Crossing The Danube Into Romania On A One Lane Bridge

I clutched my passport and ticket excitedly as the driver scanned it to board a bus from Bulgaria to Romania, with a border crossing in the middle of the night.

Beyond my window danced the evening life of stray cats at our first stop, a gas station. I have never seen a gas pump exceed 1000 of any denomination, the adventure had already begun!

I tried to get snuggly within my Nano Puff for a cozy upright seat nap into another country, but sleep was elusive the second I noticed something peculiar.

Our driver was watching Tik Tok videos from his cell phone on the dashboard…but, when in Rome or heading to Romania one must throw out preconceived notions of right and wrong. Traveling is a humbling experience on acceptance and letting go.

My corneas toggled between keeping one eye on the road, dozing off and wanting to look at the moon and new landscapes beyond my window. A sign read: Danube River.

Due to evening construction, traffic halted on the bridge. The road merged into one lane and the guardrail looked less reliable than a piece of string – the only protection between keeping me safe and dry or an evening swim in the Danube. What could go wrong, our driver was watching videos from the dash! I looked up toward the sky expecting to see the hand of Jesus, Buddha, the Devil or my Gram, but words spanned the bridge reading: Romania.

You could hear a pin drop on the bus and with little warning the driver pulled over and announced “passport control.” Seconds later, Border patrol boarded the bus, barely allowing time to retrieve passports in a sleepy delirium. I was the first to give my passport up for inspection as I was in the front. The agent held my passport for longer than felt comfortable and scanned it with a gadget. He gave it back. I smiled feeling relieved, he smiled briefly and continued up the aisle.

We arrived into Bucharest at a Godawful early hour, just when I was getting sleepy. Exiting the bus my immediate needs were safety and rest. I did not have a hotel booked and hours until the average check in time, so I secured my side bag with locks around my torso, tucked the other alongside my leg and settled into a hard silver chair in the station. Ninety minutes passed, had I been snoring in that dark bus terminal as guards keyed into a door beside me? There were a lot of eyes on me when I woke.

I had assumed incorrectly there would be a currency exchange desk at an international bus station and quickly realized all I had were Bulgarian coins in order to pay to use the restroom. I sheepishly approached the restroom attendant with coins from the neighboring country hoping she would accept them and let me in. I was embarrassed to be “that girl.” She spoke rapid Romanian, handed me back a Bulgarian Lev, shoved a roll of toilet paper in the nook of my elbow and off I went.

Oh my God, it was just a hole in the floor! Privileged, I have only used these type of washrooms in Nepal, thus far. The space was small, the door would barely close around my bags and the entire surface was wet as she sprayed the floor between guests with a hose. I inhaled and did a full body worm squeeze to close the door while saying to myself “think of a happy place, think of a happy place”…so I spread, hovered and hoped I would not slip or spray my bags.

I had assumed…incorrectly again, that the bus station would have wifi so I could book my hotel when I arrived. They didn’t even have toilets! I utilized my International Day Pass plan, but there was no cell service, so I started schlepping my bags toward downtown, unbeknownst to me how big Bucharest was. I walked slowly – for hours – lugging my bags, sweating, stopping on benches and being stared at by every single person I passed.

I entered a pizza shop feeling pretty depleted in July heat on little rest. They had free wifi and accepted credit cards. In danced a glimmer of hope. I looked on the map to find the closest hotels I could physically walk to with the strength I had left. Uber would not work without a signal. I didn’t have local currencies for cabs, and being unsure of the cab situation in a new city, I prefer walking to get a feel for the city over potentially getting scammed.

I have rarely felt more grateful for a toilet, shower and horizontal bed than when I arrived at my hotel. Even a driver watching Tik Tok crossing an international one lane bridge felt less sketchy than being homeless in a new country without local currency, wifi or pre-reserved room.

This may not be the Instagrammable highlight reel of winging international travel, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Thanks for being here. 💗