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February is in the air and the season of Iarna is now in full. Apparently, it snows here most every day in the mountains and it's truly a sight to behold. Skiing, sledding, skating, wondering, gawking, and letting the wet, cold, glistening drops of white prisms kiss your face without regard to catching a sniffle, well, I cannot tell you how much my opinion of the weather has changed since moving to Romania. All is a new adventure and many things(although either difficult or frightening for someone who had long ago abandoned the winter sports arena)are welcomed with open arms and kid-like snowsuits coupled with funny hats and a collection of boots to be proud of. The other day I even walked on the frozen river Trotus---even though a man of the cloth here and truly great friend said, "No, no, I am worried for you. That's dangerous!"---Jesus' trek notwithstanding, as I had once imagined---this was to be the start of a whole new way of life.
Visible to me everywhere now is a show of God's presence and each and every thing that happens here is a blessing as I celebrate the milestone of six months at site here in Romania as an official Peace Corps volunteer. In Brusturoasa and its communities, I have much to remember as evidenced by the thousands of photos and video clips taken here that have gummed up the flash drives and cds for the umpteenth time this year.
Although it seems like only yesterday, these past nine months in country have been chock full of unique experiences. In these experiences, documented by the photos, websites, and other avenues of third goal sharing which I utilize, there are some revelations that have become apparent during my service which I will pass along to you:
Purpose-After yearning for the knowledge of the purpose of my days, the Peace Corps has fulfilled that promise.
Volunteering-It is my middle name.
Money-Or lack thereof. Well, that's always an issue for everyone, but rewards, they are written in the faces of every child and new person that I spend time with.
Comfort-It's relative. Scratchy waffle-weave sheets to sleep on, occasional mice and angry dogs, on and off heat, hot water, and internet service, favorite places to go and things to do that aren't here, usual foods that are unavailable, long treks for short purposes, post office woes, washing laundry in a bucket for sometimes days of line drying, mud up to your shins, being too busy (or too tired) to wash your hair today, pens that never work even though you just bought them (my own personal pet peeve!), and buses that never run on time-are all relatively easy to dismiss when you know that there are other valuable things to consider about the arrangement.
Pushing the envelope-It's okay to do, again and again. These are things that are totally justifiable. Even if others not in "Peace Corpsland" say that is too bold, too crazy, not been done before, or otherwise not in their own vocabulary. Not, not, not...that particular word is NOT in my vocabulary!
Language is universal-After many years of language study, it has become clear that I don't love speaking English as much as I love learning to communicate in other languages as if it were live theater, with words, gestures, and expressions. You had to be there the day I held a dissertation on the supreme difference between spaghetti and macaroni and how I didn't want the spaghetti but as it was wrapped in the facade of the "Macarone" company name, the magazin owner thought otherwise. Consequently, my 3rd and 4th graders this week during the lesson on the value of the food pyramid and its benefits heard all about how to distinguish the distinguished pasta family. Being Italian, I know that my grandma wouldn't have had it any other way.
Patience-Mine, that is, is tested and reaffirmed every day that I must say, "stai liniste, merge pe scaunul immediat, niciodata nu razboi in clasa mea, serios? scrieti in limba Engleza, va rog, or de ce nu fac tema," etc., etc., etc.
Feed your mind-Whether I've wanted to manage a huge assignment or to climb a steep hill (literally) by having a strong mind, a good conscience, and the confidence to move up and accomplish a lot is the only way. And diet...all I can say is skip the slanina with the tuica chasers if you aspire to live to be 100.
Memories-Are those that tug at you and nurture you, take from you and give to you, but all are valuable lessons learned and priceless treasures which sustain the moments here without any familiarity from the old life.
Spirituality-And the wholeness of what it means to be alive sings to me in every moment that I spend in Romania. Having the opportunity to also share in the traditions of the old world either outside in the pastures, inside the walls of a stunning Orthodox biserica, at the table of a neighbor, or travelling with new friends, just makes it that much sweeter.
