St. Patricks Day 2012

“Everyone’s Irish on St. Paddy’s Day”.  Some people love this saying and some people hate it.  Some of the not so Irish or partly Irish like myself love it because it gives them an opportunity to celebrate, whether it be by gathering together with family at grandma’s or with friends at the pub.  It may be that the one’s that despise the phrase aren’t Irish and therefore they don’t find that they have a reason to celebrate it.  I’ve heard people in this bracket complain that people say they’re Irish on St. Patrick’s Day just for another reason to get drunk.  The others that I could see disliking the above mentioned expression are the actual 100% Irish who might see the current and sometimes belligerent interpretation of their national holiday as an attack on their culture.  While perusing facebook on the greenest day of the year I noticed that a friend of mine, whom I respect, posted a comment that showed his discontent of the holiday.  His comment made me think and examine why it is that I celebrate St. Paddy’s Day.  Eventually I’ve determined that the answer to this question more about where I come from than where my great great great grandparents came from.

Corning NY is a small town in upstate New York where workers once immigrated to the area to work in the glass-factory.  Now scientist, engineers and business-men come as all the laborers are now in China.  There is undoubtedly an Irish presence in Corning weather it be in the names of my classmates and friends (O’hare, Stack, O’Laughlin ) but maybe more evident when you see the names of some of the older bars in town (Maleys, Murphys, McKlintock).  When listening to the attendance called out in school you hear some Irish names but it by no means dominates the list like the Italian names do.  Either way, one of the neat things about Corning is that today, like many years ago, you find people from many different backgrounds.  For being a small conservative town a stone’s throw away from the middle of nowhere it does have some surprising diversity.  I suppose a lot of small towns in America is like that.

I first learned about St. Patrick’s Day at home, secondly in the church and lastly in school.  There are two things that I remember most about St. Patrick’s Day celebrations long ago and they have both been present in my last couple of celebrations, the color green and the film Darby O’Gill and the Little People.  That’s right, I didn’t say green beer.  I’m talking long ago when someone, maybe at school, introduced me to one of my all time favorite Disney films.  Check it out if you haven’t yet.  I can’t go on reminiscing about St. Patrick’s Days without mentioning my Great Grandma Mertson who when you walk into her house on the special day it’s like a new green starburst, flavor explosion for your eyes.  On top of that, the traditional corned beef and cabbage is served at her place and it really makes you feel Irish, whether you are or you’re not. 

Finally we get to the part where booze is involved.  I will admit that green beer, Jamison and Irish car bombs took a pretty central role in my St. Patty’s day celebrations of my 20’s but looking back, those were relatively few up until I came to Romania.  In Romania they don’t really celebrate St. Patrick’s Day so the last couple holidays I spent explaining who St. Patrick was to my students then going home to watch Darby O’Gill.  Things are a bit different in Bucharest and this year I was able to have a much more thorough celebration of the Irish holiday.

First off, there are Irish in Bucharest and one of them happens to be my boss.  The Peace Corps Romania St. Patrick’s Day party kicked off the holiday with some old-school Irish tunes playing on the radio, learning to sing one and of course, pin the shamrock on the leprechaun.  Though this last part is probably not traditionally Irish, it was fun and it got people in the spirit of celebrating.  The following day the Irish Embassy scheduled a music event in center of old town featuring an Irish people-pleaser band called the Amazing Apples and a couple of other Flogging-Molly style Romanian bands (literally covering Flogging Molly songs).  After the show, traditionally dressed bagpipers toured old town with a drummer, guitar player and mandolin player.  They played their instruments, sang and danced on the floors of bars throughout old town.  This part of the evening was surely a treat.  Later on my friend Mihaela and I went to an Irish pub we haven’t been to yet to pack into the crowd for an extended evening with the Amazing Apples playing not only Irish tunes but also crowd pleasers like their Lady Gaga/MGMT mash-up.  Even though it wasn’t much like my old-time favorite Corning celebrations of St. Patrick it was still a great time and it did include that good traditional Irish music that you usually hear playing on my computer and ipod during the 5 days leading up to the holiday.

To those who can’t stand the saying “Everybody’s Irish on St. Patty’s Day” my advice to you is to live and let live.  Right, people do use it for an excuse to get drunk sometimes but lets be honest, if St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t an excuse to get drunk something else would be (Friday, happy hour, over the hump, ect.).  Secondly, I believe I read somewhere recently that the Irish are the second largest immigrant group in the United States to the Germans.  Maybe all those people saying that they’re Irish actually are, at least a bit.  What makes the US so unique is that it is a country of immigrants.  Here in Romania we celebrate Romanian holidays where we eat Romanian food dance the traditional Romanian dances and partake in some, at times strange, but interesting Romanian customs that go back centuries.  In the states you find people from all different backgrounds who celebrate in the way their parents taught them which is where they come from and may be quite different from how you were taught to celebrate.  This is one of the beauties of the US.  

Martisor 2012

On the first of March each year Romanians celebrate Martisor.  My first Martisor came as a surprise.  I was not forewarned of the customs until about a week ahead of time when I asked my colleagues why there are stands up throughout the city selling decorations and flowers.  My second Martisor was spent presenting on the topics of Peace Corps and volunteerism to a small group of bright young individuals at a library in Craiova.  This past martisor was spent at yet another Peace Corps event hosted by the Gender and Development Committee helping with set up and looking on while art projects where displayed and awarded in their portrayal of this year’s theme, “Peace at Home, Peace in the World”.  March first has turned out to be a very important day in my Peace Corps service but what exactly does Martisor mean and why is it celebrated?

