Timishaorma

My memories of the weekend are delivered to me in the manner to which I am accustomed; through a haze of bizzare occurences and crippling hangovers. Let me start from the beginning.

Thursday
I went for drinks with my friends Jeane and Dana. These drinks turned into a night of drinking, dancing and meeting odd characters. After sitting in the pub until it closed and then staying in a club until it closed and then going to a 2/7 pub I met a man. By this point I was pretty far gone and had lost track of what life I was living. The alarm bells only went off when I heard the cry of "Heil Hitler!". This is never a good thing to hear. It was at this pont that I realised the man was a skinhead and was wearing a hoodie that bore an eagle perched ontop of a swastika. He started to vomit up racial and anti-semetic slurs while doing the stereotypical salute. I decided that this perhaps wasn't the kind of situation I wanted to be in and so we decided to get some breakfast, what with it being 6.30am by now. Halfway through my shaorma Dave called me and enquired as to my whereabouts. I'm having shaorma with Dana and Jeane, I said. What about the train we need to catch in half an hour? Dave said.
Fuck.

Friday
So I packed and I panicked and I got on the train. We were with our close friends Loic, Martin, Juliet and Sonia. The journey was like any other and the city we visited, Sibiu, while beautiful and stunningly peaceful, was designed more like a tourist destination than a cultural landmark. That night we went out for dinner and met a lovely American girl whose name I can't spell or pronounce. Some of the group went for drinks that turned into a night much like my own previous one while I went to bed and slept off the remnants of my horrible mistakes.

Saturday/Sunday
The next morning I had a wander around Sibiu by myself and listened to some Yndi Halda. Their music lends itself perfectly to the Romanian architecture and style. We caught another train to a beautiful little town called Sighisoara. While it suffered the same fate as Sibiu and was far too touristic, the sheer beauty of its rundown buildings and old fashioned way of life earned it a permenant place in my affections. The town is a maze of ancient staircases and towers that you can explore as you wish. Every sidestreet holds more quaint reminders of how people must have lived in previous lives. We met two fantastic Spanish guys through our friend Sonia. They showed us around and we drank together etc. It boggles the mind how friendly everyone I've met so far has been. Perhaps we're all trying harder because we're very much alone here. I was loathed to leave, but leave we must. We all caught the train to Arad and then we bade farewell to the Spanish gentlemen to make our way back to Timisoara.

I've decided not to describe the places I've been as I could never do them justice. There are pictures on my bebo that should give you a hint as to the kind of world I'm living in. Now it is another week and we're back to the grind of reading and analysing political journals. Dave is feeling a bit poorly so I'm going to go out for a coffee and leave him in peace. I've been getting pangs of homesickness recently, which is something I didn't think I would really experience. That's not to say I didn't think I'd miss anyone, that's not the case at all, I just didn't think five months was a long time. It turns out it is. I do miss my frequent jaunts to Starbucks and meeting the people I know and love there. While I still drink coffee here I tend to spend my time writing stories or thinking about endless regressions of questions. I'll be back eventually though. I'm combating these feelings by writing alot more than I used to. I'm thinking of submitting some of my "things" to online magazines and whatnot. I put them up on manofthesheeple.blogspot.com. If anyone has any time I'd love to hear what anyone thinks of them. I like them, but if nobody else does I don't want to embarrass myself by sending them off to publishers [/shameless self promotion].
Well, I best be off. It's disgustingly hot and I can hear the sound of a white russian calling for me on the wind. So long and goodnight folks, stay safe.

I like to dumneavoastra words into sentences, even when I don't know what they mean.