Disorganization-Better get used to that. Whether someone makes plans for you and changes them yet again, or you just can't finish all the things that you have on the agenda, or you just plain forget things all the time. Like today, when I forgot my camera and so missed out on a huge (at least 1/3 ton) spotted pig escaping his farmyard happily crossing the river over the rickety slat bridge oblivious to my presence, or the convergence of three, yes, three confused horse-drawn carute each loaded up with about an 8 x 10 foot mass rectangle of hay under the train bridge all at the same time as the passenger train went overhead.
Once in a lifetime-
It's kind of funny how easily we all miss the things right under our noses.
TAKE YOUR CAMERA!
A few weeks ago, I was shopping for some small trinkets to dress up my room for the first Christmas holiday here in Romania that I would spend without the people that I love. I came across an electric light, in golden cardboard paper, made in China, and in the shape of a 3 dimensional star, for the low, low price of what amounted to less than 4 US dollars. Taking it back to the house with the rest of the little items that I could afford and some candy for good company, I assembled it, hung it on the door next to my bed in my Peace Corps "hut", and proceeded to go about my day. Praying for some miraculous event was not a priority. The snow was falling again, my room was cold, I needed to stoke the fire, and that was that. I did not know it yet, but there were wonderful things about to happen.
Miracles, some say, do not exist. They do not live in the practical world, the world of actuality, the world of secular sanity. Some even say that folks who believe in them are doomed to fail and to be forever lost in a world of fantasy beliefs.
I say bunk.
I say---You haven’t spent the holidays living among the people in the countryside of Romania.
Beginning with Christmas Eve, I would have surprise after surprise, blessing after blessing, and feelings that I thought were lost, were again found, time and time again. In small doses, rapidly and with the energetic spark of light that shone each night beside my bed from that star which I hung up for luck.
At first I thought, no. The world has offered me people who are cold and narrow-minded. I have seen and heard things that are too ugly to absorb. I have encountered those whose misplaced ego, greed and lack of true compassion deadens my senses. I have known those who do not have conscience about the shame that they bring down on themselves and others by their actions. I have a sickness in my heart that will never die for the way that others misuse the trust and love given to them as a powerful vehicle for a means to a wholly personal and selfish end. For some, disrespect and disloyalty are the only comforts they will ever know. In them, there are no gifts.
But now, I have learned that here, in this place, there are moments every day filled with the capacity of love that I might never have known if I had not lived it. Christmastime brought a host of wonderfully ancient traditions, most of which included the talent, goodness, and loving smiles of the children whom I teach here. On occasion after occasion, during the entire week, I was met with evidence that, yes, love exists. Not the kind of love that is spoken without true devotion, but the kind which you can keep close to you, without fear, without reservation. The kind that has meaning and unfathomable generosity. The kind that nurtures your soul.
All of the moments, from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day have been memorable, surpassed by none ever in my life, and are sure to be forever burned into my heart. Just when I thought that the surprises were over, more came and in droves. Today was Epiphany, and I walked as I normally do each Wednesday, to one of the village schools here, as the snow fell and the river flowed nearby. The mountains kept the cold from biting too much as they held on to the winding, lean-to, sun-bleached fences with their tattooed faces from visits many and often by the woodpeckers in residence. There were bird songs, cow ballads, sheep salutations, and turkey calls along the way and as I made my trek up the hill, I looked forward to seeing the third and fourth graders who I knew were waiting for me.
