Bucharesti arrival

After waking up early, I caught a cab to the train station and bought a train ticket to Bucharest. I was going on the Accelerat level of train, which I thought was the second ranking train, but was actually the third ranking train, just above Personal, the dirty, slow, old old trains that stop in every remote village in the countryside. I found Accelerat to be very tolerable, though, while still retaining some of the 'character' of the Personal train. I shared my compartment at various points with a grandmother who looked like she had stuffed 2 weeks of groceries in various nylon and plastic sacks; 3 older, friendly men from a village wearing the typical grizzled beards, drab sweaters over non-matching button downs, polyester slacks, a cap, and shoes that look as if they've had a lot of wear; and a grandfatherly man who kindly spoke slowly to clarify a discussion with the ticket collector.
At Bucharest, I was greeting by the Fulbright driver, an EXTREMELY helpful, concerned, friendly man who apologized profusely that we had to proceed directly to the airport to pick up another Fulbrighter.
I was just so relieved that someone knew who I was, where I was supposed to go, and planned on taking me there, that I didn't mind the diversion. Then we forayed into the Bucharesti traffic. Romanians as a whole drive as aggressively as Germans, as passionately as Italians, and with absolutely no apparent adherence to any type of system of traffic laws. The rapid growth of wealth in Bucharest has resulted in astronomical numbers of Romanian drivers crowding a system of roads full of traffic circles, wide open squares with unreliable traffic patterns, and traffic lights that no one seems particularly concerned about.
It took us 30 minutes to go from the train station to Bucharest's smaller airport, even though it couldn't have been that far of a distance. The frequent traffic jams are a way of life in Bucharest, and a 3 km trip can easily take 45 minutes depending on the time of day.
The little airport was as chaotic and crowded as the roads. The plane had been delayed even more, so I got to stand and people watch. The airport's arrival gate and half of its check in gates were crowded into the same space, American pop hip hop music was playing, and everyone smokes, so it felt like a crowed nightclub except for the florescent lighting. The airport's security force was run by a bunch of meatheads on a power trip, but they preferred to strut in their combat boots rather than actually maintaining any semblance of order. The open area across the street was populated by homeless people and stray dogs running around, part of the charm of Bucharest.
Rachel arrived and we were dropped off at the hotel, after a semi-nerve wracking trek through Bucharest traffic. People tend to cross themselves repeatedly while driving, the spiritual seatbelt evidently stronger and safer than a physical one. We went to a restaurant with Jeremy, another Fulbrighter we ran into, and ate at a restaurant at which most of the waiting staff spoke English. I will never, ever learn Romanian at this rate!