23 hours later (Istanbul to Bucharest via train)

The Bosfor Express from Istanbul to Bucharest cost me 82 Turkish Lira and my sanity. Well, actually, it was better than I expected despite being disgustingly hot during the day and 4 hours longer than anticipated; but, when you've been on a train sweating profusely for 19 hours, an extra sweaty four don't seem to make much of a difference.

The main errors of my trip was that a) ate a farewell plate of kofte earlier in the evening causing some unpleasant stomach rumblings; b) aunt flow came in her full gory glory (ha, tmi!)

Then there was the inexplicable rat-tat-tatting at all hours of the night: first by angry customs officials while crossing the Bulgaria border; then randomly every couple of hours by the train-ticket checkers. We were all sleeping blissfully soundly when they'd come barging in demanding to see our train tickets. Literally, this kept happening every couple of hours all through the trip so consecutive hours of sleep were hard to attain.

Shared my 6-person sleeper cabin with 3 other tourist girls so all was good on that front. The two Dutch girls shared some bread crumbs with me after I'd finished all my pitiful rations for the trip. For that I was quite thankful.


Bulgarian countryside - sunflowers galore!


It's muh foot on the window.


Crossing the Danube (Bulgarian-Romanian border)

And thus: I am in Bucharest and can't wait to get out. My "hostel" is in a residential apartment building; it's run by a single dude and his mom. Tonight, I am the only guest. Finding the place--a non-descript communist era apartment bloc--was pretty much impossible especially when it was already dark outside. Also, I came face to face with Bucharest's stray dog problem as one nearly chased me down while I hunted for my hostel. Finally, a kind older man helped me to the apartment.

From what I've seen, the city is bland. Ceauşescu certainly did a good job of ridding the city of all character. Tomorrow, I will do some laundry here at the "hostel", take a quick peek at the Palace of Parliament, and get myself on a train to Braşov and the rest of Transylvania!

In the word's of Ceda mimicking the Count (a la Sesame St.):
One brothel, ah ah ah
Two brothels, ah ah ah
Three brothels, ah ah ah...

(The "BORN INTO BROTHELS" joke lives on.)