In class, I was given a slew of hand-made Christmas cards and then we all sang in a circle as I had asked the children to teach me a few new songs. From carols to the Romanian national anthem we sang, the children laughed, I felt speechless, and we held hands. The morning was sunny and excitement filled the air inside our classroom. Recess came and we went outdoors. I watched the boys and girls sliding down the hillside and running and laughing up a storm. Next, a snack of milk and bread, utter chaos, and then I read them a story. The children reread the story aloud one by one and then crowded around as it was time for us to go. I was on my way to the Orthodox biserica back in my village for the Epiphany service and the children asked if I could go with them to the church there. At first I declined and said that I needed to get back to the church in the center of the communa, but after I debated for a few minutes, I then decided to go with them rather than making the walk back alone. The uproar was enormous. All of the children grabbed their coats and rushed me out the door and down the road to the church at the top of the hill. There were over thirty of us, along with the first and second graders, and on the way, we met some cows, took photos of the goats and the scenery we encountered, spoke to some of the villagers, then entered the church together.
The little ones huddled around and the service was beautiful. There was a gorgeously decorated tree with tinsel, bells, candy, hearts, and glittering ornaments made by the children in the transept and the candles were lit to illuminate the silver icons and the frescoes of biblical scenes above and aside of us. We knelt together, the chalice was brought out to kiss our heads, the children came and went like little butterflies (first next to me, then behind me, then in front of me at times),and after many recitations and reflections, a large brass lantern with candles came down from the ceiling which was then raised and lowered again. I lit my customary two candles as I do every week in biserica--one for my loved ones who have died, and one for those I love the most here on earth---then, making our way toward the front all together, we each received the holy bread from the preot, wrapping it in the colorful paper cut from the daily news pages that was passed around by the parishioners in front of us. After that, we all went outdoors where a beautiful cross made of ice was dressed with flowers and all around it were candles and buckets of water holding dried herbs on three tables making an altar. The children, and many others, lit all of the candles for some minutes as the townspeople waited for the rest of the service to start. The floor of the snow-covered ground was dressed with a huge mass of dried hay as the preot continued this Epiphany service outdoors under the tall and glistening white mountains. I watched, grateful, as the sun shone on the church’s tin spires, and the snow came down in cool, soft pellets. During the readings, there were six men who each shot off hunting rifles and vintage shotguns one at a time into the air as the crowd, many of them old ones, looked on from this circle. The readings ended and we all took with us an empty bottle to fill with water from the buckets that had been blessed along with a generous handful of the hay.
Afterwards, inside the church, the children all got a package filled with candies, gloves, small gifts, and other things, at which time I was invited to enjoy a glass of hot wine and conversation along with the preot, the mayor and his group of friends. It is not customary in the Orthodox church for women to discuss and socialize with men here on the right side of the church, but as I am the visitor, the teacher, the Peace Corps volunteer in resident, the person, the woman, who people have come to know, I was asked to stay. It was a time for me to reflect upon the day and the goodness of the people who have invited me here. They all continue to be the solace and the strength that I need to go on every day.
In the end, the walk was clear and refreshing. I had bared my feelings once again to God and to others. I was renewed and grateful for this day, grateful for the times that I continued to have these past weeks. The Christmas tree, the carolers, the bear parades, the bands, the dinners, the gifts, the lights, the rituals, the snow, the sledding, the talking, the hand-holding, the love. And despite not being able to share all of it with anyone from my other life who truly knows me, I could now relish the meanings and the beauty of it all. Although the tremendous things that happen here and the simple beauty which I see every day does not fully erase those things which taint and sour it underneath, still, it is livable and it is a gift.
Tonight, I once again thought to myself not only about these holidays, but about all that had happened over the past year. I checked the sprig of basil that was placed under my pillow four nights ago by my neighboring preot (just to make sure it was still there.) And then I turned on the star next to my bed. I have decided that it will be a kind of symbol of my good fortune here. And so, I will leave it up-at least for a while.
Lastly, I pray every day for miracles. I pray each night for the people in my life who I wish could see what I see. I pray for them to see what they refuse to see. I pray for those whose lives are closed and not open to the wonders of all things. And at the end of the day, I pray that I will live a life that is good and long so that I may return home to tell about these moments of joy in Romania.