Today we went with our french comrades to a market concerned with goods that endeavour to replicate the quality and appearance of well known brands. Essentially a knock off market, much like the barras.
It was reasonably entertaining. In the middle they hard a large barbeque where we dined on undercooked meat and enjoyed a swift beer at around 11am. We both bough jumpers of differing styles and we've become rather attached to them. I had to take mine off when I realised it was exactly the same colour as my trousers and therefore made me look like I was wearing a onesie with a suit jacket.
While we were walking through the endless aisles of unmatched shoes and broken electronic equipment we saw a guy wearing a white shirt that was only half buttoned up, tight jeans and faux-armani sunglasses. Dave and I shared a giggle at his expense and dubbed him "a dick". Which he was; he simply looked the type. We're living in a country with a tenuous internet connection and no tv- we make our fun when we can. We continued to explore the depths of the market and pondered the existence of sentient life in the meat we consumed.
I strayed from the group slightly to check out some hats that caught my eye. I looked away for two seconds, turned back and saw Dave waving at a girl I didn't recognise.
Dave, I enquired, what on earth are you doing?
I don't know, said he, she waved first.
I waved also.
She waved back.
Eventually after much waving she wandered over and said hello, how are you?
We're fine, said we.
You don't remember me, do you? Said she.
Um... said we.
We met at a party? We all got a taxi together to Dark [the name of a local club], we had drinks?
Um... said we.
I decided that action was needed.
Of course I remember you! I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you. What was your name again? I'm afraid I've forgotten, said I.
And I've forgotten again in the process of telling this story. I think it has an H in it somewhere.
We said our goodbyes and promised to run into each other again. She sauntered off into the near distance into the arms of none other than The Dick. What were the chances?
We're in the middle of an enormous gypsy market in a town we've only lived in for a month where we meet a girl we met once at a club who just so happens to be enamoured with the only man in Timisoara we've decided was an arsehole.
Anyway, I've just been informed that I need to teach Dave how to play poker before some friends come over to play poker. He didn't see fit to mention this beforehand. Our Romanian friend Dana has aquired a romanian liquieur called...I don't know. It's considered toxic by British standards.
So long, and goodnight.

Eating seeds as a passtime activity.

Dave and I have successfully immersed ourselves in the Romanian art scene with little or no effort on our parts. We are simply artistic people; where ever we go, art follows.
Well, it helps that two of our good friends are art students here...
Anyway.
Last night we went to an exhibition at the French Institute. We were promised pastries and wine and by jove we got some. Free food aside, the art itself was pretty rotten. Upstairs consisted of umbrellas painted with children's poetry and downstairs held some sort of obscure wire and plastic bag contraption that didn't look entirely unlike a very postmodern circus tent. All in all, not fantastic.
While we were there we heard of another exhibition going on in the city; this time a Scottish 'sculptor' in the trendy part of town. Onwards! We shouted, as we thought that a Scotsman in Romania would put on a pretty good spread.
As it turns out, as is most frequent in this country, we were somewhat surprised by what we found. Instead of a sculpture in the traditional sense we found a man in a white room, dressed completely in black, complete with hood, standing in an all pervasive silence carrying some branches with litter stuck in them. Art, as it were, was happening around us.
After a few minutes of looking at him, expecting him to tell a joke or give us a riddle or something, we went to the pub. Art is good, but let's not take the piss.

Today not much has happened. I do love the Romanian attitude towards money though. Today in one of our small local shops instead of the 30bani change I was supposed to get, I got a stick of gum and a smile. I love that, it's so...casual. I was quite chuffed with my haul.
I also made an excellent tuna salad. I'll post the recipie if anyone is interested. I think tonight we're going back to the shanty house after forsaking it for a few weeks. Our new pub has a darts machine and we're all quite taken with it.
Well, best be off. Fareyewell my lovelies.

Baile Herculane

Greek mythology says that in yonder past Hercules stopped in a small town called Baile Herculane in south west Romania to rest and bathe. At the weekend we followed in his ancient footsteps and spent a few days exploring this beautiful mountainous town with our friends from the dorm.
A few things should be clarified first, however. This is going to be a long blog so I'll split it into different categories, roughly in chronological order. Also, when I refer to someone as a 'gypsy' I do not mean it in a derogatory manner; it is simly a way of describing a particular ethnic group. So please don't think I'm being ignorant or rude when I say it.
Right, here we go then.

