Don't Fuck With Chuck

How does something you’ve seen so many times before and have become immune to, suddenly strike you? Homeless, beggars, huffers and drunkards; I have observed that they truly do come in all shapes, forms and sadly, ages throughout Romania. Although, I can now walk by out of habit – because there simply is no possible way to help everyone – the hardest demographic to take in were the huffers, especially the adolescents. Perhaps the initial urge to gawk was because it was new, something I had never seen before but as soon as I saw the 10 year old kids, I was staring out of concern. However, like anything else, once you’ve seen or done something enough, you become immune. I had grown particularly impervious to the huffers around Gara de Nord after seeing one morph into Chuck Norris and judo kick an adult drunkard in the back. A semi-playful pursuit continued amongst this small group and somehow, my aunt and cousin (who had only been in the country visiting for 2 days and were experiencing huffers for the first time), as well as myself, became the “safe” barricade to hide behind. Since then, I’ve further distanced myself (also due to increase of summer odors) and still wondered from afar…how long can they survive like this?

But then it hit me. I was no longer under the spell of Mr. Miyagi. Happy to be leaving București after a prolonged stay, I was not bothered by the rush of city life that I’ve become intimidated by and enjoyed my evening walk to the train station. Pondering, most likely useless things, such as how it will be much cooler in Cȃmpulung, the probability of me not having to pee in the next 10 hours, and whether or not my 5 other bunkmates on the train will be snorers; I approached Gara de Nord relatively untroubled. That’s when I saw a body laying on the ground in front of the entrance. Again, something to which I’ve grown accustomed and is no longer a big ado. His friend, having a huffing bag in one hand, used her other in attempt to either awaken or move him and occasionally pulling up his pants that revealed the perpetual plumber butt. Venturing closer, I noticed the ground around his head was wet from his perspiration but the teenage huffer was out, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’m not certain if it was his youth, the empty look in his “helper’s” eyes, people literally stepping over him or simply witnessing the epitome of life that I gratefully will never know but my response was not only emotional. It captured me physically, I honestly felt it heart and soul – the blood drained from my face, the world around me became discombobulated and I broke out in a cold sweat. Other than those occasional morning dehydrations, this type of reaction has only happened to me once before…when I saw grandpa nearly paralyzed in the hospital after falling off the dock. Seeing the most physically fit and active 82 year old man you’ll ever meet, entirely incapacitated was not only devastating but a revelation of my existence – if the one person that I thought could do it all, in fact, cannot…who can? I couldn’t imagine why my body chose that time to react in such a manner for I had seen far worse, including death. And again yesterday at the station, why that particular huffer? For whatever reason it may be, I’m going to take it as a stern personal reminder that not one of is invincible. Not even Chuck Norris.

Becoming Miss Universe

After the disgruntling pageant loss of 2004, I realized that my answer “and to solve world peace” had been amiss. In fact, it had never been the right answer. Although it’s always been the default response in the interview portion, I’ve never truly believed in this mentality or even considered it to be a logical approach to life. So when I finally hankered down and opted to commit myself to applying for the Peace Corps, I knew my motivation was not to solve world peace.

While I have never even been remotely close to participating or interacting within the Beauty Pageant domain, and perhaps slightly exaggerate my experiences to further get my point across, I really am an honest person. Volunteering has taught and/or provided me with the opportunities to learn much of what I know, as well as greatly contributing to my even-keeled sanity (which I suppose is up for debate). Regardless, I’m a firm believer in:

“Helping someone else is the secret to happiness.” - Booker T. Washington And “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” – Gandhi

Thus, joining the Peace Corps was indeed another opportunity to serve others and hopefully be able to have a positive influence on at least one other person in some way or another. However, my true inspiration was for the opportunity to live amongst another culture. I’m not sure how my fascination of observing people (nothing creepy) began but I can genuinely people watch for hours. People are astounding morsels of existence that surrender to the society in which they live. And… I simply can’t get enough.

As I have perhaps alluded to before, I have not solved world peace (or at least not yet), probably haven’t provided much technical training or been of much help. But I realized that I’m okay with that. The cultural exchange has surpassed my expectations and has been more rewarding than I ever imagined. This, I recognize is self-serving, and kind of supports what I think almost any volunteer will tell you, that as an individual you gain much more than you give. However, I think the cross-cultural exchange and its positive effects that occur through Peace Corps are drastically overlooked. Never being a fan of missionary work, I was hesitant to join PC. Although we only serve in countries that make a request for our assistance, who are we to come in and change things around? But…by simply living amongst a foreign culture and working alongside them…there is much to be gained. You are introduced to entirely new mentalities, processes and an overall way of life. On both sides of the fence; myths, stereotypes and rumors are broken down…or even sometimes further enforced. Consequentially, you are able to provide living testimonies and share with others this new found information, whether you find it to be brilliant, efficient or ridiculously hilarious. Personally, I can’t think of or even fathom a better form of diplomacy. Except perhaps…World Peace.

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.