As some of you may know it was my 21st birthday yesterday. I tried to blog before then but my body just wasn't up to it. I have been struck by a mystery ailment that is invulnerable to all known forms of human medicine. And by that I mean paracetamol and a banana didn't shift it. It was just normal flu-ey symptomes; aching joints, skin like sandpaper, loss of the ability to chastise people etc. Normally I wouldn't have given it much though, but the morning I realised I was sick I sat in bed and read the headlines online. What did I see?
"THE WORLD IS DYING OF PIG FLU- DROWN YOUR CHILDREN!"
or at least words to that effect. I'm in a country where you have to bribe doctors with cigarettes to get pain-killers so I'm sure you can all imagine my panic when the thought crossed my mind that perhaps I had this killer flu thing. I hadn't been in contact with any Mexicans or rubbed up against any pigs but in my mind I was sure I was dying. Turns out I'm alright now though.
My birthday, dispite being really quite ill, was fantastic. Dave cooked a lovely stew type of affair and himself and the guys chipped in to buy me an electronic darts board. Our plan is to nail it to the door, put the beds together to create a pool table kind of thing and open the room up as a 24 hour casino.
We went to our favourite pub and drank things according to the colours while arguing about how to pronounce things in different languages. There was cake, candles, presents; it was a pretty perfect evening. I wish I had been well enough to enjoy it properly but everyone has to get ill sometime I suppose. I love everyone here dearly, I couldn't ask to be living with a nicer group of people.
Also, our bill came to 314.91 lei which beats our last birthday bill by a clear 15 lei; go team!
In other news I've been experiencing new experiences left right and centre recently. I've been to two basketball games. To the unexperienced reader that might not look like a particularly impressive or outstanding feat. To anyone who knows me and my inherent aversion to all things sporting you'll realise that going to such an event is a life and character changing event. It started when my friend Anca invited me along to one of the games and I went along in an attempt to get to know her better. As it turns out basketball is an incredibly interesting and intense sport when the teams have Romanian fans. It's not a huge hall, around the size of the average gym hall in schools, but they cram hundreds of people in and it sounds like the majority of them have drums and airhorns. The last game ended 102-100 in favour of Timisoara and I thought a riot was going to break out regardless of the outcome. It was fantastically tense, I'm looking forward to the next game with baited breath.
May 1st here is a huge holiday apparently. It seems to be that Romanians take any excuse to take a few days off work and go to the beach. I like their style. Timisoara is in the west of Romania, almost on the Hungarian border, and the seaside is on the other side of the country. It's pretty much Romania- Black Sea- Russia. Quite a scary thought really. Originally the train ride there was going to take around 15 hours. This wasn't ideal, but for 45 euros who can complain? Dave text me at the height of my illness and said, very simply, that the train ride was now going to take 23 hours. Did the fucking country just get wider or what? I don't pretend to understand these things. Basically I'm going to be on a train with almost everyone I know for a whole day with nothing to do apart from talk, read, eat junk food and worry about the train derailing. Kinda like home really. As far as I can make out we're going to some sort of hippy festival so expect many pictures of obscurities and hedonism. We're sleeping on the beach as well, just like Coney Island in the 50s [/postrock reference].
Tuesday 28 April 2009
Sunday 19 April 2009
You Shouldn't Be Afraid...
This is the fortieth blog post; a landmark event. A kodak moment, if you will. I haven't been blogging as much recently because I don't want to bore everyone with the mundane details of my day to day life here. That's not to say I haven't been doing alot of great things though. We visited a town called Lugoj last week to see where our friend Dana grew up. It was a pretty town, although I can't imagine being a child there; it was somewhat devoid of entertainment or amusement. We had the most phenomenal garlic sauce with our pizzas though. A few of you may remember me bitching a bit about how doors don't always close on trains here and a few people expressed a certain amount of disbelief. Well. Here you go:
Yesterday I spent a great day with my friend Anca; a veritable 80's montage of events and laughter. I visited the Orthodox cathedral for the first time as well. It's beautifully ornate; I'm sure God would approve.
It's Jesus' second birthday today and everywhere is closed. Dave has left on an expedition to find cigarettes in a town where everyone seems intent on staying very much in church. I think it's nice that people still have religion here. It's good to know that somewhere somebody believes in something.
There was talk of taking a road trip north but I think we might be forsaking that plan in order to go to Serbia. £1 is 105 Dinar, so I think I'll be keeping some of the inevitably awesome banknotes I'll get.
Anyway, Loic and Martin are coming round to play Hearts (a game we all enjoy alot now) and I best watch Dave Tidy up. I'll document some more exciting things soon. Ciao for now lovelies.
Yesterday I spent a great day with my friend Anca; a veritable 80's montage of events and laughter. I visited the Orthodox cathedral for the first time as well. It's beautifully ornate; I'm sure God would approve.
It's Jesus' second birthday today and everywhere is closed. Dave has left on an expedition to find cigarettes in a town where everyone seems intent on staying very much in church. I think it's nice that people still have religion here. It's good to know that somewhere somebody believes in something.
