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Sunday, July 13, 2008

Tiddle Bits & Winks

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… I will be living with my Gazda for another month because I cannot move into my little house until August 1st. A bit disappointing because I’m anxious to get out on my own, as I have been living out of a suitcase since February and it’s hard to be entirely at ease when you are a guest in a stranger’s home. However, “Beast” is a nice lady and an excellent cook (it has been nice having a personal cook for the past 5 months; it’s the best I have eaten in years). She does tend to be more protective than my own mother ever was but then again maybe I have just forgotten her glory days. Gazda mama does not allow me to walk around the house (or even 3 feet) without slippers because obviously my ovaries will freeze and clearly sleeping with the window open in the summer is going to make me sick - oh if she only knew I kept my bedroom window open all winter at Highland Village (Disclaimer: we didn’t have to pay for heat and we had no control over the 1920 radiators, so I’d rather be damned before I sweat in my sleep when it is below freezing outside).

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.

Monday, July 7, 2008

Me, My Box & I on the 4th of July

In attempt to fill the void of the annual boat parade on Upper South Long Lake and the infamous Brainerd fireworks, which just doesn’t display the best mullets Minnesota has to offer, I thought I’d try a whole new kind of parade. Much like Christmas morning I awoke with great anticipation because today was the day I got to pick up my package from home, which has been waiting at the Posta since Monday. I started the day a little earlier than normal (yes 7am) so I could catch the 8am Maxi Taxi (Giant Conversion van style taxi) to Suceava, a town of 110,000 that perfectly portrays one of Romania’s many concrete jungles, (communism’s gift to architecture) 2 hours away. Turns out the Maxi Taxi did not arrive until 8:50am, which is a drop in the bucket when just last week it took me 6 hours to travel 60 km. Anyhow, I probably should explain: Campulung Moldovenesc does have a post office but for the soul reason of increasing apricot sales, we have to pick up packages in Suceava. What does apricot sales have to do with anything? Absolutely nothing, I simply still try to find reasoning behind the way of life here. The post office specializing in packages is only open M-F 9am-12pm and there’s a good chance they might close early, so it’s better to get there sooner than later. I arrived promptly at 11am and succeeded in picking up my package without any difficulties. It actually worked out well because I had another package awaiting me which I had not yet been notified about so it saved me a trip. However, I’m not quite sure what constitutes a package because it was an 8x11 manila envelope, which I have received at home on several accounts. Apricot sales must be low indeed.

On a typical package trip, I would immediately get back on another maxi taxi and return home, that is of course whenever the next maxi taxi might be. However, on this gloriously sunny and hot day (perfect for the 4th of July I must say) I was to continue on to Siret, another hour north and 1 km from Ukraine, to do a workshop. Luckily, I had 7 hours to kill before my counterpart and sitemate arrived. So I strapped on my backpack and grabbed my approximate 1 ½ square foot package and began to roam. I quickly approached St. Dimitru’s Church (built in 1535 and still displays exterior frescoes), where I took refuge on a bench in the church yard to collect myself. I explored the contents of my packages, from which I was then able to make some lemonade in my trusty nalgene, and then opened up my Lonely Planet travel guide to develop my plan of attack. There were not too many points of interest but I opted to visit the City of Residence Citadel, which was a short 3 km walk to the edge of town. Once again I strapped on my backpack, grabbed my box and giddyapped. Surprisingly I went directly to it and did not take my usual wrong turn along the way (however, I did later determine there was a much more direct route in which I didn’t have to walk out of town but that’s neither here nor there). When I first caught sight of the 1388 citadel fortress that warded off Mehemed II, conqueror of Constantinople in 1476, I was amazed to see what a vast complex it was. Now further intrigued, I eagerly paid my 2 Lei and descended into the fortress with my box in one arm and my camera in the other. We (me, my box and I) explored the execution place, old towers, guard rooms, prison, etc. and were pleasantly entertained by this bit of history. There were only about 8 other people that we encountered so I even managed to spook myself out.

On our jaunt back to town I had an overwhelming urge to use the facilities but clean and free public bathrooms are not a strong point in this country, so I stopped at a bench along side the road (not quite in town yet). I set my belongings on the bench and took a few steps behind into the woods to relieve myself. After I freshened up, I had a small picnic that entailed lemonade, apricots and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (one of the box’s stronger points), read further in the Lonely Planet and documented this 4th of July splendor as you can see in this photo. Although it seems you have already been reading this particular memoir for hours, I still had another solid 5 hours.

Feeling re-energized, Me, My Box and I packed up and continued on to see what else the concrete jungle had to offer. We visited the Monastery of St. John the New (1522) that also still shows some of the legendary Frescoes of Bucovina, the Domnitelor (Princesses’) Church built in 1643 and possibly Mirauti Church (1375-91) the original Moldavian coronation church and where Stefan cel Mare became the ruler of Moldavia. Lastly, my pilgrimage took me up 300 stairs to the gigantic equestrian statue of Stefan cel Mare. It was quite a peaceful area out the city craziness that presented me with another enticing bench, where I awkwardly attempted to take a short cat nap with my head on my bag and my legs on my box.

Other than the museums, I felt confident that I had seen all Suceava had to offer so with 2 and half hours to go, I headed back to the bus station to wait for Godot. As scheduled my people arrived on time but only to find that the person who was picking us up was still over an hour away. We did eventually make it to Siret, Box and all, where we celebrated our independence at a “disco” in a town of 9,000 eating pizza with ketchup smothered on top.

On a side note, our workshop that we did for some of the hospital staff went fairly well. Since the focus was on Occupational Therapy, I did not have too much to offer so I got to present on the glorious topic of Active Listening (and for those of you here, you can only imagine how frustrating that was).

In conclusion, to be truly patriotic it is pertinent to carry around a large box with American postage while exploring Romanian history in a concrete Jungle, and then finish off the evening having drinks with a Ukrainian, who’s Romanian side kick does magic card tricks. My personal opinion…Uncle Sam’s being doing it all wrong!