DE to NZ 4 - On the Brink

 

Budapest, Hungary - Brașov, Romania

Romanian Rail Night Train 473 - 699 km (13 hours)

Cost €180

Total distance travelled - 2549km

We left Budapest under a golden gloaming, a rainbow smeared on the horizon. Our bellies were packed as full as our backpacks thanks to an Asian food court (simply called Asian Street Food Budapest) which J had scouted out on Google maps. The unassuming entrance, directly opposite Keleti main station, led us to a bustling array of restaurants surrounding a central dining area. Undoubtedly our best meal to date, the sushi, hotpot and fried tofu we ordered were accompanied by chortling water features, bonsai trees and a pumping K-pop soundtrack. After wallowing in the Hungarian capital, this unexpected taste of Asia was the perfect kickstart to our adventure East,

To add to our good spirits, we were cheerfully welcomed onto our train by our Romanian conductor, and we found our compartment to be tidy, not as cramped as expected and with fresh bedding provided. The kids, excited to be getting our adventure underway again, quickly chose their beds and set to unpacking their soft toys, pyjamas and books. Our four beds were narrow, comfortable (if a little firm) and sloped slightly to the wall. The two upper bunks could be accessed by a movable metal ladder and there was a cavity above the door large enough for all of our luggage. The window could be opened fully which was just as well as the heat regulator by the door was unresponsive. With little information to go on, we had been planning for the worst - so were happy with our digs for the night. The buoyant mood was soured slightly when a beer (opened prematurely in the excitement) was spilled, meaning that for the rest of the 13-hour trip our compartment smelled like a Dunedin student flat.

Perhaps it was the stench of alcohol that caused the Hungarian border control to take a second look at my passport. Romania, despite being a member of the EU, is not yet a part of the Schengen visa zone, which meant that, when we crossed the border at about midnight, we had to go through the formalities. I think the confusion was caused by my New Zealand passport which, being new, didn’t have an entry stamp for the Schengen zone. Eventually the two female officials, whose kindness was evident through the cracks in their stern front, became convinced I wasn't on the lam and with a swift strike of their stamp, we were free to continue our journey. Aside from that and a half-hearted scan of our carriage by a bored looking man wielding a mirror on a stick, the border crossing went without a hitch and we were soon rolling through Romanian country side. Best of all, we didn’t even have to wake the kids. Relieved, I climbed the ladder onto my bed, which was just long enough for me to stretch out, and closed my eyes.

There’s something very soothing about sleeping on a train: the rhythmic sway and clackity-clack as you are transported dutifully through the countryside, safe in the knowledge that the track you travel is already laid before you. Not all of us could appreciate the moment though, unlike her siblings who had fallen quickly asleep, our youngest stubbornly refused to settle. J, who was sharing her narrow bed with the writhing little one, was having a rough night. Woken once more by indignant grizzles at about 4am, I swung down and took the protesting bundle in my arms. Staggering up and down the carriage trying to lull her back to sleep, I watched highways teeming with lorries and factories lit up like cruise ships as the hump-backed Carpathians lumbered out of the murk.

We would be staying the next few days in Brașov - one of the Siebenbürger, seven fortified towns settled by ethnic Germans in the first half of last millennium. Our apartment was in the historic kernel, a warren of streets cradled by densely forested mountains. The modern city has since spilled out onto the surrounding plain and now houses a population of around 250,000. At 650 metres above sea level the air was laced with an autumnal chill, and I didn’t have to speak Romanian to understand the mild scolding I received from the elderly women when they saw my youngest daughter’s wispy blonde locks exposed to the elements.

Because of its Saxon heritage, German was often more useful than English when conversing with the locals. This included our Airbnb host, who attended the city's German school and later studied in Freiburg. I'm not sure whether this Teutonic influence is to blame, but to call him a fastidious host would be an understatement. It made for a spotless and perfectly organised apartment, but the long list of rules and feeling of constant surveillance spoiled our stay a little. Nevertheless, his house was in a beautiful location, surrounded by steep cobbled streets and with a view directly onto the brooding Tampa Mountain, complete with Hollywood style "Brașov" sign.

