To the Jury Inn when skies were grey,
We gathered ourselves to fly next day,
Romanian waitress served our dinner,
Good omen it seemed, it must be a winner.
To Bucharest Hilton with smartish rugs,
In the bad old days, full of spies and bugs,
A welcome dinner, not to be missed,
Then eight of us got stuck in a lift!
Claudia our guide took us to the spot,
Where Ceausesco’s reign came to a stop,
Then his great Palace, of power and madness,
Now for tourists to ponder his badness.
The train to Suceava left as due,
Good lunch, good seats, much country to view,
A latish arrival, in north Bucovina,
No obesity here, they all looked leaner!
Painted monasteries, next on the list,
Looking at frescoes through rainy mist,
Then the sun came out, and the frescoes improved,
Of Greek Orthodoxy, we quietly approved.
The Bicaz Gorge a mighty scene,
Of cliffs straight up and trees to lean
Over precipice and plunging vale,
And stalls below, with things for sale.
In Brasov’s square, we went ere long,
Into kellars, music, clapping, and song,
Then came a Nadfas dancing spree,
With leaping, cavorting and lots of glee!
The Palace of Peles and Castle of Bran,
Were haughty, high and built to plan,
But rather dark and heavy and dour,
We’d rather live with Romania’s poor!
Vlad the Impaler, and Claudia the Plump,
Made Romania’s history jump,
Vampires and villains, Turks, Nazis and Russkies,
We often saw dogs which looked like huskies.
Wallachia, Moldova and Transylvania,
Beautiful places which make up Romania,
Trees, lush grass, horses and ploughs,
And here and there, a field full of cows.
Last day a ride in the coach for a while,
Saw how Bucharest had a Paris style,
Wide streets, and parks, and lakes conserved,
And Romanian old houses, well preserved.
We can now reflect on a happy tour,
May Romania prosper evermore.
Chris and Belle Lee