In trying to steer clear of the textbook/Wikipedia answer I’ll try to give a PCV perspective on the local holiday.  A week or two before March first, stands go up around town and the people standing behind the table are selling small gifts or flowers.  You walk down the street seeing table after table filled with little white boxes that say “1 MARTIE” in red at the top of the box.  Each little box has a small window revealing its contents which may be a 4-leaf clover, a chimney sweeper, a flower, or a number of other symbols.  A friend of mine even found a martisor that looked like a salted pretzel.  The one thing that each martisor does have in common is the red and white string attached to it.  There are various explanations for what each color represents but one explanation is that the white represents winter while the red represents spring, and the fact that the colors are woven together represents the transitions from winter to spring.  Looking back over the three different Martisor celebrations that I have had, though I’ve participated in 3 different activities in 3 different locations, there has been this one constant of season change.  Now when I think of the first of March, like most Romanians, I consider it the beginning of spring.  

Martisor 2012 presented an opportunity for me to get together with good people and get crafty.  My host country organizations MaiMultVerde (MMV) decided that it would be nice to gather some materials from around the office (materials that would have probably been otherwise thrown away or recycled) and make something nice out of them.  This year, instead of spending money on cheap, plastic gifts probably made in China, I spent hours with fellow MMV volunteers cutting paper, gluing various things together, and tying red and white strings around them.  I even learned some origami which is something that I wouldn’t mind learning more of if I have time.  The result was great.  Some of the gifts were sold to the GAD committee for their event while others were sold to MMV supporters.  The money that was raised will be used to support a tree planting activity that will take place in April.  

One quick fact that must be mentioned about March 1st is its intimate connection with Peace Corps.  Like all things super important there is a day dedicated to them.  Mothers are super important so there is a mother’s day.  Human Rights are super important so there is a Human Rights day.  Fooling people is super important so there is a Fool's Day.  Well Peace Corps is pretty important too, and so on March first we celebrate Peace Corps Day.  Though, in Romania, Peace Corps Day is usually overshadowed by the local Martisor celebrations it is no small matter.  March first is the day that President Kennedy officially established the Peace Corps.  Happy Birthday Peace Corps!

NYE- Krakow

In classic New Years Eve fashion I found myself in yet another new place.  My past five New Years Eve celebrations have popped off in classic all-night party fashion, all in different parts of the world.  The latest of the five celebrations rang in the year 2012 in a country that, until this past summer, I never really saw myself visiting.  It ended up being a great decision with all the fun and interesting travel experiences included. 

Krakow, Poland is pretty interesting old city.  At one time it was the capital of Poland but it is now better known in as their beautiful old medieval city; a place you want to go if you’re into the history and want to see the sights.  Little did I know before taking the old town tour, it is also pretty well known throughout Europe for its particularly rowdy soccer fans as the city includes two rivalry teams.  So rowdy I’m told, that Poland decided to exclude Krakow from hosting any Euro 2012 matches.  The clean, pristine old town with the Wowel castle at its head looking out over the Visla River is surrounded by a band of parks.  Crossing that band will take you out of the medieval city and onto streets lined with 18^th century buildings including some traces communist architecture popping its head out from time to time.  Certainly walking the old town is a pleasurable experience with its churches, large square, and small intimate store fronts, but even outside of the old town roaming can be a pleasurable experience.  

Welcome to the Goodbye Lenin!

The New Years Eve celebration was in itself a pretty great time.  The first face I saw when entering the hostel was that of my brother Nate.  Just before entering I figured that he had probably showed up and left the hostel already, getting out on the town to see what the next few nights have in store, but to my surprise I caught him just before going out to pick up some beers so I had him pick up a couple for me.  The Goodbye Lenin Hostel rocked from the people working there to its convenient location next to the Jewish quarter.  Peace Corps Ukraine represented about half of the guests at the hostel.  That is a slight exaggeration but there was a very large group of volunteers from Ukraine present for the NYE celebration.  I was lucky to have had the chance to meet, hangout, and have extended chats with many of them.  Once again I’ve realized that the really great times that you have when traveling happen when you’re around like-minded people, open to new experiences.  You’re all just having a good time. 

A trip to Krakow isn’t complete without getting out of the city for one of those days and checking out Auschwitz.  A good part of the 2^nd of January was spent bussing it to the camp and roaming around the grounds with a tour guide.  There’s an informative museum at Auschwitz I with some pretty intense displays and the sheer size of Auschwitz II was imposing.  Images from Schindler List flashed through my head. 

The following day was Nate’s last day in the Krack.  We spent the day seeing more of the city including the National Museum where we pretended to be WWII soldiers and an English book store where I finally acquired some reading material for the trip (I had left my apartment to travel alone to Krakow without a book!).  I had decided to stay in Krakow until the 5^th instead of heading right back to Warsaw.  After seeing Nate off at the bus station on the 3^rd I had a couple more days of roaming around on my own seeing more of Krakow and then a bit of Warsaw.  

