The train now follows the Danube; on the other side of the bank lies Serbia. I can get off at the next stop, I still do not know whether I want to reach Bucharest. I regret not being able to see the landscape better. The Danube marks the border between Romania and Bulgaria almost all the way to the end, before despotically turning north and flooding, almost in Moldova already, the lands of north‑eastern Romania. A delta of almost 5,000 square kilometres. We speak so much of the Nile, of the Amazon… but who speaks of the Danube?
I believe that if the Danube were in Western Europe, we would have done it more justice. It is modestly born in Germany’s Black Forest, grows on the plains of Central Europe, winds through the countries already mentioned before finally emptying into Romania, near the Ukrainian border.
I confess I do not feel that eager to reach Bucharest. I still have not understood whether Romanians from other cities envy their capital or look down on it; few are neutral. I want to form my own opinion.
I used the table to write, plugging the computer into the power socket, I ate the sandwiches I had brought with me and, when sleep got the better of me, I lay down with my head on top of my bag that carries the computer – an unnecessary worry, but you never know. I slept comfortably.
Here I am in Bucharest at last! It is a cold that cracks the bones. Blue sky just how I like it, but 8 degrees below zero. The avenues are wide and chaotic, I can say that the traffic does not lack animosity, even so, it seems to me that everyone here is good folk; that is, it hardly ever escalates into violence.
Twelve hours by train, if we count the traditional half hour of delay before the train arrives, and it reached Bucharest two hours late. Romanians hate their train as much as I like it. I understand them well, there is a timetable but it is only a rather vague forecast, as in olden days when people said the stagecoach should take 12 hours to reach the next town. That is how the Romanian train works. And I am speaking of the electrified lines! This country is truly fascinating. I did not hear a single person complain about the delay. On the contrary, young people ran from one side to the other while they waited for the train, those who wanted to smoke, smoked without worrying about finishing the cigarette, older people sat down and, without grumbling, found something to entertain them. Sooner or later it will arrive, it never fails – it just does not respect the timetable. And it did arrive. I just do not understand why they state that the expected arrival time is 6:53. They could round it to 7:00. It arrived at 9:02.
I walk towards the centre but I feel my hands freezing. I go into a McDonald’s to drink a tea, warm up, give a lesson, book a hotel room and look for a shop where I can buy woollen gloves. I know very well that for the cold there are better materials, but I want gloves that I enjoy wearing; if I bought a pair of those thermal gloves, I would wear them today but afterwards they would just be one more thing I would have to carry. For someone who can stand the cold, a beanie, scarf, gloves and thick socks (which I do not have) are all a pilgrim needs to travel calmly in such temperatures.
I finally have news about my wallet. I had in fact left it at Mihaela’s place… under the bed. It must have fallen while I was packing. I need to be more careful in future. A friend of hers sent it to me by priority mail.
By late afternoon, the blue sky gave way to clouds and, by early evening, the snow began to fall. I watch from the window as the snow settles on the roofs. How beautiful! But I must sleep because my body asks for rest.
When I woke up the snow was twenty centimetres deep on the pavements, on the roofs of cars, on the roads; my trainers – lest the reader think I came prepared for snow – disappeared when I walked on top of it. What chaos in the traffic. Municipal workers do what they can to remove the snow from the roads and pavements. Traffic officers help to normalise circulation on the main arteries of the city. I feel like a kid playing in the snow. But I must come back to my senses: this is not a day for long walks. And it even works out well, because I have plenty of work for today and tomorrow.
The next day I left the hotel only to drink coffee. It had stopped snowing but the thermometer still showed −10 degrees and, because of the wind, the perceived temperature was −16.
My wallet has still not arrived. It worries me because I do not have a tracking number. I can contact the postal service if something happens, but for now I can only wait. Nothing… I have visited absolutely nothing in the almost three days I have already spent in Bucharest. Not only because of the snow and cold, but also because I prefer not to go far – I want to be able to pick up the wallet as soon as they let me know it has arrived.
Ahah! A restaurant decided to play Christmas music. Oh, what a pity, they cut it. I think they just wanted to make a joke. Given my reaction to the snow I was led to believe I am more Portuguese than French. Although I grew up in Paris and have already skied, I have the feeling I had never set eyes on such a marvel. Aside from the children, I must be the only guy who finds it funny to see my black trousers and trainers covered in snow, who grabs snow with his hands… I cleared from the chairs of a forgotten terrace the white cushion of snow. With my gloves I do not feel the cold of the snow. Unlike cold water, snow does not insist on sneaking in where it was not invited.
I put the question in scientific terms: why is snow the whitest thing that exists in nature? And does not each snowflake have a life of its own? Why do they display different shapes? Does a snowflake wish to embrace a geometry that allows it to remain in the solid state for longer?
I do not want to philosophise for the sake of philosophising, but honestly, tell me: look at that cushion made of snow sitting on the chairs that were left outdoors. Would the reader rather sit on them or on a wet chair?
Liquid seeps in anywhere. Can physics, without the help of biology, explain how that pile of snow, which really looks like a cushion, manages to keep that cohesive shape, so contrary to the laws of gravity, which ought to flatten that mound instead of allowing it to remain united like a parallelepiped?
Today I slept and, when I was not sleeping, I was working. The weather is finally a little milder. And I do not want to leave Bucharest with a description limited to the fascination I rediscovered for snow. But, as much as I like snow, I do not have clothes for skiing, which is what the streets call for. And I still do not have my wallet back.
I recommend the Michelangelo Hotel to anyone who wants to stay in an affordable and friendly hotel. It is near Piața Romană, in the north of the city. I want to visit Bucharest; while I wait for the wallet, I walk to the other side of the city. I saw, for the first time in Romania, a few homeless people; is there any capital that does not have them? People dress with style, women wear a lot of make‑up, even teenagers. It is no wonder that some people call Bucharest the Little Paris. I do not think it is comparable in terms of fashion; here the style is more Slavic but still urban.
At last I have my wallet! I received the notification at 21:43. I need to go back to the north of the city to pick it up at a pickup point. Since I can no longer catch a train to Constanța today, I will sleep in some hostel in the outskirts and tomorrow morning I will retrieve my wallet, which is on the way to the train station. This hostel is horrible! I will, however, speak of what was positive: I drank a few beers with people who live here in Bucharest. One was a Russian polyglot who works in construction, another was a visual artist who had a difficult adolescence, another had recently been thrown out of the house by his girlfriend. All people with good hearts, they carried hard stories that led them to live temporarily in that cheap hostel. Noroc!
The next day, 5 February, the temperature is a little above zero and it rains a bit. I wanted to go to Brașov, to the Carpathian mountains, or to Suceava, to get a feel for the vibe of north‑eastern Romania on the border with Moldova, or else to Tulcea, to see the Danube delta. However, I wanted to reach Istanbul as quickly as possible. You cannot see everything. Constanța is a well‑known seaside resort on the Black Sea.
The train is leaving right now. Goodbye Bucharest. Goodbye snow that has begun to melt. Unfortunately for me, I am on a sort of fast train, the equivalent of an Intercidades in Portugal. It left 5 minutes late… There is supposed to be wi‑fi but it does not work. The train is almost full. Constanța is the last station; I assume most people will get off before that. We will see.
Before getting on the train, I spoke with a Romanian family who were heading north, towards the Suceava region, home of a famous Romanian poet.
Oh, how I would like to visit Romanian Moldova. Perhaps I would have gone if I had not stayed so long in Bucharest because of my wallet. Patience, fate wanted it that way. It must be for a good reason.
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