After 4 days in Budapest, we were headed to Breb for the start of several weeks in Romania. Breb is probably one of the smallest towns in Maramures, a unique ethnographic region in Romania where the rural way of life is well preserved and still seen in the daily life of locals. We were looking forward to seeing what traditional life in that region was like. But getting there would not be without it’s challenges!
Bus Station Fun
Because it’s more remote, we knew it was going to be a bit of a haul to get there. Finding no decent options for trains, we’d chosen a bus option that didn’t look too bad. We were to leave on the 5:10 am bus from Budapest, have a transfer in Arad, Romania, and arrive in Baia Mare at 5:45 pm where we would rent our car and drive the remaining hour or so to Breb. A journey of about 400 miles in total.
We were out the door of our Budapest apartment and down to meet the Bolt (European Uber) at 3:45 am. Because we hadn’t gone in advance to check out the bus station the day before as we often do, we wanted to be sure to get there early to make sure we were in the right place and knew the layout.
The Bolt was there waiting for us. Yay – off to a great start. We got to the station quickly as there was no traffic whatsoever at that time of day. When we arrived, the station was closed, but there were people waiting outside. No biggie – we still had more than an hour before our bus was supposed to leave.
We checked all of the digital signs above the platforms to see which one we’d be leaving from, but our bus wasn’t listed. Probably not to worry, it was most likely just too early to be posted.
It was about that time that Ivan noticed an update on the app to our trip. We’d had really good luck with Flixbus to this point and loved that it had an app with a feature to track your ride similar to Uber. Our bus was now delayed from 5:10 am to 6:45 am. Argh – we could’ve spent another precious hour and a half sleeping! The issue with the delay wasn’t so much the wait, it was that now, with the delay, we would be missing our transfer in Arad to the bus taking us to Baia Mare. The first bus was only going to get us less than half of the way to our final destination.
The station eventually opened, but the information desk wasn’t staffed until 6 am. We took a ticket and asked the woman what we could do about our missed connection. She said she didn’t work for Flixbus, she only sold tickets and that we’d have to contact Flix directly. This is despite the fact that she was sitting under huge signage that prominently said “Flixbus”. She also mentioned she’d never heard of Baia Mare, our final bus destination, which wasn’t at all comforting.
So Ivan texted customer service at Flixbus and was told by the customer service rep that he could not help us until we’d been delayed by at least 2 hours. It didn’t matter that we already knew we were going to miss our connection. Apparently, all we could really do was to wait for the 6:45 bus. So we waited for our trip, with the new time, to show up on ‘the big board’. And we waited. And buses that were leaving at 7:00 and later were showing up, but not ours.
We took another ticket and asked the non-Flixbus rep if she had any information about if our bus was still coming at 6:45. She didn’t know, but she called someone who told her that when our bus did come, it would be at platform 12. At 7:10, when we’d officially been delayed by 2 hours, Ivan reached out again to Flix customer service and was told this time that there was nothing he could do until we got to our connection point. And, he, the Flixbus customer service rep, had no information about if or when our bus would be arriving.
So, we waited – one of us looking out one side of the platform for Flixbuses arriving, the other of us looking out the other side, and every so often, walking up and down the 4 bus lanes checking the signage above every platform to see if our bus was listed there for some reason even though it wasn’t on the big board. The bus app still showed that the bus would be leaving at 6:45 even though by now it was well after 7:00 am.
We were both trying to remain positive, but at this point, I was making contingency plans in my head. Assuming the bus arrived and at least got us to Arad, we may need to spend the night there. And because we only had 3 nights planned in Breb and it was proving to not be simple to get to, we may need to scrap that part of our trip, hope for the best with the credit card travel cancellation/delay insurance, and try to get to our second Romanian destination instead. We’d already paid for our guest house, and there were no cancellations. And we’d also need to deal with the rental car company.
But then, just when we started to be convinced that the bus was cancelled and they weren’t going to let us know, pulling up to platform 12, came a Flixbus. I ran out to check it because there had been no announcement over the loudspeaker, no posting on the big board, and no sign on at the platform. But lo and behold, this bus was going to Arad . . . and the driver had our information. This was our bus!
The Ride East
We were very relieved to get on the bus, so it shouldn’t have mattered much, but the condition of the bus was, let’s just say, not great. There was an old sock stuffed in Ivan’s air vent. There was someone, who appeared to maybe be ill, laying in the aisle. And we quickly learned that the sock wasn’t the problem with the air – there was no AC to speak of. You couldn’t open the windows, and by now it was over 80 degrees outside. I hadn’t used the bathroom at the bus station for fear of missing the bus if/when it finally did come, but the bathroom on the bus was not in service, and the bus made no bathroom breaks.
