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!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
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 Serbia
n 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. Muc
h 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 imp
ressive 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.
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 Serbia
n 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. Muc
h 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 imp
ressive 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.
Monday, December 21, 2009
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 Romania
ns 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.
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 Romania
ns 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.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A trip to the countryside.
When I decided to join the Peace Corps I had in mind what I think many applicants have in mind, rural life. I had that mental image of me having to leave my grass hut in sub-Saharan Africa to fetch water 3 km away. Two months into service I would finally learn the secret to getting it back on my head without spilling a drop. Well I did not get sent to Africa and I did not get sent to a rural site. After my first week in Targoviste I realized that those images of Peace Corps that I had had been squashed. The dream of living in the countryside was revived during my IST when I saw the site of a fellow volunteer in a comuna. When I found out that I was going to be sent to a city, a little part of me was bummed. I thought that I’d never get to experience those neat traditions that they have in the countryside, cutting the pig, making stacks of hay, making cheese, making tuica, raising animals, the list can go on and on. I expressed my concerns to my PCVL’s and they assured me that it is still possible to experience many of 
those things if you live in a city. Their advice was to ask, and to be persistent.
I have been at site for three months and I have been asking my landlord to take me with him to the countryside for 2 and a half of those months. Last weekend I finally had the chance to go with him. Luckily for me the plums had been setting, rotting since early September and it was time to make them into ţuica.
We went to a little village called Nucşoara at the foothills of the Retezat Mountains about 30 minutes from Petroşani by car. The first thing I noticed when we were inside the gate was the animals. My landlord’s parents have roosters, hens, chickens, pigs, dogs, cows, geese, horses, and cats. The roosters and hens walk around freely while most of the other animals are kept in their gated areas. Christi worked with a friend on building a railing. I just watched and ate pumpkin seeds that his mother gave me, shoving handfuls into my pockets. I would occasionally lend a hand when it was needed until Christi’s dad started splitting wood. I adopted the job of stacking the wood. At that point I realized that it had been a very long time since I had done some actual work. Stacking wood never felt so good. The gorgeous day and beautiful scenery helped.
After the porch railing was finished and we ate lunch, the caruţa was backed up to the opening of the shed. We started loading on the rotten plums. These plums had been sitting in barrels for 2 and a half months and we were passing them in small buckets, transferring them and all their juices into large barrels on the caruţa. I admit that all their juices didn’t make it to the barrels. My clothes soaked up quite a bit. After the caruţa was loaded the horses were brought out and hooked up. My first caruţa ride was about to begin. I sat on some of the many logs piled in the back as we made our way down the road. We didn’t have to travel too far when we arrived at a small shack inside a gate. This small shack was the ţuica shed. It had a large area where the fire was made and the wood was loaded. Above the fire was the container that the fruit went in which had a crank nearby so that the fruit could always be turned as it boiled. A long tube connected the main section to a large container of cold water. Finally at the bottom of the cold water container was an opening at which a pot was set to collect the ţuica.
It took a while to get the fire hot and the fruit boiling but once it began to spit out ţuica it didn’t stop. Once it starts to yield product the testing begins. As the taste started to get bad, less strong, it was time to wash out the container and put in another batch of fruit. This cycle repeated until all the fruit was gone and we came out with several liters of ţuica.
I had the great opportunity to catch a glimpse of a tradition that’s practiced every year in the Romanian countryside. I could have never pictured myself sitting in a shack making alcohol with mostly strangers in the countryside of Romania. I’m sure it was strange for them to see an American, maybe their first, hanging out in the shack with them, but everybody was welcoming to me despite the fact that I didn’t understand a lot of what they were saying. I hope that this was one of many traditional Romanian experiences that I am able write about.
those things if you live in a city. Their advice was to ask, and to be persistent.I have been at site for three months and I have been asking my landlord to take me with him to the countryside for 2 and a half of those months. Last weekend I finally had the chance to go with him. Luckily for me the plums had been setting, rotting since early September and it was time to make them into ţuica.
