Week Eleven

Em - nothing to report today. Milena's early morning trip downstairs to buy a newspaper was the only time either of us left the flat. Excitement was provided by a late phonecall to the cobbler, regarding Milena's boots: they are apparently not ready for collection, and the guy wants her to come in for a final fitting. After she calms down (How many days has he had them? Why did he take all those measurements? etc.), Milla phones him back and arranges to collect them at 08.30 tomorrow morning (ie. in theory on the way to the station).
An observation which I haven't managed to make so far is that the original people of Romania, the Dacians or Geto-Faci, are prounced DAHchi here: by extension Thracians are THRAHchi. There's alocal make of car - Dacia (DAHch'ya) - which is a complete rip-off of Renault (probably owned by), which accounts for at least 70% of all the cars on the streets.
Thanks to the cooking extravaganza of yesterday, dinner again comprises a wide spread of various dishes, and it's after 03.00 when we get to sleep, so Milena's 08.30 appointment looks unlikely. She assures me she will make it, and wraps up the evening by telling me that way back when I first visited her flat (standing on the terrace, discussing Tarkovski), she decided that my communication skills were so good that I must be a crap lover. I won't reveal if she was right or not . . .

Naturally we got up far too late to make Milena's 08.30 appointment: at about 11.00, in fact. Peles and Pelisor are apparently closed on Tuesday as well, so I don't mind not setting of today - we postpone our trip (again) to tomorrow. I head out to an internet place; change enough money for our trip; and buy a film for the camera. We agree to meet at the internet place at 16.00, from where we will hit the cobbler and pick up Milena's boots.
It's actually after 17.30 when we rendezvous at the internet place - Milena's fallen out with her mother (again), and been disowned as a daughter (again). We hit the cobbler's about 10 hours late, where her boots are not only not ready, but a.) have new additional leather in a non-matching colour, b.) have no soles, c.) have been cut sufficiently tight that the buckles will no longer buckle. Milena manages not to kill the cobbler but, after a brief fitting session, agrees to come back to collect them in half an hour: we kill the time doing a little shopping for basic food and cigarettes, then collect the boots (looking much better since the new orange leather has been polished/stained to a matching tone, but apparently very tight), don't give the man any more money, and then catch a bus back to the flat.
That evening, despite Milla's pacing and new mantra ('that fucker's ruined my boots'), we get to bed early as preparation for Transylvania tomorrow.

Today? Well today we went to Transylvania. We caught the 09.00 from Gara de Nord, arriving with about 10 minutes to spare. There are four types of train in Romania: InterCity, Rapid, Accelerat and Personal - distance-based supplements are applied to the basic Personal fare. Our train has no supplement, costs about Ù1.30 each to Sinaia, and is a Personal - that means it stops at every crossroads, construction works and log cabin on the way. It also means that most of the carriages are double-deckers, so we get to sit upstairs and enjoy the view.
The initial view is of the station, where I witness the unique sight of people sweeping the tracks - not the platforms, but the tracks - with wooden brooms. Before sitting, Milena inspects the seats and cleans them - if she comes with me, I have no idea how she's going to manage in the Middle East and Africa. We set off a few minutes after boarding, and gradually after long vistas of tower blocks (Bucharest has a population about 50% that of Scotland, but a footprint smaller than Glasgow, because of the population density), we pass through a zone of what can only be described as shanty towns. Tumbled, random buildings made from randomly-scavenged rubbish with intermittnet roofs and windows, and almost certainly no water, electricity, etc. 'My God,' Milena comments: 'This country's falling apart.'

The journey takes about three and a half hours: the first three hours are pretty boring. The flat land around Bucharest (Bucharest has no hills, and is effectively a totally flat city) changes gradually to gently rolling farmland and light forest. The forests are packed with people ('villagers' or 'peasants' are the words I want to use) scavenging and gathering firewood - many of them have horses to carry the load, some with low carts. We mostly stop at villages and single buildilngs surrounded by small subsistence-level farms, but there are occasional larger towns (eg. petro-chemical Brazi). Also, the further north we go, towards the mountains, the deeper and more widespread the snow on the ground is.
The last half-hour before we hit Sinaia has the best scenery: low hills start distant and gradually come closer and closer until they surround us - steep slopes, covered in denuded black trees and white snow, rise sharply up on either side of the track. We identify the station by leaning out the door and asking "Sinaia?" of passing strangers - this technique gets us out the train at Halt Sinaia station (the southerly of Sinaia's two, and probably the further from the tourist sites). Up the hill through the multi-inch snow, our first sight is a banner advertising a new Serb Tavern in town - Milla is excited, and I can tell she wants to check it out.

