I Missed Romania.

The Ukraine is behind me.  My last image of this country is this sleeping man behind the exchange counter.  I woke him from his slumber, got some new currency, then got on the old train to Romania.  My sleeping car was dark and had a strange odor inside.  There was one lone, strange man in the bunk above me.  He didn't look like anyone I wanted to be friends with. 

I could give you a detailed route on how to travel from Lviv, Ukraine to world-famous Brasov, Romania.  But that was before 2 Costa Rican convicts jumped off a motorcycle and robbed me at knife-point right outside Castle Tam hostel (more on the robbery later.)

The bag they took from me included a notebook with all of my train, plane, bus and hitchhiking routes that I used to get efficiently lost around Eastern Europe.  Oh well.  For now I rely on memory and what information I can find online.  The ticket from Lviv to Sofia was around $60 and it did not matter whether I took it all the way to Sofia or got off earlier.

I wanted to get off at Ploiesti, Romania.  From there I had a half-hour to catch a train transfer to Brasov where I would get to see Brasov Castle, the source of all of the Count Dracula vampire stories.  The train left Lviv 10 minutes late, and within 2 hours the slow-moving train was already 30 minutes behind schedule and still losing more time.  I quietly resigned to continue on to Sofia, Bulgaria and leave Transylvania for next year...

What I didn't see in Romania

It was a sad situation and the dark, dreary train added to the feeling.  I made my way up to the dining car while listening to the creaking wheels.  I expected a Western tourist or two but not once did I hear English, French, German nor other "Western" languages as I wandered the long aisle.  Every car I passed was filled with bedraggled, sweaty, frowning citizens from who knew what part of Eastern Europe.  Bad, tinny (but sexy) Romanian pop music drifted out of many of the small rooms.

The dining car complimented the depressing train.  Four small, yellowed tables were crammed into one side of the car.  One of the tables had two large, heaving men who were well into their forth glasses of vodka and showing it.  The waiter/cook looked annoyed by nothing in particular.  He tossed me a menu which was in Ukrainian and something that looked like English, but not enough so that I actually understood it.  After waving my hands and spluttering out random Slavic mongrol phrases at the cook, I procured some kind of Chicken Cordon Blue - with emphasis on the Blue.  Its most notable feature was its dryness.

There's a reason I always order alcohol when I eat on trains. 

On the plus side, skipping Romania meant I was not so rushed to fit a million things into a limited time schedule.  It also freed up my canceled credit card-strapped budget.  I choked down my Chicken Cordon Dry then returned to my cabin to sleep away the remainder of the trip.  I didn't miss anything.

The Slow Train to Lviv

'Gatta' means cat in Greek...

The seats were solid, hard wood.  They hurt.  The train creaked along and the ticket collector didn't arrive until a good 20 minutes after we had boarded in 'middle-of-nowhere,' Ukraine.  I paid about 50 Hryvnia and my accidental tour guide, Maria, paid a little less.  It was then that I finally realized she wasn't going all the way to Lviv with me.  Her long trip from Greece via Krakow was ending in a small village named Rudne.  Once again I would be alone in a large city where I don't speak the language.  I returned to my usual state of traveler's panic.

I questioned Maria for information about the train's arrival in Lviv.  In my notebook she wrote 'Prymiskyj Vogzal' which was the name of the station, or possibly the name of a villain from a cheesy sci-fi film.  To clarify she informed me, "Not Central Lviv Station."  Very reassuring.  So how do I get to central Lviv?

Fortunately I had the foresight to write a short list of available hostels in Lviv:
1. The Kosmonaut Hostel, 1st floor Sichovykh, Stritiso 8
2. Roxelana Hostel, General Chuprenke 50/4 Tehepan
3. Retro Hostel Shevchensko, Shevchensko 16.  Take Tran #1 or #9, exit Green St, cross to Saksaganskogo St.

The street names are complicated but at least they have names.  Unlike Costa Rica where I live.

Notice the third hostel has the most directions?  As a hostel manager, I beg of you hostels to always have good directions on how to arrive at your place.  The three hostels are all cheap, but I settled on Retro Hostel for the simple fact that its description told me how to get there.  Imagine.  Although it would seem obvious, many hostels seem unaware that most of their guests are completely new in the city, don't speak the language and exercise bad judgement due to exhaustion/disorientation/hangover/stupidity. 

Maria recognized the information I showed her.  She drew a simple map of the train station and two parallel streets.  I had to cross one parallel street then look for tram 29A which would take me to Green Street where Retro Hostel was. Simple.

"Skype? You Skype?  I learn English, you?"

"Umm...yes.  I have Skype."

She wrote her Skype name next to the map and continued sketching on the opposite page.  It was not a map.  It was a cat.  I asked her if it had a name.  Above the drawing she wrote 'Gatta.'  She told me 'Gatta' is 'cat' in Greek.  Next to the drawing she wrote in English: 'hello', 'good morning' and 'good night.'

"I learn English, you, Skype?" she repeated and gave me a small smile while looking directly at me.  There was a sad, pleading look in her eyes.  She took my hands and indicated she wanted a massage.  I obliged with a certain guilt.  I had observed how thin she was and it become even more evident when I placed my hands on her.

I felt like a dick for thinking that she had been out to scam me or lead me into some trap.  I remembered the pictures of her children on her phone.  She had been away working as a cook in Greece for almost a year; most likely wiring her money to her family in her small village.  Due to the wide language barrier I could never learn the true story.  I'm sure it merits more respect than my silly joyride through the Ukraine.

In time Maria gave me a massage as well.  When she finished she gave me another long, sad look.  I looked her in the eyes.  I thought of taking advantage of the situation, but guilt overcame me again and I let the moment pass.  I was sure there would be more moments like this in Lviv very soon.  After gazing at her for a minute I stupidly said, "Skype!" 

She smiled meekly and laid her head on my shoulder.  Not knowing what else to do, I put my arm around her.  Quickly she drifted into sleep despite the hard wooden seats.  I was unable to sleep and stared out the window at nothing in particular.  I stroked Maria's hair absentmindedly.  An incredible sadness came over me.  The train slowly became more hot and crowded and interesting with each stop, but I noticed none of it.

When we arrived at Maria's small village another lady was waiting for her there.  She told me "two more," which I took to mean two more stops until Lviv.  I thanked her for her help and carried her heavy bags off the train.  Her and her friend waved at me as the train took off.  I waved back and smiled bitterly, knowing I would never see her again.