Before school let out for the summer, I went on a field trip with my counterpart’s third grade class (ages 8-12 years old). Definitely not like any field trip I have been on back home. We did the typical activities; went to Putna Monastery (where Stefan cel Mare is buried), stopped and had a picnic lunch and went to the Zoo in Suceava. However, from the moment I arrived at the school the incidents were atypical. One student was not there, so I went with another student to the MIA student’s house to see if he was coming but he was at grandmas so we still had no answers. Nevertheless, he did magically show up on the bus right before we left. As we departed all the children were handed plastic bags and through my awesome gesturing and Romanian, I learned they were barf bags (hmm, I thought, they do plan ahead here, even for the what-if situations, impressive.) Little did I know, the children are not use to being on any sort of vehicle, let alone experiencing the death defying mountainous roads. Thus, 7 out of 12 kids did vomit on the bus, 3 of which did it multiple times. My gag reflexes were at high alert but I was quickly amused each time by the ecological lesson of tying up the plastic bag, opening the front door and pitching the puke bag out of the moving vehicle. All I could imagine was doing a garbage clean up and coming across one of those gems. However, those environmental friendly activities don’t really exist yet so I guess we’re all safe from those gleaming (or perhaps steaming) diamonds in the rough. Some of these kids I don’t think had even been in a car because they had no idea what a seat belt was or how you would even begin to use such an apparatus. I was again quite amused by their creativity on how the seat belt should be worn. On the same note, some of them had never left our town so it was so fun seeing how excited they would get over the littlest things. It really was a humbling experience and almost refreshing to know that there are still people who literally light up by experiencing the little stuff we started taking for granted long ago.Inevitably, the hills are alive and the sound of music continuously pulls me in. Unfortunately my days of frolicking freely like that crazy Maria are on a short hiatus, as I encountered those damn animals that always get the best of me. One glorious Sunday afternoon I hiked up behind Campulung Moldovenesc, envying the natural beauty and making detours on the account of cows. About an hour up, I took a brief menopause to tie my shoe and upon erecting my body I saw a bounding deer, my first sighting of a non-domesticated animal. I waited to see if any of his other furry friends would be leaping by but it appeared that Bambi was flying solo. Peacefully (my heart fluttering a little quicker) I watched Bambi spring out of view. That’s when it all went down. As soon as Leaping Lester was out of the picture, I heard a terrifying attack mode growl and I’m afraid the poor little fella probably went down for the count. I can’t quite explain the aggression of this attack and the pure terror that entered my soul. On second thought, if you happen to know my friendly Captain (AKA Lindsay Carol Mueller), she does a peculiarly perfect reiteration of a moose getting taken down by a Grizzly Bear. Regardless of your array of acquaintances, I’m sure even a lame imagination has at least provided you with a vision of fright in your ears. Nevertheless, I was homeward bound, full sprint down hill. Only looking back once to verify that this Carpathian Brown Bear, wolf, rabid dog or unidentified Bambi killer was not on my heels because lets face it, I’m not the quickest gal on the squad. How did my fifth grade basketball teammates put it? Ah yes, “you run slower than a dead pig.” Well, if they could only see me now. That one hour hike up, took a mere 10 minutes down. In addition to the lingering pain in my quads the following week, was the thought of almost meeting my maker on that dead deer day afternoon. My local informants expressed great disbelief and stated that if anything, it was a dog. And with that said, I put any ounce of interest you still had down the pooper.
In hopes to totally redeem myself, I can’t help but discuss the day the Circus came to Campulung. Now before you go passing judgment on why a lady of my caliber would be going to the circus, please ask yourself what you might do for entertainment. Plus, who could resist the enticing messages made through the mega-phone clad vehicle driving through town days before announcing that there would be snakes, spiders and dogs. Serios? Do we not already have enough dogs? At any reproduction rate, we went and I’m tempted to say it was glorious. How could you not enjoy a mafia run circus featuring Gringo the clown, Marius the man of many wonders, and exotic animals (AKA Camels with saggy humps).
If you ever wanted to know what else you might have done if you grew up in a small town, please listen to this amazing song, Atari Safari. Pretty standard procedure, I’m playing percussion with household items. Listen for the chicken breast – a real crowd pleaser (hot water bottle & wooden spoon), the Air Freshener Aerosol can (Mara’s house never smelled better) and my personal favorite, the cow bell (AKA jar and spoon).
