The Tango

The Tango
It’s November in Bulgaria and it’s cold. The sun is recently set and the snowflakes gently falling are each illuminated by streetlights lining the walk in front of the open station. There are few of us, scattered about the floor, waiting for the delayed train. A man walks by, spurring envy in the eyes of all that catch him, his cheeks are graced by rosy patches of warmth. The source of his glow does not escape my nose as he passes within reach.
“Honey, how many levs are left?” I ask.
She checks her wallet.
“Fifteen. And some change” she replies.
I take it. The train we’re awaiting will take us to the mountains of Northern Romania and we don’t have enough to justify converting lev to lei. I walk the fifty meters to the sole concession stand, hold out the money and mutter one of the few Bulgarian words I’ve picked up in our brief stay.
“Rakija.”
The bundled woman hands me a plastic bag and my change. I take the contents over to Paula and smile. The air, informing us of the maladies in our travel-worn coats, will no longer cause discomfort to the core. Following the rosy-cheeked man’s example, I leave the bottle in the bag, unscrew the cap and take a long pull. The harsh liquor brings tears to my eyes, tears in danger of freezing to my cheeks. A burning in my throat, readily diffusing the warmth to my extremities, surpasses the cold in my face. Paula takes a sip and a coughing fit lets me know she too feels the effects.
A horn blasts.
We gather our packs and make for the train. The car greets us with an open door and a frigid, accumulated cold. Temperature notwithstanding, the cushioned chairs are a welcome relief from our packs, and the bottle of rakija promises to turn the cold’s mockery to scorn by way of its liquid defiance.
Leigh, an Irishman working in Sophia sits across from us. Noticing that my red hair is not typical of Bulgaria, he greets us in English and a friendship is formed. We offer him a shot of warmth and he gladly accepts. A round or two goes by and the cold doesn’t feel all that bad. Fearing for the health of other passengers, Leigh asks the conductor to please turn the heater on. The conductor complies and within minutes we’re shedding coats. Another round goes by and I visit the lavatory, struggling to free my legs from the once protective, now sweltering, long underwear. The rounds cease. The windows are sealed. The conductor walks by, sweat dripping off his brow, and speaks to Leigh in an apologetic tone. Acting as interpreter, Leigh explains that the heater is stuck on high.
Paula, then Leigh, then just about everyone on the train mimics my visit to the rattling restroom. The train seems to be slowing; we’re approaching our first stop. An orderly evacuation ensues, everyone relishing in the sweet chill of mountain air. Minutes pass, just long enough for sweat to freeze, and the whistle blows. Reluctantly, we enter our cabin, blood already beginning to boil. It’s been an hour, six to go.