The Many Advantages of Modern Travel

Anyone who has read the previous post about our trip to Resita will know that Romanian trains are a unique nightmare that defies easy description. Since that trip my opinion of them has changed somewhat. Rather than seeing them as an object of terror I'm beginning to see them as more of a social event; a meeting place of characters and vagabonds.
There were nine of us at the beginning of the trip. All the seats on the train were taken so we decided to set up residence in the 'hall', if it can be called that. The trains resemble the kind that used to travel across the American continent, ones that people would hitch lifts from etc. If you can imagine that, we were sitting in one of those. It was reasonably comfortable and warm, which was a good thing because the doors didn't really close and it got rather chilly.
At the first stop a whole family of gypsies climbed on board. A small boy was carrying a wheel from a car and one man had a large cuddly toy snake wrapped around his neck. Within minutes they were clapping and dancing along to hummed tunes and yodelled singing. They noticed that we all had cameras and instantly they were the centre of attention. They posed with us all, they danced more, tried to sell us shoes (single shoes, not pairs). They seemed like genuinely pleasant and happy people. When they got off the train they wished us all a safe and happy journey and waved to us until they were mere specks of person off in the distance. It certainly passed the time until we got to our destination; Baile Herculane.

Baile Herculane: European City of Culture 33AD

At the station we caught a rickety bus to the centre of town. If anyone has seen the Borat movie they may recall the jaunty Eastern European jingle that plays throughout; as it turns out the same tune is often featured on the radio in Romania. There's something oddly surreal about listening to that song while driving past horses and carts in the middle of nowhere.
We stayed in a hostel of sorts on the outskirts of the town. It was painted bright orange, housed many exotic plants in the hallway and was thoroughly enjoyable from start to finish. The owners were delightfully helpful and gave us the use of their outdoor kitchen and barbeque as well. Unfortunately we didn't have time to use it, but it was very kind of them to offer.
I was led to believe that we were going to go and get something to eat. At this point I hadn't eaten anything for about 16 hours and I was exceptionally hungry. When we were halfway up a path leading to the top of one of the medium sized hills I realised that perhaps I had been misled. We wandered around for a while and took some lovely pictures of the sun setting between the mountains while trying to figure out where exactly in the world we were. On our descent we found a restaurant that turned out to be a fantastic place to dine. Dave and I struggle to find nice restaurants in Timisoara, one of the cultural hubs in Romania, yet up a hill in the middle of nowhere we found the best food we've had in this country. After a heavy meal of goulash for myself and spaghetti with an oyster sauce for Dave we walked back to the hostel and plotted our next move.
As I mentioned, Baile Herculane is a thermal town. This gives the whole area a distinctly sulpherous aroma and pleasantly warm breeze. Where there are thermal springs there are thermal baths, and this was where we headed next.
When we got the taxi there I expected to find a floodlit building with adaquate funding from the government and possibly a small plaque explaining the history and chemisty of the town. The taxi stopped on a country road with no street lights and gestured down a barely visible path that led into the darkest dark I have ever seen. This darkness was so dense it had an event horizon. The descent to the pool had no lights and was steep enough to thrown off your centre of gravity with every movement. The staircase had obviously been there since the days of Hercules and had seen very little renovation. The only light came from the flash on my mobile phone.
We groped our way to the pool and found that it was already occupied by a dozen or so people. We spent a few minutes dishing out the alcohol and discussing the absurdity of what we were doing. The thermometer in the taxi read the temperature as being 1C. Eventually we bit the bullet, stripped down to our various underwears and got int the water. The water was around 40C or so apparently, it was pleasantly warm. I cannot describe the next hour or so because I'm not entirely sure what went on. Everyone was drinking beer while Dave and I were drinking red wine. There was singing, chanting and laughing. I think something that will stay with me forever is being in a pool of sulpherous water with a thick haze of cigarette smoke floating on the surface singing Freres Jacque with my French friends, surrounded by darkness and the brightest light being the stars billions of miles away.
While getting into the pool was difficult due to the cold, getting out was worse. We hastily got dressed and caught a taxi back to the town.
What I've discovered about Romania is that alot of the people are willing to go out of their way to help you. It was 2am at this point and most places were in various stages of closing. We found one pub where the woman was willing to stay open for an extra half hour just so we could have a drink. That simply wouldn't happen in Britain; nobody is willing to bend any rules for the greater good or even to offer an apology. For her troubles the girl got a very generous tip and she cemented Baile Herculane as one of my favourite places in Romania thus far. Day one had ended and the thought of day two really did strike a little bit of anxiety into my sulpher ridden heart. In a good way, obviously.

