We leave Viile Tecii on
Monday around 12:30pm, arriving at
the Bistrita train station about 1pm. We pray for direction, wisdom,
protection, no language barriers, provision for lodging, and ministry
opportunities. While I prayed, Kelsi felt that Tyson and Jordan were to
purchase the tickets. Syd, Annie, and Jordan get numbers 3, 5 and 7
(seven is
five, five is four, and four is the magic number; three is also five,
and five
is four, and, as just mentioned, four is the magic number). I pulled out
the
money we’d need for the 5 days while Tyson and Jordan purchased tickets
for the
next available train. The next train left at 2:35pm headed to Dej
Calatori,
60km away. It is only 5.40 Lei ($1.60) per person. The train number is
P4375.

Two hours later we arrive and settle inside the
small train
station. Outside there isn’t much except for a bus stop which everyone who
didn’t have a ride seemed to get on. While trying to decide what to do
next or
where to go, Syd and Jordan play on the guitar and (d)jimbe. Outside the
station
doors, there’s a man wearing a hat that reads, “WEST.” Tyson and Annie
walk west
hoping to find something. In the parking lot, there’s a white van with a
man
and a toddler. Syd and I walk over to him and ask, “Do you speak
English?” “A
little-why?” the man replies. “We’re looking for cheap places to stay,
or even
a park where we can tent.” The man shakes his head and explains that
there
isn’t much, but does point out the Chinese Supermarket not too far,
where, he
assumed, I can communicate better with them in Chinese.

Tyson and Annie return, with not much report. Tyson
tells us
that he saw us getting into what was like a white van, maybe a bus. The
buses
that came were more or less white in colour. The people boarding the
buses had
small tickets they’d feed into a small machine that we wanted to find
out more
about. We talked to the stand-by taxi drivers, who kindly pointed us to a
store
in the next building. “Bilet de autobus?” I ask. The shop lady points us
to the
train station, saying “Gala?” I have no clue, so we smile and leave. At
the
next shop, a small sign reads, ‘Bilet de Autobus’ among other words like
‘Gala.’ This must be where to get it. This shop lady points toward the
train
station again, saying “train.” I realize the sign may have read ‘for bus
tickets to Gala, purchase them in the train station, don’t bother us.’
Wish I
knew Romanian.

The bus tickets were only 1.50 Lei per person, and
the bus
arriving maybe every 15 mins. Kelsi goes off to the washroom while the
others
are getting some snacks. I see the bus approaching and call for them,
but Kelsi
hadn’t come back yet. I figure we’ll just get on the next one, and pull
out the
guitar (I’ve been learning). Some meet a mom with two adorable children
and
speak with them. Kelsi and others go to the train platform, and meet a
service
attendant who spoke good English. He tells them how we should go to the 2nd
biggest city in Romania, because it will be easier to find cheap lodging
there.
I play the guitar some more, and I see the mom pointing at me and
telling the
older girl that I had the guitar.

The girls speak with the lady some more, and it
turns out
she’s an Orthodox priest’s wife. They tell her more about what we’re
doing. The
older girl was learning to play the guitar, and she’s shy about it at
first,
but we convince her to play it. Tyson manages to refund the bus tickets,
and we
purchase train tickets to Cluj Napoca, departing at 7:08pm, 59km away,
for the
same price to get here. “Should I ask her if she knows of any churches
in Cluj,
Kelsi?” My captain encourages me to do so, and I ask the mother. She
writes
down for us that we should instead get off at Gherla en route to Cluj,
because
there is a monastery that we can stay and eat for free-Sf�nta M�năstire
Nicula.
It’s 2 or 3km from Gherla station and we could even walk there. I ask
for her
name, but she only tells me that her daughter’s name is Diana.

