Tulcea and our Floating Palace – second half of April 2004

Arrival in Tulcea…

When we awoke on Thursday morning, the clearing sky gave us a renewed sense of purpose and renewed hope. The remaining 22 km. to Tulcea were difficult, but not impossible. The wind still blew, though not as strongly, and we advanced slowly. It was all uphill towards Tulcea, then the city streets descended steeply to the port. The city was different from others we had seen: all the streets were paved, there were no horses and wagons, the people were wearing city clothing. In short, it seemed a modern city.

We went about looking for lodging. Our guidebook had informed us that a houseboat was the cheapest option, and they proved to be right! We found a nice one docked in the harbor, and since we were in the area off-season, we had the entire boat to ourselves, except for the studly chef Stefan, who served us dinner whenever we chose, and the young first-mate Marian, who catered to our every desire. We spoiled ourselves with dinner on the boat the first night. We ate carp and sipped white wine, a candlelight dinner for two with romantic music.

When we arrived in Tulcea, almost half-dead, after biking in a stormfront for several days, our bikes and bags were so covered in mud that we worried about finding a hotel that would accept us. Once on the houseboat, we went down below in the cabin to freshen up, and the first thing Marian (first mate) did was clean our stuff! Can you believe it? Maybe he was just worried that the dirt would mess up his clean boat, but still. I’m not really worried about the motivation, it was still nice….

What with the private boat, our private room, the candlelight fish dinner and romantic music – not to mention the fresh breeze and the setting sun over the water – I was so happy that I felt like I could have stayed here forever. We sank back into our double bed, warm and comfy on our rocking boat, and smiled. All the effort was worth it. We had made it, and we were happy as two pigs in the mud.

Our Floating Palace turns into a Prison…

After our weekend trip to Sfintu Gheorghe, we returned to our boat to find that we were still the only guests. We decided to stay one more night before moving on the next morning to explore the rest of the Delta by rowboat, canoe, and tractor.

One night turned into eight. Our floating palace turned into a prison. It was the worst week of my life. It started with a bad headache, then a severe backache, and a fever. I had gotten the “turista,” which every traveller fears so much. I have never been so sick in my life. I was so weak, I could hardly stand up. I couldn’t even leave our cabin to go upstairs on deck. The severe muscle aches reminded me of the week we had gotten sick in Germany from drinking bad water. My head was in the clouds, I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t concentrate long enough to read or write. Just layed in bed moaning all day long, making trips back and forth to the bathroom. My muscles hurt so bad that even the clothing on my back hurt when it touched my skin.

Stephane is sure that I got sick from drinking half a glass of tap water the first day. He’s probably right, even though we argued about it because I didn’t want to admit that I was at fault and had no one else to blame but myself.

Stephane looked up information on the Internet and found that the virus and its accompanying symptoms can last anywhere between one and seven days. The worst part of mine lasted for seven – and didn’t disappear for ten days. Ten days. Seemed like ten years.

At least the agonizing week ended on a good note. Just when we decided that I could finally leave the boat, Stephane met some of the neighbors who had come back from fishing. They invited us to dinner. We had fish, of course. A sweet fish with a strong garlic sauce. Excellent. The fish was grilled, as is common, and was served whole on the plate. You have to peel away the fins, then pick the meat off the bones with your fingers. When you finish, all you have left is the skeleton with the head and the tail. When you drink beer right after eating the garlic sauce, it is HOT. It sets your mouth on fire.

Our hosts were Sorim, a dark, joyous seaman with a contagious laugh; his daughter with dark, curly hair; and his fair son-in-law. Sorim spoke English very well, from having travelled and worked as a seaman all over the world. His preferred method of killing mosquitos was not by swatting them, but by knocking them out with his garlic and beer breath! We laughed a lot.

They invited us to a picnic with them on Saturday to celebrate Labor Day (May 1, as in France), but we missed it because we were in Crisan in the Delta.