...then one of me would surely still be in Romania, enjoying the friendship of some truly wonderful folks. My last four days in Oradea and Sintandrei (after finishing the Unitarian tour and bidding my fellow pilgrims goodbye in Targu-Mures) were a happy blur, starting with a good visit with Veronica Thursday night over dinner on the pedestrian mall in Oradea. We caught up on many details of our lives, summer travels, school gossip, and found so many things to laugh about. Vera has a lovely sense of humor, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement at life's ironies. I stayed at the new Ramada close to her apartment that night and was tickled that I had chosen not only the weekend of the Palinka and Wine Festival in Oradea (Toamna Oradeana), but also the Octoberfest sponsored by Ramada right in its parking lot!*** The next day, Friday, I had my trusted friend/taxi driver deliver me to my friends' home in nearby Sintandrei. Ana and Petre, their daughter Raluca and her husband Mihai had invited me to stay with them during this trip, and I was happy to be a part of their family for a few days. Only Petre was there when I arrived, the others at work, and he gave me a warm welcome, but I was soon off to my old school just a short walk away. It was wonderful to see the students, the faculty, and principal. I had candy corn and Halloween stickers for the kids, but they gave me the best gifts--enthusiastic hugs! They wanted to know if I were "back for the year," and I felt sincere regret in having to say no. And it was the European Foreign Language Day! So I watched their presentation in the media center at noon. Vera and my former colleague Andrada, the documentarian, organized the program with a power point presentation and readings.*** Friday night with Vera's help I arranged for a dinner at the Mushroom Restaurant (Ciuperca) on a hillside overlooking the city. Felicia, my teacher friend from the scholastic high school in Oradea, her husband Horia, Vera, Mihai, Raluca, Ana, Petre, and Alina, their other daughter were my guests for a festive meal. I had no idea just HOW festive as an alumni group of musicians occupied half the restaurant with music, singing, and dancing as part of their program. At first I worried that we wouldn't be able to talk, but as the evening wore on, I could see that my guests were enjoying the show and I relaxed and enjoyed it, too. These good friends were so generous to me while I was in Romania last year and I wanted to at least show my gratitude with a little dinner party--such a small token! They deserved more.*** The next morning I found myself in my robe having coffee in Ana's kitchen bright and early with a gathering of their relatives I'd never met! It was corn harvesting day! We hit the field and worked for a few hours before coming back to the garden table for a huge breakfast, and then back to the field to finish up. Mihai's brothers, one of their wives, and a niece all helped out with good humor and great appreciation for Ana's excellent cooking. The weather was perfect and I thoroughly enjoyed this bit of farm labor with good company.*** Later I watched Mihai's niece Edina prepare for her troupe's dance performance at the festival that night. So much ironing of the many layers, many ruffles and yardage of the beautiful costume. Actually getting into the whole ensemble wasn't easy either! Watching her dance at the festival was special after observing all the necessary work beforehand. And the festival was fun. Besides the dances from many villages, stalls all over the park offered tastings of palinka and wine from small wineries and stills. The wonderful Hungarian tube bread with various coatings was being baked on site and the aroma permeated the air. Cotton candy and candied apples and bon bons were all around. Why are these people not more rotund?? Then we joined Vera and her friend and daughter back at the Octoberfest site for a round of German beer and sausage and German patriotic music. Bidding farewell to Veronica was the only sad part of the day. (Photos of the weekend) *** Sunday morning I was delighted to learn that Ana and Petre would also come along with us to Budapest to deliver me to the airport there. They--in their mid fifties--had never been to the city and Mihai decided it was a good time for them to see the sights! So we were a jolly group making the 2 1/2 hour drive in Mihai's comfortable car on a fast toll road. What a difference from the shuttle van I've taken before slowly through many small villages! We teased Ana who was nervous about the speed of our travel, something she wasn't used to. Finally it was time to say goodbye. They came into the airport with me, Ana giving me a bag of fruit to take along, and all of us having good hugs and double kisses. I wish these dear souls lived closer. I can envision returning for special times--Vera's wedding, the house blessing of Mihai and Raluca's new home, their child's christening--but I know distance and practicality get in the way. Still, I'm hoping to see Vera next April if she can meet me in Verona where Lee will be teaching for three weeks, and Mihai thinks the house is coming along and should be ready in a year or so, so who knows? The pull of friendship is strong and can shrink the globe in remarkable ways. Peace to all. May you be grateful citizens of this planet Earth. May you live a beautiful poem.

