if they'd had to pay, it wouldn't have been worth it for them.

Leaving the door ajar even while the train is moving

Our very friendly conductor on both trips!

Eventually, the mountains gave way to flat lands. We arrived in Iasi, a large town in Romania's far east nine and a half hours after leaving Cluj, but feeling once again that we'd had a very special experience. We'd booked a youth hostel room as there wasn't anything else available in our price range. However, the owner was very kind. Seeing us and our collective advancing years, he gave us a room with our own bathroom as a free extra. It was clean but very basic. The only problem was the shower. It had no wall mount and the curtain rail was too big, so there was no way of avoiding a flood on the bathroom floor. Needless to say, our ablutions were necessary after our steamy journey, but they were very short. No luxuriating under streams of lovely water this time.

Iasi down town

The very fine station at Iasi - I loved it!

A host of golden daffodils - oh no, big yellow taxis...

We spent the evening people watching in the town square. Iasi is no Cluj or Timisoara, but its atmosphere is lively and very pleasant. There was a young couple playing with their dog and lots of children running around having fun. The kids seemed very free and uncomplicated. Fun meant playing hide and seek or just chasing each other, not having toys and mobile or electronic devices. Young people sat on benches talking, content with each other rather than their phones.

The next morning was very hot again. Well up in the mid thirties. We found our way to the bus station and on the way, I looked at daytime Iasi. It is not beautiful but it has a certain appeal. The centre is a bit modern and bland, but being hilly with plenty of trees, it looks attractive. At the bus station, we asked about transport to Chisinau in Moldova, our next stop. A driver told us it would be in an hour, so we went to sit in the large, cool waiting room. But then ten minutes later, he came to find us again. There was apparently another bus leaving shortly. We marvelled at the kindness of his gesture.

The bus was a minibus and the ride to Chisinau was crazy. The road was absolutely awful - full of potholes and ridges and the driver seemed determined not to miss one of them. We spent half an hour at the border with Moldova. There were two posts, so two inspections, but it all went smoothly and we didn't even have to get off the bus. The officials collected our passports, took them inside for inspection and then brought them back. A passenger at the front distributed them all to us, and we noted he seemed to know whose was whose without question. Then the road got even worse. I don't think I have ever had such a bumpy ride in my life, not even on the dirt roads in South Africa.  Luckily, it was only a three hour journey and we arrived safe but sore in Chisinau in the middle of the afternoon.

People enjoying life on the streets

 

Now this is a beautiful, elegant city. I loved it at first sight. Not only beautiful though: it is chaotic, messy, vibrant and noisy, but it buzzes with life. Africa meets Paris. Our hotel was out of town. It was a bit far, but very nice all the same with a sweet receptionist and an air conditioned room - bliss. Once we'd settled in, we got the bus back into the centre.

City of Trees

Locals relaxing in the afternoon sun

 I have dubbed Chisinau the City of Trees. They are just gorgeous - tall, arching and forming tunnels through the classical architecture of the buildings. The streets were full of people enjoying festivities that marked the end of soviet rule in 1989. We spent time walking with them. Then we tried to find out where the buses went. A young man helped us. In faltering English, he tried to explain and was so keen to make us happy, he even ran after us to tell us exactly where we should really go.

Many trees are painted at the bottom. I liked these stripy ones!

 At a street stall, we hoped to buy some Cuas, a local drink that Koos said was worth testing. But the stall holder had finished for day. He was so sorry to disappoint us he gave us a bunch of grapes instead with a big grin and a 'welcome to Moldova'. This was yet another example of how kind the people are. We walked on taking more photos in the side streets until it got dark. Eventually, realising we couldn't find the bus anymore, we asked some young people talking on a cafe terrace if they knew. Two of the girls told us they would take us - not just to the bus, but all the way back to the hotel. We were amazed at their generosity, and their trust. One of the girls only spoke Russian (one of the two main languages in Moldova) and no English at all, but the other was studying to be an English teacher, so she was very keen to talk. We told her we were going to Transistria...you won't like it there, she said, but then no one in Moldova likes Transnistria since it chose to fight and break away from Moldova in 1992. All the same, Chisinau would be hard to beat, I thought.