Day Two: Where Walking is the Order of the Day

The next day I still smelled like sulpher and I had condemned a few items of clothing to the bin; some things just aren't worth saving.
We consumed a quick breakfast of orange juice and croissants and then set off into the hills. The scenery was spectacular. Baile Herculane is surrounded by mountains on three sides and they tower over the town like sentries guarding their king. Communist hotels dominate the immediate skyline and almost spoil the quaint nature of the town. We set off pretty much at random and followed any path we could find. Once we ran out of path and we all decided it was too much hassle to keep climbing, we stopped for lunch. It was gloriously sunny; only whispy clouds in the distance disturbed the sheet of blue above us. We drank some beer, took pictures and constructed a small picnic. It was the most tranquil place I've ever been. Even the birds seemed subdued by the heat. We stayed for as long as we could before succumbing to the sun and began to head home.
After a quick stop at the hostel we set off once more in search of a dam that proved more elusive than we expected. We may well have reached it before the point we decided to turn back if we had stuck to the path, but Baile Herculane turned out to be too fascinating to miss. The buildings are oddly fairy-tale like with even moderately cheap hotels resembling the centrepiece of Disneyland. Many of the buildings in Romania lie dereclict due to a lack of funds to repair them and certain laws prohibiting renovation. One such building was one we decided to explore in a very Famous Five manner. One upon a time it was a courthouse; the marble staircases betrayed it as once being an important place for the town. Now it lies in ruins with beer bottles strewn across the floor and piles of bricks and wood lying at all angles in the corridors. There were four floors, all of which were identical. The third floor was slightly different in that it had a large archway that led out onto a veranda that curved around and connected with the next building. After following its path we found that at one point in history it used to be a casino and bar; a rather upmarket one at that judging from the beautiful murals on the wall and domed ceiling.
We found a staircase that we presumed led to the lower floors of the building. As it turned out, after exploring the enormous abandoned complex, the stairs led to a fully functioning and reasonably busy café. I wasn't sure what to make of it all, everything seemed a bit too surreal for me to take in. We ordered some of the worst coffee I've ever had and made a plan of action.
We walked for miles along the river past more abandoned buildings, all of which required exploration, and dozens of small caves that gave off extrordinary blasts of heat due to the underground springs. The only signs of life we saw for the hours we walked were the occassional car that drove past or distant figure on the other side of the river. We eventually conceded that we probably wouldn't reach the dam before nightfall and that it was best just to head home. We dined in a terrible restaurant with a fantastic owner who had the unfortunate business of telling us they had run out of pretty much everything. Still, we ate and we laughed and concluded that the whole weekend had been a remarkable success; one that we wouldn't forget in a long time.

Day Three: Homeward Bound

After a slight mixup with the train timetable we found ourselves at a loose end for three hours. We were rather rudely asked to leave the first class lounge (which was not first class by western standards, I might add) and thus decided to take refuge at the side of the river and enjoy some sun while we had the chance. We sat on the pebbly shore and skimmed stones, read books and whatnot. I was quite content to just watch the water rush over the stones and observe the curious red insects that looked like stylised ladybirds.
The train home was disappointingly modern compared to the one that brought us to Baile Herculane. At the time I was glad of the comfortable surroundings and the chance to catch some sleep before we arrived back in Timisoara.
It seems impolite to mention money after we enjoyed such a glorious weekend, but I feel it is worth mentioning how easy Romania makes it to enjoy the country. To get to Baile Herculane it cost us 17RON, around £4.50. £4.50 to travel around 400KM is remarkable. Getting back was pricier as we chose the express train which came to 43RON, or around £10. If it is that cheap and easy to travel around Romania I think I will see alot more of it before I leave. If only Scotland could do the same and encourage people to visit and explore the country; seeing Romania has made me realise that Scotland is also a place of outstanding beauty. I found myself flicking through the pictures on my camera of the trip to Connect some of us took and marvelling at the countryside and scenery we drove through. It's the sort of thing I want to share with the people I have met here, but getting to Britain costs a small fortune and once you are there they do very little to make your trip affordable. But I suppose that is one of the downsides of living in a country with adaquate healthcare and public funding.

Well, that was our trip. Surreal, enjoyable and unforgettable I hope that it will be the beginning of many other travels. I apologise for the length of the post, I wanted to make sure I didn't omit anything important or noteworthy. I should be heading off to the market to get some food for tonight. Someone is playing REM very loudly in the hall and I feel it is time to drown them out with a heady mixture of Fuck Buttons and Rolo Tomassi.
Don't feel bad if you've skipped to the end rather than read the whole thing; I shan't hold it against you.
Farewell for now everyone.