Sinaia lies just outside Transylvania proper - it's a one-street town, wrapped around one slope of a gorge and climbing up into the Bucegi range of the Carpathians (that's booCHEj). The town has grown gradually over the past couple of hundred years, so there is a mix of architectural styles. Transylvania was part of Hungary until WWI, so the border was just to the north of here: because of that, there are obviously strong Austro-Germanic-Habsburg influences. Apart from the ever-present communist concrete, in mercifully small quantities, the buildings range from Viennese Habsburg through to what I'm coming to think of as Transylvanian Addams Family. Timberbuilt or timberclad, they have square towers and pointed roofs, and little wooden balconies - being snow-covered is not strictly necessary for the style, but adds to the effect.

After wandering along the one street, past the random mix of architecture (a couple of monolithic communist hotels, plus equally drab glass-and-concrete modern ones, which don't even nod to the existing styles), we bear left uphill at a park, and then up a long flight of gradual steps to the Sinaia Monastery that overlooks the town, and which gave the town its name (it got its name from Mt. Sinai). A defensive square built around a small chapel (both whitewashed), it originally provided a centre for monks in the mountains, and functioned as a defensible way-station between Bucharest and Brasov. A newer complex, together with a much larger church, was constructed abutting the old in c. 1850.

Through the entrance we are accosted by a one-toothed and ageing monk (presumably manning the gift shop out of season as some kind of penance). He is quite adamant that we must buy a 10,000 lei guide leaflet in English (I am still quite obviously a tourist, despite having Milla with me) - Milla talks with him (the way she does), and he gives us two for 5,000. I'm unsure what use he thinks we have for two, but it's quite a good leaflet.
We start off at the main church (it has two towers at the front, in the western fashion, but inside is all Byzantine semi-circles), heavily gil;ded and decorated with both religious and secular artwork inside. In the old courtyard, we can't get into the oriignal church because of scaffolding: the paraclis (monastery chapel) is open, if derelict. Milla makes a point of going behond the screen to the altar, forbidden to women. Finally in the old yard is the sepulchre of Tache Ionescu - the man who "unified" Romania after WWI: again, Milla makes a point of seeing it even though her respect doesn't stop her using his tomb as a table on which to repack the bag.

Up the hill from the monastery, and along a forest path beside a stream (Peles), we come to the entrance of the Peles/Pelisor Castle complex and grounds. Disappointingly the main castle, Peles, is closed during November (we needed to prevaricate for another three days), but we elect to visit Pelisor anyway. The steep and slippery road takes us past the outside of Peles, a huge and inspiring building in the High German Fairytale fashion (late 1800s), though slightly more square and Habsburgian than, say, the castles of Mad Ludwig or Disney.

Pelisor is more a sort of German neo-Rustic: the complex of buildings starts with a stone gate which is pure Saxony. Past a gypsy selling tablecloths, through a matching courtyard and further up the hill is the (much smaller than Peles) Pelisor Castle - it has an armed guard, in addition to a police presence, because of the value of the contents. Inside we get slippers for over our boots (Milla's shoes - for obvious reasons she didn't bring her boots), and an English-speaking guide. Designed pretty much in its entirety by Queen Marie, it's wonderfully English-Celtic-Art Nouveau: it's also surprisingly modern - the fireplaces are mostly decorative, and all the rooms have radiators. Each room has a different style, different patterns on the ceiling, different fittings and colours and so on - there's a lot of priceless Art Nouveau original pieces, as well as Queen Marie-designed items (a Rennie Mackintosh style chair, for example). There's a local style - Brancovanesque: a sort of floral baroque - and some of the rooms nod to that style as well. The rooms have modern room numbers above them: 'Nicolai Ceaucescu used these rooms . . ,' the guide informs us, and Milena looks suitably embarrassed.

