Well, since I last wrote to you a ton has happened. And by "a ton" I mean next to nothing.
I just spent an hour writing you this entry, which was promptly lost into Romanian thin air. I'm giving it another go but I'll warn you that I've lost steam and I don't think this round will be as good. Also, the keys on this computer are VERY sticky which is grossing me out.
Anyway, after I wrote to you the other day I visited a high school/construction site/dump yard. A building whose original purpose i can only guess but whose current function is higher eduction. For reasons unclear, the students were required to wait outside in the freezing cold for 2 hours before being let into class. This perturbed me greatly, not from a social justice standpoint but because I was cold. Mind numbingly cold. This delay did not seem to distress the students in any way. Once we were let inside it was immediately apparent to me (as it would have been to anyone with eyes) that I was in the middle of a full blown construction site - glass everywhere, power tools strewn about, construction men outnumbering the teachers. The number of lawsuits this would have incited in the US would rival the number of churches in my village.
After school I went back to the Internet cafe, to find that it had been converted into a pitch black gaming hall filled with yelling teenage boys playing what I can assume was Mortal Combat. Did I mention it was pitch black? They were all shooting their guns in unison and having a nice time killing each other. Eventually I left to try to catch a bus back home (as my home is now apparently a Romanian orphanage). A bus approached, but for some reason I did not get on. My mind does not function appropriately here. I didn't get on because the man in front of me didn't get on. Mind you, I had no reason whatsoever to think that the man in front of me was going to my village. In fact, hardly anyone in the world would choose to go to my village. So I let the bus carry on without me, to find that I faced another 2 hour wait. Back to Mortal Combat. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!
When I finally did board an over sized van two hours later I began to get rather nervous. The van was heading into the middle of nowhere, and none of the village kids that I expected to see were on it. As I couldn't communicate my concerns I did what any good traveller would do - put on my iPod and hoped for the best. As we got deeper and deeper into the mountains my anxiety was growing. I knew that if I were dropped off in the wrong spot I would die. Not everyone would die if dropped off on the wrong mountainside, but I would. I have no survival skills whatsoever. And then, suddenly, I see a glowing beacon in the distance. A sign from God? Perhaps. It was a giant, glowing neon cross off in the hills! The same giant neon cross that I see from my bedroom window each night. And as my village is the only village in the Romanian mountainside whose natural beauty is tarnished by neon, I knew I was in luck. Since I first got to Romania it has struck me as odd that the village - which has no heat, little running water, nothing really - would have a huge neon cross marking it. But the Romanians are nothing if not tourist friendly - they must have known instinctively that we would perish without neon guiding us home. Plus, sometimes 23 churches just isn't enough to say "We are religious people! We love the Lord!!" Sometimes only neon shouts that.
Yesterday was St. Nicholas Day, and I went to church for 4 hours. Yes, 4 hours. The entire service was chanting or singing. Not sure which. I was told that the village was blessing things. And I thought to myself, "I bet they could bless everything in one hour if they were more efficient." But I didn't share this thought with the stern looking women flanking me. St. Nicholas Day was great for the kids, who all got gifts. As noted previously, Romanian orphans do better than you might think. Lots of people celebrated their "name day" yesterday as well - it's treated just like a birthday party, with cake and everything.
I think you are celebrated if your name sounds anything like the person being honored (In this case St. Nicholas). So, in America, if your name was Marty or Martha, you would get a cake on Martin Luther King Day. Not bad. Just one more reason to consider relocation to Romania. Did I say "one more reason"? I think I meant "one reason and one reason only".
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