We went to a little village called Nucşoara at the foothills of the Retezat Mountains about 30 minutes from Petroşani by car. The first thing I noticed when we were inside the gate was the animals. My landlord’s parents have roosters, hens, chickens, pigs, dogs, cows, geese, horses, and cats. The roosters and hens walk around freely while most of the other animals are kept in their gated areas. Christi worked with a friend on building a railing. I just watched and ate pumpkin seeds that his mother gave me, shoving handfuls into my pockets. I would occasionally lend a hand when it was needed until Christi’s dad started splitting wood. I adopted the job of stacking the wood. At that point I realized that it had been a very long time since I had done some actual work. Stacking wood never felt so good. The gorgeous day and beautiful scenery helped.
After the porch railing was finished and we ate lunch, the caruţa was backed up to the opening of the shed. We started loading on the rotten plums. These plums had been sitting in barrels for 2 and a half months and we were passing them in small buckets, transferring them and all their juices into large barrels on the caruţa. I admit that all their juices didn’t make it to the barrels. My clothes soaked up quite a bit. After the caruţa was loaded the horses were brought out and hooked up. My first caruţa ride was about to begin. I sat on some of the many logs piled in the back as we made our way down the road. We didn’t have to travel too far when we arrived at a small shack inside a gate. This small shack was the ţuica shed. It had a large area where the fire was made and the wood was loaded. Above the fire was the container that the fruit went in which had a crank nearby so that the fruit could always be turned as it boiled. A long tube connected the main section to a large container of cold water. Finally at the bottom of the cold water container was an opening at which a pot was set to collect the ţuica.
It took a while to get the fire hot and the fruit boiling but once it began to spit out ţuica it didn’t stop. Once it starts to yield product the testing begins. As the taste started to get bad, less strong, it was time to wash out the container and put in another batch of fruit. This cycle repeated until all the fruit was gone and we came out with several liters of ţuica.
I had the great opportunity to catch a glimpse of a tradition that’s practiced every year in the Romanian countryside. I could have never pictured myself sitting in a shack making alcohol with mostly strangers in the countryside of Romania. I’m sure it was strange for them to see an American, maybe their first, hanging out in the shack with them, but everybody was welcoming to me despite the fact that I didn’t understand a lot of what they were saying. I hope that this was one of many traditional Romanian experiences that I am able write about.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
ne daţi sau nu ne daţi
This is what my students said to me when I started the Halloween unit in school about a week and a half before the holiday. It is also what they said to me when they came knocking at the door the night before Halloween. The Romanian version of "Trick or Treat" actually translates to "give to us or don't give to us." It's not exactly the same, but I got the point. Halloween is considered an "American" holiday here. It is mostly known about from TV, films, and volunteer English teachers from the USA.My counterpart has been doing a good job in bringing a cultural element to her English classes by celebrating Halloween, Thanksgiving, and St. Valentines day in previous years. She also happens to be the one that applied to get an American volunteer in her school. My job in the Romanian Halloween party business was to bring personal experiences as an American helping to celebrate an "American" holiday. My most recent Halloween experience had been two righteous parties last year posing as half of an award winning pair, Jay and Silent Bob (credit to Silent Bob for not speaking during the entire party). I had a feeling my Halloween experience this year would be quite I bit different and it might be best to leave Jay back in Corning.
Thursday I had three events on the weekend's agenda but I still hadn't found a costume. Looking through photos online I found a quick and easy solution, Julius Caesar. I was a pro at tying the sheet up by the end of the weekend. I picked some leaves off the bush outside for a crown and I pulled my sandals out of storage to complete my costume.
Anticipating the party on Friday was a hallway full of students painting each others faces while I was working with others at putting the finishing touches on the room's decorations. There were some amazing costumes. We looked at a presentation that I had prepared in which the picture of the Haunted House was the main attraction and then I played a scary 5 minute video that a student of mine prepared about characters in horror films. What is a Halloween party without bobbing for apples? It was one of the hits of our party. What is a Romanian Halloween party without diplomas? I received my first Romanian diploma on Friday. The party was a hit, but we'll make it better next year. Later on that evening I attended site-mate's party which was very similar just with small students, and more Jack O'Lanters. I left his party with a candy bar of which I had no choice but to give up when a group of Trick-or-Treaters knocked on my door that night. Students from my class who had seen me outside of my block on previous occasions decided to make Jack O'Lanteres and dress up in costume seeking me out for some free candy. I gave it to them even though I thought that my neighbors, who were getting knocks on their doors, might not be as welcoming to the tradition.
