Let's Do It Romania

Months ago we started hearing about an initiative to clean up Romania with a one-day, nation-wide garbage clean-up. It's modeled on a successful event in the recent past in Estonia. The effort took on a county by county approach led by the local equivalents of our Environmental Protection Agency. While I had tried to get information on activities going on in Tulcea County, I came up against a wall of not finding any information. However, last month some of Mary's older kids visited the Danube Delta office and inquired about a service project. They were directed to this event which, while very small compared to other counties, turned out to be a great thing for us to be involved in.

By small, I mean that come Saturday the 25th Tulcea had less than 100 participants while other cities had more--the report from Arad was 3400 participants. Nonetheless, our small team from Noroc joined with others to make a big difference on a particular stretch of road at the edge of the city that is very popular for gratars (the ubiquitous and delightful Romanian family barbecue). We only spent a couple of hours, but we were part of something bigger than ourselves and our local community. Most of the people at work picking up trash were teenagers and police officers. I'm actually thinking that our local event was sponsored by the Mayor's office and not the EPA.

Anyway, Bravo Romania! And bravo to everyone who participated. Maybe it will be dirty again tomorrow, but we all experienced a little taste of what we can do when we work together. This is our team—Ionela, Anna Maria, Patrica, and Mary—the Noroc All Stars. In a couple of weeks, I’m hoping we can get out to my park for a small hike and some fall fun with seeds, burrs, leaves and art. And because we really should never go outside without finding something pretty to look at, I was captivated by these moths that were all over the last autumn-tilting thistles along the roadside.

I Won!!

Or better...Am castigat!! I beat Gabi at scrabble! Aurelia made us a delicious chicken and potatoes dinner with amazing apple crisp/streudel for desert. And with my triple-word-score successes of "intreg" and "plina" (last night was luna plina--full moon), I inched forward ahead and squeaked out a very close, but thoroughly authentic victory. Yeah, I'm bragging. Can't help it. We take it where we can.

At the Botez

Also known as the baptism. Today I attended my first (and probably only) Romanian baptism and it was a beautiful event. My counterpart Adela had her daughter Sofia Maria about a month ago. She invited me to come to the baptism today at a lovely little wooden Orthodox church. Oddly, Adela herself did not attend since it has not been 40 days and either she is still having post-partum bleeding or in theory she could be—not sure and didn’t want to ask. Anyway, it hardly seemed to matter since the godparents, particularly the godmother, does the bulk of the work. Even Dacian, the father, really didn’t have much official duty.

Aurelia had clued me in ahead of time, so I could follow along with the activities. Here’s what I know: Sofia started out wrapped in a non-descript blanket. There was a table laid out with white blankets and clothes on it. At a point maybe 15 or 20 minutes into the service, Adina (godmother, and what a great lady she is!) put Sofia on the table and with some help undressed her completely, including diaper, and laid her on the white blankets. The priest made the sign of the cross with a little eyedropper-type device with oil on many places on her little body—head, back, front, legs. Then she was dunked in the water three times very quickly (later as we watched the video, others also laughed a bit at how fast she was dunked). After that, she was wrapped up and dried. The service continued. She was given the oil treatment again. Eventually, she was completely dressed in layers of white—even an underhat and a bonnet-type hat. The priest lifted her up a few times toward the alter, then he placed her on the floor in front of the doors to the rear alter where only priests are allowed. I couldn’t see her but later in the video we watched her lying there patiently. I honestly think she couldn’t move with all those layers on. Oh, maybe it was before she got all dressed up that she had her one fit, poor girl, when the priest splashed perfume on her (and rather forcefully). She let go a pretty good yell at that point. We speculated she took it in the eye. Anyway, after a few minutes on the floor, Adina picked her up and the service continued. All told a bit over an hour.

Dacian invited me to come back to their apartment after the service. Let me explain my concern about attending the baptism in the first place. Normally there is a huge party afterwards, rivaling a wedding feast. And therefore, guests are expected—like at weddings—to pay their cost. The going rate is 400 lei, or about $130. Since that is about half my month’s wages, I would rather not do this, and Adela knows my situation. But I happily went back to the house with maybe 6 others and the immediate family. We had nice snacks and showed Adela the video and photos of the baptism. She opened a few gifts (including the wonderful baby blanket my mother knit (crocheted?) for Sofia—thanks Mom!). And I got a closer look at this wonderful little baby, finally arrived after many years of waiting. And then I took off for home happy to have participated but without having broken the bank. They were talking about something happening later in the afternoon, maybe it was a big party. In a way I hope so because it is certainly an auspicious occasion for them. And I’m not at all verklempt about not being invited—rather a win/win, I’d say.

