Summer Times is the Journal of the Old Scarborians Association

The guide was a very good looking young
woman, with perfect, accentless English. When
asked where she had learned the language she
said “at school”, obviously thinking it a
strange question. It became clear she had never
been out of Romania and never expected to be
allowed out.
This was about 8.00pm Thursday evening, and
as we drove through the outskirts of Bucharest
the chatter gradually subsided as everyone
realised there was no one on the streets. There
were no pedestrians and virtually no cars.
Street lights were dim and all curtains were
drawn. We alighted at the hotel in the centre of
the city and entered a huge, chandeliered mau‐
soleum. It was vast, but we seemed to be the
only visitors. However the rooms were com‐
fortable and we soon trooped down for a meal.
We then discovered one of the features of the
trip. There seemed to be a waiter for just about
every guest and it started to dawn on us how
there was zero unemployment in the country.
They just created jobs. Any sort of a job. As we
were driven around the country we saw gangs
of women weeding the roundabouts, on hands
and knees. There was a street cleaner every
few metres.
Back to the meal. The food was good, but
every few moments a waiter would sidle up
and ask, in a furtive whisper if we wanted any
local money. We had bought Lei, the national
currency, at the airport, but not much, since
we had been warned we would not be allowed
to take any out of the country. The exchange
rate was 15 to the £. The waiters were offering
120, 130, 150 to the pound. They would give
anything for hard currency.
Next morning we were due for a sightseeing
trip around Bucharest. Our guide chattered
happily away about the monuments to our
glorious socialist freedom fighters, and the
statues to our heroes of the revolution. Eventu‐
ally we had to seriously disconcert her when
we said we didn’t want to see any more monu‐
ments, thanks, we wanted to go to the pub. To
51
give her credit she found an inn and we all
ordered beer. Well, it wasn’t very good, but
what can you expect at £2 for ten pints?
It was evident that the route was carefully
chosen so that we would not see the markets
or the food queues, but they could not avoid
them altogether. The guide was very evasive
when asked questions, and stuck determinedly
to the party line about how good things were
under Leader Ceausescu. Someone asked her
who was the most well‐known Romanian
outside the country. “Of course it is our
Leader”, she said. “Oh no, it’s not”, we replied,
“its Nadia Comaneci”. Suddenly the coach
stopped in a narrow street. There were cars
parked all down one side, but someone had
parked on the other side, blocking the way.
The driver settled down resignedly to wait.
After a few minutes we decided the best thing
was to move the car, so we piled out of the
coach and bounced the car to the other side of
the street. The locals clearly thought the Mar‐
tians had landed and the guide got us out of
there, PDQ.
Next day we travelled through Transylvania,
en route to Dracula’s castle. The countryside
was very pretty and eventually we stopped for
lunch at a restaurant in a small town. As we
sat eating we enjoyed another, now familiar
feature, a twelve‐piece orchestra and choir
playing and singing traditional songs. This
happened at almost every meal, and it was
quite touching. Another, comical feature of
these trips was that every time we climbed on
board the coach a guy in sunglasses would be
ostentatiously looking the other way, but obvi‐
ously counting us on. Then when we pulled
up, another guy, also in sunglasses would
watch us get off. In some of the rural places we
visited they stuck out like jock straps in a nun‐
nery, and eventually we would seriously em‐
barrass them by offering to shake hands.
When we got to Dracula’s castle it looked im‐
pressive from a distance but was shut! The
doors were locked and windows boarded up