The destination of our Unitarian pilgrimage was Okland, a small village of around 1500 residents, nearly all Hungarian and members of the Unitarian congregation of our partner church. I wasn't sure what to expect since the word "village" is used to describe a number of different smaller settlements throughout Romania. But Okland fits well the American vision of a European village, right down to the cows coming home down the main road at dusk, the geese honking their welcome, and small gardens overflowing with flowers and vegetables. (Photos) It was first mentioned in 1546, but has remains of Roman structures and was apparently a frequent haunt of Attila the Hun whose favorite wife, according to legend, is buried here. The sanctuary of the Unitarian church of the village, our partner, is from the Romanesque era and was altered around the turn of the 16th century in late Gothic style. In 1938 it was doubled in size, but in keeping with the style of the old section. What impresses the visitor is the abundant use of embroidered decorative cloths, red on white, the bright blue paint, and the wonderful ceiling tiles, wood panels painted with nature and folk motifs. These panels were the subject of much debate, apparently, when the 1938 expansion took place. Many did not want to replace the panels, opting for a newer, more elegant look, but thankfully, the minister and other elders were adamant about keeping them and won out. We were glad to be present for a communion service there, led by both our and their ministers, and to exchange gifts, songs, and well wishes with the members. It was a moving service, especially after we had learned their history, the difficulties of trying to meet during the communist era and then later to maintain autonomy and survive in a country 87% Orthodox.****We were hosted by various villagers during our four-day stay, and my friend Anna and I, being the "walkers" in the group, were situated at the home of Rosalia and her husband on the outskirts of town. We liked the walk to the parsonage and church--over the river, past a school and several homes, beside a park, and around the bend to the pretty churchyard garden. The weather couldn't have been more perfect--bright blue skies with sunshine and breezes in the day and a nip in the night air that made sleeping under the farm house quilts feel cozy, especially when Rosalia offered to boil some water for my trusty hot water bottle. Though the villagers all spoke Hungarian, Rosalia and I could communicate on a very basic level in Romanian, a fact most satisfying (and a bit amusing, given my inadequacies) to me. Mostly we relied on a bright young interpreter who was with us during mealtimes. Meals, by the way, ALL meals were preceded by a shot of palinka (strong plum brandy) to aid the appetite and digestion. I could happily accept at lunch and dinner, but at breakfast, I just had to decline. I'm not a "morning person" and struggle with the aid of coffee to wake up. The last thing I need is something that crosses my eyes and makes me want to head back to the pillow.***** Overall, our stay was informative and pleasant, an opportunity to examine our own commitment to our beliefs, a time to come to know and appreciate each other better, a chance to test our willingness to grow--elements, of course, common to all pilgrimages. The tour/pilgrimage ended with our leaving the village for Targu-Mures where the others would begin their return flights to the US. I, however, was given a ride to Cluj where I would take a train, probably my last in Romania, to Oradea to visit dear friends in the area. Part III will be about this bitter-sweet weekend.