It is my pleasure to be here in this place and to share these times as a Peace Corps volunteer with the Romanian people in Brusturoasa and its surrounding communities. It has been the single most wonderful holiday experience I have ever had. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Being away from home is harder than I imagined, but life and God (and Santa, too) always seem to bring the gifts that you need the most when you least expect them. Wish you were here. I hope you will enjoy the photos and video at www.photobucket.com and my Facebook page. By the way, our bear “costumes” here in the village as you can see were actual bear skins-paws, teeth and all. Any taxidermist would be proud. The entire event was a unique combination of an “Ancient and Horribles” parade, majestic rodeo-style equine processions, old-fashioned European spirited holiday cabaret chorals in traditional hand-made Romanian dress, hilarious comical renderings with cowbells, flutes, drums and horns along with history-relating theatrical ditties reminiscent of Shakespearean lore both by children and adults. All of it ending off three hours later with American-Indian-like rain dances in the dark accompanied by a Fourth of July fireworks finale above enough to shed light on the snow-covered mountains turning red, blue, and yellow as faces in the crowd watched in amazement. We all walked to our homes together following the procession as it trailed away from a huge mass gathering to variously sized groups of friends, neighbors, and happy children saying goodnight and praising the talents and efforts of all who performed. You really haven’t lived until you’ve paraded with the bears---Fabulously Frenetic!! The following is a portion of an article regarding Romanian Christmas traditions, including the steaua, colinde, and the jocul ursului (bear and comics parade), that occur during the holidays here, some of which are unique to the region of Moldova. The original post can be found at http://www.bucurestiwww.ro The Village Way: Romanian Christmas traditions are based around the idea of time, explains Ion Blajan, head of collections at the Peasant Museum (Muzeul Taranului Roman): the traditional tales and celebrations are based on a 12-day period in which life goes through a chaotic period then starts afresh in the New Year. The practices that surround these traditions are now mostly seen in Northern Romania, around Bucovina and Suceava, and especially in Campulung Moldovenesc. Blajan explains the stories behind them: Romanians believe there is a period of chaos, where the world is broken and anything is possible; dead souls can come back to the earth, and we can communicate between our two worlds, the underworld and the sky. All this is reflected in dancing and songs and parades, and there is no regard for anything serious while it’s going on. Sounds just like a New Year's Eve in London to me! On the last day, when all the celebrations finish, people beat the bushes where they believe dead souls are hiding. They believe the souls must go back to their world or else they’ll threaten people on earth. It may sound like something your mother warned you away from, but the result is a wonderfully creative expression of tradition, with children in amazing costumes, so cleverly constructed and imaginative they could well be on a theatre stage, accompanied by sweet-sounding songs as well as miming and parades. Blajan continues: After the chaos, Christ is born, and from the chaos is born a new world. Children go around with a star and sing songs about the birth of Jesus Christ. Specific activities happen on each of the 12 days, says Blajan: On Christmas Eve the day is very short, and it was thought the sun would die, so a fire is lit on a wheel, which looks like the sun, to help the sun rise again, because without the sun the world would die. On New Year's Eve there are parades in the villages with bands and everyone wears costumes and masks. There are bride and groom masks, which symbolise a new life, and masks of old men and women which represent the old year. Some children dress up as bears – in the past real bears on leashes were led by gypsies in parades, but now sheep or bear skin costumes are used. Often the parade features goats, horses, deer and other animals pulled along on wheels as part of the parade with the band and the rest of the characters in the masks. Then on the last day, January 7th, children go to each house and sing songs about the baptism of St John. *WISHING ALL OF YOU BOTH NEAR AND FAR THE MOST BLESSED OF HOLIDAY SEASONS!
I haven’t written anything all month save the occasional comment on Facebook. Even my journal has suffered my absence for many weeks now as I cannot bear to write the words that ring in my head. It has been a trying time in that I have yet to digest the supreme loss of my best friend to cancer back home and still, I am here in Romania, giving it the daily all, wondering if my service will in fact be the capstone of my life.
