Cod Portocaliu

Bucharest, and all of Romania, got hit with a hard winter so far this year.  It all started in late January with snow blanketing the city.  There was so much snow actually, that all US Embassy and Peace Corps employees had a day and a half off while in some Romanian counties students had the better half of the week off... “SNOW DAY”!  It didn’t stop there.  The first storm of pretty steady snowfall lasted three or four days and was followed by georgeus days if you’re seeing them from a warm place with a hot cocoa.  The sun was shining bright and the air could freeze your lungs.  That period was followed by another two or three days of snow, and another period of nice, then the last major snow came again at the beginning of this week.  The weather ahead looks sunny for quite a few days and people are beginning to recover from the storms.  

If you’re reading this and you’re not Romanian then you are probably wondering what “Cod Portocaliu”, the title of this post means.  In Romania, and I believe throughout all of Europe, there is a color code describing the severity of weather conditions and "Cod Portocaliu" meands "Code Orange" in English.  Its kind of like the terror threat scale in the US.  News flashes of the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security would flash across the screen and you would hear the anchorman/woman spouting code yellow or code orange meaning that we should all be oneshade darker frightened.  The Terror Threat (TT)advisory code (which was phased out in 2011) is actually very similar to the weather advisory code in Romania.  Today is code green and no one seems to know or care.  Code green is not spouted over the news because code green means that you don’t have to be alert for any weather-related hardships today.  Code green is also the TT level that you never really heard of because it actually meant that there is no threat.  In the TT code there is also a blue (guarded) but after blue the threats follow the same succession as the weather threats in Romania, yellow (watch out), orange (you’re already buried in snow), red (I don’t want to know).  

My personal experience through a good chunk of the 2012 snow extravaganza of Bucharest took place in my small studio apartment as I was sick for all of last week.  Luckily, before getting sick I had the chance to get out and to “dau cu punga”.  “Dau cu punga” translates word for word to “give with a bag” and while all you language learners out there know that you usually can’t translate word for word you can probably figure  this one out by the context; sled riding with a plastic bag instead of a sled. Now, if you have ever been to Bucharest you may be a bit confused.  Many fellow volunteers have asked me “You can sled ride in Bucharest, isn’t it flat there?”.  Well Buc is pretty flat but there is a perfect sled riding hill in Parcul Tineretului, large enough and steep enough to catch some speed but still easy to climb up, allowing the maximum number of quality runs in an evening.  

Now that my cold has passed I have gotten a chance to get out in the city, walk to work, and view the destruction.  The main streets are in good shape for cars but walking is a workout regardless of how far you have to go.  Some sidewalks are clean but most are not and walking means trudging through soft wet snow.  Its a similar feeling to walking through sand and personally I prefer running through it.  Its on the smaller streets that the negative effects of the snowfall resist.  By this time, a few days after the last snowfall, there are paths or some clean sidewalks on the side, but in classic Bucharest style usually you’ll find a car parked on the sidewalk forcing you to walk in the road.  This is where it gets tricky.  On the small streets, the normally narrow two lane road becomes a one lane road after a snow storm.  Even though its a one lane road many people still use it as a two way road and you often see two stubborn drivers facing each other honking there horns refusing to give way.  If one driver decides to let the other driver pass how does that driver do so?  They either must back all the way up to the last intersection they crossed or risk getting stuck trying to turn around.  Lets say you’re forced to walk in this area where the cars go.  You must walk in the middle of the road through snow that once again, give you the feeling that you are walking through sand.  Its enticing to walk through the car tracks where the snow isn’t as deep but if you dare put two feet down in that area then you are falling.  The tracks consist of a thin layer of snow covering several inches of thick uneven ice.  I’ve gone down twice so far, once in then middle of an intersection.  

Day one of walking to the Peace Corps office this week I took a new, beautiful route to mix things up.  Along my route I saw many picture worthy moments of buried cars, cars on sidewalks, nice winter city scenes.  I also ended up helping to push three cars that got stuck on the small streets.  Day two of walking to the PC office I decided to bring my camera and here are some of the shots.  

Happy Valentine's Day

The frustrated walker

Piata Alba Iulia

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! 

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!

A new word for winter- Viscoli

VISCOLÍ, pers. 3 viscolește, vb. IV. Intranz. A bate un vânt puternic cu ninsoare sau cu lapoviță. ♦ Tranz. (Despre vânt) A spulbera și a troieni (succesiv) zăpada. – Din viscol.
Sursa: DEX '98

So when you're walking along and the wind is blowing so hard that it is blowing the snow off the ground and into your face. = viscoleste



Ernest walking on "pamantul viscolit" - ground that the snow has been blown off of by high speed winds.