Returning to Romania after three months back home in the states reaffirms my affection for this land and gives me a whole different perspective as I learn about the Hungarian minority here, the history of Transylvania and of the origins of Unitarian beliefs. I’m writing from Okland, a beautiful little village in the Homerod valley in Transylvania. I and eight other members of my Unitarian Universalist congregation have come on a pilgrimage of sorts to our partner church. This is ancient territory, this particular village feeling obvious pride in being the burial place of Attila the Hun’s favorite wife. The minister fairly crowed with the proclamation that he and his ancestors descended from the Hun’s people.**** We began in Budapest, seeing the sights there and enjoying a sweets festival and a wine tasting at a winery in Eger—seven large samplings that left us reeling and happy as we bought our bottles, convinced we had just had nectar of the gods. (Actually it IS very good wine and may someday soon be sold in Seattle). Upon entering Romania, we were immediately welcomed by my friends in Sintandrei with a small band of musicians, a cookout featuring traditional foods and drink and a lively performance of traditional dance by a troup of dancers who were friends of Mihai and Raluca. AND Mihai and Raluca even joined in on one number! Ana, the matriarch, had prepared her best dishes of Romanian foods, and her husband Petre shared his home made palinka (plum brandy), afinata (blueberry liqueur) and cherry liqueur. We were given colorful woven bags filled with a small bottle of palinka and a jar of Ana’s special zacusca (pepper relish). Mihai had two video-tographers capture the evening and we’ve been promised the videos! We were only in “my city” of Oradea for a night and day, but I knew I would be returning on the 29th after the UU tour ends. I was glad that my American friends had this sampling of Romanian culture as the rest of the trip is almost exclusively Hungarian. Our tour guide, wife to the minister in our partner church, represents well the Hungarians in Transylvania who cling to their language, culture, and worship. Unitarianism is very popular with Hungarians, but some are also Lutheran or Catholic. The Medieval Hungarian King Sigismund was Unitarian. We visited his tomb in the abbey of a medieval church (now Catholic) in Alba Julia. We also visited the medieval church in Turda where the Edict of (Religious)Toleration was signed in 1568, a direct result of Sigismund’s influence. Even though such progressive thinking had been present years before as the Reformation across Europe grew, for all practical purposes, it was the beginning of Unitarianism. **** This is a different Romania than I experienced as a Peace Corps volunteer. Here is a population who seems resentful of the oppression placed on them by the Romanians, themselves an oppressed people under many governments and rulers. It seems good King Sigismund’s ideal of toleration, religious and otherwise, is still an allusive state, difficult to reach and difficult to hold.**** Two more entries to come.

Since I first began the long application process to be a volunteer in the Peace Corps in 2009, I've cringed whenever someone makes a comment about my "adventure." I know being a PC volunteer IS in the broad sense, an adventure ("an unusual experience," "a risky undertaking"), but in my mind there is a distinct difference between adventure and service. Adventure is something I do for myself. Service is something I do for others. And as corny as it sounds, service is the reason I joined the Peace Corps, leaving family and friends and a comfortable life to serve where I'm needed. So when news of a recent government study showing the low level of need for volunteers in Romania came to my attention last spring, I had to admit to myself that--in my particular village in my particular region--I had already reached that conclusion. This may not be true currently at all sites, but in a village where the school has perfectly competent English teachers and the mayor's pockets seem unusually deep, my presence is at best one of ambassadorship. At the same time, unplanned developments in my family and with some of my friends have created greater need for me back home. So when I put it all on the scale, the tilt was obvious and I just couldn't justify staying on in Romania to continue my "adventure." But oh, the difficulty of saying goodbye! I've repeatedly thought I'd like to be two people--one to go and one to stay. Because there are so many reasons I'd like to stay in this beautiful and complex country, enjoying its people, countryside, food, music, and traditions. I liked my Red House apartment, the big-sky sunsets, and many special people in my village and in the city. I became very close to my counterpart, a superb person professionally and personally. I'll miss my PCV colleagues, especially the Westsiders, and several others with whom I bonded during the training months. I sincerely hope my 60 blog entries have given my readers a good sense of what life here is like and that I've represented my country well in my association with Romanians. I arrived back in America last Saturday night after teary goodbyes in Oradea to find teary hellos at the Atlanta airport. My heart is full and I know I'll be gleaning poems from this experience for a long while to come. Happily, I'll be returning to Romania in September with fellow Unitarian Universalists on a tour, so I was able to say "so long" instead of "goodbye" to several people I know I'll get to see then. And that trip will certainly be an adventure, something I'm doing for myself, a pleasure I look forward to.