It poured those last couple of days dampening the mood that was already dampened when Nate and the rest of the PCU volunteers left to go back to their sites.  Every time this happens; the first couple of days following a nice long get-together you feel more alone than you’ve ever felt.  Even though it rained, I took the chance to put a good sized dent in the rather large book I had just purchased (The Shock Doctrine-Naomi Klein, you should read it if you haven’t already) while enjoying coffees or food in small cafés.  I also took the time to go through the museum of Nazi Occupation in Krakow which was located in Schindler’s factory.  While walking through that museum I realized that in the 2.5 years I’ve been in Europe I have only been to a few museums.  The 5^th was a long day of walking around the amazingly rebuilt old town of Warsaw to conclude my Polish NYE adventure.  

UNESCO Site, the Old Town Square in Warsaw rebuilt after being destroyed by the Nazis at the end of WWII

After three NYE celebrations, in three different European countries I’ve realized that they’ve all followed a pattern.  Each time I have seen new places, met new people, hung out with good friends, enjoyed the travel, but all centered around a big, all-night party.  On our tour through the old town I actually chatted with some people who recognized me from the hostel in Budapest for last year’s NYE celebration.  Not bad, the only question is, where to ring in the year 2013?

Christmas Eve

To celebrate Christmas this year I decided to prepare some traditional Romanian food, salata de boeuf and sarmale.  While chopping vegetables on Christmas eve I heard some loud noises coming from the street behind my block.  I quickly grabbed my camera and headed to my balcony to film the scene below.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Merry Christmas!

Ignat

            It’s that time of the year again.  The city is lit up, the nighttime air is spiced with cinnamon and cloves as the steam rises out of the warm glasses of wine, venders all around town are pushing goods of all shapes and sizes into the faces of eager consumers, and in the thousands of small villages peppering the countryside of Romania, pigs are dying.  “Ignat” takes place on the 20^th of December.  The word “Ignat” is actually the Romanian version of the name Ignatius and like most things Romanian, the 20^th of December has religious significance.  Even though the 20^th is the feast day of Saint Ignatius of Antioch the word is synonymous with the annual pig slaughter because of its convenient timing, 5 days before Christmas.  There’s just enough timing in between Ignat and Christmas to get the meat checked and ready to feast on after the long Christmas fast.  Due to the busy week schedule, the onrush of capitalism and the slow fading of tradition, the annual event of “Ignat” no longer actually takes place on the feast day of Ignatius, unless of course that day falls on the weekend.  This past weekend was the weekend before Ignat, and even though blood was spilled the courtyards of many country homes, good food and drink were offered in remembrance of the pig freshly slaughtered.

            It was about 9:30am on a Sunday morning in a small Romanian village that bears the name “Valley of the Monks” when three PCVs stumbled into Nico’s courtyard awaiting the feast day’s events.  The PCV’s were late and they had missed the actual killing of the pig.  They halted shortly after entering the gate with eyes fixed upon the scene.  There was an older man and a younger man each with torches in one hand and a knife in the other, burn scrape, burn scrape.  Despite their seemingly carelessness of where they set down their torches, it was clear that this wasn’t their first hot dance.  They were pros, and this was just one of their many pig slaughters of the season.  Soon after arriving, our host, busy with preparations of sorts, came out of the house with a large welcoming smile across his face.  In one hand he was holding a steaming pot and in the other he had a large tray with mugs.  After clearing off a spot on the nearby table he began to pour the not so clear liquid into the mugs and handed them out.  A morning cheers quickly followed and then we drank.  It had been two years since I had tasted tuica fierta and I had forgotten how much I had actually liked it.  My last taste of the drink took place at the same time of the year, while watching another pro clean a recently butchered pig, several hundred kilometers to the west.  Meanwhile, looking around the group I noticed that the one of the men working on the pig put his scraper down for his glass of tuica.  Tuica in one hand and a torch in the other, drink, burn, drink burn. 

Grandma cleaning out the intestines.

            After burning the hair off and cleaning and salting its skin, the men methodically began taking the pig apart starting with the head.  The first cut was the traditional cross cut in the head of the pig, reminding those present that they are thankful to God for the large healthy pig on the table.  The pig started as a 200+ kg mass on a table and in about a half hour all that was left on the table was one last flat slab of flesh.  I watched them pull the different parts of the pig off while standing next to my friend Jeremy who has a passion for food.  As they pulled off each part he explained what it was and what it is used for in the culinary world.  For him, knowing his way around food, it was obvious that seeing the slaughter was an interesting experience.  Meanwhile my other friend Aron was carefully documenting the activity by taking pictures, and our host Nico was lending a helpful hand to the professionals cutting the pig.  After all, it was all his meat.  Aside from the group, we were accompanied by some entertaining animals.  Between watching the butchers and chatting with Jeremy I was noticing the cats roaming around the scene slopping blood up off of the cold concrete.  Despite how domesticated an animal can be there are still instincts that kick in.

Pomana porcului was the culmination of the day’s activities.  Pomana porcului is the meal that the host offers those present who helped out with the slaughter.  Even though we didn’t help out very much we were guests and therefore we became direct beneficiaries of the delicious food served.  The meal consisted of some of the meat taken from the pig recently killed fried in fat from the pig.  There was also mamaliga, tuica and wine served, all products produced by the host.  Despite the cold, the meal was served at a table in the courtyard.  After enjoying the meal we continued to sit and enjoy the day and our great host Nico who brought out a pair gloves that he used to box with.  Back in the day Nico was one of Romania’s star boxers.  

