I’m sitting on a crowded bus and we’re driving into the night. All sorts of chit-chat is taking place with alternating volumes, and there’s an expanding smell of sweat which in some cases mixes quite well with a small amount of perfume and deodorant. A bit later this stench will also mix together with the smell of cigarettes, but we’re all enduring this in a very brave manner, occasionally taking a few deep breaths from the remaining air. We’re dreaming, listening to music, proudly explaining each other things like where we’re intending to go, how much we’re intending to make, who the members of our family tree are. We’re all going to be filthy rich. Of course, we cannot rush things, so it is not too bad if at the beginning we would need to wipe some bottoms, sweep a few courtyards, wipe some plates, all is good, just let it come. For starters, I’ll wipe a few drops of sweat off my side burns. We’re on our way rolling down the road, the bus driver has long resigned from going around the holes, but never mind, the roads are about to straighten soon, as soon as we got out of the country. We’re passing through a village. There are terrible looking tasteless gipsy palaces on the two sides of the road. Marble, glitter, staircases, roof styles resembling Indian and Chinese architecture. And then the owner lives in a small shed attached to the palace with his whole tribe, because they certainly won’t muddy the shiny new floor. Well, this is how it goes. Lesson learned. A bare-ass chicken thief will get to be beaten to pulp on the police station, but those who live in the palaces can take it real easy and guffaw in the face of any policeman. Well then, the highly esteemed seasonal worker crowd is swinging along the open road, joined by the au-pair girls, the waiter boys, the amateur criminals and counterfeiters, and I, who will go to a community to look after people with special needs. Retards? Asks me the girl who is sitting next to me. I’m thinking, it really isn’t worth giving her a long winded explanation. A few raindrops fall over the window. The rain mixing with the dusty window has a truly unique scent. The music is on, very educational and motivational tunes are creeping into my ears: No no no no no no...there’s no limit...no non no...No limit? Well, actually there is a limit. The limit is the border for now, still it has been easier to travel these days. If an individual queues patiently in front of the embassy from six AM till six PM and he or she endures different kinds of humiliations then a visa can be obtained. And so now you can go my fellow countrymen! Into the wide wide world. Get stuffed. There are no heart problems over here, we’re all sleeping in seated positions, some of the girls are half naked in this heat, but they’re not at all shy. We will have new supplies of fresh air, refreshing cold beer, beach, squawking squealing seagulls flying above our heads, the sun will shine, people will hee-haw with sunburnt bellies everywhere. Pee-break. The big shots are buying croissants and coffee. The driver is smoking cigarettes with two workmen and a little hitchhiking old man. We’re getting closer to the border. My poor heart starts contracting a little bit. I don’t know why it happens, that over a number of years we still have to feel like scary criminals, every time we cross the border. Maybe it’s because we’re made to feel like ones. A few years back, when I was crossing the border, the soldier has shouted at me, that I should wipe that stupid grin off my face, because here it isn’t allowed to smile, and what do I think, do I think I’m cool? They looked into the sandwich of the girl who sat next to me, to see if she’s hiding any drugs in there. Poor girl was weeping, but I think I’ll be weeping soon too. But on the other side of the border those tears will be the tears of joy. Suddenly the whole bus is alight, and we’re all blinking diligently. I put a chewing gum in my mouth, I haven’t brushed my teeth for about ten hours now. I breathed into my palms and I almost fainted. Ok, now someone is coming through towards my seat. A volunteer passenger following the instructions of the driver is collecting money. Lei is good, euros, pounds, dollars...whatever there is. And there should be as much as possible. What do we need money for? Well, because it’s going to be faster to cross the border. Hmmm...does this mean that we’re going to bribe everyone? What the hell were they thinking? Now they’re collecting the passports. I’m starting to feel like in kindergarden. We’re driving near well lit abandoned and boring looking building. This is the border already. Suddenly there’s silence. The border guard shouts in through the window, telling us where to park, and then the driver gets off taking with him the money and all the passports. He’s back in ten minutes, and the border guard is with him again, and he comes up on the bus. He takes a look into the luggage compartment, goes across the bus and orders everyone off the vehicle. After they have given all our passports back another assertive statement follows. You need to queue! You need to show your passports one by one. People, this is not a group holiday, how can you. Of course we line up the way we can. They examine me quite well, they’ve only missed looking into my mouth. I could’ve really boasted with my new fillings though. Good good...we’re free to go....we can sit back! Everyone gets back on the bus. the confusion and the fright has ended. I wasn’t scared. Were you scared? I wasn’t scared either. We fall back into darkness, and soon the road straightens! This is Hungary already. The next crossing is going to be easier. And then we’ll reach Austria. And we won’t stop till Munich. I’m grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I remember home. Saint George days. My hometown celebrations. I’ve been kissing a sweet black haired brown eyed girl called Evie all night long. As if this would’ve happened such a long time ago. The girls sitting next to me are moaning a lot, and I don’t have too much time for daydreaming. I’m forcing my Romanian quite well, since I had part of it through university. Some more pee-breaks. But now the conditions are luxurious.I don’t have the feeling of being on a ski slope anymore. I don’t need to squat, get a grip on a stick, chase flies away. It doesn’t smell of shit. The soap has this incredible smell. I have washed my hands three times. Deary me...Germany...another world. We arrive in Munich, and here we would need to change bus. No worries. We’re sitting around for about nine hours, I see the really impressive football stadium from afar. I wish I could go into the city, but what if I get lost? Or if I don’t make it back on time? No, I cannot risk something like this, it is simply not possible. I carry on sitting, I gobble up al my sandwiches which have been packed by my mum about one and a half days ago, and I’m listening to the ga-ga, I mean the girls having a conversation about this and that. We get on the second bus. Here we can look out the window and stare at the sights. Scenery! Lots of things to see. everything is new. I haven’t been abroad before, I haven’t been only as far as Hungary till now. I have only seen things on TV. We’re not rattling along anymore, we’re whizzing by. Great ideas come into my mind. It will be wonderful! This is the West! A world of opportunities will unravel itself in front of me, and I only need to grab those opportunities. How far is London from the community I wonder? Will I have money and time to go into London? And I would like to travel around England. And I would like to sit on a red bus. And in a black taxi. And I’ll visit all churches and museums and I’ll take my share of everything good. We arrive to the port city of France, Calais. I have seen a documentary about the building of the Channel Tunnel and how much effort went into it. And now I’ve been inside the tunnel. I’ve been feeling a bit taken aback.. My ears were stuck. The train was gliding ahead, and we weren’t moving an inch with the bus. On the other side of the tunnel England awaits. The roads are different, and the things that were already familiar from guidebooks and documentaries. We were ordered on the other side of the road, but this didn’t confuse our driver at all. The hours were minutes, and eenie meenie miney mo we found ourselves at Victoria bus and train station. From here I only had to get to Charing Cross somehow, and from there it was another hour to get to the community.