My big Halloween excitement was yet to come. Castelul Corvinestilor was my next destination. Google it, the images are enough to give you goosebumps. Apparently Vla
d Tepes (inspiration for Bram Stoker's "Dracula") had been imprisoned at Castelul Corvinestilor for 7 years. That's right, I attended a Romanian high school Halloween party at an old, spooky, and possibly haunted castle in Transylvania. The party itself was similar to the other two that I had attended including presentations, games, contests, diplomas, and dancing. I took the liberty at the start of the party to take some photos of the inside courtyard of the castle. I can see myself returning to the castle to check out more of the rooms. We ended up returning to my friends place that night with two pumpkins and supplies for making some vin fiert. Wine and pumpkin carving closed out my Romanian Halloween experience.Overall it
was a very coo experience, similar in some ways and different in other ways, to a Halloween at home in NY. It was nice to see the enthusiasm that the students had to get dressed up for a different kind of experience.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
John Wayne
John Wayne, an American Icon. The John Wayne I know was the tall heroic cowboy type in those western films that I grew up watching from time to time. What does this have to do with being in Romania?
My infatuation with the west started back at Corning Community College when I took my first History of the American West course. Not only did we learn both sides of the story but the last few weeks of class were dedicated to western films, John Wayne being an actor of interest. Later on at SUNY Cortland I had the option to take an elective and I chose the only Grad class that I now have under my belt, Issues of the American West. This class forced us to dive into several novels about the west as well as western films. The summer following that class I got a job working for security at the Rockwell Museum of Western Art, daily exposure to life in the West. Soon after that job ended another job began, a job in which brought me to California. I found myself living in the West and loving it. My pre-Romanian American west exposure ended with me finishing the first season of Deadwood the week before departing for Romania.
In Romania I have picked back up on Deadwood, finishing the second season last week. About a month before that I had finished my first book in Romania, the western, Appaloosa which I followed with the movie. My Colorado native site-mate tells me that the mountains here remind him of home, in the west. Now that snowboarding season is coming around I have been thinking a lot about my time in California, and I have been watching snowboard videos largely set out west. In addition, I have been mesmerized by photos of various excursions in America's National Parks posted on facebook by friends. Another sign supporting this infatuation popped out at me when I was browsing through a second-hand two days ago.
Here is where I give some background on second-hand shopping. I started second-hand shopping in the states when I wanted a cheap, easy, and sometimes comedic way to dress up for celebrations (e.g. New Years Eve, St. Patty's). My second-hand shopping has reached a whole new level in Romania. Right now I can think of 9 second-hand shops in Petrosani and I'm pretty sure I don't know about all of them yet. Most of these shops get their stock imported from other European countries and if you are there at the right time you can catch a great deal on some great clothes. Two days ago, it wasn't a piece of clothing that caught my eye.
I think it's a table cloth. Either way, when I first spotted it folded on the shelf, all that I could really make out was the desert mountain landscape in the background. I immediately unfolded it and smiling up at me was one of my childhood heroes, John Wayne. What a find. I didn't have the money for it right there and closing time was approaching so all I could do was hope that the next day I would see it right there where I had let it down. The next day school ended and I started walking to the other side of town where that particular second-hand was located. Sure enough it was sitting right there and luckily for me, it was 25% off. Now its hanging on my wall.
My infatuation with the west started back at Corning Community College when I took my first History of the American West course. Not only did we learn both sides of the story but the last few weeks of class were dedicated to western films, John Wayne being an actor of interest. Later on at SUNY Cortland I had the option to take an elective and I chose the only Grad class that I now have under my belt, Issues of the American West. This class forced us to dive into several novels about the west as well as western films. The summer following that class I got a job working for security at the Rockwell Museum of Western Art, daily exposure to life in the West. Soon after that job ended another job began, a job in which brought me to California. I found myself living in the West and loving it. My pre-Romanian American west exposure ended with me finishing the first season of Deadwood the week before departing for Romania.
