Longing for a free world (part 3)

Free to go back, I took a local train to Arad, a city about 15-20 miles from the border. I'd been there as a kid, visiting for one day as I went to a summer camp in nearby Savarsin. Then, I took a fast train back to Brasov, to spend the weekend, before returning to Bucharest on Monday morning to try to clarify my passport and visa situation.

If you know how any perfected bureaucracy works you can continue the story. Back at the passport office in Iorga Street, I took a number and then waited and waited, and waited. The communists were really good at making people wait (although the immigration service or the IRS here work as well). After a couple of hours, I made my way to the counter and I requested that my visa be changed from West Germany/East Germany/Berlin to East Germany only. The officer took a pen and simply crossed out West Germany/Berlin, handed me back the passport, and said "that's it, you are OK now." Imagine my shock seeing that the only thing needed was to cross out the destination, a simple thing that could have been done at the border. I felt like screaming, although that would have been rather unwise.

Never giving up on a plan, I decided to try to travel again, this time by plane though. I went to the TAROM office (Transporturile Aeriene Romane - Romanian Air Transportation) and purchased a ticket to East Berlin for two days later. Wednesday morning I showed up at the airport with a small duffel bag, a violin and a cello bow. My plan was to try to sell the violin and the cello bow to make some money so I could buy some food items, maybe a cool pair of jeans and whatever else I could bring back from abroad. In the airport I met Tiberiu Olah, well know Romanian composer and professor at the Conservatory in Bucharest, who was going to Berlin as well, except to West Berlin. Lucky bastard. He told me that that Friday, Horia Andreescu was conducting the Berlin Radio Orchestra with cellist Marin Cazacu as a soloist and they were going to stay at Hotel Minerva (?). Olah and I travelled together, got off the plane, and then parted ways at the border check point, where the left gate opened towards communism and the right gate towards freedom. I had tears of envy seeing him go through the right gate, and I had a terrible urge to follow him. I was too afraid, though. So, I chose the East Berlin. From the airport I took a train to Alexander Platz, in the center of the city, then I found my way to Hotel Minerva. At the reception they called Horia Andreescu, and miracle: he answered. I said hello to him (he did not know me, but know some of my cousins). Kindly, he suggested I called Marin, which I did. Marin was very happy to hear from me (I had recently won a national competition which he judged), and invited me up to his room. I told him my whole story, including that I had no place to sleep and no money, and he immediately said: "stay in my room for one night at least". I was very grateful, needless to say. Later the same day I walked around the city, went to the zoo, and made my way to a music school, where I met with the director and offered for sale the Ivacson bow and the violin. He kept the instrument and bow and asked me to return the next day. It was so incredible to be free to explore a new city, a new country and try to accomplish something - a simple task, even though I really did not speak any German. The next day I did more visiting and returned to the music school, where I had the good news of a sale. The school committee had met and decided to purchase the bow from me for something like 900 Deutsche Marks (eastern currency). Cool. I took the money, the violin and went shopping. I tried to buy a fruit juicer, none to be found anywhere, and bought some trinkets, I believe. For the second night, I had to make different plans. In Alexander Platz they had a nice, fancy hotel, about 20 stories high. Unfortunately, no rooms available. I liked their lobby though, so I hung out there starting at about 10 PM. Afraid I would be kicked out (as in any communist country, you could spot the secret police checking people out), I went to a higher floor, where I found a great couch and stretched there for a while. Except, some people saw me and asked me some questions, which I had no idea how to reply. I was sure they were going to call the reception desk, so I decided to sleep in the staircase. Around midnight, I went between the 15th and 16th floor and stretched there on the cement floor, trying to sleep a little. The floor was cold and hard, and every once in a while, tourists would use the stairs between the floor laughing and yelling, as party goers do. No way to sleep. After a couple of hours, I decided to go back to my couch. What a luxury! Sweet! Warmth, soft leather. Better then the staircase. I was just dozing off, when I heard a" Was machen sie hier?" which in a loose translation is "what (the -uck) are you doing here?" The security had gotten a hold of my idea and they did not like it. When my answers did not make sense, I was "politely" invited to leave the hotel.

So, here I am, in Alexander Platz train station at 3 AM, no trains until 5 AM, sleeping on a double bench across from a bum (unless the guy was another Romanian tourist, but I could not tell). At 5, I took the train to the main train station, and decided to go visit my good buddy Bobo, who was playing violin in the Nordhausen Orchestra. His mother had given me his address and phone number. On the way, I stopped in Potsdam, to visit the wonderful palace and gardens, and later that day I boarded a train for Nordhausen. I called Bobo, but no answer. Later that night, I arrived in the charming little town not far from the border with West Germany, walked to the orchestra dormitory and rang the bell. A nice German lady open the door, and I made myself understood that I was an old classmate of Bobo. She said that he was not there, that he might be at his girlfriend's and have me directions. At his girlfriend's place I was greeted by the mother, who told me that the two were in Leipzig and proceeded to call them to let them know that I was visiting. After a little chit chat about life and music (the daughter was a cellist) I returned to the orchestra dorm, where the nice lady invited me to stay in Bobo's room until the next day. I was rather exhausted and a bed sounded like a miracle.

The next day, later in the afternoon, as I was walking down the street, a car stopped by the curb and Bobo jumped out. "Hey, how is it going?" I asked him? "Not too bad, what are you doing here?" he answered. I told him the whole story and we started walking back. I was a little taken aback, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable. At the dorm, he was shocked to hear that I used his room. I apologized. "Who let you in?" "The manager lady" I answered. "Not possible." "It is true." "I do not believe you, Germans would never do that." "Ask her." "I will not." Then, embarrased, I said: "If you do not want me to be here I will just leave." "You better." So, I zipped my bag and left. "Wow", I said to myself, "people change," and left for the train station, having decided to go to Leipzig, Bach and Mendelssohn's city. (to be continued)