So we sat there, with our small backpacks on our laps because there was no room in the overhead, and sweated profusely wondering what we’d find out when we finally got to Arad. We didn’t expect much since the Budapest station reps were of almost no help and Arad would be a much smaller station.
We had a long, unexpected stop at the Romanian border. There were no restrooms, but at least we could get out of the stuffy bus and stand in the shade while we waited for our passports to be processed. It’s been interesting so far in the Schengen Zone – some countries check passports, but others don’t, you just waltz right in. Not this time.
We eventually pulled into the station at Arad and got our bags. No matter what happened next, we were happy to be off of that blasted sweaty bus! As we were looking for an information desk of any kind, I heard someone shouting “Baia Mare”! And things got better from there.
The small shuttle bus had apparently been waiting for us to arrive. I felt a little guilty for the handful of other passengers, but more relieved and grateful than anything. We got a quick bathroom break in and hopped on. The 5-hour van was comfortable. We stopped here and there along the road picking up and dropping off local passengers. At one point, two people got on – we guessed it was a mother and her adult son. She was carrying a bicycle tire, and he was carrying a chainsaw. Interesting.
We were given a welcomed rest break at a grocery store on the way. And even though we were arriving after the official rental car closing time, the Autonom rep came to meet us with the car at the bus station in Baia Mare. It felt like a real luxury to get in the car and be under our own control.
Arrival in Breb
The drive from Breb was easy, just about an hour. We transitioned from the town of Baia Mare to curvy roads up and down gentle hills and into rolling green fields planted with hay. The different shades of gold and green and patterns of the fields reminded me a little of the wheat fields of the Palouse. We passed through cute villages bursting with all colors of roses in front of homes, and lots of fruit trees in the yards. The steeples on the villages’ churches were now shiny silver, with the occasional gold or copper.
We texted our host, Ana, to let her know our ETA and she asked if we’d like her to make dinner for us. Yes! We’d only eaten some handfuls of nuts and pieces of fruit all day so we were ready to eat!
Shortly after we turned off of the highway to Breb, we were on a dirt road and found ourselves stuck behind a huge hay truck with an old woman wearing a head covering bouncing on top of the hay as the tractor maneuvered over the rocky, uneven road. A horse-drawn cart, with big red tassels on the horse’s bridle, came towards us from the other direction. Yep, we were definitely in the right place. We ogled at the elaborately carved wooden gates in the front of even modest homes.
We found Casa Veche Breb and Ana came out and met us with a warm greeting. She introduced herself, and her dad who was in the yard, and showed us to the guest house and our room. We gathered with her family a half hour later for our first meal together in their house.
It was kind of comical. Ana speaks only broken English but does speak Spanish. Her husband, Gheorghe, speaks neither English nor Spanish, but does speak Italian, along with their native Romanian, and German as well. So, we spoke with Ana in Spanish, and Gheorghe and Ivan did kind of a combo. Gheorghe would speak in Italian, and Ivan could understand him pretty well because Italian is so close to Spanish, and Ivan would respond back in Spanish, sprinkling in the few Italian words he knows, and Gheorghe would seem to understand. So, with some creativity, we were able to communicate with them just fine.
While Ana was working on the next course in the kitchen, Gheorghe proudly showed us YouTube videos of their daughter – the lead singer in a traditional Romanian group, dressed in traditional Romanian attire and singing traditional songs. Quite impressive, beautiful voice. She’s getting ready to start med school in Timisoara in the fall. Ana shared some personal stories of loss, including their previous house completely burning down when their daughter was just a year and a half old and how they made do traveling to Spain and Germany to pick fruit in the summer/fall for income.
For such a tiny little town, we were surprised to see a photo outside the Catholic church of Pope Francis. He had visited Breb just a few years ago. When we mentioned that to Ana, she didn’t seem super impressed. Maybe because they’re Orthodox, not Catholic. But she did seem very proud that King Charles has a house there. Apparently, he owns several homes in the area.
Each meal, Ana offered a huge spread of food. Dinner that night started with a brothy vegetable and noodle soup followed by breaded chicken cutlets with mashed potatoes, and crepes stuffed with bananas, prunes, and chocolate for dessert. The next night, we were introduced to a traditional Romanian dish, bulz – polenta with cheese and homemade sausage (like chorizo) and little pieces of fried pork fat that tasted like crispy chunks of bacon. So rich, so good!
For breakfasts, we were presented with a big board of tomato, avocado, cucumber, hard-boiled egg, French toast, prosciutto, chorizo, cheese, brined and smoked pork fat, slices of leftover chicken cutlets, plus fried eggs or omelet and bread with homemade preserves and butter Ana churned herself. I couldn’t get enough of the blueberry compote made from blueberries they picked themselves in the mountains. And there was also espresso. I, a devout non-coffee drinker, even partook, but mine was mostly milk and sugar.