And indeed, the following days, while interesting and vivid with great encounters, would prove me right. And maybe her too, but for different reasons!

To be continued...

Romania Part 3

It's been a while since I wrote the last part of my Romanian travel blog, but I want to finish it before I move on to Moldova and Transnistria where I've just been. The main reason is that for me, our next stop after Timisoara, was probably the one that will remain in my memory the longest as it was both a wonderful surprise and a place of sadness too.

We arrived in Orastie by bus after finding our way to the bus station in Timisoara the circuitous route, meaning we got  lost. Luckily we just managed to get a seat and the bus was air conditioned. Unluckily, I didn't have any travel sickness pills, so by the time we got there some four and a half hours after a long climb through the mountains via the bendy route, I was feeling green.

At first sight, Orastie did not have much to recommend it. We were deposited on the main road that skirts the town and as chance would have it, our hostel was on the same road. It didn't look much and I muttered things to Koos about it being a one horse sort of town. The hostel was certainly justly so-named, but after waiting for the owner to turn up and unlock, we found it was at least very clean. The weather was very hot, so we had a bit of a rest and decided to go out in the early evening. We'd had a good lunch and food was not really needed as I was still feeling a bit woozy, so we walked down to the river.

It was peaceful and quiet despite the two or three gypsy encampments we saw in the nearby scrub land. On our walk we were adopted by a dog who had been accompanying a family of gypsies ahead of us. The little mutt was a sweetheart, but I don't know if it was feral or belonged to the gypsies as it just seemed to like being with people. It was tagged, which apparently means it had been neutered and vaccinated. This was the first of many dogs we saw roaming around in Orastie, and it broke my heart. Hence the sadness.

Our next stop was a supermarket to buy refreshments and then at a café for some coffee. While we sat on the terrace, we noticed a wedding party arriving rather noisily in the streets below. Our pretty waitress practised her English by telling us they'd come to fetch the bride, or rather the groom had and he was followed by all the guests. There was much music with a band playing, so we went down to watch. When the bride came out and got in the allotted car, a woman walked through the crowd of guests offering small pieces of cake. She also offered them to onlookers and we were included. I thought how lovely it was to embrace everyone around in the celebration in this way. Then she and the rest of the wedding party sped off amidst much hooting and cheering - I suppose to the church and reception.

The next pleasant surprise was the town itself. It was getting dark, but we wanted to see what Orastie was like, so we kept going and dipped down towards what we thought was the centre. The streets and houses became increasingly charming and every corner revealed a new and beautiful surprise. Firstly were the lit up 'twin towers' of two churches side by side within the town's ancient city walls. These looked wonderful against the darkening sky. Then after a few more corners and quaint streets, we came upon the central square with a huge domed orthodox church, again all lit up. Why we couldn’t see a sign of this from anywhere else, I don't know, but it was so unexpected, it was quite magical. The square itself was lively and lined with cafés. People were strolling the streets, sitting on steps or drinking at the bars. The atmosphere was of southern vibrancy but also quite peaceful. We found one place still serving coffee and joined the locals who were ready and very willing to chat to strangers from a foreign country. The friendliness was warm and genuine.

The following morning we took another walk around the town and were still not disappointed by its charm. A few buildings looked a little less romantic than they had done in the dark, but altogether, Orastie became the unexpected gem of the trip for me. As I’ve said the only sadness was the number of homeless dogs. Most of these did not look too skinny or unwell, but a few were and it was heart-wrenching to see them hunting for scraps of food.

We left Orastie at lunch time, catching the same bus that had deposited us the day before. We'd waited some time with our bags at the same café we'd had coffee at the day before, so we were happy to be on our way. Our last stop of the trip was at Alba Iulia.

Curiously, some of my favorite photos were taken at Alba, but I was generally disappointed in the town, vaunted as one of the 'must sees' in the area. It has a very fine set of fortifications that surround some impressive old state, university and religious buildings, but it was all restored beyond repair. The character and history felt  lost and it was a bit soulless. Outside the fortifications, the town is bland and featureless, but we were lucky to be staying at a hostel on top of a hill outside the city and it had stunning views. Here are a couple of the photos I took there.

