Snowy train tracks, no food or water with us, just watched napoleon dynamite, past Daneş, I think we’re entering Sighişoara, I’ll stop for a smoke and throw the butt out the open doors between wagons, lights out, probably running behind schedule,

I’ve eaten at a few interesting places in Cluj. The Viking restaurant where I ate about the equivalent of half a pig in various forms. Another place where people eat in cells, in an old musky brick basement. And today (or yesterday by the time I post this) I got to eat at a Hungarian restaurant I had met Teo’s film crew at once and had wished to eat there ever since.

It’s not so much for the food. I mean, yes, I did try fruit soup for the first time. Mainly cherry based with pieces of pear and apple and a hint of citrus. And apart from the goulash, most of the stuff we ate could also be considered Romanian. Mind you, Romania has a tendency to adopt foods from surrounding areas just like any other country.

We went for the atmosphere. We step through the wide-open heavy wooden doors from the street onto the carpeted floor, and there in the hallway with the snow blowing in, is a woman standing behind a small reception desk, surrounded by windows, since the same establishment also doubles as a hotel, to the left a flight of stairs going up, and a fake christmas tree stands pretty much smack dab in front of her. A few more steps and automatic glass doors open, it has the feel of some neo-church to it, the glass ceiling, neon signs, a water fountain out of order. We start the queue by grabbing a tray that looks like it was made by Ikea, utensils and a selection of three kinds of bread. A vast array of food in front of us, on the other side of the glass, I wanted to take the time to ask the woman serving us what everything was, there were soups and meats sitting in juices, vegetables floating to the surface, but she just passed her ladle through a couple of them and pointed above our heads where on top of some gold lettering that welcomed us in Hungarian, was a description of everything being served in two languages, one of which I understand so-so. We were only going to get so much helpfulness as more people started lining up and getting their bread. A banister stopped us from letting anybody pass us and we felt stressed to get as much food as we could and pass to the cashier.  “Do you want schnitzel?” the sausage didn’t look that attractive, will that be with polenta or mashed potatoes, quick, grab some pickled vegetables, what about the cakes with great big pieces of cherry in them on dozens of plates above the présentoir, I’ll grab one of these beers, what do you want to drink, quick.

I was already full after the soup.

Your typical x-mas standards played above us, but the Hungarian adaptation, which just sounds like a mouthful of consonants  and umlauts. We even had the pleasure of hearing the Magyar “Santa, baby” originally sung by Marilyn Monroe.

More people flooded in, serious faces, blond hair, mustaches. Speaking their funny language.

I love train travel. I wish there was a pass you could buy, valid for everywhere trains go, in the world! I also wish I could get one for free.

Okay, im talking crazy

I’m gonna try and get some sleep