by I left myself so little time to catch the train on Saturday that I practically had to run. When I got to the station they were carrying out renovations that made it hard to tell exactly what was what. I was pretty sure Timișoara station had one of those split-flap departure boards that are still ubiquitous in Romania, but I couldn’t see it. Three minutes. Instead there were two large sheets of paper attached to the platform wall. After a momentary mental block as to which Romanian word meant “departures”, I saw that my train was leaving from platform 5. At least at the bigger stations you know which platform is number 5, so dripping with perspiration, I boarded the train with moments to spare. So much unnecessary self-inflicted stress. I wasn’t able to chat with the couple opposite me because they were busy either chatting with each other or glued to their phones. (The smartphone has made meeting people on trains that much harder.) I finished a book and made a good dent in another one (Mister Pip, which I’ve now finished); the trip was fairly comfortable and didn’t seem to drag. My phone rang a couple of times but I didn’t recognise the number. Thinking it might have been a new student, I didn’t answer. I still don’t feel comfortable speaking Romanian in a busy environment with potential business at stake, so I decided to call back the next day. After stopping in Oradea, Arad and Satu Mare, and a few other places besides, we pulled into Baia Mare just after 10:30. Like most Romanian stations (Arad being the only real exception I’ve come across), Baia Mare station was old and run-down.
I took a taxi to my hotel, and that’s where things got tricky. Those phone calls were from the hotel, and because I didn’t answer, they gave my room (the last room) to somebody else. This is Romania. The bloke at reception put me through to some manager on the phone; I told him I’d give his hotel zero out of ten on booking.com. In the end I got put up in a much nicer and slightly cheaper hotel for the first night, and had a hearty breakfast the next morning that I wouldn’t have had otherwise, before being transferred to the grottier (but manageable) place for the last two nights.
Baia Mare sounds like it should be by the sea. It isn’t. (The name means Big Bath. Mare means both “sea” and “big” in Romanian.) I spent most of Sunday trying to get a feel of the place. The historic centre of the town is quite pretty; it’s been recently tarted up. The city also features the ninth-tallest chimney in the world; it belongs to a disused copper smelter.
Like so many places in Romania, Baia Mare isn’t tourist-friendly. Yeah OK, I followed the “Museum 1.7 km” sign, but now what? Am I still on the right track? It would be nice to know. Street name signs would be a neat idea too. I visited the Muzeul de Etnografie which told me that Maramureș is in some ways a separate country. And a beautiful one, if only I could spend more time there. It’s steeped in tradition, with its own style of music and regional costumes. Everything seems to be built of wood with hardly a nail to be seen. I had a beer in a courtyard and watched four men play a card game that I couldn’t get the gist of. As for food, I was struggling. I had to settle for some noodles that I bought in a large, modern mall. That mall had eight or so food outlets. KFC attracted people like bees to a honeypot; the lure of McDonald’s and KFC seems to be universal.
The next day I felt like going to Sighet, and showed up at the bus station at 9am, hoping to catch one of the scheduled buses. Instead I met a pony-taled Australian in his early sixties who had been travelling for 169 days, and a local guy of 23 who painted, grew beards, played traditional music (he gave us a demonstration on his flute) and had a passion for languages.
He was second person I’d met up there who spoke decent English, after the receptionist at the good hotel. No buses to Sighet materialised until 11:30. The bohemian guy got off just before the end of our winding 1¾-hour journey up and down the mountain.
In Sighet we were right on the border with Ukraine, though you never would have known it. We ate a basic but perfectly good lunch at the bus station restaurant, if you could call it a restaurant. Menus? Bills? Who do you think we are? The Aussie guy and I parted company as he made his way to a hostel. I didn’t do much in Sighet but wander around; it was Monday so the museums and the old communist prison (supposedly a must-see) were closed. Back at the bus and train station I thought to myself how wonderfully peaceful and quiet it was on that sunny evening.
There didn’t seem to be much point in staying long in Baia Mare on Tuesday, because it was a public holiday, and there were no trains that didn’t leave at stupid o’clock, so I made the seven-hour bus journey back to Timișoara. I hope to be back in Maramureș before long – one of my students comes from there and said I could come with her when she next goes there. I mentioned this to Mum; she immediately asked about her name, her age, her bra size, her blood group… Mum has been sick the last few days. Seeing her in such a bad way on FaceTime was quite a shock, but I think she’s just had a severe cold.