Even after one and a half years in Romania rarely does a day go by that I don't learn something new about the language. As Ernest and I were hiking in Parang yesterday I learned the above word. Winter has arrived with force here in Romania and Europe. The map of Romania is painted yellow and the mountain is painted white. The last couple of weeks has brought several centimeters of snow to town and even more to the mountain. Yesterday I bundled up while sipping on my morning coffee excited to finally get up to the mountain after a month of having other things to do on the weekends. A whole month off the mountain just doesn't feel right.

The sun poked through a bit in the morning but by the time we were in the cab toward the chair lift it was long gone not to return. We decided to play it safe and walk the road from the bottom of the chairlift to the top. The entire road was covered in snow but occasionally we would see a courageous driver, the car slowly climbing up with sporadic traction as it passed us by. We even saw one Dacia climbing up the snow covered switchbacks.

High powered winds, the occasional friendly dog, and good conversation carried us up the road to IEFS where we searched for a good coffee and found packed cabins instead. After starting our trek down we found a nice quiet place to have a coffee. The trip down was a blast. We decided to take the shortcut instead of the road where we slid much of the way down (step-slide, step-slide). We where having so much fun that Ernest asked me if I wanted to try going down "zidul mortii"(the wall of the dead). On our way to "the wall" we met up with some adrenaline loving kids and with them, Ernest and I slid down the slope through the fresh snow on our buts.

Welcome winter!

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!

Istanbul Round 1

I had to title this Istanbul Round 1 because I'm sure that there will be more Turkish fun to come.

A month has passed since I returned from my trip to Istanbul. I’ve had a month to come down off my high and take a realistic look at the trip as a whole. I would not consider myself a city person by any means but as soon as I returned from Istanbul I would have said that I plan on living there someday. Not only have I returned from the greatest city that I’ve ever visited but in the past month I have also returned from the high of such a great experience. Even though I can see myself living in Istanbul someday that vision is temporary and I know that I would much rather spend my later years in a much more quite place.

I have seen a recurring theme in my journals when I write about places I have visited. I travel to see places but what makes the trip an experience is the people that I see, meet, and travel with. This theme held true for Istanbul.

My original draw to Istanbul was it’s history. It is one of those cities that I’ve heard much about in global history courses with its unique location on two continents, owning the center of an ancient empire and major trade routes from Asia to Europe. These aspects give Istanbul a cultural importance that no other place on Earth can share. It was incredible standing under the dome of Haghia Sofia witnessing a clash of religions with Orthodox mosaics situated in between huge pendants depicting calligraphy of major Islamic prophets. Walking through the cisterns I couldn’t help but think about how people transported huge columns into the pit. The significance of the Medusa columns, whatever it was, looked me straight in the eye and very briefly turned me to stone. Looking back on my week these fascinations that I had before I went are pushed to the background when reflecting upon my experience.

The People

I had a wonderful opportunity to get to know some fellow Peace Corps volunteers that I have previously only briefly met. Each volunteer that I meet has a unique and interesting story. They bring different perspectives, ideas, and experiences to a conversation. Those volunteers that I spent some time to get to know in Istanbul have a year of Peace Corps experience over me, and they are about to move on to that next step in their lives. Not only did they story me about their pre-PC lives, but they also advised me by telling me about their PC experiences and entertained me with their hopes and fears for changes to come.

Those that I not only met but became friends with in Istanbul hold a special place in my memory and will be my draw back to the city. The barman that first served me a coffee, secondly, serenaded me with his musical talent, and thirdly, enjoyed the city with my group and I throughout the week. The girls that we fortunately met the first night allowing us enough time to see the city in a number of different lights. The Auzi that I shared several conversations with not only learning about her, but also finding a different perspective of turistic Istanbul day after day.

The strangers on the street. Men that remain nameless but did not fail to entertain me with their stories and their antics performed in great effort to get me to spend my money at their place. I learned from them importance of service and persistence. There was always someone that wanted to talk to me even if it was only because of the dollar signs they saw painted on me.

I went to Istanbul thinking that a week would be enough time, but now I realize that a time limit can be placed on a location and its landmarks but a time limit should never be placed on people and culture. I had only a taste of Istanbul and I plan to return for more. Walking back to the hostel after a day of adventuring site-mate said to me, “this is city is not like most cities, this city has a pulse”. Its that pulse, more than just landmarks that stand strong throughout the years, that will bring me back to Istanbul.

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.