We ended day two in the second largest city in Romania, Cluj-Napoca, known to some as the BIRTHPLACE OF CONTROVERSIAL GYMNASTIC COACH BELA KAROLYI.

“I forgot to bring my Bela Karolyi shirt!” I wailed in the car.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Henry mumbled. Apparently, Bela defected from Romania back in the day and is likely not a very popular person there anymore anyway. I mean, he’s buried in Texas, for God’s sake. I asked Copilot prior to our trip if there were any Bela-related points of interest to be found around the city and my one true friend Copilot answered, “No.”

Nary a statue. Not even a gym named after him.

Anyway!! We chose to crash in Cluj after our day in Rimetea and Turda because it’s nearby and on the way to the next day’s first attraction. It’s kind of funny because I had little interest in this city as I was mostly focusing on small towns, medieval villages, etc. But wow, even though we only spent a few hours here, I reallllly ended up latching on hard to it.

Before I get into that though, I want to first just talk about the outrageous guest house we had here. I found it on Booking.com (that’s where we booked all of the places we stayed) but I’m not even sure I realized it was a guest house because the pictures made it look like an actual hotel (an old one, which I like).

But then the host was messaging Henry with basically geocache instructions on how to access the place, where to park. She said we could park in the courtyard of the apartment building where she lives, which was within walking distance, but we legit could not figure out how to enter – there was a huge door that needed to be opened and it was right off a busy road so were afraid to attempt that and ended up lucking out by finding street parking right in front of the actual building that the guest room was in.

First we had the wrong floor so that was fun, trying to push open a locked balcony door like we were robbers.

As usual, don’t judge Romanian guest rooms / houses from the outside. The lobby of the building was majorly sketch, the elevator looked like it had been broken for decades, and the outside balcony to the rooms was its own interesting vibe, but then we opened the door….

…to this vibrant palace looking motherfucker??? And we had two bedrooms!?!?

I wrote postcards at this table!

That was the door to the first bedroom. When we first entered, it put us into a tiny foyer, with the door to our room on the left, and the other guest room on the right. Our host said no one was staying in that one at the time, though.

Random top hat! This tracks though because she gave us a list of recommendations in the area and one of the was a steampunk bar/restaurant. And she also invited us as her guests to the RETRO DANCE CLUB that she and her husband own but Henry was like, “I AM NOT GOING TO A CLUB” because let us not forget how he earned the permanent nickname Hoover, after all. To be fair, it didn’t open until 9PM and we were still jet-lagged and exhausted from a full day of touristing and needed to leave by 6AM the next morning because our first stop was 4 hours away. So, I guess I will lay off Henry this time.

But that could have been our chance to make new friends. :(

This is the second room.

This furniture. Shit.

This was the outside of the apartment building.

The host told Henry in a message that the scratches on the massage chair were from her cats LOL so she moved it to the guest room. I tried it when we came back late that night after exploring the city and immediately screamed into the other room, “HENRY WE NEED ONE OF THESE AT HOME.” It had all of the bells and whistles. I made Henry try it after me and he was like, “OK it’s pretty cool but I don’t think we need one?” and then I realized that I didn’t do it right, because I didn’t put my feet in the little foot pockets. So, after Henry was finished with his cycle, I stuffed myself back into it, feet included, and gave it another go. It was actually painful at moments because it felt like very strong hands were gripping me by the ankles and pulling. Like, it had latched onto me like a baby finding a nipple and I started to get a little panicked that it was turning sentient and I was about to have a “Barbara Hershey in The Entity” moment so I turned it off and ran screaming into the other bedroom.

Um, also I didn’t realize that I had been sitting in that chair for about 60 minutes, going through all the different settings. Losing time in a massage chair? That thing is definitely demonic.

Literally, in my vacation journal I wrote:

(11:08pm): So, I had every intention of recapping the rest of the day but when we got back to the room tonight in Cluj-Napoca (birthplace of Bela Karolyi FYI*), I decided to try out the massage chair in one of the rooms and then that turned into me needing to try every setting & suddenly an hour had passed and I have a new husband now. 0.O

*omg can you tell how obsessed I am.

We could see this church steeple peeking out from our balcony.

This was written on the inside of the entrance door to the apartment building, and I thought for sure it was saying something “Go home USA cunts” or something equally disparaging but it turns out “uşă” in Romanian is “door” and it literally says, “Please shut the door.”

 

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