For me, the event acted as a reminder of the beauty of the countryside.  After spending so much time in the city sometimes I forget how much I enjoy the fresh air, traditions, and hospitality that can be found not far beyond the limits of the city.  In some cases these traditions can also be found within city limits.  I remember walking to school on a cold morning before the winter break began last year and seeing torches lit in between city blocks at my old site.  Even though last weekend may have marked my final pomana porcului, it will not be the last time I make the trip to spend the day in the beautiful Romanian countryside.  In so many places in Romania the beauty of the countryside means incredible mountain scenery, rivers and lakes, but in so many more places in Romania the beauty of the countryside means much more than that.  It is the tradition, stories, and hospitality of the people who reside there.  

 Romania, te iubesc! 

Mărţişor

Being an English teacher in a foreign country you get to celebrate a lot of holidays. Of course you get to celebrate or at least recognize the host country holidays, but you are also charged with the responsibility of appropriately representing your own holidays and how they are celebrated. Here in Romania, English teachers are well into the spring holiday run even though spring hasn't really come yet. This run seems to start with St. Valentines Day which is followed by its Romanian counterpart ten days later, Dragobete. Fast-forward just five days and it's Martisor already which is followed by 8 Martie, or Mothers Day, one week later. The first week of March begins and ends with a celebration focused on women so I simply consider it woman's week. During that week I am more consciously polite to any women that I may encounter. Finally, ten days after 8 martie we arrive at one of my personal favorites, St Patty's Day. At the moment we are in the midst of woman's week so I'd like to say a few words about my favorite Romanian holiday, Mărţişor.

Mărţişor is a celebration of the beginning of spring. The first flower that brings in the season is the snow drop and it is given as a small gift on the first of March. Leading up to Martisor you begin to see stands pop up throughout town offering small gifts. The basic, cheap, Martisor gift is a small ornament in a box with a red and white string tied to it. This ornament can be pinned to ones shirt. There are also more complex Martisor gifts ranging from bouquets of flowers to various display ornaments. Whatever the gift is, cheap or more elaborate, it is always well appreciated. Martisor gifts are always given to women. Sorry guys. Many students will bring them to their women teachers, or male colleagues will give them to their women colleagues. Martisor technically means "little March" or "Dear March".


Last year, when I first saw Martisoare, they actually did seem to signify spring. I remember it being a nice spring day when I was looking through the piles of brightly colored ornaments, picking out some for my colleagues. The snow drops were a welcomed sight and I remember that I started seeing Crocuses on the Parang footpath only a week or two later. After the Crocuses came the Narcissus, my favorite springtime flower. Spring evolved and became, by far, my favorite time of the year here in the Jiu Valley. This year has already turned out to be a bit different. It was a colder, longer winter already and an end is not yet in sight. I can't complain too much as this type of weather is expected here and still, in the cold, I manage to have some pretty great outdoor adventures. Last year we were lucky to have an easy, mild, short-lived winter. Either way, I am eagerly waiting spring. During this year's Martisor I spent a little less time scanning the tables of gifts. There was a warm fruit tea calling my name nearby.

NYE- Budapest

It was an early idea but a late decision. About two weeks before the first of 2011 the hostel that was printed on our leave forms just happened to be booked, but not by us. The next hostel on the list was booked, and the next, and the next… Slightly panicked I continued down the list and found a few hostels not yet filled for New Years Eve but with a 4 night minimum stay, we only needed three: then there was Interflat Youth Hostel. No minimum stay, under 20 Euro, decent rating, decent location, BOOKED. It was a bit risky and I was a bit worried but it was the only option left.

The late decision made for a low participation. The email with NYE-Buda info went to many but in the end it was just two of us in Budapest, J and I. It was J’s first experience staying in a hostel and my second. Little did I know when I booked it that Interflat would be more than just one of twelve beds in a room, it would be the center of my Budapest experience.

After spending a night in Arad to break up my trip I took the early train to Budapest. It was another late decision to take the early train alone instead of the later one with J. I was able to get the most out of my leave day and get oriented in a new city. I decided to just wander around Budapest, settle into the hostel, get lost, found, and come up with a plan for that first night before J arrived at 8:50. On our way to the hostel I told J of a Balken party at a club that I kind of wanted to make it to. That plan fell though when we were shown the living room of the hostel. We peered in through the window of the small room and saw it filled with people drinking and singing. They waved us in and set up two small chairs in the corner for us where we were offered a drink. The room was split between a large group of Slovenians and a large group of Croatians. Added to the group now were two US citizens and a Canadian. It was there we stayed until the early hours of the morning getting to know our new friends, singing along to the occasional song played in English, and listening to two Slavic languages intertwine.

New Years Eve started with a late morning walk though the cold to catch a free walking tour which took us to a number of sites in Pest, including the Jewish quarter. On the tour we met Blair and Daniela, two students from Philadelphia on their last leg of a trip though central Europe. After the tour we ate some hummus and wandered though the Christmas market together until they left for a service at the grand synagogue. A hot wine and metro ride later we were back at the hostel getting ready for New Year’s Eve celebrations.