We only stayed the one night and then it was back to Cluj. At the bus station, we met another charming Romanian girl who was planning to hitch out of town as there were no bus to where she wanted to go. I asked her if this was safe, and she assured me that it was, confirming what we'd been told earlier that Romania is very safe for unaccompanied women these days.

Our bus eventually arrived and a couple of hours later we were back in Cluj Napoca where we spent a very pleasant evening and night before flying back to Holland. All told, it was a fabulous trip, and one that will remain with me for a long time. Romania won a piece of my heart. If it just weren't for all the homeless dogs, the poverty of the elderly and the situation of the Roma, it would have been perfect. Hopefully, this will improve in time, but I fear it will be too late for many.

Liège…or Luik…whatever it is, it's lovely

One of the advantages of seniority is cheaper or free public transport. In Belgium, this applies to anyone over 65. Train travel is an amazing knockdown price of €6 for a day to anywhere in the country and that's single, return or whatever you want to do with it. Very tempting, isn't it?

Weekend tickets are also 50% cheaper for those under 65 like myself, so Koos and I took advantage of being so close to the Belgian border by driving the 20kms from our getaway in Zeeland to Ghent and taking the train to Liège. Or Luik, as the Flemish call it, but since it is a French speaking city, I'll stick with Liège. By the way, for those who are not sure where it is, think of a slightly southward sloping line east of Brussels. This actually surprised me as I've always thought of Liège as being northern Belgium. I suppose that's because it's not very far from Maastricht, Holland's southernmost city, and I tend to forget just how far south that is. Anyhow, I've never been there before and for Koos it was a long time since his last visit, so it felt like a real adventure.

Our train was a fast one but it still took an hour and forty minutes to cover the 156 kilometres (according to Google maps). We left at around 09:25 and arrived at Liège-Guillemins station just after 11:00. Being quite new and famous for its architecture, the station buildings were something I was looking forward to seeing, but in a way, they were a little disappointing. I can only liken it to a highly photogenic person. The reality is not quite as impressive as the images made of it. All the same, I liked this snap I took with the train's red doors as a sort of focal point.

Liège Guillemins

Having 'done' the station, I asked Koos where we should go first. As usual, he said 'the river', and as usual too, I was happy to oblige. We left the station armed with takeaway coffees, and headed towards the waterside. As we walked, a young man set the spirit of the day by wishing us 'bon appetit' and a very 'bon jour' with a huge smile on his cheerful brown face.

The Maas that ends in Rotterdam flows through Liège as the Meuse, and I have to say its environs here are much more beautiful. Liège is surrounded by thickly wooded hills that give a dreamy backdrop to this lovely river.

Hills around Liège

The mighty Meuse

Pont de Fragnée

After watching a couple of huge barges pass, we wandered over the Pont Fragnée to see the lock where the old, disused Canal de l'Ourthe joins the Meuse. Koos told me there were moorings in the cut behind the lock gates, so of course we had to go and see these. One step led to the next and before we knew it we'd walked about a kilometre along the canal to the end of the moorings. The stretch where the boats and barges lay was so pretty, the taking of numerous photos was of course obligatory.

The pictures of the moorings speak for themselves, but what might not be apparent is that the level of informality was almost the greatest part of their charm. Several of the boat dwellers have made tiny gardens on the banks with pots and plants overflowing with flowers, so while maintenance might not be high on their list of priorities, the permanence and homeliness of their moorings clearly was and is.

Lifting bridge marking the end
of the moorings

Just beyond this attractive lifting bridge, we dived into a side suburb in search of some coffee. It was now well past midday; it was hot; and we needed a drink. At the end of a quiet side street, we found a bar with tables on the terrace. These were full, so we stepped inside - a lucky decision as it turned out. 

At the bar was an older gentleman with a more than passing resemblance to Father Christmas. We got chatting to him and with a mixture of French, Flemish and English, all admittedly a bit sloppy due to his somewhat inebriated state, he told us he was a local who had been customs and excise officer in his working life. We had a wonderful time with this spontaneous and colourful man. We discussed culture, language and the history of Liège with great aplomb and not much accuracy, but all in good fun. He claimed to speak the local dialect, Wallon, as well, but we didn't get a demonstration of this. Nevertheless, he, like many other Wallonians, said he preferred speaking English to Flemish, and he was audibly better at it. 