And with luck, I’ll have another opportunity to spend some time with Adela and Sofia over the next months. I’m so incredibly happy for them.

I Can Kick My OWN Ass (thank you very much)

Oh yeah, another great hike out in the park during which I got slightly lost due to the lack of accurate signage. But let's not complain about that yet--and I did get home just in time for bible study with Mary and the kids.

The day started with a bus ride out to Monasteria Cocos, the beautiful monastery named after the wild grouse. Cocos means rooster, but in this context is a wild bird. I actually ate one, deliciously prepared, in Sibiu. Larger than a Cornish game hen and extremely flavorful. I was reminded of this and salivating as I took off up a dirt road over the mountain to Nifon. This is part of the Niculitel forest that is not part of our park but is well preserved and highly valued. I tried to take Mom and Melody over this road back in May, but the road is a bit challenged. My Jeep could do it, but not pleasant for a rental. Perfect, as you would expect, however, for a September stroll. Above, checking out the trees and as we see, it's a bit early for color; I'm waiting for the local endemic beech hybrid to turn. Below, this stretch up on top reminded me of Connecticut Hill near Dad's, complete with small flies. I have a collection of heart-shaped rocks. This one seemed a bit embedded to put in my pocket.The first leg of the trip, about 8 km, took me from the Monastery over to the village of Nifon which abuts our park. Coming down the hill to the road, Nifon is to the left and my trail is up to the right. I followed a tractor who was heading into a field. It's corn harvest time with carts full of either ears or stalks. Also still some haying going on. The weather's been sunny and warm, around 80 I guess. A nice day for a hike in the woods. After a few kilometers on the road, I found my trail that branched off to the left into the park. For a good ways the trail paralleled a field. I found a nice place to stop and eat some lunch, some peanuts and raisins, a raw kohlrabi (abundant in the stores), and some plums. I had a lot more food, but wasn't too hungry.

After lunch, the adventure began for real. I knew I had another mountain to get over, but wasn't too worried about that. My fear was that yet again, I would not be able to follow the trail due to the preponderance of old logging roads. Sure enough, I was looking for the trail to fork, and when it did I followed the left fork. I wasn't at all sure at the moment if it was the correct fork, but the timing seemed right--and it followed the left side of a steep drainage like the map indicated it would. So up I went. According to my map, even if I was off, I could top out and cut over to the trail. I huffed and puffed my way up the hill in lovely deep shaded forest. Finally at the top (ish) I came to a T. While I'd been convincing myself that I was on the right path, the existance of this T with no signs whatsoever confirmed the opposite--I was not on said trail. So I went right, in the direction most likely to intersect with the real trail. Wrong. I hiked a good long way more, up more hill, and never met the trail. Finally I came to a clearing that I had inadvertently come across last time. OK, this is familiar. And, again, our park isn't that big--not so many options. Anyway, finding this clearing assured me that I wasn't really lost, but I was also pretty far from the trail. I'm still not sure how I missed it, except that I now think I WAS on the right trail up the hill. Ugh. So I bushwhacked my way down through some scrub, those adorable little wild roses eating me up all the way, and reoriented myself on a side trail I've visited before. By this time I was using all my best foul language--partly because I didn't want to get back late for bible study, and partly because this is three for three on the getting lost. So I was stomping by pretty hard when I heard a rustle in the leaves. This is usually a lizard, they're pretty common and pretty loud in their escapements. But no...I was actually interrupting a romantic interlude in progress. Oh, I felt so bad!! I stopped long enough to snap a picture and apologize profusely. That can't be easy. Then on my way. After a bit I came out into the open, which signals the home stretch. The west side of the mountains are much dryer and sparse with vegetation. Kind of reminds me of the Pat Keyes Trail in the Inyos, except we have the not insubstantial village of Greci down below where Owenyo might have been. Which, another thing, can't get too lost because I swear that Angelo's patiserie emits a homing beacon for me to follow.Leg two through the park was billed as 14 kilometers but I suspect I threw on a couple more just for kicks. As I was slouching toward town, trying to clean the blood from my hands and neck from the rose thorns, a man sitting out in front of his house called out to me. He wanted to know if I'd been in the woods by myself. Yes, I'd come over from Nifon (why tell him the whole thing, this alone would blow his mind). Alone? In the woods? Yes. Huh, good for you.

So I made Greci after all. Missed the 4 o'clock bus, but made the 5. In the meantime, I enjoyed cold water and ice cream and bought cookies for the kids. The only remaining problem would be to get from the bus to my shower to bible study in less than half an hour, I assessed from the bus on the bumpy ride home, as I surveyed my filthy and stinky self. Of course I did it, and didn't fall asleep once that evening. Then I went home and thoroughly collapsed. Ah, good day. One of these days, I'm gonna go in that park and come out exactly where I planned to. Not sure how or when, but it's a goal. Until then, food, water, outerwear, and the kick-ass boots (which by the way have NEVER given me a blister before now...too many months apart).
Coming soon, making lemonade in Romania and planning for Istanbul.