Today marks the first three months at my site and it was and still is not without pain and much sacrifice. It is true that the changes that one submits to here in the initial service period are daunting, unpredictable, and never understood by those who have seemed to know you best back home. I hope that in looking back, it will have all been worth it. Some things are out of a person’s reach and scope of understanding. There are things that I will never understand. These things that take you to the depths of despair and to the pinnacles of brightness are all so much a part of it. And I have found that although you may have a heart of gold and the best of hopes and efforts, there are always many and unexpected events and disappointments around the bend.
However, the people here, both young and old, have continued to give me innumerable blessings, some more than I ever dreamed of and those which surpass even the gestures of my closest relationships back in the US---although to them (my Romanian neighbors) I am essentially a stranger in a strange land. The work is gratifying and challenging at the same time. My community is full of people who are open, caring and capable of cultural exchange without fear. I am glad that I was chosen to be here in Brusturoasa.
Now, life is very full of commitments. Places to be, people to see, things to do which fill my calendar and my days. There are tutoring sessions both for myself and others in English, games and activities with the children, family time at the gazda compound, chores, correspondence, teaching at three schools, cooking lessons, providing technology assistance, participating in community activities, and socializing to blend who I am (or who I was) into the landscape. All this while still living, breathing, trying to sleep, wash, eat, and generally being---something which most times came easily back in the US. Here, it is not so easy, as it is like living in the skin of another.
For many days and nights, I have carried a burden of guilt for leaving my home and everyone there. And for many days and nights, I have shed real tears to call to God on what he has planned for me and why this and why now. The answer has yet to be revealed and so I wait, hope and awake to another day, every day although it is full of trials…emotional ones…ones that pull at you to stand tall, stand firm, and stand alone yet equal and involved with everyone here and everyone there.
I have had very many memorable and touching moments, too. For those, I have taken photos, drawn pictures, and recorded video so that someday, if not too far away, I will look back with my grandchild and the rest of my loved ones and be able to make sense of it all, appreciating the losses that have come and respecting myself for enduring it.
If you are curious at all as to one person’s life as a PCV in the first three months of service, in a small town in the Eastern Carpathian mountains of an old-world country, then look to these photos of some of the times of my life, here at www.photobucket.com/knowenglishnow.
For the other moments---like when my sixth grade and I sang "Heal the World" together to Michael Jackson, and the morning the fourth graders cheered when they learned I had arrived at their school for the day's lesson, and the feelings that I get when all the old ladies who want to chat with me appear on my way to and fro, and how nice it is that all the men say "Sarut mana/I kiss your hand" as I walk by, and what happens to me when I see all the unfathomable smiles and the complexity of thoughts that run deep and clear in the eyes of each of the children here---for all those things and more, I cannot share them with you, although I wish I could.
In closing, on the eve of Thanksgiving, I will admit that yes, I know that I cannot by myself “Heal the World”, but surely, with effort and with honest love, I can, “Make it a Better Place.” The saints I know up in Heaven tell me so.
You can spend your whole life working, playing, planning, travelling, studying, wondering, winning, losing, and oftentimes knowing everything and nothing at all. Or you can join the Peace Corps.
Here I am, in Brusturoasa, Romania, in the heart of Moldavia, thousands of miles away from my home in Charleston, South Carolina, USA. It's been over forty years since I heard the call to action of President Kennedy and a lifetime of memories that I've collected.
