Moldova

Erin and I took a bus ride to Moldova the weekend before I flew home to the states. We were going to visit the two orphanages where she had volunteered seven years prior.

We boarded the bus at 6:30 in the evening, settling in for the ten-hour journey and nighttime border crossing.
At around midnight, I said something that made Erin laugh, and the man in white t-shirt leaned forward and politely whispered, "Sorry--it is too loud." We promptly hushed up, holding back even more giggles.

I purchased a pack of Oreos at the bus station in Romania prior to departing. I intended to save them for breakfast the following morning in Moldova. They lasted all of one hour. I had them devoured by the time we reached the mountains outside of Brasov.

On a different subject, don't fall for those travel magazines with the pictures of put-together, stylish, bright-eyed tourists. Airbrush techniques, good lighting, and lies are the foundation of those pictures. Above is an example of the reality of long-term travel. Here we see an intrepid adventurer looking nothing short of crazed while clutching a pack of Oreos. And this was taken before the bus even left the station for a ten-hour, jostling, no-sleep journey over unfamiliar territory. 

Let's not even think about the image of me stumbling off the bus at five a.m., eyes dried out like a lizard carcass in the desert sun, clutching a 40 lb. backpack. 
Stylish and put-together?
 I think not. 

The sunset was lovely as we bounced along curvy, narrow mountain roads. Darkness fell, and I attempted to sleep. I would drift off, and then awaken, certain I had been asleep for hours, only to discover all of three minutes had passed.

It was a very long night.

We arrived at our destination just as the sun was rising and the city slowly awakened.

As Erin and I wandered around looking for the hostel where we had booked a room, I heard a meowing sound. We peeked over a ledge to a basement window, and there was a mama cat with a litter of kittens.

We arrived at the hostel at 7:00 a.m., two hours before it opened for the day. That concrete stairwell felt like a feather mattress to this utterly exhausted traveler. I fell asleep within seconds, waking up when I heard the hostel manager's footsteps coming up the stairs. We checked into our room, left our backpacks, and proceeded to set out for a day of visiting orphanages and exploring the city.

Our room in the hostel was on the second floor, directly above the white door in the middle of this picture.

We rode buses and walked for miles. Erin led the way, seeing as how I had never stepped foot in Moldova before. As you can see, confidence in my fearless leader's navigational skills was in question at times.

Seriously, though, Erin did a splendid job of guiding me through the city.

The buildings were imposing structures of stone, surrounded by a black wrought iron fence. The front gate was locked. We decided to pray for an open gate, and proceeded to walk the perimeter of the property. The gate for cars was open and unattended at that exact moment. We walked through and approached a group of ladies who were watching over an outdoor playpen full of babies (I counted 12). They did not speak English, so in what little Romanian we knew, we managed to explain that we had brought donations. Erin then showed them pictures from her time there in 2007. The ladies were friendly and thankful for the donations of clothing and toys.

We were able to walk around the entire compound, and no one stopped us---the providence of God, to be certain. The orphanage housed 200 children from birth to seven-years-old. It was hot that day, so most of the children were outside in their underwear, running through sprinklers and playing in kiddie pools. Strollers and large outdoor playpens were set up for the younger ones. We looked through a window, and saw a room packed, wall-to-wall, with cribs. No matter the cleanliness of a facility or the kindness of the caregivers, an orphanage will never be a home.

After visiting the first orphanage, we stopped at a restaurant and ordered ice cream in an attempt to cool off from the oppressively hot weather.

We rested on a bench beneath a tree in rusty, derelict playground before mustering enough strength to walk over to a market for bottled water. We had walked at least 8 miles by that time in the blazing sun.

The second orphanage was quiet, and no one came to the gate. We slipped a bag of donations between the bars of the fence, waiting to be collected by a staff member at some point.

After eight hours of walking up and down steep city streets, I collapsed on a bus station bench as we awaited the bus that would take us back to the hostel. Did I mention it was 112 degrees outside? Yep, you read that right. 112 degrees. And air conditioning does not exist in that part of Europe. Anywhere. Not even in hospitals.