I can think of no better way to answer people's questions about the economic situation in Romania and what needs to happen than to share Ambassador Mark Gitenstein's speech to the Bucharest Stock Exchange this past March. ***** BUILDING EQUITY MARKETS AND REFORMING ENERGY MARKETS IN ROMANIATalk by U.S. Ambassador Mark Gitenstein at the Bucharest Stock Exchange, March 31, 2011Distinguished Guests, I want to thank you all for joining me here today at the Bucharest Stock Exchange, to talk about something we have all discussed many times: the future of Romania, especially its future economic growth. As many of you here already know, I am the proud descendant of Romanian immigrants to the United States more than a century ago, and this country is dear to my heart. Since my arrival here a little over a year and a half ago, I have had the privilege of working with many of you on a variety of issues that are not only important to the United States, and to our bilateral partnership, but which are important to the future of Romania because they affect each and every person in this country. These include our joint endeavors to strengthen Romania’s rule of law, support for reforms to stabilize the economy and spur a return to growth, and promote Romania’s assets and opportunities to potential investors.The key to Romania’s future is building enduring institutions that under gird your democracy and free markets, transparency, rule of law and predictability. These reforms which began in the early part of the last decade helped to attract over 10,000 RON of foreign direct investment for every man, woman and child here in Romania. Furthering those reforms as your current government has been doing in the last two years is the only way to keep that foreign investment flowing and to generate more domestic investment here in Romania.The most recent assessment by the IMF declared that these measures have succeeded in stabilizing and reversing the economic decline, and if the reform agenda moves forward, Romania can expect a return to positive growth this year and beyond.That is why I am speaking to you today from the Bucharest Stock Exchange. You have not yet harnessed your equity markets in this effort.Why are equity markets important? Growth cannot happen without a reliable energy supply and supporting infrastructure, and the energy sector here will require significant amounts of new investment if the sector is to be a driver for, and not a drag on, Romania’s recovery. Equity markets can play a critical role in attracting investment from here and abroad.Romania’s infrastructure, roads, bridges and rails and especially the energy sector need capital but you must keep your deficits within IMF and EC limits. Just in the energy sector alone you need something in the range of 10 billion Euros to modernize the sector and thereby unleash your most important strategic assets. That CANNOT be accomplished with tax revenues alone.And it will not happen as long as these assets are tied up in inefficient state-owned enterprises run by inexperienced political cronies making decisions based not on what’s best for the company but what serves their own interests. I believe that the right model for Romania is Poland whose government announced in 2009 that it would undertake a program to raise over 10 billion Euros by selling part of its interest in state enterprises. Poland did it without the government losing control of critical assets.Imagine what that would mean for your budget, your energy sector and average Romanians – not just making energy cheaper and more abundant, but also building highways and bridges which would generate businesses and jobs for Romanians and perhaps even reverse some of the difficult budget cuts undertaken in recent years.Poland did this not by giving preferential deals to political allies who bought the assets below their fair value, but by using its equity markets. Under the supervision of reputable financial managers these assets were offered on a transparent open market to the highest bidder. Ultimately many of these state companies will be owned by average Polish shareholders themselves.That’s what should happen here. Average Romanians should own these companies.In Poland there are over 1.5 million retail investors, average Poles who get up every morning, drive their own car to work, and earn a salary. In Romania there are probably less than 10,000 retail investors. That has to change.Shares listed on the Warsaw Stock Exchange are worth over 200 billion Euros. The value of shares on the Bucharest Stock Exchange is less than 13% of that amount. So the market here has some distance to go.In 2009, Poland was the only EU country to report economic growth, in part thanks to the country’s solid capital market. Last year, the PZU Group, one of Poland’s largest financial institutions, gave a successful initial public offering of 2 billion euro in the middle of an economic crisis. Through the first 11 months of 2010, Poland had 81 initial public offerings. Only China (442) and the USA (101) had more.That’s one of the reasons that a recent survey listed Poland as one of the 10 top emerging markets in the world. Just this last year several of the top investment banking firms opened offices there. They see the potential.That can happen here in Romania but not with the current proposed path. The on-going effort to reorganize state-owned energy companies into two “national energy champions,” instead of exploring full or partial privatization options, is not only an inefficient use of valuable resources, but as one outside expert commented, “contrary to government claims, the policy would significantly impede competition, crowd out private investment and raise prices.”It is as we would say in America an effort to “rearrange the deck chairs on the Titanic” because it does not deal with the basic problem of state owned energy companies – that they are not run like real businesses.Media reporting has shown that for