He bought us a drink and we returned the favour. But then, remembering we only had a few hours, we made our apologies and got up to leave. He kissed my hand in true gallic style. I melted. And then he told us that if we came back we should ask for Père Noel - that's what everyone called him. Coincidence, we wondered? Then we looked at his beard. Probably not.

Père Noel, deep in conversation with Koos

In a way, this meeting was the highlight of our day and further confirmed our experience with French speakers in Wallonia. From our perspective, they have always been open, lively and friendly: ready to greet us in the streets, ready to chat and share a joke, they are a pleasure to mingle with. Our earlier encounter with the young man outside the station and then with Père Noel just underscored what we already believed.

Back out in the sunshine, we continued our walk along the lovely willow-lined canal until we reached the next bridge, from which we could see the Ourthe river running parallel to the canal. Realising we'd now walked quite a distance and that we'd have to do it all in reverse, we crossed over the bridge to see something of the real Ourthe. It was much wider than I expected, but not navigable, but there was a barrage a few hundred metres on, which we decided to make the end point of our walk. This was an interesting construction of dams and breakwaters, and I was fascinated by the way the seagulls were using the breakwater stones as sun loungers.

Sun loungers for seagulls

By now, it was getting close to mid afternoon, and we'd been warned that the weather would change. Sure enough, clouds started gathering, so we walked much more briskly back, this time along the river Ourthe, which was another lovely stretch, but more formal and less given over to nature than the canal. We didn't have long to linger, though, as the first drops of rain started as we hurried back over the Pont Fragnée.

At this point, we realized we'd seen nothing of the city centre. Under our umbrella, it didn't take long to  conclude we'd like to come back anyway, so we agreed to give Liège proper a second visit at a later date to do it justice. We'd had a very special five or so hours doing what we loved in a wonderful and different setting.

A quick dash back to the station and we just made the four o'clock train. We didn't even have time to grab a cup of coffee much to my disgruntlement. Still, we'd timed it well. The rain battered the train carriages as we sped back across country, and we arrived in a damp, but lively Ghent sometime before six. The downpour had stopped and a vague watery sunlight peeked through the clouds. To finish off the day in proper style, Koos drove us to the banks of the old tidal Scheldt (Schelde). It used to run through the city, but its course is now blocked off because a new by-pass was cut. I'd read about it, but not known exactly where it was. These days, this now lonely stretch is heavily silted and quite overgrown, but at high tide, the water still flows up to the sealed lock. Yesterday evening, it was low tide, so the accumulated mud flats were exposed giving it a special sense of real wilderness. 

Mud flats on the tidal Scheldt looking towards the
old Gentbrugge lock

This was, for me, a beautiful and fitting way to end our day out courtesy of the fabulous Belgian rail system. Thank you NMBS (Belgian Rail). I think we will most certainly be back.

The Wishing Shelf Awards - not just any old award!

I was going to write another post about our Romanian adventure, but I'm breaking it here to say something about an award I've taken part in for three years running now and really value. This is The Wishing Shelf Awards, run by Edward Trayer.

Edward publishes children's books under the name of Billy Bob Buttons - very successfully, I might add. He has won a number of awards himself for his books, one of which was The People's Book Prize. He started the Wishing Shelf Awards a few years ago as a way of providing the type of award he felt would be really useful to authors. The background, structure and costs for entering the WSA can be found on its website, so I won't go into all the details here, but it's probably worth mentioning that the entries are limited to 300 books a year. Edward says that about 50% of the books submitted are turned down.

What I mostly want to say, though, is why I like entering the awards so much. Firstly, they are aimed at independently published authors, e.g those with a small indie publishing house or self-published authors. Secondly, the books are judged by readers and not panelists. In other words, the target audience. This is something I really appreciate. Edward's team includes reading groups in both Sweden (where he lives) and in the UK and the books are circulated amongst them. My last entry was read by sixteen men and women, and there was a really good range of ages.

