Obligatory training fee

After about 24 hours, the train arrives at Bucharest’s battered main station. The East and its poverty are back with us. Although the impressions and the atmosphere are nothing new to us, we are surprised. After almost 25 years of traveling, the change between cultures still takes some getting used to. Who knows if you can ever get used to it? After all, we come from a rich country, a country in which almost all houses are pretty and well-kept, a country in which many people often no longer recognize our wealth and beauty. “Look, there’s the luggage rack,” says Tanja as we get our equipment off the train and onto the embankment. A small sign on his chest shows that the luggage transfer to the cab costs 2.5 Ron (approx. 80 cents). Although we haven’t had the best experiences with luggage carriers in the course of our travels, I happily say: “We’ll take it.” We immediately put the many bags and two suitcases on the luggage trolley of the bright and friendly service man. He takes us to the cab in a good mood. “I don’t use the taximeter to get to the Hotel Orchidea, it’s too close. But no problem for 30 Ron (just under 10 euros),” laughs the driver. Since we don’t want to get into an argument with the rude cab drivers at the start of our journey and our good mood is far too valuable to let it fall by the wayside here, we trade it down to 20 Ron. “Okay,” he replies too quickly.

In the meantime, our porter has loaded the equipment into the cab. He holds out his hand and grins at me: “20 Ron sir.” My brain cells, which had been asleep until then, are rudely awakened from their drowsiness. “Did you hear that Tanja? He wants 7 euros from us for the 200 meters of luggage transport.” The previously friendly-looking man loses his cheerfulness and points frantically at his breastplate. I look again at the second line in small print, “Per piece of luggage”. With the camera bags, there are no doubt 8 pieces of luggage that the good man transported for us. To avoid any doubts, the porter pulls a receipt pad out of his pocket, tears off 8 tickets and hands them to me. “I don’t have any of the money, it belongs to my boss,” we understand. “Welcome to Romania,” I say, more amused than annoyed, and give the man his 20 Ron. “If a doctor earns about 2 Ron an hour, this gentleman must be a real capitalist,” I say and get into the cab with Tanja.

After about a three-minute drive, we arrive at Orchidea. As travel professionals, we are already record-breaking, having spent 16 euros instead of 3 euros within the first 10 minutes in Bucharest.

There is no double room in the hotel. “You should have made a reservation,” says the bored young lady at reception, blowing the smoke of a cigarette into the air. “Do you have a single room?” “We do.” “Can I see it?” “You can.” After waiting for 20 minutes, I’m allowed to take a look inside the room. It is without doubt a double room. Maintaining our good mood, we check in. We enjoy a shower and are just happy to be here again. After a successful back operation, you become humble and, to be honest, Tanja and I see this as a gift from God.

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