at least ten years, more than 50% of Hidroelectrica’s output has been directed to preferential energy contracts at rates significantly lower than production cost. This has resulted in significant profit loss and lack of investment in the company, forcing the government to divert scarce public funding to keep the company afloat.Similar allegations have been made against other energy complexes.While giving wholesale energy discounts to large volume customers is not necessarily an unfair business practice, a state-owned company extending this benefit means subsidizing only a few users at the expense of all other consumers. An important distinction in Romania’s case is that access to these kinds of special discounts often seems to be a function of political connections rather than sensible business practice.Other abuses include at least two examples in the recent past where the government literally used these state-owned enterprises as a “piggy bank” to deal with short term cash flow problems. For example, this past year Romgaz was asked to make a “donation” of 100 million Euros to the government to meet its budget exigencies, and government representatives on the board were directed to approve the “request.”Your government also needs to move on the commitment it made to deregulate its energy price markets if Romania is to fully develop its energy resources. I understand the concern about the impact on individual consumers, especially those below the poverty level. But you can deal with this the way we do in the U.S., with effective regulation, and as in the U.S. and your neighbor Hungary, through targeted social subsidies for the poorest among you. It simply is no longer acceptable to keep all energy prices artificially low even for those who can afford it. As long as Romania chooses to refuse market pricing for gas and electricity, new investment in exploration and production will stay away. Romania will have chosen unnecessarily broad subsidies instead of new jobs, and imported resources instead of increasing its own supplies and potential exports.But there are some good things happening in your equity markets and even in your energy sector. Just two months ago, to great applause, shares from the Property Fund (Fondul Proprietatea) were listed on this very stock exchange, capping years of preparation and anticipation. I believe this listing holds far greater significance for Romania’s economic future than most people realize. The Property Fund holds stakes in 83 private and state-owned Romanian companies, with energy companies comprising a major component of its portfolio. Successful listing of the Fund is prompting fund manager Franklin Templeton to broaden Romania’s exposure to global equity markets and to showcase Romanian investment opportunities to a vastly expanded global audience. This positive impact can be seen on the upward trend of the stock exchange since January. This is a terrific starting point to introduce more private capital to other potential growth areas, such as transportation, infrastructure and retail services. However, all investors will evaluate the risk of investing in Romania, including Government policies toward business, their stability, and how they are implemented.The Property Fund and its presence on the boards of these state owned companies is having a perhaps even more important function. Property Fund board representatives are holding these companies and the Romanian Government accountable for bad decisions. For example, the Fund has challenged the so-called “donation” by Romgaz to the government. It is fighting the ill-conceived energy champions idea. It will fight the cronyism in the state companies and insist that they be run like real companies for the benefit of all shareholders, not just government bureaucrats. They are determined to get real value out of these strategic assets.If the government would sell even larger portions of these assets in the market, like Poland is doing, the Property Fund would have more allies in this fight and in all likelihood those shares would eventually fall into the hands of average Romanians. And then average Romanians would not only own these companies but benefit from the increase in value that would come as these assets attain their market potential.I cannot overstate the benefit that the “self policing” role that real equity ownership in these state companies would bring to Romania. As I said in the beginning, the real challenge for Romania is to build self- sustaining independent institutions which preserve the values of transparency and the rule of law that are critical to free markets, democracy and ultimately to personal autonomy and prosperity. Healthy equity markets, combined with representation of Romanian shareholders on the boards of these companies, is the best guarantee that the companies will act like modern businesses.I am very impressed with the efforts you have taken since 2000 and especially in the last year or so, at great political cost, to reform the state. But it is not enough to reform the pay and pension laws; the Labor Code; the anti-corruption laws; to recruit good police and prosecutors and to start to reform the judiciary. That’s been difficult and it’s good. You should be proud of it.But it is not enough. It is not enough to undertake these reforms to satisfy some bureaucrat in Brussels that you have complied with the CVM or that you should get into Schengen. It is more important and more lasting to empower average Romanians to insure transparency, predictability and to end corruption. In fact empowering average Romanians and offering them a brighter future might help you comply with CVM and gain Schengen entry.More important than any single law or reform, the international community is seeking proof that that drive for reform is coming from inside Romania – not being imposed from the outside. I can think of no better means of demonstrating this commitment than privatizing your energy sector with