30-Apr-25 Overnight sleeper train

Utterly dreadful night’s sleep. What sleep I had. Completely shattered which even a few brews can’t rectify. Suspect yesterday’s exertions in the heat and being dehydrated are to blame. So a leisurely stroll through the back streets of Budapest to the central market hall. Ornate exterior reminds of St Pancras station.

Last came here in 1997 on the recommendation of mate’s brother’s wife’s great aunt…who, like G-g-g-granville (an Open All Hours reference for non UK readers) was Hungarian. Much smaller and cleaner than I recall from 28 years ago. And not as much paprika for sale.

Walking through the streets see plenty of students going to their graduation parties. A joyous affair.

Overnight train to Brasov in Romania tonight. So in need of something for dinner. As you all know by now, dear reader, overnight train dinners in cabin comprise baguette, brie, salami, Hot & Spicy Pringles, olives, tomatoes, beer, red wine etc etc. A local bakery sells excellent crispy baguette and adjacent shop sells cheese. Sorted!

Lack of sleep last night catches up and an afternoon nap required. Fortunately have a late check out from hotel at 6pm to have a wash and brush up before boarding the sleeper train.

An Uber to the station only costs EUR10 instead of the EUR40 rip-off from the station. That’s more like it.

Overnight train departs 1910hrs but board 1830hrs. To discover my cabin.

Hmmm.

Old and worn.

Can just tell it’s going to be another sleepless night.

Cabin stuffy. Very stuffy. Ventilation not working yet. Still waiting for the locomotive to hook up to provide power.

Mattress is one inch thick. And old. And grubby. Bet prisoners have more comfortable mattresses.

Bed is hard, dear reader. Very hard.

Bed is not long enough for my height. Will be a night with long legs squished up.

Bed is not wide enough for my frame. Will be a night contorted.

A small sink in the corner will come in handy at 4am. Will save a walk down the corridor. If you get my drift.

Not looking good is it, dear reader.

Train departs Budapest on time and pootle through the countryside passing near where an old colleague, who I used to work with in Dublin, lives. Give her a wave as I pass through her station. Even though she’s not actually there waiting for me…obviously. Sniff.

Trundling through Hungary. Set up Touring Taurean’s Bar & Restaurant. Dinner for one.

Bar comprises Jameson’s decanted into plastic bottle. Cold German beer. Leftover red wine decanted in a plastic water bottle.

Restaurant is serving Spicy Pringles. Baguette. Brie. Salami. Michelin star. It. Is. Not.

Ticket guard takes ticket and tells me that there’s no passport control at the Romanian border now as Romania is now in the Schengen area. But still stop for an hour to change locomotives.

Last time I crossed the border from Hungary into Romania was July 1997. An anticipated 3hr wait only took 30 minutes. After a few miles of driving in Romania I get caught speeding by a policeman. Doing 106kph in an 80kph zone. Having driven through the Czech Republic and Hungary we had become quite adept at bribing policemen with packs of cigarettes or US dollars. So you can imagine that we were expecting to be fleeced of some US dollars and had a pack of fags at the ready. In case a bribe was required.

Policeman was very friendly. And asked for a fine the equivalent of £2 at the time. He’s told that we have no cash. Even though we do. To our collective amazement he lets us off.

This was the start of how friendly Romanians were. And have since worked with Romanians who are all very friendly.

In 1997 we had to drive from Budapest to Drobeta Turnu Severin in Romania on the Danube. About 320 miles in the day. The route involved reaching the Danube and then driving along the banks of the Danube through the Kazan Gorge. One of the narrowest parts of the river. With Serbia the other side. A war zone at the time with the various conflicts in the Balkans.

About 60 miles to go which would mean arriving at the hotel about 2030hrs. The tarmac runs out. And the road becomes impassable. Partly due to the size of the rubble. Oh. And a landslide. Driving a 1992 Lotus Elan with 100mm ground clearance clearly wasn’t the best car to be driving on rough roads like these.

And a decision had to be made. Turn around and re-route over the mountains. A detour of 150 miles. At 1900hrs. I drive the final 100 miles over the mountains in the pitch black. Passing through ramshackle Romanian mountain villages. Quite often you’d drive around a corner to discover a horse and cart with no lights coming towards you in the darkness like a ghostly silhouette. Or a herd of cattle. Or deer jumping out. Or people walking back home from a day in the fields. Much more manual labour back then. It being only a few years after the fall of the wall.

We discovered that Romanians spend their Saturday nights standing chatting in the middle of an unlit road. As we pass through villages we are greeted with cheers and waving. And feel like proper rally drivers. The car being deliberately adorned with rally stickers to make it look like we are actually on a rally. To help with border crossings. And make out we are not alone. Save the car getting stolen. Headlights illuminating obstacles. Being close to the border are stopped a few times by the police. One stop is only because the policeman was interested in the car. This was still only a few years after the collapse of the communist era and the sight of a British Lotus sports car was obviously of interest.

We arrive at the hotel just after midnight Romanian time. An hour ahead of Hungary. We’d been driving since 0900hrs. A long day.

But the mountain drive in the dark along remote roads was so memorable.

Which I still remember vividly to this day.

The drive of my life.