Back down the treacherous hill to the main station, where we get tickets for the next train to Brasov (effectively capital of southern Transylvania). The guy at the ticket office volunteers that it (and the one after) are running late - we go for a coffee at the little Nonstop café next door. Needless to say, we miss the train: Milena gets into an argument with the woman at the Information desk - she demands a refund, since we'll now be travelling by a cheaper Personal (personAHL) train. The woman claims she can't give a refund because of some new regulation. Milena takes her name, and we jump on the next train north. Sinaia, reminiscent of parts of Austria and with its wonderful castles and surrounding snow-covered hills, gets 3/10.
We've only three or four stops to go, so before we know it we're in Brasov. And what's Brasov like? Buggered if I know - it was dark.

After starting walking int he wrong direction, we eventually turn around and catch a local bus (narrowly avoiding a casual pickpocket, who opens a pocket on our bag but is unable to take anything) to the bus station from which buses to Bran leave. Irritatingly, and a bit like Greece, buses to all other destinations leave from a bus station right next to the train station. We kill the spare three-quarters of an hour by shopping and by phoning Hotel Bran (picked from Lonely Planet) to make sure they have rooms. Then onto a bus packed with students (we stand for most of the trip), which gradually empties - eventually, after weaving our way past a flock of sheep in the dark (with multiple shepherds and dogs), we are dropped in Bran. Bran, like Sinaia, only really has one street, so back-tracking to the Hotel Bran doesn't pose any navigational problems.
Spotting a big black dog in the street, I remark 'There's a full moon tonight and a watching werewolf for my first night in Transylvania.'
Milena glances up: 'That's not a full moon,' she tells me. So much for atmosphere.
We check into the hotel (£7/$10 for a double), check out the room (good double bed, cable TV, our own shower/toilet, radiator) and after a delay go out to find something to eat - the hotel restaurant's just closed. Actually, it turns out that most of Bran's just closed as well - the most exciting thing to happen is when our friendly flock of sheep go through town. We do find a little shop, and pick up a selection of alcohol and snack food instead of a proper meal.
We eventually retire - after my first full day with my new boots (rather than just test-runs), my feet are disappointingly damp - hopefully this is because snow came over the top (c. 20cm) rather than them not being waterproof.

Okay, okay, so we didn't get up early but we got up early enough. The room has a balcony, and the view is pretty much directly across at Bran Castle, perched (quite solidly) on a rocky spur overlooking the town. It's half-hidden behind trees, and also partially obscured by the snow. Yes, it's snowing in Bran. We breakfast at the hotel - omelette, sausage and chips - leave our bag at Reception, and set off into the worsening weather. By the time we leave, Bran Castle is no longer visible from the hotel. Horses and low carts (some empty, some laden with people) trickle along the one street, as do occasional cars.
There's a little road off the one street, past a collection of stalls (closed) which labels itself the Dracula Bazaar and another collection (open) of fairly standard tourist fare. It ends at the entrance to the Ethnographic Museum, a collection of replica buildings from various eras: this is also the entrance to the castle. The entrance fee is to the whole complex and is fairly exorbitant (for Romania): bizarrely, after some to-ing and fro-ing, Milena negotiates the significantly lower entry price of 65,000 lei for both of us. The concept of negotiable entry fees seems as new to her as to me.

We skip the historical buildings, on the basis that they're pretty dull and it's snowing and cold: we weave past them and then up the slippery hill to the monolithic (with understated baroque details) and generally white Bran Castle. Started in 1377, as a customs point, it's the castle most often referred to as Dracula's Castle - no-one made that claim anywhere near me (Vlad almost certainly never stayed here). Severe and defensible, it's wonderfully irregular, courtyarded and jumbled inside. Occupied and in use until modern times it (like Pelisor yesterday) is still filled with original furnishings - Queen Marie enjoyed staying her, and she had an excellent room with balcony overlooking the courtyard: covered and protected from the elements it must have been the perfect place for barbeques. Incidentally, Milena also doesn't believe in "Don't Touch" signs, or barriers to keep tourists back.
Right up at the top of the tallest tower, next to the Prince's bedroom and Trophy Room, is an enclosed roof from which you can see most of the castle and all of Bran. We make an ashtray out of ice and sit drinking vodka and smoking in a sheltered corner/pseudo-gazebo with seats, in a sheltered corner watching the snow continuing to fall just a few feet away. After that we stand on the roof doing target and distance (line and length) practice with snowballs, and then go downstairs and walk along a covered balcony all around the courtyard. It took about an hour and a half to go round the 50-odd rooms, and then we emerge from the castle and work our way back down the slope (like the road to Pelisor, it is much more treacherously slippery on the descent).