In Romania I have picked back up on Deadwood, finishing the second season last week. About a month before that I had finished my first book in Romania, the western, Appaloosa which I followed with the movie. My Colorado native site-mate tells me that the mountains here remind him of home, in the west. Now that snowboarding season is coming around I have been thinking a lot about my time in California, and I have been watching snowboard videos largely set out west. In addition, I have been mesmerized by photos of various excursions in America's National Parks posted on facebook by friends. Another sign supporting this infatuation popped out at me when I was browsing through a second-hand two days ago.
Here is where I give some background on second-hand shopping. I started second-hand shopping in the states when I wanted a cheap, easy, and sometimes comedic way to dress up for celebrations (e.g. New Years Eve, St. Patty's). My second-hand shopping has reached a whole new level in Romania. Right now I can think of 9 second-hand shops in Petrosani and I'm pretty sure I don't know about all of them yet. Most of these shops get their stock imported from other European countries and if you are there at the right time you can catch a great deal on some great clothes. Two days ago, it wasn't a piece of clothing that caught my eye.
I think it's a table cloth. Either way, when I first spotted it folded on the shelf, all that I could really make out was the desert mountain landscape in the background. I immediately unfolded it and smiling up at me was one of my childhood heroes, John Wayne. What a find. I didn't have the money for it right there and closing time was approaching so all I could do was hope that the next day I would see it right there where I had let it down. The next day school ended and I started walking to the other side of town where that particular second-hand was located. Sure enough it was sitting right there and luckily for me, it was 25% off. Now its hanging on my wall.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
From the road.
Today, from the road, I saw...Roosters
Hens
Their babies.
Cats
Dogs
Cows
Horses
Pigs
Piglets
Goats
Sheep
Geese
Turkeys
Crows
Pigeons
A really cool black and white bird that wouldn't let me take a picture of it
and a T-Rex.
If you're a reader living in Romania then the only surprise might be the T-Rex. I was joking about the T-Rex. If you are a reader from the US then you might think I went to a farm.
When I was assigned to serve in a city of 45,000 people I did not expect to be able to see these kinds of animals often, and most of them I do not see often. There are always pigeons outside my windows. A neighbor lady has roosters and hens. There has been horses sited on my street from time to time. I saw a cow once next to a block on my street. I see goats everyday. All of these I see in the environment of a 45,000 person Romanian city. Today I discovered that within an hour's walk I can see all of these things and more in the country.
Today was a beautiful day and though the snow has melted off of most of the nearby hills I could see the snow covered peaks of Parâng. I decided to go for a walk exploring the borders of town to try and find a good spot to take some nice fall photos of the peaks. I failed in my quest in finding a good view of the mountains but succeeded in finding fresh air and a good view of rural Romanian life. Just beyond Şcoala Informatica, where the road changes from asphalt to stone and dirt, is where this view began. This place is where city abruptly turns to country.
At first I was a bit leery to continue. I didn't know where the road led. Was it somebody's driveway? I thought, what better time to explore then on a sunny fall day. These were my first steps to the outskirts of the city without a fluent speaker of Romanian accompanying me. Though there were several houses on the road each one seemed to have their own little farm. They all had some kind of animal grazing on the grass and usually had space for a garden. Pumpkins were the common site today though I did see some small corn fields as well. From this little road I caught site of a variety of animals, stacks of hay, hills, and beautiful scenes. I also caught site of many Romanians out in their yards taking advantage of the great weather, getting work done. Seeing them with my limited language ability was a little bit intimidating but a simple "Buna Ziua" was good enough for them for the time being. Maybe next time I venture up that road I will have enough confidence in my language to stop and chat for a while.
Point of the story is that my placement in a city atmosphere has provided me with a certain experience while, keeping me from other, more rural, and maybe more interesting experiences. Despite this fact, I learned today that sights and sounds of a more rural site are just beyond that point where the asphalt turns to dirt and stone. Maybe next time, when I take the time to talk to, meet, and get to know those people working in their garden, or transporting hay on the caruţa it won't only be the sights and sounds that I get, but a rural experience as well.
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