The train from Constanta to Brasov was sweltering, I stunk, and the woman next to me was understandably annoyed when a couple of passengers and I talked for most of the five-hour journey to Brasov.
The train was not bike-friendly, to put it nicely, but the conductor didn’t give me a hard time about leaving the Green Machine in between cars so, in the words of MC Hammer, it’s all good.
Once in Brasov, Liviu (who recently I learned is my great uncle thrice removed), met me on the platform. We jammed my bike into the trunk of Liviu’s trusty Dacia, Romania’s national car, and zip-tied it shut.
Liviu reached out to my grandfather, Victor, about five years ago after conducting a search of all the Tulbure’s in northern California. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my grandpa was the only one who fit the bill, so Liviu emailed him. Since then, Liviu has opened his home to host my grandpa (who flew to Romania for the first time in his life at 81 years old) and my parents too.
After a five-minute car ride from the station, we arrived at Liviu’s apartment. His wife, Coca, greeted me with sarmale (perhaps the greatest all-around dish in the world), pickled cabbage or grape leaves filled with grains and often meats.
Liviu and I proceeded to “Get to work” on at least four shots of 110 proof homemade tuica chased with beer.
A couple drinks in and Liviu and I were off and running, but we still “Had work to do,” according to him, so I soldiered on. Coca’s food was delicious. I was thrilled to see that she’d prepared some mamaliga to go along with the sarmale. All the better to sop up that tuica.
Eventually, we called it a night and Liviu and Coca’s daughter, my cousin, Cristina, picked me up and took me to her nearby apartment where there was an extra room.
I felt immediately that I was with family.