Although the train ticket is the same price, this
train is
much nicer. It is also white on the outside, with the seats inside set
up like
a bus more than a typical train. The ticket checker tells us in Romanian
and
charades that since we are getting off before the ticket’s destination,
we can
get them stamped, which allows us to use them within 3 days. How Kelsi
understood this, I have no idea. Half an hour later, we arrive at Gherla, and
we are pretty much the only ones to get off. The same man tells the
Gherla
conductor to show us how to get our tickets stamped. He shows us to
inside the
station, and while getting all of that done, we ask him the best way to
get to
the monastery. He says it’s about 5 km, and we could take the bus, but
we’d
have to walk to the bus station. The ticket booth attendant, who had
stamped
our tickets, calls me over. She writes down ‘low cost’ and utters
“taxi.” The
station conductor speaks with a taxi driver, and we agree to pay 3 Lei
per
person in two taxis. We thank the station employees and leave.

As we start driving, we realize it’s not 2, 3, or
5, but
over 7 km. What’s more, the last km or so is winding road up into the
mountains.
Had we decided to walk, or even bus, we would have experienced the
toughest
trek with all our gear and packs on the race. In the taxi, our
mullet-haired
driver named Fione, tells me that seeing me reminded him of 2 years ago,
when
he drove a Chinese woman. As we enter through the gates, it’s
picturesque,
serene, and as you would imagine in a movie.

We meet a priest, who seems skeptical and curious
at the
same time that a group of young Americans were there. Not long after, a
young
man who was working comes over and says, “Sayonara.” I tell him that
that’s
Japanese, and I’m Korean, and what he
said means ‘good-bye’ and not ‘hello.’
(Or was he telling me/us to leave?) While the rest of the people are
trying to
explain why we were there, the young man beckons me to follow him to
where he is
working. He asks if I’m strong, and points at me to bring the wheel
barrow
closer while he shoveled dirt and debris from the gutters. I find out
that his
name is Alexandre, which he can say in 7 different languages, doesn’t
like President
Obama, liars, not Jews, and Gypsies (because they cheat Romanians, but
not him,
because he’s too smart). I tell him my name is Will, and he shouts,
“William
Wallace! Braveheart! Don’t be afraid!”

Thankfully, my team calls me over to help them
unload the
taxis because we are allowed to stay. Praise God! We put our entire
luggage
into a room, and we are asked to come to the church. We go inside where a
service is taking place. It’s my first time in an Orthodox Church
service. The
church is magnificent, impressive, beautiful, and daunting. Paintings
and icons
of Jesus, the Mother of Jesus, Apostles, various Saints, Biblical
stories,
crucifixes, angels, and candles cover every inch that isn’t the floor.
There
are few women, one in a wheelchair, dressed mostly in black and with
head
scarves standing to the left, and a few people in plain clothes to the
right of
the sanctuary. Several times, priests walk down to the back of the
church with
incense. Near the end of the service, everyone lines up to receive
blessings
from the head priests, and to touch and kiss various images at the
alter. Some
of us line up, but after receiving the blessing, we feel out of place
and
uncomfortable, having to kiss and touch all these pictures. A priest
approaches
me and asks if I speak English. “Should I go up?” I ask. “You can if you
want
to, but you don’t have to.” We make a bee-line back to the back of the
church,
feeling the judging eyes of this one particular old lady on our backs.

We are led to the dining room where we are served
our
dinner. We are told to wait for the priests before eating. When the
priests
arrive, we all pray, and while we eat, one priest reads or speaks
continually
through the meal. Alexandre is sitting with us, saying many odd things
like, “I
like beautiful things, like beautiful places, beautiful girls, beautiful
everything.” Awkward… The priest who first met us tells us through
Alexandre
that we can stay for the night, but since we are not orthodox, we cannot
stay
longer. Tyson and I had the entire guy’s dorm, which had about 20 beds.
The
girls stay in a place that looks like it used to be a hospital at one
point.

The next morning, the
priest we met in the church, Gregory,
27, shows us around. He speaks pretty good English, and we share our
beliefs,
what we are doing, and how we ended up at the monastery. We also used
the
opportunity to find out more about the history of the Orthodox Church,
its
practices and beliefs, and about Gregory himself (we learn that he used
to be a
Euro head-banger!). Although there were key differences between us, I
left the
monastery feeling more comfortable, and understanding, even if I don’t
agree
with everything. We call back our taxi guy, Fione and he takes us to a
hotel
that he says is cheap. Priest Gregory had to get into town, so he rides
with
us.

