The train home over the mountains

I had wanted to return over the mountains in the daytime so that I could see what I had experienced in the dark. It had been quite a ride. Checking online, there was a train that left at a time when I would be able to see the mountains. I stopped into the shop that sells train tickets. Unfortunately, almost everybody there speaks only Romanian and mine is still not ready for prime time. My high school French is serviceable and so that is what I used today. I am able to have minimal discussions in French but I do not always get the finer points - like why I can't take the train that goes over the mountains in the daytime.
I wanted to take the train that goes over the mountain during the day. The people selling the train tickets keep insisting that the trains I want are not, in fact, the trains I want. They insist on selling me tickets for straight through travel. They don't seem to have the concept of wanting to see the landscape. I keep trying to see the countryside and I keep ending up on night trains. It saves on hotels and I get to sleep – so to speak, but it really isn't what I want. I have printed the complete itinerary of the train I am interested in, but still, they sell me a ticket for the night train. They seem to think I am not capable of changing trains. It is easy enough. You check the time, watch the station names, and get off at your stop. If I want to be sure I get off at the right stop, I only need to take out my ticket and cell phone. I check the time several times, and then the ticket. I find it helps to take out the map too. With the ticket in one hand and the map in the other, checking the cell phone for the time, someone usually leans in to help. Usually they take the ticket, peruse it for a bit and then point in the direction we are traveling. I always find it encouraging that they point in the direction we are still going. It would be depressing to think I had already passed my station. Then they think for a minute and hold up two or three fingers and say the name of the stop. That means in two stops we will be at the stop where I need to get off. They will then indicate that I should sit down and that they will tell me when to head for the door. Conversation is always interesting as my Romanian is limited and their English is often just as limited. For ten minutes we try to have an intelligent conversation. It usually consists of a few village names, I try to say I am a teacher; they try to tell me where they live or where they have been. We smile at each other a lot and shrug our shoulders. Soon the stop is close and they always get my suitcase off the rack. I always appreciate this because I am always afraid that I will lose it and it will fall on someone's head.
It is a rainy sort of day this afternoon as I leave Timisoara and head home. It has been a full weekend and I am sure the week ahead is going to be a long one.
The terrain is rather flat over here. There are sheep, sheep, and more sheep. It really lends to the aura of a pastoral landscape. How can you see so many sheep grazing and not find it peaceful here. For the first time, there is a river that looks like a river. The water flows right up to the banks on both sides. The water is flowing rather freely. I wonder what it looks like in the springtime. I imagine it will not be as full as the rivers will be in the mountains. The spring rains will certainly raise the water level here, but there is not the run-off that the mountains will bring. They tell me that the water will overflow its banks. I find that an interesting thought. At present it is more like a dribble than a river. I shall have to wait and see if it lives up to its reputation in the spring.
It is a foggy, rainy afternoon as we cross over to the Carpathians. The landscape is covered with a mist that would make even Tolkien happy. The mountains are misty outlines in the distance, giving a fuzzy feel to the image through the window. My mother's favorite painter is William Turner. He was a British painter in the early 1800s and earned the reputation of the "painter of light." This landscape is reminiscent of his canvases. I think it is the sky that most resembles his paintings.
Soon the light begins to fade away and we are traveling in the dusk toward the mountains. I see them rising higher and higher as we get closer. The sun fades fast here. It must be that it can't get over the tops of the mountains. Suddenly we are hurtling toward home in the dead of the night. Click-clack past one empty station after another. Only the station master in sight. It seems that he must give some sort of signal to the train as it passes by. This part of the journey seems so much a part of another time. It is not hard to imagine a carriage on the other side of the station, waiting to take Aunt Hattie to her sister's for a holiday in the country. In the city, the train station is bustling with people going every which way. Here in the mountains, the train is the only link to civilization for many people. As new people board, often there are many well-wishers on the platform waving and sending air kisses to their loved ones. Definitely another time.
Night time on the train. We all dig through our belongings for dinner. There is a wonderful camaraderie amongst us even though we can't all communicate. I share my chocolate bar. It is always well-received, and they share their homemade salami and homemade cheese. We have a quasi-conversation as best we can. It is amazing how fifty Romanian words and a gazillion hand gestures can go. This trip I am accompanied by a couple who also live in Gura Humorului. They are really sweet. They live on a farm near one of the villages. They are returning from Bucharest after six weeks with their son and his wife who has been very ill and in the hospital. They took care of the kids and house while he was at work and at the hospital. Luckily the wife has come home and will recuperate and this couple is coming home again.
There is a tunnel that we have to go through. I could reach my hand through the open window to touch the cement walls if I want.
Finally we are at the top of the world. Vatra Dornei. I have never seen this place but it is at the very summit of the mountain. There is a very successful ski resort up here which I shall have to check out this winter. I will be taste-testing the hot chocolate, not the skiing. I am not sure there is a bunny hill here. I think it is more of a sink or swim affair. The last time I was on skiis, I ended the day with a sprained ankle. That would be devastating here. Walking is a matter of necessity.
We stop here for about twenty minutes. It does not seem as if anything is happening. I hear no cars being added or taken from the train. Maybe we are waiting for the timetable to catch up with us as we have been flying along the rails to get here.
There is a river flowing right next to the tracks. The street lights sparkle in the water. The entire town is bathed in a warm yellow glow from the streetlights and the moonglow.
Across the river is this lovely building. It is dark inside but the exterior is all lit up. I particularly find the ELVIS sign amusing. I am sure the rest of the sign is behind the tree but it is fun to imagine that Elvis has been here. He certainly gets around.
Finally we are on our way again. Night trains are so very different from daytime trains. It is a balmy evening in November. Several of the windows are open and the warm night air comes rushing in. It is exhilarating tonight. The moon is nearly full. We are at the very top of the mountain heading down to our valley. I stick my head out of the window to look up at the sky. The trees are so very close to the tracks that it is impossible to see the sky otherwise. The moon against the treetops is beautiful. This is a night that will be impossible to repeat.