Packing

Just a quick blog before we jaunt off to the mountains. The trip there consists of:
A) A tram to the station
B) A train that takes four and a half hours to go 400km. It's going to be a long trip.

This morning I am sober and of sound body and mind. My packing now consists of:
A) 3 tshirts
B) A jumper
C) A Pair of jeans
D) Socks and underwear
E) iPod, camera and mobile phone
F) Toothbrush and toothpaste
G) A bottle of wine
H) A corkscrew.

You don't need to say it. I know already. That is excellent packing.
I shall speak to you all in a few days. I think we get back on monday. Expect lots of pictures of grass and mountains and a story of two involving social awkwardness.
Yeah, why not.

We've been in Romania for over a month now and finally life seems to be becoming something resembling normal. We've accepted Romania and all its quirks, we've stopped being shocked when faced with things out of our comfort zone.
We haven't been out for a few days. We have reading to do, livers to repair, Twitter to refresh etc. I hope something happens soon. Complacency leads to boredom, boredom leads to idle hands and idle hands are prone to being put to work by the Devil.
Tomorrow should lead to some interesting events, however. We're heading up the mountains for a weekend with our French comrades to explore the wilderness and do a bit of hiking. Seeing as though everyone who reads this knows me to some extent you can imagine my terror when the word 'hiking' was put out there.
I walk. I like walking.
I don't run. I don't like running.
I don't hike. I don't like the possibility of falling off the thing i'm walking on. But being the navigator and trend setter that I am I shall tackle it with the ferocity and enthusiasm in which I approach all my endeavours.

Well, Dave and I overcame another hurdle today. We got our hair cut with absolutely no disasters and done completely in Romanian. Over a coffee we consulted a dictionary for the words "not" "short" and "tidy". Therefore by walking in and saying "Nu scoarte, ordinat" we were able to get our hair trimmed to reasonable lengths again. Damn it felt good.
So anyway, as I was saying. We shall tackle to hiking head on. We bought our supplies today:
Two packets of tic tacs
Pringles
Cheese (for sandwiches)
Ham (see cheese)
Bread
Two bottles of wine.

Regular readers of the blog may remember my packing for a trip to Resita and think "Hey Gordon, that looks like some pretty darn sensible packing you've done there!" and you'd be right. I learn from my mistakes. In Romania you get busy learnin' or you get busy dyin'.
We have both discovered Twitter as well. If anyone uses Twitter our usernames are otagodave and sheerdrop, please get in touch. Right now I'm only following celebrities and my friend Monica and Stephen Fry keeps pushing people off the bottom of my list.
Romania may be bad for my health, but it has inspired me to get back into the habit of writing. I'm going to set up another blog in conjunction with this one to put my personal writing so as to keep this one solely for Romania banter. If anyone is interested in reading my "stuff" you can see it on www.bebo.com/ethanoldreams and all the pictures Dave and I have taken so far are on there too.
[/shameless self plug]
So long for now, I'm off to Twitter-stalk people and listen to Múm.
And so it goes.

Up close and personal Eastern European student parties

Today I awoke with a strange feeling of resignation. It's the same feeling of resignation that I wake up with every day, but each one is special in its own unique way. I felt that if I tried to sit up I would rip my skeleton out of my body and leave a Gordon shaped puddle of disaster on the bed.
Yes, I went to a party last night.
This was the first proper Romanian party I've seen since I got here. It was in a student hall sort of affair, somewhat like a student union except a huge building without any adverts for Pepsi or heinous paninis that nobody ever buys.
Before I got there, however, I saw a few interesting things while I was waiting for Silvia and Victor. Dave was feeling a bit under the weather so I decided to leave him to recover. I was standing at an intersection where most of the traffic in Timisoara comes to argue. A rather nondescript car drove past without doing anything to warrant my attention. That was until the driver opened the door and vomited on the road. He was obviously in a hurry as he didn't see fit to stop the car to perform said vomiting. He is truly a modern hero; unwilling to let nonsense such as bodily functions get in the way of his postmodern lifestyle. Lock up your daughters.
The other rather interesting thing happened soon after that. Two black cars stopped at the traffic lights and the drivers jumped out their cars, swapped cars and then had some sort of slow motion drag race as soon as the lights turned green.
Drag racing is not big or clever, but if you're going to do it at least get decent cars. Otherwise you just look silly.