What's amazing is that every book (and that's a lot now) accepted for entry is read and given feedback on a number of criteria. Yes, every single book! If the author chooses, this feedback is passed on, so regardless of whether he or she reaches the finals, the entrants can gain really impartial and valuable insight into what the readers think of their work. I think this is fantastic. I know they aren't professional critics, but who better to judge than the public who would (you hope) read your books anyway? But what I like as well is that the awards also give some marketing support in the form of stickers, logos, reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and advertising to those who make the finals. And even those who receive good feedback but aren't finalists can have the reader's quotes put on Amazon and Goodreads as a review.

I know this sounds like I'm advertising the WSA, and yes, in a way I am. But that's because I really am impressed by what these awards offer to indie writers. It's often hard to get unbiased views from readers, and we all know how difficult it can be to get reviews until we've built up a following, so the WSA is doing something I feel is really worthwhile. The first time I entered, I won a silver award for my YA book, The Skipper's Child. Last year, I entered my Eccentrics in the adult fiction section. It didn't make the finals, but I got great feedback, some good quotes and a 'Red Ribbon winner' title on the basis that 99% of the readers were positive about it. So I was actually pretty happy. This year, I'm entering the non-fiction section and I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes of it next spring.

So now I've gone on a bit about the feedback, what have I learnt from what I've had? Well one thing I know is I've got to go for more commercial covers for my books. I've got my own ideas about what I like, but I realise now that they aren't what the majority of today's readers find appealing. If I want to reach a wider audience, I'll have to think about this. The second learning point was about the plot for my Eccentrics. A few readers said it wasn't strong enough, so I need to look at that more carefully for my next novel. On the plus side, the reading groups gave me good points for the characters, the humour, my writing style and editing, so I'm really pleased about all of these. But I'll need to maintain them too!

If anyone is thinking of entering after reading this, have a look at the website first and see what the options and conditions are. Then go for it! It's a great scheme and a great support for writers (note: there's a Facebook page and Twitter as well), so huge thanks to Edward Trayer for both conceiving and setting it up. Long may it last!

Romania part 2: Timisoara, romance in Romanian form

Continued from previous post:

Waking late the following morning, we left our lovely air-conditioned Pension Yellow (a hostelry to be recommended), and ventured into a still, silent Timisoara by tram. Hardly anyone was about, which puzzled us. It was a very hot day, but hardly siesta time. Along the towpath of the Bega canal, we studied our surroundings. Beautiful, elegant, shabby chic buildings predominated. Decay rubbing shoulders with finery. I absolutely loved it. I captured a colourful family leaving their house - colourful as in the fabrics of their clothes. At first I thought they were muslim until I saw the rich, chaotically vibrant colours of their full skirts and the simple headscarves on the older women instead of veils; none on the teenage girls' heads. Roma perhaps? They looked too beautiful to me.

The situation of the Roma is not one I want to discuss here, but this article  from 2003 sheds some light on their position in Romania. It is not a happy one. Needless to say, we encountered many of them, some of whom were begging, but those that weren't seemed proud and dignified as in this family in my photo.

One of the things that charmed me in both Cluj Napoca and Timisoara was the coffee machines to be found everywhere. Nearly every small shop has one, and they can even be found on the streets. I have to say I found this immensely civilized, especially as hotel and hostel rooms don't provide kettles the way they mostly do in England and South Africa. My ability to wake up in the mornings is in direct proportion to the amount of coffee I can consume, so these machines were my life-safer. And it's astonishing that they aren't vandalized at all - something for which Koos was deeply grateful as he had to live with me until I'd had my required quota. Not an enviable task.

Each morning of our stay in Timisoara, we headed for the corner-shop-with-the-coffee-machine at the end of the street. It was run by a Serbian man (the borders with Serbia and Hungary are not far) who greeted us with a friendly smile. He learnt soon enough that firstly, we wanted coffee, secondly a hand of bananas (our breakfast) and thirdly a couple of the hugest tomatoes I've ever seen (mid morning snacks). This didn't require anything challenging in communication, but as it happens, Romanian is sort of doable in small chunks. Many of its content words are latin based, so if you know any French, Spanish or Italian, (or Latin of course), there is much you can figure out. The problem is the links that form the chain of a sentence. Totally incomprehensible to the newcomer.