the highest standards of corporate governance.By kick-starting your equity markets and disbursing more wealth and power to individual investors you empower these investors to block abuses. Individual investors, average Romanians or their representatives, judged by how much value they bring to Romania not how many political points they score, sitting on these boards would do more than even the best prosecutors to end these abuses.Lest you think I am being patronizing in these suggestions I hasten to add that we have been through all of this in the United States. It took us over 100 years to figure out that we needed to do the things I am suggesting here. Our Constitution was ratified with a Bill of Rights in 1789 and a hundred years later we were struggling with exactly the same issues you are here a mere 20 years after your revolution. We still have greedy people in America too and we’re still working on it.In the 1890s we had wealthy railroad barons who ran their companies like political empires, owning newspapers, political parties and politicians. They benefited from generous hand outs from the federal government. Sound familiar?We passed powerful new antitrust laws and created equity markets. Through stock ownership these companies eventually came to be run by independent shareholders.President Teddy Roosevelt’s bust appears on our most revered memorial, Mount Rushmore, because he had the courage to use those laws. The New York Stock Exchange became the most powerful equity market in the world once it was freed from the control of the barons of industry. And even more important we realized the real value of America’s assets and with the help of free markets redistributed wealth to average Americans instead of concentrating wealth in a few oligarchs.You can do this in Romania, like we did it in America and like your friends in Poland are doing. We are here to help, not simply because it is good for you but because it is good for us. Good for us because we will invest along with your citizens in these projects but also because it will make you even more reliable allies and trusted friends.Thank you for listening and let us know how we can help.

June is bustin' out all over--that's for sure! So many recent events. I'll give you the highlights and links to albums of photos. First there was the amazing kindergarten production in my village on Youth Day (June 1st). The big class taught by only one well-organized woman presented songs, dances, and recitations all in elaborate story-book character costumes. Not only did they perform well, but they behaved themselves on stage for over an hour in a very hot room. It was an impressive program and very well attended, of course. (Photos) Then there was Hero's Day in my village. This seems to be Romania's version of Memorial Day, honoring fallen soldiers and living veterans. Our school children processed to the cemetery along with the priest and several veterans and what seemed to be widows of the fallen. The priest offered prayers, the children read short passages and sang, and the mayor hung a wreath on the memorial tombstone. It was a nice ceremony. (Photos) Also during that week Peace Corps' Habitat for Humanity build was occurring in the nearby town of Beius. Our volunteers came in shifts to complete the house in a week. I knew I had too much happening at my school to attend, so I made a donation and enjoyed some of the volunteers coming through the area. (Photos) It was great to visit with them in Oradea and a few spent the night with me in my village before and after their shifts and were even on hand for the community celebration of Youth Day, which was delayed until Sunday, June 5th this year. (Photos) It was in the park, a very nice venue with a fine stage at one end for all the dances, songs, skits, and music. The park was packed and everyone was having a great time--even with the heat. Fortunately, there was a steady breeze, too. My sixth grade students presented two narrative poems in English with accompanying skits. We worked on these after school several times and I spent much time on the head gear and props for the skits. Thank heavens for a Chinese import store a short bus ride away. Everything seemed fine, but the kids seemed to have stage fright when they actually had to perform on stage, and many in the audience who didn't understand English tuned us out and talked. So it wasn't the big success I had hoped for, but I'm hoping the experience was a positive one for them (they sure looked cute in their little bee antennae, bear ears, or flower wreaths!)and that they'll remember it with a smile...or a laugh. One bee wore high heels, the bears kept losing their noses, and the tree kept lifting the branches high over his head instead of in front of his face. Ah, but my paper bag beehive held up just fine. And finally the event I had been anxiously awaiting: the dedication of the Peace Mural at our school. Our mural, along with many others around the country is part of the celebration of Peace Corps' 20th anniversary in Romania and 50th anniversary around the world. (Photos) We encouraged the students to come up with a drawing to be used, but ended up using elements of four different drawings, cleverly interwoven by our documentarian Andrada. The chosen wall is right at the entance to the school and can't be missed! The mayor attended our dedication and cut the ribbon for us after two students read a little speech in English and Romanian. The design features the outline of the country of Romania with scrolls of music from both national anthems, doves, flowers, a peace symbol in Romania's colors and the Peace Corps logo. "But why blue?" our principal asked last week about the light blue dominant color. I think he had something brighter in mind. "It's what the students wanted. It's peaceful," answered Andrada. I like it. It looks for all the world like a big, happy, blue fish, trailing its music and doves through a peaceful sea of diplomacy.

