The run for my dreams

Once day I saw Romania in the map and it invited me. To urged my sister and mum to travel there verged on wonder. For Polish people ,,Romania” means the Gypsies and the danger.
First, we visited multicultural Lviv which is like my second home by the fact we have Polish friends, there. The atmosphere of the city is magic. Everything has its own small story. We always meet on the Lviv’s market the man without feet who plays nostalgic melodies on the wooden pipe and the other who upons my nerves cos he wants flog us Polish and crummy souvenirs.
In the unique class (,,plac kartnyj”) of the night train the protruding feet and the loud snores welcomed us. We got fresh sheets from the carriage guard and the bids’ hot drink from the cauldron. Driving by train was like staying in the camp where you have to follow some rules.
We’ve always gone on to Romania from Czerniowce by bus which drivers left a huge amount of bread for customs officers. The inspection was extremely iritating. But in the return we crossed the border by foot between cars. It was lot better.
Romania isn’t a Gypsy house. Inhabitants are friendly but we’d problems in conversation, so we’d to use body- speech and painting- writing. Each meal’s going with ,,palinka”- a home- made hooch. I’m not an alcohol sympathizer, but it’s medicine for my heartburn which nagged me after some traditional soup- ,,ciorba” which has everything in itself. The transport can be defined as ,,one anybody’s guess”- the buses go like it want so you can wait for your vehicle like us for all day and sightseeing the station in this time.
Bukovina is marvellous. The houses look like the colorful gingery cottages’ Baba Yaga- I drooled over them. Sometimes horses are as numerous as people in a countryside. The cars have number plates an the roads are made in the half. By the entrance to the mysterious monastery in Moldovita only insiders can play in ,,Chinese whispers” (they know the sound moves from the one to other side of it). There is barred take photos the nouns-,,majka’’, because they think it could take their soul away.
The travel to the both countries was tasting another life. I could see them in authentic hues and pulled stereotypes down. The visit in Ukraine let me retrace and feel the climates’ childhood of my parents. When I hear ,,Romania” I see the site full of extraordinary people and the big fields of corn and sunflowers smiling at me.