Grabbing our stuff from the hotel, we hit the bus-stop back to Brasov (there are three Americans there whom we saw at the Castle) and cathc the half-hourly bus - we get off at Rasnov, site of another castle which Lonely Planet recommends. Rasnov's a small town, dominated by a huge chemical works and also by the ruins of the castle high-up on the hill behind it. Walking straight towards the hills from the bus-stop leads to a flight of steps (at the back of a courtyard), which in turn leads to an occasionally near-vertical and (in the snow and ice) treacherous and dangerous ascent. Milena's shoes are totally inappropriate and her climb is much trickier than mine: she keeps stopping, asking "Where's the fucking castle?". amd suggesting that we abandon our ascent.

After nearly half an hour, we reach the gate to the castle - 40,000 lei gets us both in (Milena may have convinced the woman that we are both students). Like our other sites so far, Rasnov has at least as many staff as visitors: unlike our other sites, it's a bit of a dump. The outer wall is pretty much intact, with regular towers, but in a very nondescript style: they're just walls. Inside there are a few (blockish and boring) buildings - there's a display-cum-museum, with some farming implements and swords in glass cases (presumably from the Rasnov area). Other than that, Rasnov Castle is just a hilly collection of semi-ruined buildings. Other points of interest? We meet the Americans again, and there's a horse pulling a cart of firewood, and we find a covered area with good views of the trail back down - we finish our supplies from yesterday there (sharing them with the two Rasnov Castle cats - particularly a black one which eats anything and everything) and have some vodka and a couple of cigarettes.

We descend from Rasnov Castle by the back-way: longer but significantly less steep, and mostly a proper road (well, track). After a while there are visible vehicle tracks, and eventually the track meets a more major road at a dog-guarded "Cabana" (sort of campsite with dorms/rooms): this road leads back into Rasnov, and we pass small groups of skiers heading in the opposite direction. Rasnov, despite the magnificent climb, only gets 1/10: early-closing Bran gets 2/10 - the village isn't much, but the castle's excellent.

We catch the bus back to Brasov, and retrace our steps/route to the station. There are a whole variety of trains which can take us further north to Sighisoara (Siggy-Shwara) - an InterCity (178,000 lei each); a Rapid (160,000); and a Personal (61,000). We settle into a pizza place in the station and review both our funds and our options - my preference is for one of the quicker trains, Milena's is for the cheapest. My main issue with the Personal is that it won't reach Sighisoara until 23.00, after which we still need to find accommodation. Milena's equally valid argument is that we're already running a little short of money for this trip, and she assures me that accommodation won't be a problem.
We sit in the pizza place for three hours: Milena suggests that we use the time to visit one of her remote friends, or to see Brasov - but it's dark outside, and the station's quite far out, so I'd rather not risk it. Instead we eat three pizzas, very very slowly: the woman behind the bar shouts as us when we bring out our own vodka, so we have two of their coffees instead. Eventually we've managed to kill enough time: I go to the dreadful station toilets, and on my return discover Milena's fallen out with the woman at the pizza place (who's tried to overcharge us). We reckon the bill should be 148,000 - she's opened with 167,000, reduced it to 158,000, and eventually 151,000: when I leave the money on the table she sweeps past, shouting, and leaves the coins - so I guess 150,000.
At last onto the Personal train, upstairs again: half the train seems to be full of Hungarian speakers (Transylvania is one of those disputed Balkan areas) - genetically, Hungarians look like a sort of German-Bohemian cross and, linguistically, their language is totally unrelated to either Romanian or any Slavic language (it's distantly related to Finnish, apparently). Milena likes Hungarians (she's a sixteenth Hungarian): friendly, decent, law-abiding people. Odd sort of country, Hungary - it's tiny now, but once was briefly a regional super-power: there are still sizeable enclaves of Hungarians in Romania, Ukraine, etc. Until recently, there was also a large German population (several hundred thousand) in Transylvania, from medieval times: over the past ten years, they've left and gone to Germany instead (presumably for economic reasons).