Much like the previous evening the plan was to go out into the center of the city, and just like the previous evening we didn’t make it. We were once again distracted by the partying of our fellow Interflatters only to a greater intensity, this time it included nice attire, earlier drinking, a wider variety of drinks, and more people brought in from other locations. Our spot was the spot. At about 11:30 people were finally getting ready to leave the hostel at least to check out some fireworks at the nearest square which offered them. I made it out with some Croatians but I can’t say the same for my partner J who I found a couple hours later sleeping. Like a champ he woke back up to hang out with the other Interflatters and myself until early morning. It ended up being a pretty awesome new years eve celebration that will not be forgotten.

The Budapest experience continued. Our train out wasn’t until the second of January so we still had the first to explore Budapest a bit more. We took another walking tour but this time to the Buda side where day turned to night and we could see the lights of Pest shining bright from up on the Buda hill. Even though we were cold and tired it was a pretty nice way to spend the first day of 2011. That night after a nice nap we went back out to eat some delicious Mexican food for dinner and get a beer at a pub. It was a much welcomed chill night out after a couple of crazy hostel nights. Thus ended our NYE-Budapest experience as the next day we simply packed up and headed out on a late-morning train.

Buldog uj evet!

Caroling circle

Before coming to Romania I was quite familiar with music circles. I may have joined a drum circle once or twice in my younger years but my lack of rhythm usually left me on the periphery enjoying the sounds produced by slightly more skilled musicians. One of my favorite memories of my college years took place at the Hogue's residence. I would enter the room and see at least 3 guitars, maybe some bongo drums, and whatever else they had there to make music with. The furniture was arranged around a center table and we just happened to be sitting in a circle, the music was flowing. One activity that would pop up at times was a song where we went around the room and everyone had to improvise a verse. Even though I wasn't very good at this I really liked hearing what people came up with and well, in that environment you didn't have to be good at it, it was just fun. I was reminded about these "music circles" last night when I took a nice winter walk through the park.

Over the past few weeks it has seemed like night has been falling on Petrocity so fast. Even though I have caught glimpses of the pretty lights and the evening winter activities, I haven't yet taken the time to just wander through town and enjoy the holiday spirit. I kept on telling myself when I returned home from school "tonight I'll get bundled up and take a walk through town" but when the time came it just seemed so much nicer to stay in the house. Last night the conditions were perfect.

It was about 5:30pm when I was reminded of the night's special event. Earlier yesterday, on my way to school, my Romanian teacher offered me a ride in a taxi that she was taking to school. She was on her way to rehearse some carols with students. It was in that cab when she informed me that at 6:00pm she would be in the park with some students caroling. At 5:30 I started bundling up and by 5:45 I was out the door where I quickly realized that it was a beautiful night. It wasn't super cold like it had been the day before, and it was snowing a bit. While walking through town I could feel the holiday spirit. Petrocity is decked out in Christmas lights on its main street which stretches for about 3 km. There were people doing Christmas shopping, grocery shopping, going out to restaurants, or just walking with their friends. I had a destination in mind. My destination was the park. The park in Petrocity is pretty extraordinary at the moment. It's covered in Christmas lights with the main concentration of lights at the fountain. Each light post has a speaker pumping out holiday tunes. In the center of the park you see a very large tree decorated with lights and a star at its peak. Next to the tree there is a nativity scene with some sheep there eating hay. Finally, next to the tree I saw the group of people standing together.

I expected to see something like a chorus concert. My Romanian teacher told me that other schools were involved as well. What I saw was a music circle, in fact it was a caroling circle.

I would say that caroling is big in Romania. Last year some kids came knocking on my door and as I opened it they began singing Romanian carols. I listened with a smile and I reached into my pockets. As they finished I handed them each one leu and thanked them for the holiday spirit. This year there were two big, back to back activities at my school both involving Christmas caroling. A tradition that I've heard of that I haven't had a chance to participate in is caroling on Christmas eve. People of all ages form small groups and go around to the houses of people they know where they sing Christmas carols and then they are invited in, fed delicious food, and they sip on warm wine or tuica. When I took some time to think about these traditions I realized that something similar hits close to home. These seem to be Orthodox traditions. I remembered Russian Christmas on the 7th of January going to church and the a nice dinner afterwords in the church hall. After the dinner we would come home and my parents would put cookies and drinks out on the table, we were expecting carolers. A family from the church would come by the house on every Russian Christmas and they sang carols and chatted with us for a while before going to the next house.

When I arrived at the circle I met up with my Romanian teacher and some of her students. They were students that I had seen caroling earlier that day at our school. When it was time for Colegiul Tehnica to go the group stepped up and started their carols. One of the students brought a guitar and with it he led the group through a number of carols. At one point they called me up to help them sing "We wish you a Merry Christmas". I was embarrassed that I didn't know all of the lyrics, just the chorus. I would say that the group from Colegiul Tehnica did a fine job. The other high schools followed and by the end everybody in the circle was singing to close the event.

I continued my leisurely walk through the city passing by the temporary ice rink and the market which was closed for the evening. Finally I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a couple things before returning home. It ended up being a great night to see the lights, feel the Christmas spirit in town, and I got some shopping done as well. Sarbatori Fericite!