After we get to the hotel, we say bye to Gregory,
who
proceeds to wait on the road, trying to hitchhike the rest of his way. We give
Fione some money to take him all the way to his destination. After we
settle
in, we get a phone call through the hotel reception from Gregory. He’s
at a
nunnery, and if we wanted, we could stay there for free for the rest of
our
days. While it was a really nice gesture, we don’t feel led to go, and
it’s
time to move on. We check out the next morning, back to the train
station to
finish our train ride to Cluj Napoca. The train is almost an hour late
because
of the floods along the tracks, but we make it to Cluj safely.

On the train, I sit in a
separate seat from everyone else
since we had a lot of luggage, thus hard to fit 6 people to sit
together. As I
got ready to get off the train, a man sitting on the other side of the
train
asks if we are from Canada-he had seen my Canada patch on my pack. He
tells me
that he lived in Missisauga for 5 years on a work visa, trying to
ultimately
immigrate, but the powers to be didn’t want to keep the Romanian man. He
now
lives in the UK, but was visiting friends.

Tyson and I head out looking for a place to stay.
We check
out about 5 or 6 places on foot over an hour, and decide Pensinue Junior
is the
cheapest option for us. It has hot water, TV (to watch World Cup), clean
beds,
and free wifi. Score! The next day, Annie stays behind to catch up on
some art,
while the rest of us venture out into the city with our guitar, gymbee,
and (d)jimbe
sticks. We decided that we’d help Tyson find some new underwear first,
then
find places to play music and worship. We soon discover that it is very
difficult to find underwear in Romania.

After almost 2 hours of walking, we finally find a
mall. Inside
that mall is a place that looks like a combination of Walmart
and Costco. After
a brief rest and Starbucks �, we pray for God to show us where to go and
who to
talk to. We walk to a university nearby to play on its steps. It is the
coldest
day time weather I’ve experienced on the World Race, so it isn’t too
comfortable. After maybe 30 minutes, we walk back toward the city
centre, where
there are more people, food, and beautiful buildings.

We sit in this open square enclosed by a giant
church, Renaissance
looking buildings, and hotels. We begin playing our instruments, take
some fun pictures,
and enjoy the Europe city lifestyle. Couples sitting on benches,
tourists
capturing memories with their cameras, a man working on a stop-motion
video, an
old man feeding the pigeons.

After an hour of this, we
get kinda cold. I guess I still
haven’t fully recovered from African temperatures. We haven’t talked to
anyone,
nor did anyone approach us. We pack up our things, and walk 30 mins,
back to
our lodging.

******************************************************************************

This probably wasn’t the ending you were expecting.
Not one
for the “incredible testimony” category. You may have been expecting for
us to
meet exactly the person God wanted us to and share the Gospel. Or maybe
to meet
someone we knew from somewhere randomly that show up. At first I was
little
confused and disappointed. Why hadn’t anything happened? Did we miss
something?
Did we do something wrong?

Now I realize that just because nothing happened,
doesn’t
mean nothing happened. One thing we did was experience. Another thing we
did
was be willing to listen and do. We put ourselves in preparation for
whatever
could have come. Not every time you go fishing will you come back with a
20
pounder. Not every time you get up to bat will you get a hit. What’s
important
is to have plenty of worms in the boat, and to have regular batting
practice
for future at bats. Be prepared in season and out of season.

In every way, God provided for us. He sent us
different
people to direct us. We were fed and housed. Language was never an
issue. We
saw beautiful views, and enjoyed sights in and out of cities. We
consistently
asked God for direction, and tried our best to follow. I believe by
being
obedient in listening and waiting even when nothing much happens
externally,
much happens within us. This exercises our faith and reliance in God to
be our
guiding light