At the end of June, I headed to Transylvania, where all was lost in translation, to work at an English Camp. Although I was not going all that far in terms of distance, travel time in Romania is quite lengthy so I broke the trip into 2 days. After the first 5 hour stretch, I met Christina in Cluj-Napoc, a large modern city/college town. Eventually we made our way to the homes of a couple other volunteers in Sighisoara, a small town colonized by the Saxon’s in the 12th century. Although it was quite touristy, I absolutely loved it here for the town was simply cute and quaint. Not to mention, the infamous Vlad Tepes was born here in 1431 and we saw the home where he lived until age 4. Technically, the building is centuries old but it has been rebuilt since Vlad’s birthing and is now a restaurant. This was located within the Medieval citadel fortified with a wall from the 14th century. As you enter, you go under the giant clock tour (Turnul cu Ceas) that dates back to 1280. We walked through Piata Cetatii, the center of old Sighisoara, where markets, executions, impalings and witch trials were once held. On the highest point of town sits the Church on the Hill, a Lutheran church built in 1345. Leading up to the church is a
covered stairway (scara acoperita) built in 1642 to enable people to make it up the hill during all seasons. Behind this church on the hill was a large German cemetery. Another interesting tidbit is that the Saxon community had a third Lutheran church well out side of the citadel and was used as an isolation compound in the 17th century for individuals who fell to the plague and leprosy.As the journey continued, we ventured into “Hungarian Transylvania” and it was honestly like going to another country all together, as Hungarians are the majority and generally refuse to speak the Romanian Language, although they do know some. Once again we were back at square one with language when we arrived in Odorheiu Secuiesc (97% Hungarian). When we went to a restaurant and asked for a menu, we ended up with a two course meal. This area appeared to have better up-keep and lacked an abundance of garbage scattered throughout town and along the rivers, which makes sense because the Hungarians in this area tend to have more money than the average Romanian citizen. Additionally, Hungarian food is know to be quite tasty but I did not find it anymore delicious than the traditional Romanian food I have had thus far. However, I believe I did succeed in eating at least 46 loaves of bread this past week. Nevertheless, there is still quite a bit of tension between the two groups, as that particular land has been fought over often and exchanged ownership during WWI and WWII.
The English Camp was excellent and for some reason I was surprised by the great fun I had. There were approximately 25 Hungarian 13 year olds (give or a take a couple years) who spoke some English, so the language barrier was not unbearable. There were about 10 PC volunteers and we all stayed at Maggie’s giant house in the next village over. It’s always a good time with the other volunteers, if not only for the sake of having friends. Our days started at about 8:30am and lasted until 10pm or so. They were long tiring days but thoroughly enjoyed.
The trip home was not any less exciting. We were in transit for 16 hours to go less than half way across the country that’s the size of Oregon. Regardless of the patience one must never ever lose sight of, I find this traveling to be the unpredictable adventure that just never grows old. We had a couple hours to spend in Targu Mures, a large town that is half Hungarian and half Romanian. Either way, we found a Chinese restaurant and even though they microwaved the food, it was in fact delicious Chinese food. Later on we had another 2 hours in Razboen, where I experienced my first Turkish toilet unsuccessfully. Upon walking out of the train station we saw a scaggle of weird birds and that was it, literally. So it was back to the tracks to wait but we did befriend some Bunicas, who kept assuring us we would learn better Romanian in two years. They made sure we got on the right train and were thrilled that we were on the same one, unfortunately different wagons. We didn’t wallow for long as we found yet another friendly Bunica awaiting us.
All in all, it had been an excellent trip and I was sad to see it come to an end. Especially since this ended with me getting my ass grabbed by a drunk man with an accordion on the train. The groping incident wasn't terrible and I won't be scarred for life but it is a little disturbing, which I didn’t think it would be until it actually happened. This has not been an uncommon occurrence for other female volunteers here, and sadly, this happens to Romanian women quite often as well. I have definitely observed the fairly rigid gender roles here, which are difficult to accept when a) you are accustomed to having autonomy and b) you simply don’t agree with it; but it’s not my culture nor is it terribly detrimental thus it is tolerable for two years. However, the fact that the men tend to feel at liberty to treat women like objects is not. Of course they do not all hold this mentality but it is heavily embedded into their society, so it makes for a long road ahead towards change. Despite the topic at hand, I will contend that chivalry has not been lost in Romania.
Lastly, if I’ve learned anything thus far it’s that planning is next to worthless here. Today I went through approximately 4 sets of plans, readjusting each time and creating a new time table, yet each and every one fell through. However, despite the frustration, I was pleasantly surprised by the randomness that prevailed throughout the day, which I’m gathering is an ever reoccurring theme here. In addition to completing some work with actual evidence, I got to experience my first caruta ride (horse drawn cart) on the way to the river side, where I continued to spend the afternoon basking in the sun. Although the surroundings are breathtaking, I was quickly saddened as I looked into the river and observed the abundance of trash. Even though I could have gone home with a pair of pants and a spare tire, I am still inspired to put together some type of clean up…how can you be in the middle of a natural paradise and come across such a wasteland? Dumb question I guess, as even the surface socioeconomic factors can explain why but nevertheless the irony is perplexing. This evening I accompanied my sitemates to visit the fish farm on the edge of town, where they whipped up a delicious fish fry. They had a garlic sauce that left you saying, “please sir, may I have some more?!” Consequently I most likely will be omitting it from my body for an obscene amount of days, which I suppose is better than Thomas’s self-claimed curried body odor.