I imagined many times what life in the Peace Corps might be. First set in a jungle, then the desert, a tent city, a wattle and daub hut, a houseboat, a high-rise. I imagined muddy water, no water, and cold water from an old well a five-mile hike too far. I imagined dark forests, sandstorms, isolation, crowded trains, and dirty bathrooms. I imagined that I would be eating insects and raw fish, riding camels, living in fear of hidden bears and poisonous snakes and living in wonder of stately elk and gliding eagles. I imagined sleeping on a hard straw bed, having little food or heat, and being lost in the wilderness. I imagined having no electricity to read, no phone to communicate with my loved ones far away, and nothing but blank stares from the crowd of onlookers curiously eyeing my presence there.
Now, after four months in country and one month here in my village, I am experiencing none of this and all of it. The feelings have ebbed and flowed, peaked and sunk, and are those that mirror the ones in my dreams long ago. Yes, I have been cold, anxious, entertained, awestruck, calm, satisfied, challenged, overjoyed, deeply honored, exasperated, cautious, hungry, lonely, content, empowered, heartbroken, and inspired. Every day has been a journey of change after change, many days in minute by minute increments. Seeing the world for the first time again and doing the same for others in my company. Learning new things, revisiting the old, utilizing resourcefulness gained from years of experience. Having the courage and conviction to live every second to the fullest and remaining committed to the belief that goodness is out there and is mine for the asking.
It has been a truly personal mission, one that has taken me to the highest of heights and the lowest of lows. Taking the oath of service, speaking yet another daughter language of Latin, managing daily chores without amenities now commonplace in the US, learning to navigate new areas with and without transportation, making time go further, trying to find private moments alone to reflect, actively being a part of the community, learning to live with sometimes as much as six new people at once, eating things I absolutely don't want to, sharing in nature everyday, being unable to properly grieve while losing my best friend across the ocean to cancer, walking the funeral procession for a child killed in a tragic accident here, receiving heartwarming mail from friends, being able to hold on to my primary relationship back home without fearing too much, reaching hundreds of children and helping them to believe in their future, and so on.
The list is long and interesting. I cannot fully express the details of how much I have been changed for the better by taking the leap of faith and coming to Romania as a Peace Corps volunteer. I realize that I have not done any of this alone and have thanks for all who believed in me both here and in the US and that offered their assistance, knowledge and love unselfishly.
In closing, I would like to leave you with some more anecdotes and observations that might give you a small window into my unforgettable life here in Brusturoasaland. For me, it is all so personal, unique, invigorating, necessary, spiritual, and hour by hour, very rewarding. Then I hope you will write your own story.
In Romania,
You may not be a fan of ciorba, but you can savor the taste of the most delicious tomatoes on the planet.
In Romania,
You are never alone for long and privacy means a few short minutes when you can catch your breath by the riverbank.
In Romania,
You can wash your hair with ice cold water outside by the herb garden while the sheep bleat nextdoor, a lonely cowbell rings, and the train whizzes by and whistles.
In Romania,
Everyone thinks you are rich, but you know that they really are.
Truly this is a fact of life, especially of Peace Corps life. I will try to condense all that has happened in the last three weeks. The good, the bad, the ugly, the tragic, and the sublime: Settling in allowance is gone and have shopped around here and there, mostly there, for overpriced trinkets to stock a modest minimalist kitchen. Taking daily walks along the dirt roads admiring the wildflowers, dodging animals, and thinking about everything over here and over there. Loving working with the children, cooking, learning, enjoying new foods and new friendships. Meeting everyone who lives in this commune of villages and having no trouble being the token American. Teaching everything I know and everything I ever wanted to know to anyone who will listen. Learning how to harvest again and spending time with the dirt, the sun, and the plants. Being invited over to have sarmale and some more sarmale with a big bowl of happiness for dessert. Meeting three great people "from off" in Holland and Cornwall and sharing ideas. Getting a huge classroom for extra curricular projects with a whole slew of windows that look to the south. Finding that we have four new and six old sewing machines in the utility room not being used yet. Having two cups of great