Three Aussies and an American

I was laying in bed Saturday morning when I met Chris, a shaggy brown-haired, adorably cute Aussie.

I was exhausted — the night before Benjamin, Tommy and I headed out with Scott and Heidi (my friends from Budapest), along with a group of four who had rented a car for the night to get out of Bucharest. We enjoyed traditional Romania fair at Sergianna (delicious) and then headed back to Crew Bar, where we were treated to complimentary drinks and a game involving dice ensued.

Actually, it was a nasty little game that revolved around rolling one die and stating before the roll if a specific number was rolled, then something would be done.

For example, Benjamin said if he rolled a four, he would drink a double shot of whiskey. And Scott said the number he rolled would be the number of shots he would drink. And Ryan, a new member to our group, said if he rolled a two, he would buy a bottle of wine.

The die won those rounds and more, and after we left Crew Bar, we ended up in Kismet’s basement, playing cards and drinking more beer.

The next morning, well … suffice to say, we all felt like a million bucks.

After attempting to stay awake with Benjamin to watch “Beer Fest,” I slowly crawled back up Kismet’s spiral staircase to Ageeth’s Room to my bed.

And, that’s where Chris comes in, my main partner in crime (and breakfast-maker and perhaps travel buddy to Morocco) in Brasov.

I had wanted to sleep, but Chris was too damn friendly to not talk to him. We chatted for a bit, the typical travel talk and such, before I went back to sleep.

That evening, following a little adventure Benjamin, Tommy and I, uh, enjoyed (see “Black Out” in Brasov), the three of us, along with Chris, went to dinner.

Then, it was just Chris and I at Crew Bar, and then later, it was Chris and I at a hookah bar, enjoying the sweet tobacco and talking on the white leather couches.

The four of us had talked about renting a car the next day and heading to explore the ruins of Vlad’s castle in a town a few hours from Brasov.

The day before, Benjamin, Tommy, a few others and myself had ventured to Peles and Bran on a tour. It had whet our appetite for Vlad and now we wanted more.

Chris set his alarm the following morning so we could wake up and rent the car, only it was Sunday, and sadly, no cars can be hired on a Sunday.

So, we did what any group of travellers with nothing to do on a Sunday Funday would do — had us a perfectly delicious arvo barbie, complete with copious amounts of two liter beers.

Now, any normal person would have called it a night after dinner and drinks, but nope. Not Chris and I.

“So, are you guys going out?” asked a new guest at the hostel, a poet who was planning to stay in Brasov for six months to write.

No. I don’t think we are.

“Yup,” Chris and I both responded.

What the hell? Really? Did those words just flow from MY mouth?

So, the writer, another guy from Mexico, Chris and I headed back to Crew Bar, where they all knew us by now (they had waved to us the day before as we walked down the street).

Tommy and Benjamin stayed home. They were smart.

The next morning, when Chris jumped off the top bunk and looked at me, I buried my head in my pillow.

It’s too early to get out of bed. I don’t care if it is 9 a.m. and we have to go and rent our car.

“Really?” I asked him. “Jager and tequila and beer? What the hell were we thinking?”

He shook his head and smiled.

Then, it was time to head out to rent the car. Just the three Aussies and an American off to explore the Romania countryside.