The last of my mini portraits are of "Alina," one of my students, "Bianca," a sales person at a local magazine (convenience/general store), and "Razvan," the foster dad at the Roma Boys Home. Alina is a pretty seventh grader who has the quiet grace and kindness of one much older. She seems "tuned in" to me and makes thoughtful gestures that sometimes catch me off guard. Mostly, she likes to accompany me on my walk home--or at least to HER home, which is about half way to mine. She will approach me after class and say "walk with you"? or at times--on days I don't teach her, she'll simply be waiting a little way down the path. Sometimes her little brother, also a student, will be with her. I'm never sure if she's trying to help me with my Romanian or practice her English. We do both. I will ask "Cum se spune...?" (how do you say?) about many items or phrases. She will ask me questions in English or just make an accurate statement at times that surprises me. She's one of those students you always feel deserves more. I admit there are days when I'm tired and feel I could use a quiet walk home, but I find that I always feel better after walking with Alina, waving her on at the corner where we part, feeling a little unspoken benediction in the "la revedere."****I met Bianca the second day I was in the village, making my rounds to the magazines, introducing myself like a good little PCV. She seemed bemused and I immediately liked her bright, merry eyes and big smile. I know virtually nothing about this woman, but she has cheerfully helped me buy what I need two or three times a week. When I'm in the tiny store and others are there, she always introduces me if they seem curious--much smiling and nodding, and she gives me credit for learning Romanian "repede" (quickly--such a joke) when I ask properly for items, seeming to take a small measure of credit. We've had a few laughs, too. When I was doing some Christmas baking, I realized in the store that I was nearly out of baking powder and couldn't remember "praf de copt." Lee was with me and we both did numerous impressions of dough rising. Bianca thought we were hilarious (well, we were) and finally figured it out after pulling out nearly every little packet under the counter. She knows very well my taste in vin alb (white wine), the particular kind I like requiring her to fetch a little rickety ladder to reach it from the top shelf, and as she's reaching high (she's short) above her head, I and any number of other patrons are yelling for her to reach left or right to fetch it. I think what I really like about Bianca is her look of friendly expectancy, eyebrows raised and half-smile--as though my entering her little world could cause merriment at any moment. I live to serve.*****Razvan is the dad at the foster home for Roma Boys in my village. He's in his thirties, a family man whose wife and two little boys live with him at the American-built home. He is a calm and patient fellow, tall, husky, bespectacled, and earnest. He loves to sing--a tenor--and studied voice for awhile. He supervises the boys with a firm hand, but loves to present them with little surprises--a puppy and two canaries in the past few months. The birds get to fly free among the big potted plants in the living room. I don't know how the housekeeper handles this, but no one seems concerned, and the boys and birds are happy. Razvan and his family are Baptist; I was invited to the "blessing" of their infant son in April. He is simply a good, kind man--perfect for the job he's doing--and when he says, "May God bless you" as I leave the car, I feel God is probably listening.