coffee in between four or five classes a day. Going to the center of town to schmooze with the dignitaries, the old ones, and the very important persons...my students...as the train whistles by overhead and the smell of smokey myce fills the air. Watching everyone having a great time even though it's freezing cold (at least for me!). Going to the magazin for the third time today to ask for something to cook for dinner besides poi with a brewski. Writing the umpteenth millionth page in my journal now four months old. Discussing projects with select groups of people interested in preserving the environment and conserving energy. Attending the St. Mary's Day festival and seeing some really special traditions happening right before my eyes. Listening to the dogs howl at night and the roosters crow in the morning. Having no time all day, but much time at night to contemplate my future, the impact of my service, and the affect all this is having on my relationships and myself. Being heartbroken at walking in and seeing the children in the procession of a small nine year old classmate's funeral who died instantly after being struck by a car outside of her home here. Feeling sadness while teaching in front of her empty desk in grade 3 that is adorned with a perpetual daily tea light, a vase of flowers, and a soft black ribbon tied in a bow. Congregating on the crowded microbus for the weekly five hour round trip trek to the only supermarket and bank in the city closest to here. Relying on the kindness of strangers, who aren't strangers any more. Feeling so honored at having the opportunity to take these children under my wing, if only for a time, and to share experiences, language, and culture from far, far away. Wondering where the boxes are with some more of my clothes and personal things that were mailed to me over a month ago. Waiting for the day that all my studying and networking and active searching for talking partners will pay off and I will become fluent in Romanian. Feeling joy at the sight of the ducks that are growing up faster than ever right before my eyes. Taking the time to write to everyone whenever I can and sending off my second letter to WWS along with a huge DVD loaded with pictures and video. Finishing two knitting projects late in the evening while watching Euronews, CNN International, and assorted old movies on TCM. Understanding that I was blessed to be chosen for this job to be here now and in this time and place. Having the time of my life and seeing things that will stay with me forever. Crying myself to sleep more than once missing the love of my life something awful. Finding something to do every single minute even if I don't have to. Exploring any new road I can find. Having the respect of mature colleagues and enjoying exchanges and smiles. Getting immersed in Romanian culture every day of the week. Wishing that I could bottle the good times, the talking together, the views, the tastes, the smells, the air and take it out whenever I want. Hoping for a good night's sleep with some heat and a soft bed. Having some lavender tea, contemplating new things and enjoying the sunsets. Looking to the future, reminiscing about the past, and living in the moment with both anxiety and a trusting heart. And dreaming of you, my Wonderwall...
Well, let me see....
In Romania,
The days are long, the time goes by slowly, and there are no plans---at least the ones that you know about.
In Romania,
You may meet a horse, a more than friendly cow, some chickens, a turkey or two, or more than a few chickens on the road---or not.
In Romania,
The mountains are green, the water is cool, and the stars at night are like a crazy dream.
In Romania,
You have to light the stove everyday with damp matches, use an outhouse when visiting new friends more often than not, wear your scarf and gloves to bed starting in September---but you can have Satellite TV of course.
In Romania,
There is no Harris Teeter or Walmart, but you can by nothing you need and anything you want at the "magazin-s" because they're Mixt and Non-Stop.
In Romania,
You should always take the road less travelled, lest you miss out on a single woodpecker making his mark in life or the thousands of varieties of nettles and flowers along the wild paths.
In Romania,
The language is not a barrier if you like smiling and waving to the train conductor by your front door or listening to and chatting with the other elders in the village after supper.
In Romania,
It's okay for your clothes not to match in public---at all---and to wear socks with sandals or chizme with a dress and an apron.
In Romania,
They like myce on the grill, tuica in a glass, and never do they miss a chance for ice cream.
In Romania,
The religiosity is palpable, refreshing, comforting, and real.
In Romania,
The land is a hodgepodge of timber, tin, tile, gardens, makeshift sheds, old time bridges, animal farms, lovely people, and churches.
In Romania,
Strangers become friends---and friends become family.
In Romania,
The wells are ancient---and they hold living waters.
