by So we were walking up the hill to our apartment in Brașov when Mum decided to spout some bollocks about Jacinda Ardern. Seriously, why New Zealand politics here and now? I told her what I thought, which I probably shouldn’t have done considering she was already in a crappy mood. That evening was so terrible I don’t want to write about it, though I will say that Mum talked about wanting to die. It was similar to the time I fell out with her in 2016 just before coming to Romania, although this time Dad was also involved and she got really shitty with him too. In fact she accused us of ganging up on her. It was made worse by having to book our next place to stay – she insisted on doing that, even though she was in no fit state to do so. It took her two angst-filled hours. She booked a night in Râmnicu Vâlcea which sits on the Olt River.
The trip to Râmnicu Vâlcea started off great with all the sleepy villages and picturesque countryside, complete with hay stooks and storks up lamp-posts. We stopped in the well-kept, bustling town of Râșnov, not too far from Brașov, whose focal point is a 13th-century fortress. But as we traversed the hills, we ran into a massive roading project which required incredible manpower and considerable expense. Mum was extremely anxious the whole time, and that didn’t make driving any easier. We were constantly stuck at red lights as traffic was reduced to one lane. It was also pretty warm and I was having trouble with the air con. At one point I was at the head of the queue and the traffic light was out, so I just bowled on as you would, only to meet head-on traffic which I was lucky to be able to swerve clear of. Then near our destination there was a maniacal driver that could have wiped out several cars with his overtaking manoeuvre. Nothing unusual for Romania, but it frightened the bajeezus out of Mum.
Finding our apartment at Râmnicu Vâlcea was stressful in itself. These privately owned places just are stress-inducing. We stayed there the night without even seeing the town or the river, then hung around for a maddeningly late breakfast (9:20) that was delivered in a car.
Then, off to Sibiu. Not an especially long drive, but a wet one. The temperature had plummeted. I found what seemed to be the right address but it was way out of town. We got there in the end; the owner guided us through the narrow archway into the courtyard that housed our apartment which was the best of the three we stayed in by a mile. Mum had an afternoon nap, which did wonders for her. She was fine after that and for the next three days, after which it all kicked off once more. We ventured into the city which was close at hand. We seemed to spend a lot of time in shoe shops before looking around the Catholic church. We’d all been to Sibiu before and the familiarity was nice, even if it was still raining. I didn’t feel any of the wonder and excitement at seeing Sibiu that I did in 2016, though. Looking back, that was something quite special. Magical, even. We had a simple but decent meal, and after a good sleep we were on the road again, back to Timișoara. (We’d planned to wander around Sibiu in the morning, but it was still wet and horrible.) The rain made the first half of the drive tricky, but it then brightened up. When we got back, I went over to Dorothy’s to pick up Kitty. She’d been well looked after.
If Mum and Dad come back this way again, there’s no way I’ll do a trip like that with them. I wanted to show them a bit of the country, but that kind of travelling is far too much, for Mum especially. Four nights in Sibiu or maybe Cluj, staying in the same place the whole time, would be fine. Maybe. With Mum, there’s no guarantee that anything will be fine.
