Hitch-hiking in Romania

I easily let Beniamin, my couch-surfer host, talk me into hitch-hiking in Romania. It's very normal here, and customary to pay the driver for petrol. But now it's seeming less and less like a good idea. With my basic command of the Hungarian language, I've forgotten how easy it is to misunderstand each other when you don't even have a basic command of the language of the land, and to thus get completely confused and lost.

We exited his flat and he said I'll catch a bus to the city centre and hitch at the crossroads there. He assured me that in 2 years riding this bus, he had never been checked for his ticket. I insisted I wanted one anyway. At a vendor, she had no change so we just left. We walked for a while and when we approached a big street, a bus pulled up and he said "jump on, it's your bus! Get off after five stops!" As the doors closed, I realized I had no ticket. This really stressed me out, partially because I thought I'd get caught, but especially because it was just morally wrong. At each minute I got more concerned about cheating the system. Then my phone rang. "Get off that bus, it's the wrong one! I saw it turn the wrong way. Sorry!!! Catch a tram to December 1st St." So I jumped off the bus, relieved that I was no longer free-loading. Then I saw that trams go at least four different directions from there. Ugh. In Hungarian, English, German, and mostly mime, some women explained that I need the negro tram. Another moment of confusion before I recognized that English's Latin roots can be handy! After 20 minutes and a yellow tram and red tram passed by, the black tram finally arrived. I had asked a teenager if I could buy a ticket on the tram. Yes. Great. I got on. No said the driver. Get it over there he pointed. Then it left.

(It reminded me of my train ride to Oradea. I couldn't always see the station names and the train was behind schedule. So as it approached a large station I gathered my things, and asked a young woman if this was Oradea. "Oradea, yes," pointing straight down. So I scrambled to get off the train. But I couldn't open the door! I panicked as the train pulled away. But then I saw what must have been the station name, a very long name starting with a P. Good thing I couldn't figure out the door!)

So back at the tram stop, I got my ticket, and waited as trams of various colours, except black, came and went. Finally I got my tram, found the road to Cluj, came around the corner prepared for a hitch-hiking adventure. My heart sank. There were already about a dozen people there waiting for rides. Ugh. So I went 50 m down the street, propped up my bag (by far the largest one in the group, unfortunately) with a big Canadian flag on it, and put out my thumb. I also had a sign that Beniamin made for me: CJ for Cluj. So I thought the flag and the sign would better my chances over the others. Then I noticed that two beautiful single women were in the mix. But they didn't get rides first. Is there a system here?? Then a nice looking couple arrived with a sign "CJ" and set up beside me. Ugh. I watched the dozen others get rides, 1 by 1 or 2 by 2. Others replaced them. I started to squirm. Hide the flag? Remove the outback hat? What if it starts to get dark?

I think it was about 45 minutes before a little truck pulled over beside me. What a relief. The driver was a really nice guy named Rodu?, and he spoke a few English and a few Hungarian words. He called his friends occasionally to ask how to say so-and-so in Hungarian so we could chat a little.

After a few serious hills and valleys, countryside and villages, traffic slowed and we entered Cluj. He took me directly to the city centre square where I met my next couch-surfing host. And this sweet guy wouldn't except any payment from me, despite the custom.