During one of our playground visits, Jenny fell into conversation with a local father while on swing duty. Afterwards, she came to me and breathlessly shared her latest intel. Apparently, brown bears, a threat which we had not taken all that seriously, were increasingly found sauntering into the city searching for food. This was a dangerous issue that the authorities didn’t know how to counter. This came as news to me, and I immediately thought back to the day before when I had gone waltzing into the woods, carrying my youngest daughter in front of me like some kind of pagan offering. Of bear, we saw neither hide nor hair, though we had a few run-ins with the local dogs, some of which seemed similar in size and ferocity.

When it came time to leave Brașov, we found that we weren't quite ready. The city had charmed us with its quaint alleys and time worn churches balanced on the brink of wilderness, and we had the sense that adventure lay just beyond its boundaries. Deciding that it would be a shame not to explore the area further we sought out one more accommodation on Airbnb. Jenny was very excited with the listing she found which boasted: "a 150-year-old farmhouse surrounded by pristine nature". It sounded promising and the reviews were all praise, so we decided to take the gamble and book a week.

What followed would be a once in a lifetime experience, in which we were woken by the rooster and the chime of the cow’s bell, spending our days accompanied by seven unkempt dogs, enjoying hearty home cooked meals while exploring a region unsullied by modernity and mass tourism. It was an opportunity to unplug, turn back time and get close to nature which, in a land where giant bears roamed free, would prove at times to be a little close for comfort.

Next Post: Bear Breath

DE to NZ 3 - Buda-Belly

Munich - Budapest 

ÖBB Railjet RJX 65 - 654 km (7 hours)

Cost: €73.25

Total distance travelled: 1850km

How could so much vomit come from a human so small? That was my first thought. My second was: Scheisse, now what? The night before we were to board our sleeper train to Romania - an epic 13 hour journey which we had been gearing towards for weeks - our youngest daughter began erupting like an Icelandic volcano. She wasn't the only one either. Shortly after it was J's turn and then our son joined in, soon a chorus of heaving and splashing rang through the house.

Fortunately we had kept our trip open ended for just such occasions. There would be no need for us to get up close and personal with the toilets on a Romanian long-distance train. The journey had to be postponed (seeyaw €180) and another apartment in Budapest sought out for the meantime. It was a shame we couldn't stay put. Our current abode was one of those rare finds on Airbnb which exceeds expectations. It was advertised as "minimalist", which I cynically took to be a fancy word for "barren". With three kids though, the fewer objects they could smash, smear or smite themselves on, the better. On arrival - after navigating the bus network from the glass roofed leviathan that is the Keleti train station, walking a couple of blocks through the laid-back bustle of a European city winding down in the evening and then following our self check-in instructions - we found the apartment to be clean, stylish and simple, yet well equipped.

We were well situated too, in the district of Újlipótváros, a trendy neighbourhood on the Pest side of Margaret Bridge (Budapest is split by the Danube into two halves - Buda and Pest). Sheltered from the tourist thralls, the "shabby chic" vibe of the cafes, bookshops, and bars here still has a genuine feel. It is perhaps similar to what our neighborhood in Berlin, Prenzlauer Berg, was like before gentrification scrubbed it clean. The towering buildings, with their flaking, exhaust-stained facades built in Bauhaus and Modernist style, tell the tale of a progressive, intellectual neighbourhood regaining itself after being gutted by holocaust, war and communist dictatorship.

Our second apartment was more expensive, smaller and, though only a couple of blocks away, not so nicely situated. Turns out we would be living opposite the Hungarian Ministry of Defense - building, surreptitious despite its size, patrolled by bored young soldiers sporting maroon berets and automatic rifles. One positive was that we were handy to the "Olimpia park" playground, which had plenty of space for the kids to run around. They struggled with the language barrier, however (their response to being asked something in Hungarian was to back slowly away), and it was a little heart breaking to see them watching the raucous play of the school groups from the shelter of a nearby oak tree.