At last, at about 23.00, we reach Sighisoara: Elvis has a man meeting all the trains (he has three hostels, one in Sighisoara), who spots us as travellers, but we decline his offer of accommodation. We trudge through the snow (really pretty deep here), pick up a 2l bottle of Fanta, and head towards town. There's a nonstop Pension/Restaurant across the square from the station, so we have a backup option in case accommodation proves impossible to find.

Right and then left takes us down to the river (Tarnava Mare) at the large, white Russian Orthodox Church. Over a footbridge, we avoid a little snowplough which is clearing the pavements, and then start up a flight of ice-covered steps which leads steeply uphill. It turns into a path, wandering past several back gardens and then sharply and treacherously up into the Citadel/Old Town. Like Carcassonne, Sighisoara consists of a flatter new town and a medieval walled old town on a steep-sided rock.

There's a central square in the citadel - overlooking it is a newly-renovated hotel (which is expensive, and has no free rooms): next door is Vlad Tepes' house, now a pub and restaurant. Milena goes in to ask about private rooms and emerges with a small, helpful dark-haired guy (with a hint of a moustache - a local style statement). We follow him around the snow-bound citadel (only one road has been cleared, and not very well) to various people he knows. Unfortunately they are all either full or asleep (it's 23.30). Eventually we give up, slip our way downhill out of the citadel (cetatea), asking people we meet if they can help, and end up at the Hotel Steaua ("Star") - an austere, square, wonderfully communist hotel. It has a wide square stairwell, all in concrete, and square rooms (with the Hotel Regulations on the wall of the room) - the first few seconds of water from the tap is brown. Milena wanders around repeating a new mantra ("Where's the TV?"), and then returns downstairs to try to negotiate a better room or a better price (with no success, but $10 isn't bad for a double).
We pull the beds together, almost demolishing one in the process - the room is cold, and the bedclothes are a little clammy (the duvet cover, as at Hotel Bran and Milena's, has a shaped hole cut out the centre - a local technique). To remedy the fact that the tiled bathroom floor is freezing, I leave the (boiling) hot shower running. Unfortunately there's a delay before Milla uses the bathroom and the entire room becomes a sauna the instant she opens the door. We go to bed unable to see the far wall, worried that we'll set off the fire alarm, and with the ceiling peeling above us.
At least my boots are dry (or were, when I took them off), which means that they don't leak.

St. Andrew's day in Sighisoara starts with the last of the vodka: the room has thankfully dried out overnight. We dump our stuff at the hotel reception, turn left out the hotel and reach the Piata Hermann Oberth (rocket pioneer and local) at the bottom of the hill. The locals are out clearing the streets and pavements so our ascent to the main gate (built into the largest, black-topped Clock Tower) is a lot less dangerous than last night. On the way, we pass a small torture museum, which we decide to skip.

Instead we walk to the central square (Piata Cetatii), not much of a walk since the whole citadel is only 3 blocks by 4-5 blocks, and then turn left up the hill. Unlike Carcassonne the citadel of Sighisoara is not flat, but rises to a peak at the south side. The climb is assisted (or, indeed, made possible) by a long, covered wooden stairway which was built in the 17th century to help pupils get to school. At the top of the hill, there are three buildings. The old school, still in use (where Milena tells me she and some friends slept one night, unable to find accommodation) is 14th century but pretty dull: square and uninspired, it's basically a school. Just across from the school is the later Boarding House, again still in use and pretty dull, and with icily dangerous steps. At the very top, and having some work done on it, is the large, plain, Gothic German Bergkirche. Sighisoara is Schassburg (and Segesvar in Hungarian), and was a German settlement - one of the seven which gave Transylvania its old German name of Siebenburgen (Brasov, or Kronstadt, is another) - so it's not surprising how much local prominence the German population had (until they all left, recently). At the back of the (closed) church is a large cemetary - all the graves closest to the church are German (up to the 1980s), with German names and tombstones inscribed in German; next come the Hungarian graves, apparently, with the Romanians buried furthest away.

