Balkan Triduum, cont'd. The international train leaving Budapest was delayed until after midnight, so there was plenty of time to study the rafters, have a bit of bread and milk from Lidls, and work out which of my ebooks I didn't want to finish. (Knowing the location of the German groceries is an essential first part of learning any city.) The Dacia going to Vienna, on the occasions when I've taken it, has used open cars, as opposed to the closed compartments that become very trying for the visitor, as the locals tend to turn off all of the ventilation and seal up the doors and windows (before sometimes taking off their socks and shoes and putting them up on the seat). This is why I swore off Tito's train, until I found out that they can call the yard to find which cars had open seating. So it was a very, very bad ride in to Transylvania. After about the halfway point, I just sat on the folding panel in the passageway by the window, and tried to come as close to sleep as I could in that position.
Come morning, I found myself in one of the historical centers of Christianity in Transylvania. Found the old fortification walls; noticing a steeple just beyond it, I climbed up, my travelling kit in bags on my back. The first building was an old wooden Orthodox church, with a lively surrounding of flowering trees and chickens and roosters running around. Stood outside and listened to the liturgy for a bit, then walked over to massive Austrian fortress, 18th c. gates, with the informational sign pointing out the gap in the equestrian statue above the gate where a leader of a peasant rebellion was immured. Walked a bit further in, found a section of the old Roman road, and glimpsed a bit of the city beyond.
Then, back to a train (open car) for the last leg of the journey, passing many small mountains with flocks of sheep on them, being tended by a shepherd who usually seemed very intent on his phone. Walking directly over after the train had arrived, I arrived at the massive ancient stone church at 3:00 PM, and did some private work and meditation, before checking into the local rooms, cleaning up, and rushing out for a production of Hamlet at the city's Hungarian theatre. Very lightly attended. It seems that Good Friday evening services are more the case here than they are in the Latin West. Given the previous two nights (staying up after Traviata in Belgrade to pack, the above-mentioned bad cars added to the international train from Budapest), I could barely keep my eyes open at parts of the play). I'm a believer in seeing some theatre between the services of Friday and Saturday evening. It seems to ground things. The paradigmatic memory is a production of J.B. Priestley's I Have Been Here Before in a Saturday matinee in the East Village.