Parting Thoughts

December 19, 2007

I can't believe I'm saying this.....but I enjoyed my trip. Despite the fact that it was cold and miserable,
grey and in a month of fasting, unsanitary and isolated. Despite all that, looking back on the past
three weeks I have to admit that I enjoyed my trip. That being said, I cannot in good conscience recommend
Romania to anyone, ever. Unless you typically vacation somewhere along the Jersey turnpike I can assure you
it will be a step down.

Still, it has its charms. For one, I have never seen so many waiters, ever. Each time I have entered a
restaurant (and I use the term 'restaurant' lightly - I will get to this in a minute) I am surrounded by an
entire team of servers, at least 7 to 10 of them, ready and waiting to bring me things. Now, this does
not necessarily mean that the service is going to be good, but just the sheer volume alone impresses me. I
feel about waiters here like the Irish feel about quantity of photos taken at any given event. Quantity
over quality. Also charming: I spent an afternoon in my host Alexandra's office when I first arrived in
Bucharest. What is the first thing I see? Five women and one man all dressed as Santa, giving each other
gifts. No children in sight, yet full costumes for everyone. I asked Alexandra about this: "Oh yes!" she
exclaimed excitedly. "Santa has been visiting us!!"

Romanians seem to be excited by small things, which I like. I have had a handful of people, for example,
grab my luggage tag, read my name and address aloud, and then laugh and laugh with glee. "Wow!" they say.
I am not sure what pleases them about this, but I am happy that they are happy.

Now, onto restaurants. Romania is conspiring to drive me insane with false leads regarding their
restaurants. Signs left and right promise me food but lead me to nothing. And by nothing I mean I enter the
establishment, follow signs promising sustenance, and am led down dark stairwells to basements and
back alleys. To stray cats. It's like the country is playing a joke on me. Yesterday I finally ate lunch
in what cannot properly be called a restaurant at all. It was more like a cross between a cafe,
library, nightclub, and finally, furniture showroom. This last part really confused me: a whole section of
this place was a kitchen display, like what you would see at Jordan's furniture. Nobody was eating or
working there - it was simply there to be admired, I suppose. The bathroom smelled of citrus though, so
that I liked. I took full advantage of the food at this place, ordering first a whole quiche and Coke,
and then moving on, in very unorthodox fashion, to penne arrabiata and tea. Just to keep things fresh.
For dinner on this same day I found myself at a restaurant featuring the following house specialities:
Hungarian goulash, Transylvanian Pork Stew with Polenta, and, get this, "Pig Killing Feast." Yes,
that was the name of the dish. I was heartily encouraged to try it but declined. Even I have my limits.

Mihail (one of my hosts) met me for dinner, and before Alexandra (his girlfriend) arrived the two of us had an
hour to chat. And by "chat" I mean I had an hour to listen to Mihail give an extremely involved oral history on
Eastern Europe. I have never seen such a thing outside a lecture hall. Mihail provided me, for
45 minutes straight, with historical dates, names of kings, names of battles, names of traditions, dating
back to ancient times. It was completely and utterly ridiculous, albeit impressive. Mihail is apparently not familiar
with small talk. The other 15 minutes of our time together was spent with Mihail detailing the
new Romanian slaughterhouse regulations. As you might recall, I was already given a very thorough
introduction to this by Christy, the chanting villager from a few weeks back. Mihail confirmed that
Romanians are not at all happy with these changes (forget the fact that the changes are meant to improve
sanitation and limit animal cruelty), but that it makes no difference because nobody is going to follow
them anyway. And then he made a noise typically reserved for school girls - it was a little squeal of
delight in which he confided just how much he loves the current practice of slitting a pigs' throat. He
was like a child who just got a new bike, eyes glowing, telling me about this.

As it turns out, Romanians are regular Chatty Kathys. I had gotten this impression before, but Mihail has
confirmed it for me. They REALLY like to talk to you, about anything and everything, in language you may or
may not understand - no matter, the joy is in the telling.

The Romanians also seem to be a very generous group. Mihail and Alexandra not only housed me for two days, but
would not allow me to pay for one thing while I was there. No meals, no cabs, nothing. It didn't matter
how hard I tried, they just kept telling me to pay them "when I come back"...which should be in
about....well, when pigs fly (which will be never, what with all the slaughtering). And this morning
when I left their apartment they had a Christmas present all wrapped for me to open on the plane! How
nice is that! I need to send them some bacon, or my first born, from America.

A few more things: I met a girl in Bucharest who had tickets to a "rock concert" this week featuring
"Shakin' Stevens", who I was informed by my Romanian friends is a major star in the US. Like Elvis, they
said. To which I said, "I don't believe that's true, but we'll look it up." And now I encourage you all to
look up Shakin' Stevens. Turns out he is a Welsh singer/David Hasselhoff look-a-like. His music videos
are almost too good to be true. I have no idea how they came to think he was a hugely famous American
rock and roll star, in the league of Elvis nonetheless.

I am writing this last email from an airport in Amsterdam. Tomorrow morning I will be back in Boston.
As I depart, the one piece of advice I would like to share with Romania is this: invest in shower curtains.
They are cheap, they are practical, and they make life much, much nicer for everyone. Most of you
(Romanians) seem to have the shower curtain clips already in place...so really, just go the extra mile
and fasten the curtain. And one piece of advice to share with Westerners who may wish to travel to this
region: When a burly Romanian man driving a beat up car through a river tells you to "RUN!" from a Gypsy
village, you should do it.

See you all back in the land of plenty,
Liz