Maramureș: The Ever Enchanting Excursion

Trekking through Maramureș was almost a fairy tale experience – it was like traveling back into time (or at least even further back into time than the Bucovina region). Although I finally spotted tractors versus the use of a scythe, the main road continuously led us through a plethora of remote villages, where life appeared to be at a standstill.

After our westbound departure from Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc, we attempted to pick up some additional students who live in other villages along the way to Cȃrlibaba. Unfortunately we were only successful in capturing a few others for a couple had to work (most likely in the fields or picking berries and mushrooms) and one was simply too tired after a 3 day wedding. Nevertheless, we had a van (almost) full of ecstatic kids and continued on through the Prislop Pass, who’s tightly wound bouncy mountainous roads served as a catalyst for what seemed like a non-stop puking rotation amongst the students for the next 36 hours.

We made a pit stop in Moisei to see a circular monument that was created to honor the 31 victims who were shot by Hungarian troops, who then also set fire to the entire village in 1944. One of most impressive wooden monasteries (Maramureș is known for its wooden structures, particularly churches) that we saw on this excursion was Bȃrsana Monastery. This religious compound only amplified the enchanting manner that the day had taken on. While the shingles were not made of peppermint candies nor the towers of licorice, I half expected Hansel and Gretel’esc like figures to come walking out. However, thinking back now, there was a poor little fawn named Bambi caged alongside a peacock. And speaking of licorice, I recently received an import of Twizzlers from my grandma that I brought along to share with the children. They thoroughly enjoyed them but they were like “what is this cauciuc (rubber) you’re feeding us?” Nevertheless, I was amused.

Weaving around căruțas, cows and bunici, our van ran parallel with the Ukrainian border until we reached our final destination, Săpȃnța. The attraction here being Cimitirul Vesel (the Merry Cemetery), where death isn’t so bleak and mourners are filled with hope. Since 1935, a village wood sculptor has donned each grave with a personalized carved cross displaying a painted picture and an etched limerick, providing a witty synopsis of their life. The painted blue crosses further embodied my magical experience; never before had I walked through a cemetery with such comfort and warmth in my heart. I must admit I have taken an uncanny interest in these life capturing grounds throughout this past year. Cemeteries provide you with a glimpse into the society in which it is located. Whether it is a historical, cultural or economical indicator, one can capture a foretaste of the people around.

Our last visit was to Muzeu al Gȃndirii Arestate (the Museum of Arrested Thought) that is housed in the former maximum security prison in the town of Sighetu Marmației. This museum was created “In memory of the young, intelligent people at the forefront of Romanian intellectual life who were imprisoned because they did not believe in communism and died, through torture, in this odious prison.” Walking through the cells that now display various aspects of the suffering that the communist regime caused was truly a sobering experience. The concept of eliminating a country’s intellectuals and filling higher leadership positions with the uneducated in order to secure power is honestly mind-boggling. Although I have been slowly piecing together the aftermath of communism in Romania, I am continuously astonished by the atrocities that were inflicted against their own people.

Additionally, having read Night, I was intrigued to discover that Sighet was the home of Elie Wiesel and also the place from which he was deported during WWII. It’s been fascinating (in a shocking manner) to learn that Romania use to have one of the largest Jewish populations in the world until then, when their many Jews and Gypsies were tortured, deported and sent to their deaths. The complexity of this country’s history has been utterly enthralling.

This excursion was part of a social integration project Traveling Beyond Barriers that I have been doing in collaboration with Centrul Școlar, a school for students with special needs, and Fundația Orizonturi, an NGO working with mental health service users. These individuals have limited resources and opportunities to explore their surroundings, let alone learn about the area in which they directly live. This project allows them to do so in an alternative learning environment amongst their community members. Traveling Beyond Barriers is not only helping improve the empowerment, education and health of the students and users but also invites the community to look beyond the stigmas that are so deeply ingrained in society.

All In The Cards

I find that I do some of my best thinking while often walking aimlessly through the streets and surrounding foothills of Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc – but perhaps that’s just where I spend most of my time. At any rate, I left my beloved Bouse in search of an answer for my future but ended up attempting to fill the void that Alma left. Alma was my landlord’s dog and the only dog I’ve come to like in Romania. She’d often wait for me on my front steps and was always willing to spend some quality time when no one else was around. My landlord often flashed strange looks as we sat together on the cement steps – I never did find out if it was because he was concerned that I was going to freeze my ovaries or that I was simply spending time just sitting there with a dog. Nevertheless, the ole girl died last week and I’m going to miss our (instant hand-washing induced) time together.

I set out on the once half paved road, crossing over the eroded dirt road that has so many (now freshly rain filled) potholes that one can walk down faster than any car, caruța or bike, and continued on to the main street (Calea Bucovinei that transitions into Calea Transilvaniei as it in fact heads west to Transylvania). As I rounded the corner, a glorious evening sun was peeking out after a day of rain and gloom that is always accentuated by the old Communist concrete structures that succeeded in defacing the center of this quaint logging town. Fortunately, the destruction didn’t spread much further than along the main drag. Just as an interesting side note (possibly only to myself) but I just learned that the Plateau, the large broken concrete square center, and the fountain next to it use to be the garden of the large house almost a block away. As a result of Communism, the owner was forced to give it all to the government and move elsewhere. Until recently, the house was abandoned with broken windows but the government is in the process of returning property all across the country to the rightful owners and this house being amongst those already returned is now being renovated by the owner.

So…as I was saying; I rounded that corner to meet the sun’s rays bouncing off Cȃmpulung’s new sparkling cobblestone sidewalks. It’s amazing what a difference a new sidewalk (or even just a sidewalk) can make. Only time will tell but as of now, on either side of the main street, there is no trace of garbage or animal code F’s (Code F for fecal matter, a little lifeguard lingo I picked up the summer I worked as a water slide attendant…Go…ok, go…yep, you too, go…I should probably attribute everything I know to Cascade Bay). Additionally, I’ve been noticing a new sporadic smattering of telephone booths on these freshly aligned stones. Logically, I guess that would make sense – obviously the immediate advantage of new sidewalks are the ability to obtain phone booths to promote communication within the community. However, in theory, this makes absolutely no sense because everyone here has a cell phone, if not 2 or 3. Now, when I say everyone, I mean everyone; Farmer Joe stops cutting his field with a scythe that he’ll later bring home strapped to his bicycle to take a call from Nurse Betty who can’t get a hold of their Son Sam because he is busy driving the horse drawn cart full of hay and texting his little ole Bunica, who is struggling to hear the message alert through her head scarf on the way to church. And that…is just one of the endless examples of the contradicting way of life that is found here.

Just when I opt to sit on some cement steps to obviously preserve my ovaries and start to ponder why Peace Corps is still in Romania, one of the 2 million stray dogs bites me in the ass and …humps me???!!! They even know when humans are in heat?? Disgusted and secretly amazed, I jumped up and immediately found refuge in the nearest telephone booth. Okay, I didn’t really, but the thought just occurred to me – I’ll have to keep that in mind for next month. Luckily my anticipated guest arrived with her leashed ex-vagabond pooch, so we were able to move onward but not of course without 3 vagabonds, including the humper, escorting us.

Soon after, I return home to the Bouse only to find yet another canine on the porch hiding under my drying laundry. Perhaps this (and Humpers McGee) is Alma telling me to not fill that void with another dog…hmm, perhaps a blonde fella (or so my latest card reading tells me). If only all the answers were in the cards. Maybe they are… but as an amateur, I’m left to sit here in my full fledge neon green Romo pajamas and contemplate if tomorrow will be the day I look for that new toilet seat.