Page 53 of London
The roads were congested, even chaotic, and most drivers drove aggressively.
“I feel like I’m back in Italy,” Linda said and laughed. “There too, many of the drivers treat traffic lights like decorations or suggestions rather than the law.”
Almost an hour later, they’d left the crazy traffic behind. The car was equipped with a GPS navigation system, but they also had a map which Gerard had printed out before leaving. In the passenger seat, Linda turned it this way and that way, trying to make out the direction in which they were traveling, using her colorful vocabulary once more to curse all the geography classes she’d skipped.
Cluj was 320 kilometers away, but since the road went through all sorts of small villages—no freeway in sight—it would take them longer than they’d expected to get there.
Gerard drove under the speed limit, taking the time to admire the scenery. Romania was indeed a beautiful country. Initially their journey began in the lowlands. Outside the villages stretched large fields of wheat, corn, sunflowers, and other plants they couldn’t identify, all flourishing in the rich soil.
It was like driving on an ocean of green under the clear blue sky. They stopped several times to admire the magnificent fields and stretch their legs. The air was cleaner than London, the breeze carrying the scent of freshly mown grass.
When they finally found a highway, it was full of curves. As the altitude increased, the fields gave way to hills and valleys. He yawned frequently as did Linda, releasing the pressure in their ears to make them pop.
“Look,” Linda cried, indicating a sign that read RESTAURANT—a word whose meaning was unmistakable. “Let’s stop. We’ve been on the road for more than two hours, and I’m starving.”
“Good idea, but did you forget we won’t even be able to understand the menu?”
“Maybe they’ll have pictures. We’ll figure it out,” she said confidently.
He had no doubt she would. Slowing down, he pulled into the half-empty parking lot. After locking the vehicle, they followed the sidewalk to a long, large, rustic cabin. The aroma of pine from the majestic, forested mountains surrounding them filled the air.
The restaurant was dimly lit, the air pleasantly cool. It smelled of wood polish and delicious food. Two of the tables were occupied—one by a young couple who spoke to each other in intimate whispers, the other by three red-faced elderly men, with several bottles and glasses in front of them, chatting loudly.
Gerard escorted Linda to a table under a large window framing a breathtaking view of the heavily-forested valley. Here and there huts poked through the dark green, their wooden roofs almost swallowed by vegetation.
A slender waiter brought them menus. Unfortunately, the young man didn’t understand English, Italian, or French, and since they didn’t speak Romanian, the conversation consisted of a lot of hand gestures and hopeless shrugs. This little village, hidden in the heart of the mountains, was hardly a cosmopolitan area. Gerard did manage to order two colas.
Following Linda’s lead, he opened the menu. Everything seemed written in Sanskrit. Using the pictures to guide her, Linda ordered something calledsarmale cu mamaliga. From the section marked DESSERT—another word they recognized—she chosepapana?i.
Laughing, Gerard chose randomly, indicating the dish he wanted—ciorba de burta.
The young man nodded, said something neither of them understood and could mean anything, then left.
“I hope you know what you’re doing. I haven’t a clue,” Gerard admitted, enjoying himself.
“Live a little. How bad can it be? This is a restaurant, so everything must be edible.”
They hadn’t finished their drinks when the food arrived. Linda’s plate held four Romanian cabbage rolls made using pickled cabbage leaves filled with minced meat. Next to them was a yellow paste resembling mustard that she claimed was delicious.
Gerard eyed his dish warily.
“It looks like baby-crap,” he whispered, despite the fact no one understood them.
Grimacing, he dipped his spoon into the bowl filled with a pale yellow liquid with streaks of white in it. A few pieces of meat floated to the top. Gerard didn’t want to know where they’d come from, imagining some crazy witch’s brew filled with eye of newt and toad liver.
Linda scrutinized his bowl. She sniffed it, then leaned over and used her spoon to taste it.
“Mm, it’s delicious—not as good as mine, but it’s not bad. I’ve eaten something like it in Greece. It’s like chicken soup, but with sour cream in it. Here, don’t be a baby, try it.”
He took a few small sips to taste it, then ate with more gusto. If one ignored the color and consistency, it was quite good. Still, after tasting some of Linda’s food, he admitted grudgingly that she’d gotten the better deal.
However, dessert was divine.Papana?iwas a type of fried donut stuffed with soft cheese and served with jam and sour cream. The pastry melted in their mouths. Linda wrote down the names of all the dishes, with the intention of looking up the recipes and learning to make them.
“Thanks for being smart enough to pick up the Romanianleiat the car rental place. All I have are euros. I guess they aren’t accepted everywhere,” he said, watching her pay the bill and add a generous tip to it.
“I do the same wherever I travel,” she shrugged. “It’s always good to be prepared.”
Full and rested, they climbed into the Jeep once more and continued their journey toward the smoky mountain peaks on the horizon. Traffic was light and the view spectacular. Gerard peered into the distance at the forested ridges seeming to support rolls of blue sky and yellow-tinged clouds. Glancing at Linda, he noticed her eyes were closed. Rocked by the car’s motion and the radio playing jazz in the background, she’d dozed off.