High Tide in Tulcea

Last week was a bit of a lost weekend. I arrived home from Veronica’s on Monday night to an email that I ignored until Tuesday morning. Another volunteer had sent out a request to those of us over on the east side about hosting two German women who were nearing the end of their 3000 km ride of the Danube from the Black Forest to the Black Sea. Ok, that’s pretty cool. So I responded Tuesday morning with a yes, I’d be happy to play host. Oh, and their arriving today? Yikes. Ok. So I headed out both to Kaufland and the piata to stock up on food. In the past I’ve been inspired to make the stuffed peppers for guests, but I’ve learned that visiting Europeans actually prefer vegetarian food. So I made a big pot of red lentil dahl and steamed up some of my wonderful brown rice. They arrived around 7, I guess, carried their bikes and packs up the stairs. Then they settled in, devoured dinner (which made me very happy), and told me a bit about their travels. Very nice young women, Maxie and Charlotte, university-aged. Then Wednesday I helped them get a ferry out to the delta while their bikes and wet clean laundry hung out (literally) in my living room. They got a ferry to Sfantu Gheorghe with the hope of walking up to Sulina (maybe 30 km) and then getting the ferry back from there on Friday. I posed this possibility to the woman who sold the ferry tickets. It’s far, she said hesitatingly. They are very athletic, I countered. I told them to ask around on the ferry because someone would surely have more complete information. Unfortunately, in the end, they did just this and got some very bad advice.

Their trip began wonderfully with a beautiful night on the beach with a fire and windy but clear weather. I rejoined their trip when they called me Thursday afternoon, however, as their trip was taking a spectacularly bad turn. They had walked maybe two thirds of the way to Sulina but had reached an impassable canal that connected a lake to the sea. On top of that, they were out of food and water and it was raining, contrary to the perfect weather forecasted (the same happened to us in Tulcea), and they were cold. They were calling to find out if I knew anyone with a boat who could come get them. Huh. So I scrambled around and found the number for the pensiune in Sulina where we stayed in June. Explained the situation but the woman told me the weather was much too windy to take a boat out in. Next I called Oana in Sfantu Gheorghe. She didn’t know anyone in Sulina with a boat. I called the girls back out on the beach suggesting they walk the five hours back to Sfantu Gheorghe. They didn’t think that was possible and talked about calling the police. So I gave them Oana’s number (she speaks English), thinking she could help them better than I could from Tulcea. She was very nice to them (I owe you one, Oana) and even called the police for them, but the police needed to talk directly to the lost party.

Now mind you, this is not the local police; this is politia de frontiera—border patrol. So they had boats and ATVs that immediately went out looking for them. Somehow it was not obvious where they were so it took about three hours. They told the girls later if it had taken any longer, they would have sent out the helicopter. Yikes. Anyway, the police took excellent care of them. When they arrived in Sulina, they called me to get the numbers of their ID which were in my living room. The officer got on the phone with me and assured me up and down that they were safe, being fed and housed, etc. And could I fax the IDs? Well, I do photos and email, but it worked.

Charlotte and Maxie returned to me the next day on the ferry quite unsettled still. Basically they napped the afternoon away and ate as much food as I could put in front of them (including lentil soup and my first attempt at esme salad with bread and cheese). Saturday morning I put them on a train to Bucuresti, then on to Budapest, Prague, and home to Germany. Not really the way I would recommend people to see the delta, but I suppose it was unforgettable for them. Note to self: that ridiculous amount of food, water, and outwear that I lug around the woods with me—priceless.

They invited me to come on the train to Buc with them, but I declined. Saturday was September 11th and I had a crazy little mission of my own to fulfill. I wrote on Facebook, “I feel like I need to go to my local mosque tomorrow and just apologize.” I did go to the mosque and folded a paper crane and sat there, across the street for a while. After maybe an hour, a man came along and started to talk to me. He didn’t appear to be associated with the mosque, which is the middle of a random residential area. He asked me what I was doing there, at which point I confessed I really didn’t know. I told him what I could, the significance of the date, my sorrow over what’s going on in the states these days with violence and vitriol against Muslims and Islamic sites. Then I told him about what I’m doing here in Romania. He kept kissing my hand and thanking me. I gave him my crane, explaining its significance. He was amazed that I would learn Romanian, and was so moved when I told him I thought it was a beautiful, musical language—which I really believe. We were having such a nice conversation. Then he brought out his pack of cigarettes with one left. He lit it and threw the box on the street, which I retrieved and put in a garbage can. Then he asked me for money because he wanted to buy more cigarettes. When I told him no, explaining I was a volunteer here and didn’t make a lot of money, he got miffed and started doing the creepy drunk guy “thing.” Oh, wandering maybe-drunk nearly-toothless Romanian man, could we have been friends if I’d bought you cigarettes?