Easter in Botiza

Standing in a dark church holding on to an unlit candle I was surrounded by old women 2/3 my height and twice my width. This is where I was at 5am, April 4th, 2010 when the voice of a priest began to chant from behind the golden colored wall in the church. As one dim light appeared from the same location all of the small bunicas(grandmothers) around me became restless. The light grew brighter and the voice louder when a great movement of these short, dark figures around me enclosed in on a point several feet in front of me. Finally the light appeared at the top of a long candle held by a white bearded priest. The bunica’s short stature worked to their disadvantage as the light was held up just out of reach of their stretching, candle holding arms. At the priest’s willing he brought the candle just low enough to appease the stretching arms and thus lit up the entire church with the help of several elders passing their lights to the others in the church, including me.
Even though it was 5am on a non-caffeinated Sunday morning I felt wide awake after stepping outside the door to the sharp teeth of the biting cold Maramures morning. That morning it seemed as if spring had not yet sprung but it worked to my advantage in shocking me awake, enough to carefully observe some of the traditions still kept in that part of the country during their most important religious ceremony. The ceremony didn’t stop or start in that church at 5am in the morning, but as the church rapidly turned from dark to light I stopped for a moment to consider the significance. I didn’t know exactly what the significance was at the time but I could easily tell that it was a significant moment for everyone involved.
Soon after arriving in Romania I learned about Maramures. I learned that it is a place where some of the deepest Romanian traditions are kept. I also learned that it is home to the famous “Merry Cemetery”. My visit to Maramures introduced me to beautiful landscapes, beautiful life, and beautiful people. A fellow Peace Corps volunteer in Botiza openly welcomed me into his home without even knowing me very well, showing me the kind of hospitality that many of us volunteers have received from Romanians.
The 4 full days I spent in Maramures were an even mix of relaxation and activity, with days balancing between reading-time and beautiful country hikes. Even though it was a bit chilly, one of my favorite parts of the day was starting a fire in the soba before it got dark. What more could I ask for in a spring break? Delicious Romanian food. We were not at all let down by the food, eating our hearts out on snitel, pasca and cakes after the long Easter morning. I can't finish the blogpost without mentioning the midday walk that we took to the edge of town only to be stopped by a neighbor that we sat with, practiced our Romanian, watched his kids play soccer, and of course drank horinka.

First Picture: Looking down on Botiza from a nearby hilltop.
Second Picture: Looking down on Easter morning service in the cemetery above the church.

St. Patty's Day Message from Mom

Top of the mornin' to all you American born Peace Corps volunteers residing in Romania who have some Irish blood in them even though their last name may sound more like Russian, like say Matusick and who take a likin' to a good Irish band like,say one named The Town Pants which just so happens to be rolling into a small town in upstate New York round about tomorrow nite, a tad late for Saint Patty's Day, but better late than never. I'll be thinkin' of my green beer lovin', green blazer wearin', part green blood smilin' eyed son in a special way today. Love, Mom

Have a wonderful St. Patrick's Day everyone! I'm listening to The Town Pants right now!

Picture: St. Patty's Day at the Snooty Pig in Corning New York, 2008. The blazer, the beer, the music, the festivities, and the friends made for an incredible, memorable experience.

Botez

This weekend I attended a Romanian baptism(botez) for the 2nd time since I've been here. The baptism is one of those traditions that both Romanians and volunteers have told me not to pass up an invitation to.

First I attended the ceremony at noon. It was all that one would expect out of a baptism ceremony. There were family and friends present, priests praying, naked baby, and only a little bit of crying. It made me realize that I have never actually seen a baptism in the US, or maybe I just don't remember attending one. In a Romanian baptism the godparents have a very important role. They are the ones who bring the baby, hold it throughout the ceremony, dry it off, and cloth it after the dunking. The actual parents of the baby just sit back, watch, and take pictures as the ceremony progresses. Less than an hour later I was back at home waiting for the party to start and realizing that that was the first time I had been in a church in Petrosani.

The party was a blast.

I showed up there with my counterpart at about three and I left at at about ten. When I arrived I was greeted by the father of the baby, I congratulated the mother and presented her with a small gift for Tudor. My table was the furthest table from the family of the baby, but I sat with some people that I was relatively familiar with so I felt pretty welcomed. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was at the dancing table. As part of the dancing table I felt that it was my duty to get up and show off some moves, especially when the classic American medley came on. "Lets do the twist." I'll admit that I don't quite cut the rug on the dance floor but that was OK at this particular event because the father of the kids that I tutor happened to be the life of the party with his creative dance moves, loud yelling and whistling(he's Moldovan), and overall celebratory spirit. He's automatically invited to my wedding, whenever it may be. I am learning to love Romanian dance, and even some Romanian pop music. I can finally do the slowed down version of the sarba (when it speeds up I get lost) and I may like that more than my previous favorite, the Brasovanca.

One dance that really caught my eye, from the seat at my table, was this slowed down version of the sarba that included a towel and kissing. In the middle of the dance circle someone stands with a small towel. That person chooses one of the dancers and puts the towel around their neck to pull them to the center of the circle. The towel is then put on the ground, both people kneel down on the towel, and kiss each others cheeks. The person chosen before, now has the opportunity to choose someone. This all happens as people are dancing around them. It was fun to watch but suddenly I found myself being pulled in from my table which was conveniently located next to the dance floor. Tudor's mother decided to pull me in from outside the circle and include me in yet another traditional dance. I'm not one to enjoy being the center of attention but I got some kisses out of it.

