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<blockquote data-quote="BillB" data-source="post: 1202667" data-attributes="member: 9985"><p>We cruised the rest of the afternoon and all that night. Around 10 a.m. the next morning we went through the mooring process at Chiciu for those of us going on the tour to Bucharest to disembark and join our buses. It was a long drive to Romania’s capital, one and a half hours, but there was much of interest along the way so the journey wasn’t boring.</p><p></p><p>Having visited Romania in 1969 when Ceausescu was running the country both Jackie and I were curious to see the changes that had been wrought after the overthrow of communism. Our first impressions as we drove through the outer districts of Bucharest were how much better dressed the people were and how lively and colourful the shops appeared. The cars, trucks and buses were newer, smarter, cleaner and the drab, downtrodden air that prevails in most communist-run countries had dissipated.</p><p></p><p>We drove along the wide boulevards which Ceausescu planned and started but didn’t finish. We stopped outside the Parliament building which is the second biggest building in the world after the Pentagon in Washington, DC. Originally known as the House of the People, it is now the Romanian Parliament housing 1,000 rooms, but it still reminds the people of Romania what Communist rule meant - self-aggrandising projects begun by a megalomaniac who thought he was untouchable., until he and his wife were shot by the people who rose up because they had had enough of his excesses.</p><p></p><p>We stopped for lunch in a pleasant restaurant just outside the city centre which served us a set meal, which was nicely cooked and presented and accompanied by Romanian wine. There were some interesting pieces dotted around the restaurant, some of them antiques and some of them not quite so old; in addition there were old photos of Romanian life and some old movie posters dating back to the 1930s. I could have spent more time than we had examining some of these treasures.</p><p></p><p>After lunch we continued our tour of the city and at one point we passed the Hotel Ambassador. I was absolutely astonished. This was the hotel where we had spent our first night in Romania back in 1969. Jackie had been suffering from the flu when we arrived and around 7 pm her throat began to close up and she couldn’t swallow. I was immensely worried and went down to reception to ask if they could call a doctor, who arrived in short order. He examined Jackie thoroughly, pulling a face when he got around to her throat. It was very inflamed and he gave me a prescription which I went trotting along to the nearby pharmacy to get filled. It was the dead of winter and the snow had been cleared from the streets and piled up in the gutters, so high that I couldn’t see over the top. It was over six feet high in places but fortunately the pharmacy was fairly close. I rushed back to the hotel with the medicines the doc had prescribed and started dosing Jackie. That night we slept in separate rooms, Jackie and our youngest son in one and myself and older son in the other.</p><p></p><p>As we drove past the Hotel Ambassador I kept a lookout and sure enough, there was the pharmacy - still there after all the turmoil of the fall of communism and still dispensing medicines to the local population. Jackie and I exchanged glances and smiles. We were sharing our memories.</p><p></p><p>We continued our drive around Bucharest, stopping here and there to walk around and take in some of the historic buildings and monuments that still stand.</p><p></p><p>Mid-afternoon saw the bus head back to the ship at Giurgiu. It had been cruising all day to reach the rendezvous point further west.</p><p></p><p>We cruised on all night, with us taking dinner in the restaurant as we moved along. My cold had now become very mild and I was absolutely delighted. Until that night when I woke about 2 a.m. feeling absolutely terrible. My nose had become so blocked that I had been breathing through my mouth while sleeping. My mouth felt like the Sahara, my head ached, my nose was sore, my throat was sore and I was coughing madly. Can a cold be as bad as this?, I asked myself.</p><p></p><p>Next morning, feeling as wretched as I have ever felt in my life I learned that I wasn’t going to see the Iron Gates as we had passed them during the night. After discovering that there’s nothing else to say except. “C’est la vie”.</p><p></p><p>We cruised all day, passing through some huge locks, relaxing. There was a programme of activities for those so inclined. I was quite tempted to attend the cookery lesson on how to bake Apfel strudel, but my cold just didn’t allow me to it had now added frequent sneezing attacks to its other symptoms.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="BillB, post: 1202667, member: 9985"] We cruised the rest of the afternoon and all that night. Around 10 a.m. the next morning we went through the mooring process at Chiciu for those of us going on the tour to Bucharest to disembark and join our buses. It was a long drive to Romania’s capital, one and a half hours, but there was much of interest along the way so the journey wasn’t boring. Having visited Romania in 1969 when Ceausescu was running the country both Jackie and I were curious to see the changes that had been wrought after the overthrow of communism. Our first impressions as we drove through the outer districts of Bucharest were how much better dressed the people were and how lively and colourful the shops appeared. The cars, trucks and buses were newer, smarter, cleaner and the drab, downtrodden air that prevails in most communist-run countries had dissipated. We drove along the wide boulevards which Ceausescu planned and started but didn’t finish. We stopped outside the Parliament building which is the second biggest building in the world after the Pentagon in Washington, DC. Originally known as the House of the People, it is now the Romanian Parliament housing 1,000 rooms, but it still reminds the people of Romania what Communist rule meant - self-aggrandising projects begun by a megalomaniac who thought he was untouchable., until he and his wife were shot by the people who rose up because they had had enough of his excesses. We stopped for lunch in a pleasant restaurant just outside the city centre which served us a set meal, which was nicely cooked and presented and accompanied by Romanian wine. There were some interesting pieces dotted around the restaurant, some of them antiques and some of them not quite so old; in addition there were old photos of Romanian life and some old movie posters dating back to the 1930s. I could have spent more time than we had examining some of these treasures. After lunch we continued our tour of the city and at one point we passed the Hotel Ambassador. I was absolutely astonished. This was the hotel where we had spent our first night in Romania back in 1969. Jackie had been suffering from the flu when we arrived and around 7 pm her throat began to close up and she couldn’t swallow. I was immensely worried and went down to reception to ask if they could call a doctor, who arrived in short order. He examined Jackie thoroughly, pulling a face when he got around to her throat. It was very inflamed and he gave me a prescription which I went trotting along to the nearby pharmacy to get filled. It was the dead of winter and the snow had been cleared from the streets and piled up in the gutters, so high that I couldn’t see over the top. It was over six feet high in places but fortunately the pharmacy was fairly close. I rushed back to the hotel with the medicines the doc had prescribed and started dosing Jackie. That night we slept in separate rooms, Jackie and our youngest son in one and myself and older son in the other. As we drove past the Hotel Ambassador I kept a lookout and sure enough, there was the pharmacy - still there after all the turmoil of the fall of communism and still dispensing medicines to the local population. Jackie and I exchanged glances and smiles. We were sharing our memories. We continued our drive around Bucharest, stopping here and there to walk around and take in some of the historic buildings and monuments that still stand. Mid-afternoon saw the bus head back to the ship at Giurgiu. It had been cruising all day to reach the rendezvous point further west. We cruised on all night, with us taking dinner in the restaurant as we moved along. My cold had now become very mild and I was absolutely delighted. Until that night when I woke about 2 a.m. feeling absolutely terrible. My nose had become so blocked that I had been breathing through my mouth while sleeping. My mouth felt like the Sahara, my head ached, my nose was sore, my throat was sore and I was coughing madly. Can a cold be as bad as this?, I asked myself. Next morning, feeling as wretched as I have ever felt in my life I learned that I wasn’t going to see the Iron Gates as we had passed them during the night. After discovering that there’s nothing else to say except. “C’est la vie”. We cruised all day, passing through some huge locks, relaxing. There was a programme of activities for those so inclined. I was quite tempted to attend the cookery lesson on how to bake Apfel strudel, but my cold just didn’t allow me to it had now added frequent sneezing attacks to its other symptoms. [/QUOTE]
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