How not to note a long bus ride


This story happened in Romanian town Sinaia where after seeing the local sight Ė Peles Castle my friend and I decided to come back to the seacoast. We chose the bus which would arrive in town at 3.20 a.m. and then go to the seacoast.
Before our journey, we, of course, knew that Sinaia was situated in upland in the centre of the country and night temperature went down till 10 degrees above zero, but when we had luxuriated in the sun on the seacoast, our consciousness had perceived this information not quite correctly. Anyway, when it was getting dark, we werenít exactly ready for oncoming fall of temperature. We dressed all clothes that we had, including a towel in order to cover chilly bodies. My head was covered with a hood of a jersey. A kerchief was tied above the hood, around my neck. In a similar style USSRís children were equipped for winter walking out-of-doors. The towel was wrapped around the jersey as a bandage dress. It wasnít enough long, in order to cover my legs which stuck out from shorts and were being covered by goose-flesh. The picture was completed by socks and flip-flops, which were clothed over theirs. We looked like two refugees and roved through the town in the hope of somehow getting warm.
At 12.00 p.m. cafť, where we found shelter, food and hot tea, closed. We went into the street and saw that restaurantsí lights were becoming dim, booths were closing and people were dispersing. Coming cold became to wrap round only just warming hands. There wasnít an inter-city bus terminal in the town, only one bus stop in the open air, but there was a building of railway station near it and we came in there. We spend some more time in a waiting room. Homeless persons, for whom waiting room was practically a native home, kept our company.
We went to the bus stop at 3.00 a.m. The temperature out door didnít rise. We jumped and squatted in order to scare the persistent cold. After 30 minutes waiting a picture of spending whole night in this natural freezer began to be painting in my head. Empty road inspired melancholy and despondency. Fingers were cold and refused to perform any simple movements. Suddenly light of the headlights appeared in the dark. They brightly illuminated the road, and dazzled us their light, but nevertheless I could see that it was a bus which we had been waited for! ęItís our bus!!! Ľ, - I cried at the top of my lungs. We rushed towards the bus, but it didnít retard the speed and we understood, that it didnít intended to stop on this bus stop. Next event happened with lightning speed. I stood on the roadside, cried and waved the hands. My friend shined with an electric torch on the wind-screen. I donít know what action was effective, but in the result of the united efforts the bus began to brake and finally stopped, in spite of the fact that it had already passed the bus stop. I rushed to the bus and opened a door. Pleasing warmth of the passenger compartment blew my face and ran along my body. Busmanís bulging eyes returned me to the reality. I was trying to ask in English if two seats were available, but noticed that the bus-driver didnít understand me. He said some sentence in Romanian. I canít understand till now how translation of his words appeared in my mind. Maybe it was created from dribs and drabs of the phrases, which I had heard earlier or it was spontaneous communication of my mind with the Universeís area of knowledge. He asked: ďHave you booked the tickets?Ē I shook my head. The bus-driver stared wide-eyed still more. I was ready for explanations with using my fingers and gestures that if there werenít available seats we were ready to stand in the gangway, to lie in the luggage carrier just wouldnít return to the dark and cold bus stop. The busman with astonishing eyes took a look at the passenger compartment and began to draw up the tickets. I breathed with relief.
I didnít even note a following six hour bus ride. I sat in the armchair and felt how my cold body warmed little by little, how from suddenly rushing warm my eyes were closing and I fell in dream burying myself in the soft chair hack.



T Virkouskaya

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