The food was great. We started out with some appetizers which included a small plate with three different kinds of ham, salami, cheese, branza, and a tomato. Next came the fish which I haven't quite mastered how to eat yet, but I'm getting better. After the fish we waited a while until the ciorba came out. After more time on the dance floor the main course came out which included some chicken, pork, rice, cabbage salad, and mashed potatoes. By that time we had been eating and drinking with a lot of long dancing breaks for close to 8 hours. On my way out I was handed some cake to take home with me.

I had a great time throughout the whole experience. After two baptisms I have learned that it is a very big deal in Romania, it brings people together, everybody has a great time, there's lots of good food and drink, and dancing is a must. I left the party very happy for several reasons previously mentioned, but also because I spent my entire time there in the Romanian language. Though there was a lot dancing there was also a lot of speaking and I came out of the party with a sense of accomplishment after speaking so much in Romanian, being able to say all that I wanted to say, and being understood by my neighbors at my table.
La Multi Ani!

Happy New Year Serbia!

The New Years Eve celebration this year was an interesting one. I will briefly explain the excursion from my point of view. Later on, an official account will be released, one that attempts to compile all 5 versions of the 3 days in Belgrade, Serbia.
That's right, we decided to go to Belgrade, Serbia to welcome 2010. That is the same Belgrade that was bombed by the United States and NATO a little over a decade ago. Though there were a few Serbians that, when they found out we were Americans, couldn't help but mention the bombing, there were also very many Serbians that we met who were extremely friendly to us.

I would say that the trip officially began early in the morning of the 30th when all 5 brave volunteers came together in the "cold man bar." By the time that the last of the 5 showed up, the others had moved into the warm room and were playing the card game dubbed "Cizme" because the original name of the game, "Claim" was too hard to remember. After a short 5am run-in with a deliquent adolescent and a prostitute the group decided to move to the tracks to wait for their train. The train was on time but one of the 5 felt the need to rush to the wagon. In his hurry the volunteer stepped in one of the many potholes that pepper the common Romanian train-station asphalt spraining his ankle. This was the first casualty of the trip and it would haunt the volunteer the following day during his 3 hour repetitive hike around New Belgrade.
The Timisoara-Belgrade train ride was rather uneventful comprising of some naptime and some angry Serbian customs officials at the border. After getting off the train the 5 went on a search for the "too good to be true" hostel that they had previously booked for the busy New Year weekend. After 3 hours of walking, a creepy Serbian asking them to stay in his apartment, one bus stop, and a couple wine breaks, they learned that the hostel was in fact "too good to be true." At that point they went where any PC volunteer would go for a place to stay, the 5-star Continental Hotel.
Now that the group had a roof over their heads they all laid down and took a nice long nap. Later on that night they ate at a very nice, but not overly priced Italian restaurant where all but one ordered a 4 cheese pasta. After dinner they played some cards and got some much needed rest for the New Years Eve events the following day.
The day of New Years Eve was a busy one for the group. It was their day to see as much of Belgrade that they could before preparing for the night's events. Much time was spent at the large citadel that overlooked both the Sava and the Danube rivers. At the citadel the guys got their gun fix, climbing over the old tanks and anti-aircraft cannons that were on display. Next the group headed toward the center of town passing through the Bohemian district, eating a quick lunch, and getting rained on. They stopped at an impressively large McDonalds to get a coffee and wait out the rain. As darkness fell, the group passed by St. Sava's Cathedral and found the Tesla museum to complete their walk through Belgrade. A 400 dinar cab ride followed so they could quickly get back to the hotel and start preparing for the nights events.
Fastforward through preparation.
The group was back in the center of town in their finest dress and well on their way to a semi-blurry New Year's Eve celebration. Unfortunately they were separated because they had to take separate cabs. Luckily one of the girls set out in a search for the others to reunite the group, she succeeded. After getting a couple of drinks the group worked their way closer to the stage were they found a premium pocket of spectators to ring in the new year with. They watched a wicked cool concert in a language that they didn't understand surrounded by American loving university students who were gladly sharing their rum and rakia with their new American friends. The PCRo volunteers did their own special Romanian New Year countdown followed by a "La Multi Ani," and another countdown an hour later with the rest of the crowd. The second countdown celebrated the Serbian New Year and was followed by an impressive fireworks display. A small series of events following the Serbian New Year separated the group. In the hours that followed one couple went to a pizza place where they were presented with free scotch, free pizza, and a couple free slaps to the face. The other couple refused to get screwed over by a cab driver and one of them paid with a punch in the face. They eventually all rejoined at the hotel to chat a little and pass out after a long night. All but one. The missing one arrived with perfect timing early the next morning after an even longer night with some Serbian friends that he made.
On the first day of 2010 the group slowly packed up and checked out of the Continental. The nearby mall was closed so they made their way to the train-station and prepared themselves to leave Belgrade. Unfortunately for them their departure was much further away than planned. Their train left the station an hour and a half late and slowly crawled toward Romania. Three hours after the scheduled departure Belgrade was still visible. At one point the group spotted smoke billowing out of the engine of the train and in a bit of a panic slipped their shoes on expecting to soon be evacuated. Eventually the smoke stopped and the next problem was a group of rowdy drunk Serbians harassing them. One of the 5 volunteers referred to their group as "monkeys in a cage." Despite the annoyances the volunteers were in good spirits, passing the spiked cola bottle and laughing about their adventures. Finally the border was reached and a sigh of relief came over the group. "We've finally made it home," one of the 5 uttered. At least one of the newer volunteers thought of Romania as their "home" for the first time after arriving less than a year earlier.