Shabby chic and elegance

Actually, apart from the unarguable elegance of this lovely city, two of the most memorable moments of our stay were classic examples of miscommunciation. Walking into a canal side café, Koos saw two women eating what looked like sausage and chips. 'That's what I'd like', he said to the waiter, 'what those two women are having'. The waiter promptly brought him a pint of beer. We hadn't even noticed what the women were drinking. 'Thank you, but I'd really like what they are eating too,' he said, accepting the beer without comment. 'Do you want it with cheese or garlic?' The waiter asked. 'Oh, er, cheese, please.' A plate of chips then arrived with grated cheese over them. I started giggling 'Yes, but could I have the sausage too? Like those women had?' Koos said with considered patience. Again the question 'cheese or garlic?' Odd, but okay, garlic this time. The waiter brought a bowl of garlic sauce. Clearly the 'age' on the sauce didn't get through.

Decay rubbing shoulders with finery

The lovely Bega Canal

Gorgeous architecture

Later, Koos tried again at a kiosk. 'Could I have some chips, please?' He asked slowly, carefully. 'No, we don't sell chips, we only sell real food,' said the woman. After some experiments with the permutations of what chips might be in Romanian, he eventually got some ready-made (even to the box they were contained in) microwaved french fries. I laughed all the way into the city. What with his ageless sauce and non-food chips, it was surprising we managed to get any food at all. Come to think of it, food wasn't high on the list of memorable items. The tomatoes were amazing though!

A fine city given over to a café society

On a more serious note, I was happy I didn't see any stray dogs in either Cluj or Timisoara (something that Romania is known for), but not so happy about  the number of clearly impoverished old people. This was terribly sad, and I wondered what kind of safety net there is in Romania for old people who have no family to care for them.

Seen too often; impoverished elderly people scratching
a living on the streets

Although we went into a tourist information office where the woman on duty went to great trouble to give us a map and directions to museums, we didn't do any of the tourist sites except the magnificent orthodox churches. We like churches (Koos loves to take photos of fine church interiors) and they were blissfully cool. In Romania, the churches and cathedrals are breathtaking: so rich, so ornate, they are truly places of wonder. The people are visibly religious too. We were especially charmed when a skateboarding youth, complete with baseball cap on backwards made a sign of the cross as he passed in front of the cathedral, and many other individuals strolling with friends or family did the same.

The beautiful orthodox cathedral in Timisoara

The helpful woman in the tourist office also told us the reason the city was so quiet. It was just too hot to be out. We could understand that. With temperatures over 40 degrees in the sun, it was rather taxing. Nevertheless, at night, the city came alive. From around 8pm onwards, families thronged the lovely squares. We spent some very happy time sitting on the steps of the Opera House, just people watching. A couple of small children were playing near us, and they were such a delight to see. This was at around 10:30pm when everyone seemed to be out with their children and pets.

What fun it is to be a small boy

And a small girl

We also took some time to follow the city's tram routes. Timisoara is not very big in terms of square kilometers. It comes to an end quite sharply and the trams reach the extent of the city's limits. On one tram ride, we got off right at the edge of the built up areas when Koos spotted an impressive silo. We alighted at the ideal moment, it seemed, as we found ourselves next to the canal again, but this time with a more industrial purpose. In many respects, this was our best Timisoara experience, possibly hard for some to understand, but this is where Koos and I meet wholeheartedly. It had fabulous industrial buildings, charming side streets full of local character, and above all, the peace of a parallel watery world; something I think we both needed at this point.

Along the Bega Canal on the outskirts. 

Timisoara water tower

Plums for the picking on the canal side

Silos - industrial cathedrals

The most charming side street off the canal. I want to live here!

So that was Timisoara. It would be impossible to include everything about our stay in this blog, but I hope it gives some impressions of what a lovely, exotic and special city it is. We did what we enjoyed, a canal boat trip being an essential, and just absorbed as much as we could.

The rather debonair skipper on the boat trip

What we love: the parallel world of the water

After three days, we moved on, and that means one more post. This will be about Orastie, a surprising jewel and Alba Iulia, a disappointment with benefits, but that's for next time. I think this is quite enough for now, though, and I apologise for keeping you on my page for so long. Thank you for your patience in reading this far! Have a wonderful weekend everyone. xx