We walk around the church, passing the curiously gothic manse (at the back of the boarding house), and then cross Sighisoara downhill to the Shoemaker's Tower - one of the best-preserved: all the defensive towers are named after, and were possibly sponsored by, the town's various guilds. We nip into the dull Presbyterian church en route, and then follow the city wall eastwards past the imposing (and yellow) Habsburgian City Hall to the old Klosterkirche, or Biserica Manastirii (apparently there are often free organ recitals given here, but not today), opposite the Clock Tower where we started. Inside the Clock Tower is an eclectic museum, mostly about life in Sighisoara in medieval times, but also including some local archaeological finds and a display on rocket-powered spaceflight to honour Hermann Oberth. There's a good scale model of Sighisoara - missing some buildings -on the first floor. At the very top of the Clock Tower is, fairly obviously, the Clock - 17th century and still working, you can see the mechanism and also the procession of wooden figurines.

We cross the road to Vlad's house and go upstairs to the wonderfully atmospheric and themed bar (the theme is a little spoilt by the tacky strips of red lights - the red light is good, but the plastic, visible strips have got to go). Sitting in high-backed heavy chairs at one of the solid wooden tables, we have coffee and pancakes and discuss what else to do - I want to go outside the citadel to try and get a good photo of the walls. Before leaving, we check out the ancient fresco (including a picture of Vlad) which partially survives in one corner of the restaurant.

We cross Sighisoara (again, it takes three or four minutes), avoiding the temptation to buy Dracula T-shirts from one of the little gift shops, and leave by the western gate. Down the hill slightly, we follow a disused track through the deep (crisp and even) snow to another entrance (by the Tailor's Tower, and a little defensive bastion), at the bottom of the cemetary. Before leaving Sighisoara, we have a look at a surviving wooden casement which used to run from the Tinker's Tower to the Tanner's Tower (one of these has since been demolished to make way for a late 1800s house), and then collect the bag from the hotel and hit the station again.

Sighisoara gets 4/10 on account of being very, very scenic (though all the snow may have coloured my perceptions on that), and being quite unique overall, even though there aren't really that many good individual buildings to see.

The slow (Personal) train takes us back to Brasov where, short of money, we look round for options back to Bucuresti - the next Personal train is at 04.00 in the morning! The main bus station is next to the train station, though, and there are two buses daily to Bucuresti: the evening bus leaves in 20 minutes and costs 100,000 lei each (£2.10 or $3.20), much less than a Rapid, Accelerat or InterCity train. We board the small, white pseudo-Transit minibus and wait.
Five minutes late, the bus sets off with awesomely dreadful western music playing over the stereo - each couple of seats has its own speaker: we figure out how to turn ours off, but some other people don't (or possibly like the music). The worst part of the journey is a 30-minute compilation of Richard Clayderman (remember him?) numbers - sort of Clayderman Kills the Classics, or Now That's What I Call Clayderman. Apart from the music, bus travel has one major disadvantage over rail travel - and that's the absence of rails (to cling to). As we climb and descend the ice-covered dual carriageways, we wonder if we're going to die - especially around the bends: during the Clayderman, of course, this is a happy thought.
Despite an unscheduled and unexplained twenty-minute stop at a little customs house, we get into Bucharest after about three and a half hours. We alight at Piata Arcul de Triumf, where soldiers (mostly armed, for some reason) are erecting stands for tomorrow's National Day celebrations, and catch a bus directly back to the flat.

Romania's National Day. Actually, using the excuse that everything will be closed (shops and so on), it was pretty much Romania's National Evening as far as we were concerned. After three mornings in a row, we revert to getting up in the afternoon and spend most of the next few hours watching the various regional celebrations on the news (it turns out that just about every town in Romania has a Piata Unirii), and the firework display out the kitchen window.
That evening we do downtown and take in a 'Dance Theatre' première ("Made in Romania") with which Milena has a connection - friend of a friend kind of stuff. We meet her falsetto friend Catalin and his girlfriend Ana at the theatre, go in and sit down. I am unclear if other people have paid (we haven't), because some appear to have tickets with seat numbers - but no-one tries to move us. The show is interesting in parts - some physical sketches, some modern and traditional dancelets, some mere cabaret - and intermittently amusing. Afterwards it receives a long communist-style handclap-come-applause and standing ovation from the audience (which it probably doesn't deserve). We walk home with one of Milena's friends, Marius, who's been in the Middle East recently - his impressions are both negative and positive, so I don't know how much they reassure Milena.

The last day of the week, and a particularly lazy day, despite our intention to go out and at least get something to cook/eat. Instead we spend much of the day hiding from Milena's mother - they fell out again yesterday, and there is an ongoing debate over custody of their common dog, Tina, during her mother's impending absence for the next few days.