On the bright side, we sweat the consumed rakija out before it could induce a hangover. That ride on the Devil’s train is in the past. Like all our previous troubles, we leave them in the country in which they were born. A bad night’s sleep can’t sway us from enjoying our home for the next few days: Braşov. Having bid adieu to Leigh at the Romanian border hours before, the two of us hoist our packs and begin the compulsory search for a computer.
It’s early and we’re the first ones in the café. I order two black coffees as Paula logs in. We’ve got a new message; CouchSurfing you’ve done it again. In response to the email we sent out last night, Jason, an American ex-pat, has invited us to stay with him and his Romanian girlfriend, Oana. Under his direction, we negotiate the urban tango: metro, bus, walk left, then right… and we’re at his house in time for breakfast.
Cups of coffee and Romanian sweets mark the days that pass with our new friends and with a blink; it’s time to take the train back the way we came. Destination: Bucharest.
Our train is again late, but the sun is shining and we have a CouchSurfer ready to pick us up the moment we arrive. Eventually our train appears and we situate ourselves onboard with newly acquired reading material; a crucial aspect to a three month trip. Brontë and Yeats. We cuddle up and enjoy our books as we fly down the tracks, embracing uncertainty.
The train pulls in to the station, void of the perils of previous trips. As per our instructions, we make our way to the front of station, arrange our packs as seats, and we wait. We wait and we wait. Never before has a CouchSurfer stood us up. We wait.
“Patrick? Paula?” a voice asks from our rear.
I relieve the pent up stress with a laugh.
“Florin!”
He apologizes for his tardiness, we say it was nothing, and he takes us home. Florin is the recent recipient of a degree in philosophy and the conversational turn to things big and deep confirm it. The bus drops us off in front of a massive, concrete pawn shop on a dimly lit street. The uninviting, soviet-style architecture adds ominously to the weight of the night. Florin directs us behind the building, up a flight of unadorned concrete stairs, through halls lit fluorescently and to a door from which smells of heaven waft. We’re starving.
Florin opens the door and his father greets us with a hug, a kiss for Paula, and tea for both. Enter Florin’s mother. Maybe it was the maternal instinct that told her, maybe it was just another example of unprecedented hospitality, but we were yanked from our chairs and our tea was replaced with heaps of food: simple polenta, sautéed criminis, hunks of feta and weak wine. Plates were thrust into our hands and in rapid fire Romanian, we were told to recuperate from our travels, to fill our stomachs, to abolish hunger and want for naught. Before Florin was done translating, my plate was full and satiation on the horizon.
During dinner, we were asked if we would like to attend a concert.
“We’ve got a flight in the morning. At eight. We should be at the airport at six. How long does it take to get to the airport?” Paula the Planner asks.
“An hour and a half with a fast taxi” Florin informs us.
“That doesn’t leave us much time” I mention.
“You’re right! Let’s move!”
Properly stuffed we thank our one night surrogate and Florin begs his father to do the dishes for him so that we might make the concert. Aiming for punctuality, Florin races us to the door and before we know it, we’re on our way to pick up his girlfriend en route to the concert. It’s nine now, we leave in seven hours for Rome.
Ştefania is every bit as charming as Florin promised. We descend to a basement bar and are greeted by a dirty fog of smoke, body odors and beer. The assault on our nostrils pales in comparison to the assault on our ears.
“It smells like sand, sand” the speakers scream.
I need a beer and an oxygen mask. Paula’s eyes tell me her needs are similar. Trying to ration the remaining lei, needing enough for our taxi ride in six hours, I buy four of the bars cheapest and distribute them among us.
“It smells like sand, sand”.
We have, apparently, missed the first bands and the headliners have just come on.
“It smells like sand, sand”.
What does that mean? I follow Paula, who’s trying to find the stage in this underground…dungeon. We turn the corner and there she is. The six foot two singer is stationed behind microphone and keyboard. She’s built, at least two hundred pounds; she wouldn’t look out of place among linebackers. That is to say, if it weren’t for the booty shorts, fishnets and bra that comprise her entire outfit and the lyrics she screams from the core of her being, “It smells like sand, sand”. I need another beer.
The concert rages as Florin and Ştefania mercifully direct us skywards. We’re just not cut out for this. We ascend the stairs and our lungs welcome the cool, damp night air. A yellow fog bringing T.S. Eliot to mind, engulfs us, obscuring the definition of my own hand at an arm’s length. My kind of night.
We tango that urban tango and run through the deserted streets of Bucharest until the neon light of the pawnshop welcomes us home.
Exhaustion takes us as we lay upon our couch. Two hours later, our schedule wakes us.
Goodbye East, hello West.

Too busy

Only two more weeks of our trip and it has been unbelievable. We are in London and since we last updated our blog we were in Italy! That seemed like forever ago... I finally met Gulia Patrick's cousin who lives in Torino, Italy and then I met Aunt Judy in Bassano del Grappa where we relaxed for a few days and ate the best food of our trip. Homemade cooked meals ... we ate till we were full and then we ate some more. Words cannot describe Italy- One of my favorite countries we have visited. I was hard to board the plane to Barcelona after ten amazing days in Italy.

Barcelona, was more than I could expect! We couchsurfed with a young Catalonian Xavier where we spent three nights in his flat playing the board game RISK -Patrick was obsessed! We did spend the day light hours admiring Goudi's famous work in Barcelona. While snapping pictures of Goudi's work we unexpectedly ran into a traveler we had met in Greece over a month ago! This backpacker, Mike from Canada is also on a 3 month trip and we spent two nights with him in Meteora, Greece. While in Barcelona our paths crossed, so we spent another day sightseeing.

From Barcelona we flew to Paris- Aw Paris- Absolutely beautiful, another city that words cannot describe. Two days in Paris was not enough time to see all the history and sights. I must say that Croissants made in Paris melted in our mouths and locals carry around a baguette...What is the secret ingredient in French bread?

Paris to Amsterdam-we had a luxurious train ride and since we were eligible for youth prices we were in first class for less money than second. We arrived in Amsterdam and quickly fell in love with the Dutch.. by far the nicest people (also in Barcelona locals were very helpful). The second we pulled out our map locals would ask if we needed help and walk us to our destination. The Dutch know how to make the sweetest desserts. I ate waffles and profiteroles until we left the country. Three days in Amsterdam - I cannot write about our impressions because I am getting tired and I have to write about the REUNION!

Over 5 years ago I went to South Africa with an organization Youth With A Mission where I spent six months with volunteers from all over the world. There was a lot of Europeans and since Pat and I were going to make this trip I contacted my friends and they organized a weekend reunion. It was brilliant, there were over 12 friends who came and some with their new additions their beautiful children. It was a relaxing weekend of fellowship just catching up and watching videos from our time in South Africa.