There was talk of taking a road trip north but I think we might be forsaking that plan in order to go to Serbia. £1 is 105 Dinar, so I think I'll be keeping some of the inevitably awesome banknotes I'll get.
Anyway, Loic and Martin are coming round to play Hearts (a game we all enjoy alot now) and I best watch Dave Tidy up. I'll document some more exciting things soon. Ciao for now lovelies.
Wednesday 15 April 2009
Saturday 11 April 2009
Sunday 5 April 2009
The Rip
Last night was a mess. Hell, the whole day was a mess.
Our friends from Galicia are visiting from Arad for the weekend and we decided to show them the best of Timisoara. I'll summerise the next 20 hours because to tell you every detail would require more space than the internet has.
We visited the Flavia market again to show the guys a proper Romanian experience. I bought beige trousers and shorts as well as a small jade turtle. Yes yes, I know. Great shopping. We stopped for several beer breaks and dined on mici (mystery meat sausages) and barbequed chicken. It was gloriously sunny and Dave and I have both started to develop them early stages of a tan. These are strange times and I don't pretend to understand them. We decided to leave the market in order to go back to our rooms, freshen up and then go to a concert at the local jazz club. Now we enter the twilight period of the day; in which Gordon starts to lose his sense of self.
Gordon, Dave, Xacob, Diego, Sonia and Juliet sat in the tiny, cramped club and listened to a band that sounded like Franz Ferdinand being raped by the Artic Monkeys. Gordon wasn't entirely impressed by the band but he appreciated being force fed some culture after a few days of reading sinfully boring political theory. The decision was made by someone to return once more to the rooms to freshen up again and to move onto a club callde Dark. Before this happened the majority of people got distracted and ended up sitting in an Italian girl's room drinking cheap red wine mixed with coke and horrible beer. Gordon hovered near the door and contemplated how the night would progress. Could he face another heavy night out? Is it really worth the inevitable hangover and social faux-pas that have become synonymous with Timisoara?
After lengthy debate the decision was made for him and once more into the subculture of clubbing did Gordon delve. The second he stepped into the club he was affronted by a wall of smoke and heat. Bodies occupied impossible spaces and a constant stream of people coming and going pushed and jostled anyone in their way. Cigarettes bounced around in the night and the sole source of light came from the illuminated adverts behind the bar. Nobody's face was visible; this was the place for the faceless and fearless. Gordon tried his best to fit in with the crowd, dancing and drinking for hours on end, before being faced with another decision. A quiet come-down drink in a 24/7 pub called Papillion or follow the crowd to another club aptly named Art.
The next thing he knew Gordon found himself in Art. The inside of the building featured high domed ceilings painted a violent blood red. Gold fixtures leered at the dancers from the walls and reflected small multicoloured shafts of light into their eyes. Gordon drank more and drank more, meeting people he barely knows and treating them like old friends. One French girl he met once upon a time kept falling into him and shouting the name of the place they met previously. Her hair was stuck to her face and she reeked of vodka. Gordon caught her one last time and pushed her into the arms of one of her companions. He looked away for a second and then she was gone. Amidst the unbearable noise and schizophrenic lights Gordon wondered briefly if they would ever meet again. Most likely, he concluded, and it would almost certainly resemble this encounter.
The clock struck six and the clubbers began the long jaunt home. Gordon walked with his Galician friends, Sonia and a small spanish chap whose name he didn't catch. Upon reaching his room at half past six he found Dave awake and drinking a beer. After exchanging brief stories of the last umpteen hours of nonsense Gordon fell into a dreamless sleep in an uncomfortable bed.
Today I woke up at around 2pm and felt remarkably good. I decided to go to the shop and stock up on supplies; orange juice, peach yoghurt, bananas and some eggs. I made my purchases in broken Romanian dispite the woman speaking perfect English at me. As I was walking down the pedestrian path to the caminul a breeze caught the cherry blossoms of a nearby tree and threw them around the air like confetti at a wedding. I walked through the flowers listening to Planet Telex by Radiohead. I realised once again that while things in Timisoara are heavygoing and self-destructive I wouldn't want to miss a second of it.
Our friends from Galicia are visiting from Arad for the weekend and we decided to show them the best of Timisoara. I'll summerise the next 20 hours because to tell you every detail would require more space than the internet has.
We visited the Flavia market again to show the guys a proper Romanian experience. I bought beige trousers and shorts as well as a small jade turtle. Yes yes, I know. Great shopping. We stopped for several beer breaks and dined on mici (mystery meat sausages) and barbequed chicken. It was gloriously sunny and Dave and I have both started to develop them early stages of a tan. These are strange times and I don't pretend to understand them. We decided to leave the market in order to go back to our rooms, freshen up and then go to a concert at the local jazz club. Now we enter the twilight period of the day; in which Gordon starts to lose his sense of self.
Gordon, Dave, Xacob, Diego, Sonia and Juliet sat in the tiny, cramped club and listened to a band that sounded like Franz Ferdinand being raped by the Artic Monkeys. Gordon wasn't entirely impressed by the band but he appreciated being force fed some culture after a few days of reading sinfully boring political theory. The decision was made by someone to return once more to the rooms to freshen up again and to move onto a club callde Dark. Before this happened the majority of people got distracted and ended up sitting in an Italian girl's room drinking cheap red wine mixed with coke and horrible beer. Gordon hovered near the door and contemplated how the night would progress. Could he face another heavy night out? Is it really worth the inevitable hangover and social faux-pas that have become synonymous with Timisoara?
After lengthy debate the decision was made for him and once more into the subculture of clubbing did Gordon delve. The second he stepped into the club he was affronted by a wall of smoke and heat. Bodies occupied impossible spaces and a constant stream of people coming and going pushed and jostled anyone in their way. Cigarettes bounced around in the night and the sole source of light came from the illuminated adverts behind the bar. Nobody's face was visible; this was the place for the faceless and fearless. Gordon tried his best to fit in with the crowd, dancing and drinking for hours on end, before being faced with another decision. A quiet come-down drink in a 24/7 pub called Papillion or follow the crowd to another club aptly named Art.
The next thing he knew Gordon found himself in Art. The inside of the building featured high domed ceilings painted a violent blood red. Gold fixtures leered at the dancers from the walls and reflected small multicoloured shafts of light into their eyes. Gordon drank more and drank more, meeting people he barely knows and treating them like old friends. One French girl he met once upon a time kept falling into him and shouting the name of the place they met previously. Her hair was stuck to her face and she reeked of vodka. Gordon caught her one last time and pushed her into the arms of one of her companions. He looked away for a second and then she was gone. Amidst the unbearable noise and schizophrenic lights Gordon wondered briefly if they would ever meet again. Most likely, he concluded, and it would almost certainly resemble this encounter.
The clock struck six and the clubbers began the long jaunt home. Gordon walked with his Galician friends, Sonia and a small spanish chap whose name he didn't catch. Upon reaching his room at half past six he found Dave awake and drinking a beer. After exchanging brief stories of the last umpteen hours of nonsense Gordon fell into a dreamless sleep in an uncomfortable bed.
Today I woke up at around 2pm and felt remarkably good. I decided to go to the shop and stock up on supplies; orange juice, peach yoghurt, bananas and some eggs. I made my purchases in broken Romanian dispite the woman speaking perfect English at me. As I was walking down the pedestrian path to the caminul a breeze caught the cherry blossoms of a nearby tree and threw them around the air like confetti at a wedding. I walked through the flowers listening to Planet Telex by Radiohead. I realised once again that while things in Timisoara are heavygoing and self-destructive I wouldn't want to miss a second of it.
Dave here, hence the bold, self assured font. Tonight was a mess. Yes I have a tan and matching beige trousers. This much is true.
I felt it necessary to put tonight's epic battle into writing. Forcing drunk French post grads into taxis aside a much greater fight took place tonight (although that was hard enough in and of itself.).
Once all my girl based club dreams (and Martin) had been put to bed I headed straight to the shaorma shop. Today I have eaten two pletcavikas, three miche and one shaorma (in addition to all the energy expended fighting French post grads in taxis). This may not mean much to you but trust me - its a lot. All I wanted was chips, a ciggy, some man rock music and bed. Not a lot to ask. In addition my Romanian is of a high enough standard that I can demand this sort of thing be concocted at my slightest whim.
It was/is roughly five am. I entered the shop and made said request. In Romanian it goes roughly; " Buna Sieara Domnishara. (This is very respectful.) Cartoffi prejits cu sare si vinegar va rog.". Vinegar has an extra long and soft "e". Yes it sounds effing ridiculous. The I vowel sound doesn't even exist. It was absolute torture.
Semantic niggles aside, she refused. She refused point blank on the basis that chips and vinegar don't go together and made me a small shaorma confident in the knowledge that I would both pay for and eat it if it was spicy enough. I like my shaorma hot. But I really wanted a chippy after tonight's ordeal. I love Romania but AAAAAAA I miss Glesga.
I felt it necessary to put tonight's epic battle into writing. Forcing drunk French post grads into taxis aside a much greater fight took place tonight (although that was hard enough in and of itself.).
Once all my girl based club dreams (and Martin) had been put to bed I headed straight to the shaorma shop. Today I have eaten two pletcavikas, three miche and one shaorma (in addition to all the energy expended fighting French post grads in taxis). This may not mean much to you but trust me - its a lot. All I wanted was chips, a ciggy, some man rock music and bed. Not a lot to ask. In addition my Romanian is of a high enough standard that I can demand this sort of thing be concocted at my slightest whim.
It was/is roughly five am. I entered the shop and made said request. In Romanian it goes roughly; " Buna Sieara Domnishara. (This is very respectful.) Cartoffi prejits cu sare si vinegar va rog.". Vinegar has an extra long and soft "e". Yes it sounds effing ridiculous. The I vowel sound doesn't even exist. It was absolute torture.
Semantic niggles aside, she refused. She refused point blank on the basis that chips and vinegar don't go together and made me a small shaorma confident in the knowledge that I would both pay for and eat it if it was spicy enough. I like my shaorma hot. But I really wanted a chippy after tonight's ordeal. I love Romania but AAAAAAA I miss Glesga.
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