one bin man, five prayer ladies, many dogs, a stern girl on a bridge and a bearded banjo player who misses his steak

I had several strange little encounters with odd characters in Romania, it was like stepping into an arthouse movie.

Cluj brought me the bubbble‑blowing bin man, making childish noises as he blew bubbles with his own saliva. I turned to him and he said something to which I responded in my broken Italian‑Romanian, then he kindly posed for a photo before blowing me a kiss and giggling along his way.

Transylvania's towns each circle the spires of a church, usually Orthodox. I witnessed the still strong traditions of these churches one snowy morning in Brasov. As I entered the church, the shadows danced around the candlelight and five hooded ladies knelt at the far end of the room, kissing the ground repeatedly in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary. There was no alter, instead one approached the front of the church by walking along a red carpet, stopping at small lecterns to bestow three kisses upon the pictures of various important people. The ladies watched me with wary eyes as I crossed myself three times, inadvertently going the wrong way (right and then left in this branch of the religion apparently). They each passed me, turning several times to cross themselves and kiss whatever was closest. And they wondered how the Plague started.

Stray dogs are common in most cities and towns. Bucharest is famous for them and there, many have rabies. They follow you around, generally not menacing but certainly a bit disconcerting. Good luck eating your lunch in the street without an audience. presumably it's a problem that will eventually be dealt with, but for now tourists will have to continue to skip around the skinny animals.

I hate to draw such an ugly comparison, but the gypsies aren't much different except that they are better fed. Walking though town we were accosted more than once by a tiny child, whining in a high pitched voice asking for money or chocolate. When you spot the kid's family waiting up ahead you can safely assume that the disconcerting noise will stop the minute you reach them. It happens in Vietnam as well but there is something quite menacing about these little kids dressed in black and taught so young to present a pitiable aspect.
One day while crossing the bridge, Sally Charles and I met a strange young girl who said something with great authority to Sally. There was no hint of menace or question in her tone, just a touch of 'telling off' in the way that she spoke. She carried on without looking back and we all looked at each other in bemusement.

Fittingly, my train ride from Romania back to Budapest brought me the most memorable character of all these: Tom the banjo‑playing Kiwi and his "I miss mah steak blues". He'd pushbiked from western europe to Istanbul over a period of a couple of months and he was the perfect traveller stereotype with his beard, in need of a cut hair and incessant smile. He regaled us with tales of his travels and then (on request) played us the "I miss mah steak blues" ‑ here's hoping he got his steak in Budapest.

These people represent one of the reasons I was so charmed by Romania; the interesting and unusual variety of people I encountered there, locals and adventurers alike.