From Holland we spent nine hours on a bus to London- Thank God the British accepted us into their country and now we are spending 3 days with a Slovakian couple Lenka and Vlado who we ran into several times in Egypt. We are staying on their couch in their lovely flat in East Finchley, London. Traveling opens up heaps of opportunities for friendships, I just cannot stop smiling! We worked so hard to save money and the sense of accomplishment when we boarded the plane in Los Angeles to embark on this life changing journey is a feeling I wish everyone could experience for themselves.

December 15th at 6:15 we arrive in Los Angeles.

Much Love

Paula and Patrick

Old stomping grounds

There is an old Italian proverb that goes something like "he who goes to Rome and doesnt see the Pantheon comes and goes a fool". Somebody please call Berkeley and tell them that a fool I am not. Paula and I recently flew in to Rome from Bucharest, where we were greeted by goregeous blue Italian skies, punctuated solely by soft cumuli inviting us into a world where Renaissance magnificences is passed, casually, by Romans on their morning walk to work.
We found our hostel, as couchsurfing had failed us, and took off. We RAN from place to place, each destination adding momentum to our enthusiasum and egging us on to the next sight. When we found ourselves in the Sistine Chapel, our legs began to fail us. With throbbing feet we sat and reveled at Michelangelos ingenuity. We quit the place and found pizza and wine. Oops. We got a little...come se dice, drunk. So we stumbled back to the hostel, after a gelato or two and partied even harder. Now its time to go see Florence. Peace.

Bulgaria/Romania

OK OK where to start? Let's see, we last updated heading to Athens...which was, to say the least, nice (Yea, to say the least). Athens, we couchsurfed with this guy, Nico, who had a one bedroom apartment a short metro ride from the Acropolis. Paula and I stayed with him, and 3 hippies, who, as we, were enjoying Nico's hospitality. We spent little time in the apartment but what we did, was crowded. Paula and I were given Nico's waterbed, while the four of them slept out in the living room, where it got a bit noisy and, to say the least, stinky (yea, to say the least). Night one passed with little to report but night number two, Paula and I were out in Athens having a blast with Barb's unmet collegue, Theressia, and didn't make our way back until midnight. Come the dozen strikings of the bell, we were ready to dream the dreams of sailors. Nico wanted to talk. The three of us camped out on his bed until 2, whereupon we fell asleep and woke in the morning for our train only to find that we had passed the night with Nico, who was adorned in naught but his undergarments.
Ok, so we jump on a train to Sofia, Bulgaria. It was, to the the most, OK (yea to say the most). The couchsurfers we met made the experience better, and it was our first encounter with snow, which the sky provided in plethora.
Sofia, peace out, hello Brasov, Romania, where we currently sit. We've just spent the day gaurding our necks in Transilvania and strolling the grounds of Chateu Dracul. (Count Dracula's castle). Seriously? Yea, seriously. We saw Dracula's castle.
Don't worry, we're staying warm, it's currently 4 degrees. So, thanks dad for the jacket (which has got Jay's name on it you thief) and thanks Donna for keeping my Paula warm (my arms can only do so much).
Hope the McSig family has a great time at Omnium and don't forget about us ok? Love to everyone back home.
Pat and Paula

Africa, Asia and Greece

Do you all remember the story of Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel Mary Ann? No? Read it. Think about it. And think about our blog ok?
Now that that's settled lets talk about our travels. So, when we left Cairo, we left Africa. The next day we landed in Istanbul, we landed in Europe. That night, for coffee we went to Istanbul, we went for coffee in Asia. Three continents in two days. That's pretty BA.
So in Turkey we spent some time outside of Istanbul and were able to see the incredible natural pools at Pammukale, the incredible catholic ruins at Cappadocia and, of course, Ephesus. A crazy amount of history, biblical and otherwise.
We spent that night on a fantastic sleeping train in a cabin, complete with beds, that took us from Istanbul to Xanthi, Greece where we met a wonderful couch surfer Panagiotis. From Xanthi, our plan was to hitchhike to Thessaloniki and we tried, but only got as far as Kavala, where we were picked up by an amazing man Gregorios. Kavala is great and if you ever come, maybe you too can experience spending 68 Euro on cleaning your clothes. Great. Wonderful. We shop at Goodwill and cleaning them has just doubled the amount of money we spent on them in the first place. Patience.
Life is good and we're heading to Athens tonight.

Mike Mulligan. Read it.

Istanbul

If one had but a single glance to give the world, one should gaze upon Istanbul.

Alphonse de Lamartine

Turkey here we come

We are both itching to start the second month of our journey in Turkey. We fly to Istanbul in just a few hours and will be greeted by Berna- a couchsurfer we met while in Cairo. We are sad to leave our friends here in Cairo, but are excited for our future travels.