Now, onto the party. As I said it was in a student hall that students from all over the country are welcome in. Kind of like a YMCA but without the Christian overtones and sodomy. As Victor said, it smelled like a pub. It smelled like parties. It smelled like fantastic.
The building itself was enormous; it had a huge hallway and several staircases leading up to the main floor. As we climbed each floor we passed more and more clusters of people with cans of beer in hand.
We reached the cloakroom and deposited our jackets on a table. I was rooting through my pockets for my wallet when Victor said "You don't need any money, the beer is free here."
I stood aghast.
Everything after that is a bit of a blur to be honest. I know I spent a long time speaking to a DJ from Timisoara who told me many interesting things about the music industry here. I met a guy from a small town near here who shed some light on why we should definately not get sick in Romania. I met a very nice girl as well, although our conversation was stinted by my lack of any language beyond the one I've had beaten into me from an early age. All in all, nearly all the Romanians I've met so far have been lovely and patient people.
When I got home I tried my best not to wake Dave up, but I ruined it by kicking over everything in the room at least twice.
Right now it's 11:10 and I need to go and buy credit for my phone. I found that a good way to start every day is to watch my friend Louise's videos of her saying hello to the world in a new way every day for five days. If you like that sort of thing you should check it out, they're really nice and Louise is a great person. I'll post some links when I don't think I'll die if I blink.
So long and goodnight, for now. I'm going to go and brave the world in a daring and handsome move that shall be an affront to God himself.

Surreality is becoming somewhat too blazé for me to keep taking it seriously. On friday we went back to the Scottish pub to see our friend Christian off on the next leg of his Romanian journey. The details are fuzzy and so are all the big things. I'm sure we had a good night, we always do. What gave the night an element of danger though was that we had to be up at 7am to get to a train station to go and visit a town called Resita with our friends Silvia and Victor. Due to the pubs never closing here we rolled into our room sometime around half five with a Shaorma in one hand and massacred dignity in the other.
We were staying one night, so my drunken packing consisted of:
A toothbrush (with no toothpaste)
Two tshirts (both offensive)
Two towels
My iPod
and six boiled sweets.

Yes, it had all the hallmarks of a good weekend. The train ride there was, if one is being generous, horrific, and if one is being cruel, downright barbaric. The train resembled the kind that rattle through Paisley Gilmour Street station towing six billion tonnes of coal. The interior smelled slightly of stale fish and some of the seats that had tears that looked very much like they had been inflicted by a knife. At this point my hangover was in full swing. It was standing on the rooftops proclaiming to the world that I had drank too much and that I had to learn a lesson. I was not well.
On the plus side, Resita is a fascinating place. It looked almost steam-punk in the architecture and general appearance; the mixture of old and new was disconcerting to begin with. Silvia and Victor grew up in Resita and they knew a phenomenal amount of its history and heritage. It made me feel that perhaps I should learn more about my own hometown, maybe do some reading etc. Then I realised I'm doing seven courses and should probably try and focus on them rather than George Orwell's brief stay in Hairmyers.
We stayed for the weekend and then returned to Timisoara. When we arrived in the train station it was the first time I felt like I was coming home rather than just going back to the room. It was an odd revelation, but not an unpleasant one.
I'm finding it quite hard to collect my thoughts and form coherent sentences again. We went to a bar last night that boasted glass tables that housed live pirhanas, and a very impressive selection of shots and spirits. Did you know that absynthe is legal in Romania? I didn't. I do now. I believe the shot was absynthe, gin and rum. We called it quits after that.
I have also rekindled my love for scrambled eggs since arriving here. After watching several videos with conflicting ideas of what constitutes the perfect scrambled egg I think we're just about ready to perfect the art. Stay tuned for the results.
To those who I promised to write letters; I'm very sorry it has taken me so long to get around to it. I have several written and ready to post but I have no idea how to use the postal system here. Once I figure it out you'll be receiving poorly written prose in my unique "lets dip a spider in ink and let it run over the page" handwriting.
Anyway, we're off to cook. Sorry this post has been quite poor, I'll write something better soon.
And so it goes.