Meanwhile, Ana was doing 10 days of very restrictive eating leading up to Pentacost. She was eating no meat, no sugar, no caffeine or alcohol, no leavened bread. So while we were feasting, she was eating tofu and vegetables and some kind of vegetable spread on flat pink crackers. It just didn’t seem right.
The Allure of the Community
Something about the style of living still practiced in Maramures is really appealing. Everyone seems to be some kind of a craftsman, making the things they need with their own hands, and getting what they don’t have from neighbors.
Gheorge made the guest house himself, using no nails for the structure. He and Ana made the fence around their property by weaving long branches around the posts. He claims it only took a day to do so, but we were skeptical about that.
There is handiwork everywhere – the decorative woodwork inside the house, the hand stitched bedspreads, wall hangings and adornments, and of course the elaborate wooden gates.
Ana and Gheorghe said that Covid didn’t affect them much since they are so self sufficient. They have a garden, pigs and chickens. They cure and smoke the pork themselves. Their neighbor has a cow that provides their milk. So they got along without much interruption.
The Man with the Big Key
We experienced another first-hand sense of community one afternoon when we were out walking and stopped at the main Orthodox church to look at the inside and take some pictures. While we were inside, a man came in and went into a door at the back of the church. A minute later, he emerged carrying a big key and gestured towards the door. We thought he was there to lock up the church or something and that we needed to leave.
So, we followed him outside, but he didn’t lock the church. Hmmmm. Instead, he motioned for us to get into his car and gestured down the road. We thought we heard a word that might’ve sounded like ‘church’ in his request. He seemed to want to take us somewhere. He seemed like a nice enough guy, so we got in. Now this is something we never would’ve done at home, but somehow, we trusted this person. We got into the back seat and looked at each other like, “I guess we’re doing this!”. I hoped he wasn’t taking us too far away because we’d have to walk back from wherever we ended up!
He drove down the street a bit and around a corner and parked the car. Across the street, was another, much older church. Ah, OK – this is what he wanted us to see. But we weren’t sure exactly why.
As we approached the church, we saw there was a group of people, a tour group of some kind, waiting outside. Our guy walked to the front door of the old church and opened it with the big key. Oh – they’d been waiting for him to let them in, and he wanted us to see this old church too. How cool!
Inside, the church was cool, and dark aside from the light from the windows. The very creaky, uneven wood floors were covered with colorful rugs. The paintings on the walls were faded and barely distinguishable until our eyes adjusted from coming in from the sunlight.
We took a seat on the perimeter along with the tour group. Then, the leader of the tour group, a priest, read from several sheets of paper, in Romanian, about the history of this church. Of course we barely understood a word, but it felt special to be there nonetheless.
But the coolest thing was that after the priest finished reading and the tour group got up to leave, we could tell a few of them were talking about us. They motioned to us to stay seated. And then one of the women approached us saying, “I’m just a tourist, but they asked me to come read this to you since I speak English.”
It felt really special that they’d made such an effort to include us. And we were so thankful for the information. We learned that this church is the oldest in Romania. Its steeple was on a church built in 1531, but the town where it was located ran out of water, so the people were displaced and moved the steeple to their new town and put it on this church that was built in 1626.
We thanked her, and the others as best we could for her kindness. They’d given us a special, warm memory of Breb.
Saying Goodbye
We felt privileged that they asked us to go with them to church on Pentacost. They dressed in their traditional attire, and we took a few pictures, imagining that there would be more opportunities during the festivities after the service. There was a great sense of celebration in the air as we walked with them from their house to the orthodox church. Everyone was dressed up. The church bells were beckoning followers for the special day.
So we were sad when we got to the entrance of the church that Gheorghe seemed to say that we couldn’t go in with them. So we hugged and said our goodbyes, and only then noticed that Ana and their daughter had already gone in the women’s entrance and had disappeared into the group. So we didn’t have a chance to officially say our goodbyes and thank yous to her.
We walked back to the guesthouse and set out in the rental car for our next town, feeling nostalgic already. The Pentecost celebrations continued as we drove out of Maramures and saw groups in each community, also in traditional dress, gathered outside of their churches, and later, walking in processions as the priest blessed their fields. It was heartwarming to see everyone coming together.
On our way out of Maramures, we started to see more signs of ‘civilization’ and fewer signs of the bucolic life of Breb. We were both a little sad. We missed our hosts already. It was odd to think about them moving on to the next guests. We wondered if we’d made as much of an impact on them as they had on us. Probably not, but we hope at least they felt a similar level of connection.
2 Comments
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I m just laugh this case they wouldn t even went