New Year's Eve 2010 was certainly a memorable one. I can now add Serbia to my short list of countries that I've visited. With all that happened, a sprained ankle, punches in the face, getting poured on, fake hostel, the spirits remained high throughout the adventure and upon arrival in Romania the group consensus was that we had a great time.

Cutting the pig

In concert with my last blog post "A trip to the countryside" I am again writing about the countryside with this post. In the last post I was in a small village in the foothills of the Retezat Mountains in Southern Transylvania, this time I ventured into the cold, flat, south of Romania to a part of the country better known as Oltenia. In the last post I went to the countryside seeking the traditional experience of making tuica. Once again I went out seeking another traditional experience practiced in villages all over the country just before Christmas, cutting the pig. I had been in Petroşani less than 24 hours after being gone for 10 days when I left for the village. Though I was tired of traveling with Romania's sometimes uncertain train system I jumped back on a personnel and headed south. It was an experience that I really did not want to miss.
Site-mate had invited me to the countryside with his Director and her husband. It was a chance for me not only to witness one of Romania's traditions(something I wouldn't be able to see anywhere else), but also to meet some new people and spend time with friends. I arrived on a Tuesday and the main event was on Thursday, giving me a day to relax and get accustomed to my new, temporary environment. That day was mostly spent watching TV and eating delicious food. The extreme weather was the topic of discussion on all of the news stations as Romania was getting hit pretty hard with snow that week. Site-mate and I did get to spend some time out in the cold splitting some wood. In the evening we talked about events to come the following day and our emotions about it. We were both pretty nervous. For me, it was the first time that I would actually take part in the killing of an animal. We had seen the pig. It was a large, strong animal and we were worried about what it would take to hold it down when it was being cut. An early morning awaited us.
It was still dark when we woke up and had our coffee. Before I was done with it we were herded out of the kitchen toward the backyard where the pigpen was. Pisto was the conductor. He had done this sort of thing many times before during holidays and special events. The day before, we had watched him sharpen the knives and at that moment we were to watch him put them to use. The neighbor entered the pen with a rope. Still dark outside I couldn't tell what he was doing in the pitch black pen but I began to hear the pigs reaction. I noticed what was happening when he emerged tugging on the rope. We all put a hand in to help pull the pig out of the pen and drag it to a post nearby. After the rope was securely tied to the post our task was to flip the pig over. I grabbed at one of the hind legs and in unison with the others we managed to get the pig on to its back. It was hard to secure the hind legs. The pig was strong and kicking, and the legs were wet and slippery. I also had some trouble getting my footing in the snow. It took both of us, site-mate and I, to get a good hold on the back legs when Pisto cut the pig. From that point on it got easier, though a good hold was needed for the last strong kicks. It was 6 or 7 minutes after the neck was cut when we saw the final spasm and a pool of blood stained the snow around its head. The sun had risen.
The slaughtering of the pig took the entire rest of the day. First we moved the pig closer to the house and positioned it on its belly so that it could be torched. The first time around with the torch burnt the hair off and the next couple of times were meant to clean the skin. I was able to lend a hand in during this part, scraping the skin with a knife. After the entire pig was clean, the slaughtering began. First the hooves came off, and then the head came off. A stench rose out of the body when it was cut open and the intestines were exposed. The intestines were cleaned out and used later as casing for the meat. Pisto knew exactly what to do and when. He knew where each organ was, were to put it, how to cut the pig, what to do with each section, I just sat back and watched. Before long, all the meat was separated and ready for the next step. After dinner Pisto mixed up the meat and put it through the processor that he had hooked a motor up to. Next he mixed the correct spices into the different processed meats, and finally we all worked together to put the meat into the casings(intestines). It was a long day and I simply watched through most of it, but I gladly lent a hand when I could. With some things, the best way to learn is to participate.
I spent the next three days doing what I did on the first, relaxing and eating delicious food. We also did some shoveling as the snow continued to fall and the wind continued to blow. My newly learned Romanian phrase from the week was bate vântul (strong wind). In Petroşani the mountains shield us from strong winds but in the south where it is flat there is nothing there to stop the wind from blowing you over, or at least piling snow up against your gate.
I understand that to many people the idea of killing a pig sounds horrible and maybe a bit barbaric. In Romania it is a widely accepted tradition that takes place in the weeks leading up to Christmas. It is not a form of sacrifice, or pleasure, it is simply what it is. In about a year's time the pig is raised to be killed and eaten. It is fresh and healthy. Many Romanians that I have talked to since coming to this country take pride in their food. They have welcomed me into their homes and fed me some of the best food that I have ever eaten. They talk about how their food is fresh and made at home. Everything that I have eaten over the past week has been either made there at that small home in the village or made by a neighbor, from the wine in the basement to the fresh pork in the backyard. Being able to get to the countryside to observe, learn, and participate has already made PC Romania a very valuable cross-cultural experience for me.