In Bucharest, I am introduced to the Hash House Harriers, a legendary “drinking club with a running problem”, where I am initiated into the worldwide fraternity through beer and flour. All aboard a night train to Transylvania, where I bust some myths but meet some legends, staying in an Ethnic Hungarian countryside village to the sounds of folk music and cowbells. Cluj Napoca symbolizes the joy of travel in eastern Europe, all the way up to those flashy pink shirts.
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