9 Jun 2014 Bacau and Roman

Jun 2014 Bacau and Roman
Up at 9 am.  We really needed that sleep.  Our bodies were much better for the extra ZZZs.  Down to our breakfast, with only 20 minutes to spare.  We ordered a Bacau omelet, which contained all sorts of vegetables, two kinds of meat, and two kinds of cheese.  A real trenchermen's meal.  The other dish was the "traditional dish" - a big round ball of mamaliga, stuffed with telemea and burduf cheese, with a soft fried egg on top, with a vivid orange yolk.  On the side were three pieces of "country ham."  Carol had a real latte, "lapte" in Romanian.  Mike had regular coffee.
Much to our surprise, we were not charged at all, even though we had ordered the best items from the menu.  We checked the computer in the hotel, found two nearby pensiunes, including one that was recommended to us earlier.
We left our bags at Decebal and checked out the two pensiune.  The first was nice but slightly dark and more expensive (160 lei) than the second (140 lei w/o breakfast).  So our choice was Pensiune Elite.  In the front of the first was a tree bursting with small red cherries, which were all over the sidewalk.  A woman on the side of the road was busy gathering them up, presumably for resale.  They turned out to be mostly juice and pit - delicious sour cherries for preserves.
We took a key, to pay later.  It was now around 11:30 am.
We made our way toward Centru, back toward Decebal, walking with a local with cerebral palsy (?) who wanted to talk, and show us the way to the bus station.  He had sufficient English to tell us that he was lonely and had few friends.  He pointed the way, and a few blocks further to the east was a bus terminal, the Autogara.
A minibus to Roman was leaving about 12:20 pm or so.  So for 10 lei apiece, we were off on the half hour ride to Roman, arriving about 1 pm.
Roman is a big small town.  Close to the bus station was a large cemetery.  Our seat mates on the train had suggested that Jews and Christians might be buried in the same cemetery, so we walked through it, looking for the grave of Michel Froimovici.  As it became clear that only Christians were buried here, we walked out.  The weather had turned hotter and more humid, with bright sun.
We took a taxi a couple of km to the Jewish Cemetery, arriving at 2 pm.  In front of this cemetery was a memorial to the Jews who died in WWI in defense of Romania (so much good that heroism would do them later).  We met the caretaker, a very accommodating man with a young family.  He checked the book.  The grave of Michel Froimovici was at Row 21, Plat 81, not 21/31 as shown on the Jewish Gen website.  We found row 21 easily, but by the time we hit plat 30 or so, everything was so overgrown with 8 foot trees, we could barely proceed.  Carol and the caretaker pushed back along the row, to no luck.  After giving him a small tip for his efforts so far, we promised the caretaker a reasonable bit of money for a picture of Michel Froimovici's gravestone, whenever he got the initiative to saw down some trees.  The caretaker said that the Jewish community center was at Piata Marii. 
We had sent off the waiting taxi, so around 2:45 pm, we walked out, noticed the edge of town was less than a half km away and started walking.  We came to a taxi, which took us to Piata Marii, and, for a few cents more, to the Comunitatea Evreilor on Str. Sucedava Nr. 131 (3 pm).  The small building was locked up tight as a drum, so we sat down, drank some water, and ate some fruit.  No Jews walked by, although a Trabant drove by, so we went over to a nearby market, bought some carrots (1 lei for 3 carrots with greens), some radishes (1 lei for a bunch), 1/2 kg of small strawberries (the folks on the train had extolled the flavor of Romanian strawberries) and a 1/2 kg of apricots.  The strawberries had to be eaten within the hour, but they were sweet and had real strawberry flavor.  And the radishes were fresh and pungent.
No potential Jews appears during the hour, so we finally hopped a taxi to the Autogara, where we waited for a 5:10 bus back to Bacau.
Back in Bacau, we walked over to the Decebal, picked up our bags, took a taxi to the Elite and checked in.  By now it was cooler and more pleasant.  The streets were crowded with couples and families out for a stroll.
Carol had spotted a restaurant the night before that she wanted to try.  So we caught a bus back to that part of town.  The restaurant, Curcanal de Aur (Golden Cockerel), featuring traditional regional food, was crowded.  We sat down, ordered the Tochituras (one Bacauana, one with chicken), along with a Cherry Angelle (a cherry liqueur), a dark Silva beer, and a cabbage salad.  The Tochitura Bacauna (16 lei) contained pulpa de porc, carnati, jumani, ficat (all meat items), mamaliga, ou, branza burduf (the egg, cornmeal, and cheese).  This time the cheese (branza burduf) was not inside the fried mamaliga, but on the side.  The chicken dish was similar, but contained pieces of chicken breast, along with various innards. (15 lei).  Spectacular both!  The total came to 43 lei (50 lei with tip, or $15.50).  We were well fed and nicely plastered.
During our meal, we watched a young man on the street who took the opportunity to dash in and finish any remaining alcohol from departed patrons.
It was now 9 pm.  Bus back to the Pensiune.  We found three TV channels with Romanian singers and dancers, picked one and watched until it was time for bed.
Each of the hotels so far had a TV and each had folksinging stations.  After a while you get to be a connoscieur of production values for folksinging shows.  Some were full videos with a plot.  One cute video told the tale of young love.  The couple runs off in the night, the father (then the neighbors, the priest, the soldiers) in hot pursuit.  O where has my daughter gone??  The father awakens - it was all a dream.  He tiptoes into her room, and finds her safe in bed.  After he leaves, another hand pops up from the bedding.