Disapressing, Disapressing Indeed

Since March has snuck up on us, I decided I would give you a sort of best and worst moments of February. I'll start with the worst first and post the best moment tomorrow.

The worst moment of February is easily my two hour marshuka ride home. I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who think a marshuka is some sort of indigenous Moldovan beast frequently used for transportation purposes. It's not. It is actually a van used for mass transportation of people here in this fair city. There is no real way to paint an accurate picture of these glorious chariots. I am simply not a good enough writer to describe their strange smells and happenings nor their Russian polka or mellow Moldovan jazz which is sometimes played to keep the driver's spirits at a pleasant level.

Essentially it is a van with a raised roof, a few inches less than 6 feet (which I hover right at if not a little above). It contains about 11 seats which are crammed together and enough standing room to accommodate 5 people comfortably. So that puts us at about 16 people who can comfortably ride in this beautiful contraption. Well, the other day I counted 30. Yes, I said 30. As you can imagine, people are packed in tightly. I spent one morning ride (avg 45+ minutes to get to the orphanage) pressed against two grizzly men and the window continually gripping one of the metal poles so I would not fall down during the marshuka's many and constant stops. Of course, if one were to fall, he or she would knock down the other 15 standers, usually including really old woman with mustaches. But they're cheap, (the marshukas, not the old woman) about 2 lei (currently 13 lei to 1 us dollar).

That is a bad part of every day. But what made this day the worst of the month was the longevity of the torture. You see, these marshukas have routes that basically go in circles. It will go from point a to point b and back to a and so forth. I knew this. What I didn't know is how far these points were from each other. So I am in a random part of the city and see the 180. That runs right by my house. I stop it, get on and wedge myself next to the most attractive woman I could find, a roughly 60 year old pudgy lady with no mustache, a rarity. And we ride.

About 45 minutes later, we arrive. Where am I? I don't know. I look around and I am in the middle of nowhere. I've never seen this place, I cannot speak Romanian, and I couldn't begin to tell anybody where I am. During this ride the sun set and I couldn't recognize anything. I was just waiting for the familiarity of my street. It never came. Eventually I'm the last person on it. I should have just followed the pudgy lady home.

So I get off the marshuka and decide to walk. I walk for about 10 minutes and see a 180 coming my way, the opposite direction we were going. I hop on and in another hour I know where I am. It took me about 2 hours when all was said in done to get home.

I was defeated, beaten and discouraged but safely at home. The venture was a little disapressing (a word I made which is a combination of disappointing and depressing) but it was a learning experience. Now I ride marshukas just to see where they go. So far none of the marshukas go to Taco Bell which is very disapressing.