As we say, Normal’s just a setting on the dryer.Above, my first buddy was drama-free. Below, my pre-Mosque-visit lunch treat, without pork or alcohol.

A Poem

Leaving September

If I have once forgotten on this field
The long light of the dusk, or far away
The sheep on tawny grass, how stones will yield
Small bitter puffballs, or a cricket stay
To wring wry tunes from emptiness and dearth,
Let me remember; let me hold them now
Close to the heart--while I upon the earth
Am the stone field and pain the heavy plow.
Not in wide measures is the harvest culled;
Not by disaster nor by cutting hail
Is the loss seen, the grief is somewhat dulled--
Being done at last. Ours is a different scale--
Leaving September stars and a little smoke
And memory tight as a lichen to an oak.

Loren Eiseley

Weekend at Veronica's

Everything’s Going My Way (as long as I’m willing to go the way that everything is going)

Because I never heard back from Luminita in Timisoara for our mountain camping weekend, I made a last minute decision to head up north for a Barker weekend. And since David had already made a boys-weekend plan, I got Veronica all to myself.

But first, the trip itself in all its Romanian-ness, and my impressive ability to handle it with aplumb. Plan A was to take the morning bus over to Braila and then get the noon bus that goes straight up to Targu Neamt and beyond. Easy as pie, even with 8 hours on buses. Alas, the second bus never came. I couldn’t understand the lengthy reason given except to know it was time to move on to Plan B. After talking to a man connected to the bus station with a horrendous bandage not quite patching an injured eye and getting on the phone with V, I restrategized. Fortunately Eyepatch was not the driver, and he was very helpful. On to Focsani where I caught a city bus from the bus station to the train station kind of close to the train station. The city bus driver nicely gave me walking instructions. On the way, I passed the beauty saloon. Had no problem getting on the train from Focsani up to Pascani. When I bought the ticket, I tried to get the last leg as well, from Pascani into Targu Neamt, but the woman said no; I didn’t quite understand. I was proud of myself that I went back for clarification since I really needed to get that last train. Yes it runs, but you have to buy the ticket on the train. The word she was using was “particular” which I couldn’t figure out. Particular? I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s Romania; what’s not particular? Oh, then she used “private” and I understood why she couldn’t sell me the ticket. Bine. Good train ride north on the swanky train, cost be damned. Then at Pascani got on the milk run home with the creepy drunk guys. Fortunately I had a great day of very nice and helpful people.All was made better when I arrived to a hug from Veronica and the most incredible dinner.

In the Kitchen with Veronica

This is what Veronica made me for dinner, and then again on Sunday, because it was so incredibly delicious: Chicken Paprikash. I think it could be easily adapted for tofu.

2 onions
2 sweet peppers
1 whole chicken breast
1.5 diced tomatoes and juice
2.5 tbsp paprika
1.5 tsp red pepper flakes
1 cup chicken broth (or veggie broth)
Salt to taste
8 oz. yogurt or sour cream
2 tbsp flour

*Sautee your finely chopped onions and pepper in a little oil
*Sear your chicken breast*Add broth and spices
*Simmer for a bit
*Add tomatoes, reserve the juice*More simmering
*Separately, mix flour, yogurt, and tomato juice together
*Add to pan and simmer til thick

*Serve over fluffy rice with a cold soothing drink

Then I had to come home. My trip home was much easier, although not much quicker. Public transportation here is sometimes unreliable, sometimes overcrowded, usually not climate-controlled; but it exists and it gets you where you need to be. We are all hopelessly dependent on it and it works! Oh, America, can we revisit public transportation?

Happy Labor Day, everybody. Good luck with back to school. Here comes fall. Somebody out there better go love an aspen for me.

Life Isn't Fair

Mary’s lesson last week at bible study was that life isn’t fair. And thank goodness for that. What if we were punished for every negative thought about someone, or evil wish, or careless thoughtlessness? What if someone kept track of the ants we stepped on, all the times we cheated and lied and hurt people, and all of the other ways we mess up? Fortunately, she explained, we get away with an awful lot in this world. So yeah, there may be times when we don’t get what we feel we deserve. But really, we should be grateful for the mercy afforded us on a daily basis. Amen to that.