I did not know it was possible to be that hot. I grew up in the south where the humidity smothers during the summer. I thought I was accustomed to high temperatures. Wrong! This was a heat that melted, rising off the sidewalks, making even the trees look weary, crispy, and in need of relief. The breeze didn't help, either. Every time the wind rustled, it felt like a blast of burning air from an oven.

The outdoor market down the street from the hostel was a sight to behold. Everything from wooden spoons to beautiful paintings were on display as enthusiastic vendors shouted to passersby.

-Crocheted table cloths and handmade lace-

Upon returning to the hostel for the night, we were exhausted---as in I can't take another step, I think I'm going to faint-exhaustion. We sat on our beds in a 90-degree room (still well over 100 degrees outside), wondering how we would ever be able to fall asleep in a room as hot as a sauna. I glanced up at the ceiling and noticed a box on the wall that resembled an air conditioner. I hunted high and low for an on/off switch, but alas, there was nothing--just a plain white box fifteen feet off the floor. Out of desperation and heat-induced delirium, I decided to scavenge through the rest of the hostel in an attempt to locate a remote that might control the box on the wall (we still weren't sure what it was exactly). Erin and I were the only two guests that night, aside from an older man in another wing of the hostel. I entered the room across the hall, and my gaze immediately landed on an unassuming little remote on a bedside table. I grabbed it and scampered back to our room where I pointed it at the white box and pressed 'start'.

The white box sprang to life and gloriously cold air began pouring into the room. We stood there in silence for a second, shocked that the far-fetched idea had actually worked. Then we both burst into excited squeals of joy. I jumped up and down on the bed like a six-year-old, clutching the life-giving air conditioner remote. Erin turned to me and seriously stated, "Holly, if you never do another thing with your life, this moment will be enough. This is why you were placed on this earth--to find the air conditioner remote in a hostel in Moldova." She then snapped my picture, victoriously draped in my Scooby Doo blanket. It was one of the proudest moments of my entire life.

We slept soundly that night in a 65-degree room.

We boarded a bus the following morning for a nine-hour, supposedly faster, bus ride back to Romania. The bus was much older than the one we had ridden previously, but there was entertainment in the form of Jackie Chan movies. Three of them, to be precise. And then Back to the Future with Michael J. Fox made an appearance. The American movies were dubbed over in Russian with Romanian subtitles. It was an amusing clash of cultures on a TV screen. 

On the Moldovan side, we bounced along roads that took pot holes to a whole new level. This particular stretch of road had caved in deep enough I couldn't see the bottom. 

When we reached the border crossing, the guard stared at my passport for what seemed like forever, intently studying it. For a few uncomfortable minutes, I feared he would not let me cross. My passport was eventually returned, however, and we reentered Romania. I could have kissed the ground. I've been to Romania enough, it now feels like a second home, and I was relieved to have my feet firmly planted on its soil again. Moldova was a good experience, but there is something special about returning to a familiar place.

The flowers in this region of Europe are spectacular!

The nine-hour bus ride turned into 12 hours when the bus overheated three hours into the journey. The drivers stopped at a roadside well and drew water to cool it off, but the bus finally gave up the ghost. It was getting dark and there we were, standing on a sidewalk with our luggage in a small town. The bus driver watched out for us by finding someone who could translate. He even made sure we found the correct taxi. The bus company called three taxis for the passengers and we rode the last two hours in a caravan to Brasov. I ended up in a taxi with a girl who spoke Russian, a Romanian driver, and a pharmacy student from Moldova. She spoke five languages, so she translated for all of us in the car. 

No one was upset at the delays, and we were all laughing and talking throughout the ordeal. I came away with two new friends (a Romanian and a Moldovan), and a deeper appreciation for prayer. I always pray for smooth travels, but if that doesn't work out, I ask God to send kind people to help me find my way. He always does. While we drove back to Brasov, You Raise Me Up, by Josh Groban was playing on the radio. As I rode in a taxi in the middle of the night in a foreign country with three strangers, the lyrics were the perfect reminder of God's providence.

When I am down, and, oh, my soul, so weary

When troubles come, and my heart burdened be

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence

Until you come and sit awhile with me

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up to walk on stormy seas

I am strong when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up to more than I can be

There is no life, no life without it's hunger
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly
But then you come, and I am filled with wonder
Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity