Dave and I's time in Romania is reaching its conclusion. Not soon enough for some, far too prematurely for others. As previously mentioned we won't tell anyone the exact date but it is very soon.
I'll miss everything in Romania. The phenomenal people, the lifestyle, the culture; but I also lie awake at night longing to see everyone at home and to get my job back, something I never appreciated until I didn't have it.
I think I'm a different person now. Well, I hope I am. I used to be an antisocial, miserable bastard who was reluctant to experience new things and to give anybody a chance to prove themselves as anything other than a waste of my time. Four months in an alien culture has beaten these horrible characteristics out of me. Now when I see a new person my first instinct is to talk to them, not to hide behind my pint. I no longer dismiss people if I don't find myself interested by them at first glance, I feel so very...different. Don't get me wrong, I'm still cynical and sarcastic, but I think now I might be happy as well. What that will mean in the long run escapes me. I hope I can hold onto the things I've learned here and replicate them at home; perhaps be less of a bastard to my friends and appreciate the ephemeral nature of time to a greater extent. Maybe I'll enter a new stage of my life where I achieve things and follow through with plans, maybe I'll throw myself into my music and my writing and finally become the kind of person I want to be. This might be the start of a whole new Gordon for the world to deal with.
I still tell paedophile jokes though. Because they're funny.
Wednesday, 3 June 2009
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Getting Ahead In The Lucrative Field of Discourse Analysis
So here I am at 5am stirring cheap coffee with a toothbrush and listening to Rammstein, eating other people's leftovers, writing an essay about a subject I don't understand with the creeping sound of inevitability whispering sweet nothings into my ear, and yet I still find myself wondering; what would happen if time were to stop?
Sunday, 24 May 2009
Poli
My sporting endeavours know no bounds. I went to my first football match (in Romania or otherwise)a few nights ago to see Poli Timisoara play Bucharest. It was madness from start to finish. Rather than try to do it any justice with words, here are some small videos of the fans' celebration after Poli scored the only goal of the match.
Not long now, not long now...
Not long now, not long now...
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Elba
As some of you may know I have recently began to become interested in basketball. As some of you may know, this is somewhat out of character for me, what with me being a dyspraxic idiot who harbours a natural resentment towards the fit and the beautiful. Well, that was the old Gordon. My trips to the matches began as an excuse to spend time with a particular someone, but they soon grew into a genuine interest in the team's development and the fan psychology. Elba (the name of the Timisoara team) fans are the best kind; loud, invetive and more supportive than any team could possibly wish for. Some of their chants include:
"We're Timisoara and we're better than you."
"Your mother is a penguin" (because it rhymes)
"Fuck you [insert name of opposing player]"
"You're from [insert name of opposing team], you're poor and everyone should know."
They have drums, improvised chants and there's dancing afoot.
Elba have reached the finals of the championship and are playing the best team in Romania, Asesoft from Praest (sp?). The players walked out from the dressing room carrying a banner that thanked all the fans for their support and brought a tear to many an eye.
While Elba are a great team last night they narrowly lost out. What amazed me however was the reaction of the fans who didn't seem to care they their team had lost, you'd barely know anything bad had happened. The players were understandably distraught. The captain of the team was particularly upset and cried slightly. The players left the hall to the deafening chants of "You're our champions anyway" and the fans at the barrier bowing to the players. It was the most heartbreakingly lovely thing I've seen in years. The fans are there to support the team and Timisoara because they are genuinely proud of them, not just because they love sport or basketball or competition. The players love their sport but they love their fans as much, you get the feeling that while they're playing to win they're also playing to make their fans happy and proud. One by one the players came out with their young children and the crowd waved and cheered for them. The team left the court again to the sound of a thousand fans singing "Suntem mândri de tine". We're proud of you.
I apologise for not blogging very much recently. While my adventures at the beginning of the trip were group affairs I felt ok about telling the world about them. Now most of my time is spent with a few individuals and I feel there'd be something voyeuristic about writing about everything we do. I've had an amazing time though. I've seen philharmonic orchestras in forests, rap metal concerts in rose gardens, gospel choirs in orthodox cathedrals; I've lived a lifetime in a few months. While I'll be poor, confused and exhausted when I get home I wouldn't change a single second.
To those who don't already know, Dave and I will be home very soon. I'll be coming to a doorstep near you. And to answer your next question; yes. You can buy me a drink.
"We're Timisoara and we're better than you."
"Your mother is a penguin" (because it rhymes)
"Fuck you [insert name of opposing player]"
"You're from [insert name of opposing team], you're poor and everyone should know."
They have drums, improvised chants and there's dancing afoot.
Elba have reached the finals of the championship and are playing the best team in Romania, Asesoft from Praest (sp?). The players walked out from the dressing room carrying a banner that thanked all the fans for their support and brought a tear to many an eye.
While Elba are a great team last night they narrowly lost out. What amazed me however was the reaction of the fans who didn't seem to care they their team had lost, you'd barely know anything bad had happened. The players were understandably distraught. The captain of the team was particularly upset and cried slightly. The players left the hall to the deafening chants of "You're our champions anyway" and the fans at the barrier bowing to the players. It was the most heartbreakingly lovely thing I've seen in years. The fans are there to support the team and Timisoara because they are genuinely proud of them, not just because they love sport or basketball or competition. The players love their sport but they love their fans as much, you get the feeling that while they're playing to win they're also playing to make their fans happy and proud. One by one the players came out with their young children and the crowd waved and cheered for them. The team left the court again to the sound of a thousand fans singing "Suntem mândri de tine". We're proud of you.
I apologise for not blogging very much recently. While my adventures at the beginning of the trip were group affairs I felt ok about telling the world about them. Now most of my time is spent with a few individuals and I feel there'd be something voyeuristic about writing about everything we do. I've had an amazing time though. I've seen philharmonic orchestras in forests, rap metal concerts in rose gardens, gospel choirs in orthodox cathedrals; I've lived a lifetime in a few months. While I'll be poor, confused and exhausted when I get home I wouldn't change a single second.
To those who don't already know, Dave and I will be home very soon. I'll be coming to a doorstep near you. And to answer your next question; yes. You can buy me a drink.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Bears are the Alligators of the Black Sea
The prospect of going to the beach will no doubt conjure up similar images in the mind of many Britons; relentless wind, horizontal rain, sandwiches with unhealthily high sand content etc. That is the traditional British weekend getaway. As it so happens a very similar version of events transpires when one tries to holiday in Romania as well. Batten down the hatches and lock the children in the basement, there's a storm coming.
Thursday
We decided to go to the Black Sea for a small holiday and to experience a festival that celebrates the first of May. I don't know why Romanians celebrate it but God knows they love a good bank holiday. The travellers were going to be Dave, Martin, Loic, Jeane, Sore, Sandra, Eda, Juliet, Dana, Dave and myself. We were fearless pioneers delving into the arse-end of nowhere with little to our names besides a few flimsy tents, a volleyball and the lust for adventure. As some of you may know I have a very bad habit of listening to what someone is saying and instead of hearing what is said I hear a more preferable version of events. So when my friend Dana said to me repeatedly that the whole journey was going to take 23 hours I simply hear "the whole journey is going to be easy and a lot of fun". While aspects of the journey were fun, easy it most certainly was not.
The train from Timisoara to Arad left at 17:10 or there abouts. The first leg of the journey was on an uncomfortable modern train with plastic seats and charmless facades. When we left Timisoara the weather was glorious; the kind you would hope for when going to the beach. A few minutes out of the city the skies closed up and the clouds became dense and unforgiving. I looked down at my tshirt and shorts ensemble and gave a little sigh.
In Arad we met up with our Galacian friend Xacobe and shared a few beers and stories, catching up with the gossip in our respective cities. Before we knew it we had to once again depart and begin the second leg of the journey from Arad to Constanta. We were about to see what was on the other side of the looking glass.
The train looked like a monstrosity from a steam-punk novel written by someone with sado-masocistic tendencies. The seats smelled faintly of fish and sweat while the lights shone with the brilliance of a broken glove-box. We piled our stuff into the rickety overhead shelves and settled down into our groove. And by groove I mean drinking. The wine and beer was flowing like an ancient Roman vomitorium and the music came from our own under developed vocal chords. Volleyball and football were played liberally in the corridor and we generally enjoyed having a train carriage to ourselves. I fell asleep clutching my valuables to my body and tried to ignore the feeling that the train track was made of lego.
Friday
I woke up abruptly and found myself staring into the eyes of a large Romanian man. He was busy putting his belongings over my head and handing me my glasses; the international hint that I'm taking up a whole seat and that he wanted to sit down where my face was. We were in Bucharest.
I staggered into the corridor and found Martin smoking out the window. There were two small signs that sported pictures of a man leaning out the window and a man drinking. There were no red crosses through the pictures so we assumed these activities were just fine.
While my belongings had been in my pockets and any attempt to steal them out have been tantamount to rape, others had not been so lucky. Both Dana and Sore had their money, phones and MP3 players stolen in the night and the Bucharest police seemed less than inclined to give a single solitary shit. I was amazed at the girls' composure and attitude towards it all. Throughout the weekend we made sure they didn't go hungry or thirsty, nothing should ruin someone's time at the beach. The rest of the journey went reasonably smoothly and we arrived in Constanta in the afternoon. Due to it being a May holiday most eateries were closed and we were forced to eat at KFC. At this point I was nearly 3000km from home; finding myself in a KFC made me a little homesick for the times I spent there with Spanky. The food was rotten.
The last hurdle before the beach was getting onto a tiny minibus with about three billion other people and a reckless driver. Within minutes we were at the beach. The sky was blue, the sun was unbearably hot and the sea was only a few feet away; things were finally perfect.
What with Dave and I being British and useless we had to rely on Sore and Jeane to erect our tents for us while we adopted a more passive, supervisory role. They did a fantastic job, although Jeane did find our two tiny tents somewhat hilarious.
We played some volleyball, drank some beer, ate some seafood etc. When night fell we went to a bar for drinks and suddenly the night becomes hazy. I remember eating a shaorma with Martin and Loic, I also remember it raining and that I got very wet. My camera reminded me that I tried to go back to the tent by myself. Looking for a dark blue tent in the dark with a backdrop of a black sea and a black sky while guttered out one's dignity is quite the arduous task. I took dozens of pictures for the benefit of the flash to try and guide myself home. I eventually gave up and went back to the town to find the others. Find them I did, I also found more alcohol and they in turn found me my tent. I fell asleep in a mound of sand inside the tent with the relaxing sounds of water ebbing and flowing mere feet away from where I lay.
Saturday
I woke up to the relaxing sound of water ebbing and flowing mere feet away from where I lay and began to panic. Why can I hear water? Why am I in a tent? And good God why am I wearing shorts? After a few seconds of thrashing around and beating the feeling back into my legs I fell out of the tent and surveyed my surroundings. The beach stretched for miles and every square inch was occupied by tent or beer bottle castle, people in the distance played in the surf and dogs sniffed idly at discarded fast food.
Dave, Sore and I dined in a small restaurant for breakfast and instantly my fellow Scot and I were overcome with childlike glee. We had to travel 929km but we found it. We found a fried breakfast. It was only fried eggs and bacon by by God it was the best eggs and bacon I've ever had, my feelings undoubtedly fuelled by my desperation and crippling hangover.
It was at this point that Dave and I had an idea that proved to be as amazing as it was ridiculous. We wanted cocktails. We wanted all our favourite drinks in the same glass. I have no idea what time we started but it was definitely before British licencing hours. Once we ran out of cocktails we knew we began to order by colour, starting with blue and working our way through the rainbow and beyond. We met some minor Romanian celebrities, some people who were altogether too fond of our nationality, a man who is the closest thing to a Herculean figure I've ever met and more people wearing their pants outside their trousers than I could count. We concluded our night by sitting beside enormous fires drinking with the rest of our companions, watching Romanian TV stations filming people jumping over fires and being young and reckless. Dave, Sore and I learned from our mistakes and slept in the same tent to stave off numbness and frostbite. I fell asleep to the none-too-distant cries of Jeane shouting "hopen zis fackhing tent!".
Sunday
On Sunday we played God and had a day of rest. I lay on the beach playing with shells and digging small holes while the others ventured into the town to freshen up and regain some sense of normality.
The journey home closely resembled the one there with a few notable differences. The train where we spent the majority of the trip, almost 15 hours, lacked any curtains or privacy saving devices. The conductors of the train were similarly socially unaware of the rudeness of barging into someone's room and demanding to see the same fucking ticket over and over again. It's difficult enough to sleep on a bench made of pain without being woken up at all times of the night. We arrived back in Timisoara on
Monday
and headed straight for the showers. I've never felt so dirty as I did when I got back to the room. It was almost worth not showering for four days to have a shower that good again.
Dave and I enjoyed a quick game of darts and went our seperate ways for the evening. I filled my friend Anca in about the weekend's events and realised what a completely ass-backwards and surreal time I had. The people I know here have the special ability to make even a trip to the beach something remarkable and memorable; something I miss about the people back home.
Monday night ended with Anca and I staying up until 5am watching the stars and discussing bears and the Black Sea. I suppose all the best nights do.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Bi-annual Birthday Bashes
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].
"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].
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.
Monday, 30 March 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, 22 March 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, 21 March 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, 14 March 2009
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.
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.
Friday, 13 March 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, 7 March 2009
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.
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.
Monday, 2 March 2009
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.
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.
Friday, 27 February 2009
The hedonistic bell-curve
As some of you may have guessed from the blogs and our general economic climate that we have adopted a somewhat hedonistic lifestyle in some regards. We go out alot, we buy lots of booze, Dave smokes etc. It was not always like this, however. When we first got here we lived like paupers for a few days until we found our feet. Since then we've been gradually getting more extravagant with our purchases; buying wine from a wine shop in the trendy parts of town instead of the minimart around the corner etc. Today we went into said trendy wine shop to get some bottles to accompany our trip to Resita (a mountain town in south-west Romania) over the weekend. What is a trip without wine? Nothing; that's what.
So we went into the shop and perused the selection of fine wines from all around the world. Most of them cost somewhere between 14RON and 40RON, or £2 and £10. We picked two and random (and a third because it was called Lowengang) and went to the counter where a stereotypically attractive woman took our purchases and started to ring them up on the till.
After some faffing around on a calculator (they assume we don't speak Romanian because of our accents, but I'll have you know we nailed the numbers 1-10 at our last lesson) she showed us the price- 345.
Usually when we see a number like this they mean 34 lei and 50 bani, dropping the zero for convenience, one assumes. So Dave looked into his wallet and started to count out some notes. In the mean tume the woman asked "Is too much?" to which we replied "no of course not, that's just fine thanks. 34 lei, right?".
"Nu" she replied, "3 million."
This made us pause for thought.
"Are you sure you mean three million? Is it maybe three hundred and we picked up some expensive bottles?"
"Nu" she replied, "3 million."
"No...we're pretty sure you mean three hundred, but it's ok we'll just leave it thanks."
The girl then decided to emphasise her point by pulling out a 100 lei note and saying "See; one million!"
"No...that's one hundred, but it's ok we'll just leave it. We don't need wine that badly."
And so the transaction ended. One has to wonder how many Western customers she has lost due to her confusion between one hundred and one million? Perhaps a rich westerner proposed to make her a millionaire and promised that 100RON equated to 1000000 in anything else. Who knows. All I know is that we don't have any wine. Off to the minimart.
Today we also visited the largest shopping mall in Romania; the Iulius mall. As soon as we stepped inside we could have been anywhere in the world. There were KFCs, Pizza Huts, Polo, Ralph Lauren, United Colours of Benetton etc. It was all quite depressing. It was a necessary trip though, we needed more towels and jumpers and trying to find items like that in Timisoara is alot more hassle than it's worth in the winter. I think if we go back it will only be out of desperation. Or if they open a Starbucks. I miss my grandé triple shot iced caramel lattés.
So we went into the shop and perused the selection of fine wines from all around the world. Most of them cost somewhere between 14RON and 40RON, or £2 and £10. We picked two and random (and a third because it was called Lowengang) and went to the counter where a stereotypically attractive woman took our purchases and started to ring them up on the till.
After some faffing around on a calculator (they assume we don't speak Romanian because of our accents, but I'll have you know we nailed the numbers 1-10 at our last lesson) she showed us the price- 345.
Usually when we see a number like this they mean 34 lei and 50 bani, dropping the zero for convenience, one assumes. So Dave looked into his wallet and started to count out some notes. In the mean tume the woman asked "Is too much?" to which we replied "no of course not, that's just fine thanks. 34 lei, right?".
"Nu" she replied, "3 million."
This made us pause for thought.
"Are you sure you mean three million? Is it maybe three hundred and we picked up some expensive bottles?"
"Nu" she replied, "3 million."
"No...we're pretty sure you mean three hundred, but it's ok we'll just leave it thanks."
The girl then decided to emphasise her point by pulling out a 100 lei note and saying "See; one million!"
"No...that's one hundred, but it's ok we'll just leave it. We don't need wine that badly."
And so the transaction ended. One has to wonder how many Western customers she has lost due to her confusion between one hundred and one million? Perhaps a rich westerner proposed to make her a millionaire and promised that 100RON equated to 1000000 in anything else. Who knows. All I know is that we don't have any wine. Off to the minimart.
Today we also visited the largest shopping mall in Romania; the Iulius mall. As soon as we stepped inside we could have been anywhere in the world. There were KFCs, Pizza Huts, Polo, Ralph Lauren, United Colours of Benetton etc. It was all quite depressing. It was a necessary trip though, we needed more towels and jumpers and trying to find items like that in Timisoara is alot more hassle than it's worth in the winter. I think if we go back it will only be out of desperation. Or if they open a Starbucks. I miss my grandé triple shot iced caramel lattés.
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