With stomachs fortified by Zwieback and Fennel tea, everyone was soon fighting fit, so we were able to take advantage of the couple of extra days we had. Having spent most of our time so far exploring our neighbourhood, it was now time to go full tourist. We decided to take a trip via the Funicular to Buda Castle. After reaching the base we forked out the 5,800 forint (about €14) for two adults and two kids. Pretty steep (no pun intended) for a one and a half minute trip up a hill. We would probably have passed on the whole thing, had we not already spent the morning selling the kids on the idea.

We did learn a valuable lesson in the subtleties of the Hungarian language however. After receiving our tickets, Jenny asked exactly how to pronounce the word Siklo (funicular) as she wanted to get it right for her podcast. In response, the vendor opened her window, looked Jenny in the eye and very deliberately pronounced the word. A little over the top, we thought, sharing a look. Her colleague then approached with smartphone in hand, gesturing for us to look at the screen. Turns out sikló (pronounced with a sh) has a very different meaning to csikló (with a hard s). I'll let you Google it for yourself; suffice to say that asking strangers to help you locate the csikló may land you in hot water.

Speaking of hot water, another draw card in Budapest is the natural thermal baths - some of which have been wrinkling toes since Roman times. I was keen to take the kids, but after some research found they were places better suited to wallowing as opposed to splashing and screaming which kids are prone to do when they so much as see a puddle. There are outdoor baths which have kids' pools and slides, but in mid-September, the weather was a bit bracing for that. In the end I was able to find a more suitable, if less historic alternative - the Aquaworld Aqua Park. The website promised "unforgettable entertainment" and an "ocean of adventure". As one of Europe's largest indoor water parks, I figured we would find some thing to suit us, so we hatched a plan. I would take the two older kids and Jenny would go with our youngest to explore the bohemian Jewish quarter.

With towels and togs packed, as well as a few snacks for the journey, we boarded a tram and travelled about an hour north. Passing through the communist era housing projects, we watched the locals board and alight toting shopping bags, briefcases or with reluctant kids in tow. Some of the older passengers would smile and gush at the kids, who (with nowhere to escape to this time) would look pleadingly to me for help. All I could do was wave my hands awkwardly and say "Sorry, we don't speak Hungarian". That didn't stop one woman sat opposite us, who continued to coo at the kids for about ten stops.

Eventually we arrived, paying the 11,000 forint (26 Euro) entry fee for the three of us for three hours. There were half a dozen pools of various depths and temperatures, with a selection of slides (most of which the kids were too short for). They were happy enough though, just splashing around, clambering over me and generally flailing about. My daughter even learned how to swim underwater - which was a family milestone to add to my son losing his first tooth a couple of days later, and my youngest daughter taking her first steps, all of which happened in Budapest.

Returning home red eyed and wrung out, we met J who was non-plussed about the Jewish quarter. She found it too commercialized, swarming with pouting tourists determined to enhance their social media profiles. Weirdly, it seems like we had a more genuine experience at Aquaworld (even if our photos weren't as good).

With more boxes ticked than we had ever planned, we were now ready to continue our journey east, the mystery of Transylvania awaited. That was until that evening, when my stomach began to gurgle like a defunct dishwasher. It seems it was my turn to be struck by the Buda-belly. As I lay bedridden, Jenny desperately searched once more for a new apartment. At least we hadn't booked our train tickets this time.

The next day saw another move, another two blocks, another step down in the accommodation ladder. Mercifully, the illness again passed quickly so after a couple more days of sightseeing, audiobooks, playgrounds and average sushi we were well and truly ready to go. Our destination was Brasov, one of the Siebenbürger - fortified Transylvanian towns settled by ethnic Germans in the first half of last millennium. For us it would be a chance to get a taste of the Carpathian wilderness, an untamed land where brown bears roam. An opportunity to stretch our legs and fill our lungs with fresh alpine air which, after a week of stomach bugs and apartment hopping in Budapest, would be just what the doctor ordered.

Next Post: On the Brink