"Anca" and "Crina" are women of my village whom I know through observation, interactions, and snatches of conversation and to some extent through their children. They know little English and so we limp along with my little Romanian, and still I feel I know the quality of their character, and I admire them both. Anca is a woman in her late fifties, a kindergarten teacher and the mother of two lovely grown daughters. She is a bundle of energy and her bright henna-dyed hair and big smile make her easy to spot in a crowd. She not only deals with a passel of tiny tots all day, but she also tends a huge garden, and does massive canning and preserving of the produce as it is harvested. Her home is welcoming and well-organized. I love the fact that she has a fully-appointed wash stand between her garden and kitchen door and that she uses for handy hooks broken twig stumps on trees in her back yard. Her husband cannot eat dairy products and one of her daughters and son-in-law do not eat red meat. Still, from my experience, Anca's meals are delicious, varied and healthful (if one discounts the fried pies, which I do!). At neighborhood celebrations she always has her kindergartners perform--recitations, dances, songs. I don't know how she trains them so well, but they're delightful to watch! At a performance of Romanian traditional music and dance in the city, Anca was the first on her feet, hand to her heart, when one of the singers began, "Rise, Romania, Rise," a rousing anthem. Having lived through the difficulties of her country's recent history, she holds dear her patriotism and pride. One of her daughters is in my adult class, speaks English, and is a very special young woman. Her intelligence and forward-looking attitude speak well for her up-bringing, and her affection and high regard for her mother are obvious.*****Crina is a neighbor, just a few doors down from the red house. I first met her when my landlady brought her up to meet me and make a request. We somehow communicated--neither of them speaking English and I with my baby-talk Romanian. She is a religion teacher (a mandatory subject here) at a school in the city, in her mid thirties, and her two children, Mihai (10) and Ioanna (7) attend schools in the city. She asked if I would spend some time talking with them. I explained that I cannot give private tutoring lessons (PC forbids it, rightfully), but that I would visit with them the next Saturday afternoon. What has evolved is a standing session at their house with her two children and often a few of their friends. I usually tailor for their level a lesson I presented that week to my classes. It became a highlight of my week, the children being precocious and delightful. Mihai is one of those children who seems to have an "old soul," and again and again I have been amazed at his sensitivity and maturity for one so young. Ioanna is impish and cute--a pixie of a child who is taking gymnastics classes and could be another Nadia. But getting back to their mother, Crina is one of the most poised people I've ever met. She is immensely attractive while being modest in her dress and demeanor. Her home is light and airy and aesthetically pleasing and her flower garden at the entrance to their home is nothing short of gorgeous. She speaks to me slowly and repeats as necessary, but (unlike me) she never uses her hands, keeping a very calm and serene tone. She has trained her children to be courteous and they always--on subtle command--present me with a little thank-you gift as I'm leaving--usually chocolates or other sweets. Crina always follows me out to the gate and many times picks a bouquet on the way to send along with me. I have stayed for dinner on a few occasions and been royally treated with traditional foods. She and her mother, who is often there, are both excellent cooks. Her husband, a businessman, speaks quite good English, and he and Mihai keep the dinner conversation going in English very well. She once said to me in the bleakness of January that I should come to see them any time and have a cup of tea, just visit, not be alone. I don't remember exactly how she said this to me, but I got it, and it endeared her to me, feeling that she saw me as a person a long way from home, and not just "the American woman."

My second snapshot is of Stefan, one of my adult students. Stefan is thirty-three, has an electronics business in the city, and married a fellow associate only a few years ago. He speaks good English, is optimistic and ambitious, and is a genuinely nice person who likes to please. He is cheerful and has a well-developed sense of humor. I learned his story after he and his wife took me to a fine performance of traditional music and dance in Oradea last month. His great passion is dance; he was nearly dancing in his seat at the concert! Indeed for many years he studied traditional dance, danced as the lead in a troupe of performers who were employed by the state theater in Oradea, and wanted to go to the Ukraine to study choreography in a university dance program. Romania, perhaps more than its neighbors, has valued and sustained its traditional dance to a high degree. Many young people are serious about the "old ways" and devote much time to weekly classes taught by masters of traditional dance. Elaborate, expensive costumes are handed down from generation to generation. Stefan wanted to cherish the old, but also learn the new and become a trained choreographer who could bring skills back to his fellow dancers in Oradea. His excellent dancing got him accepted into the program (albeit with a rather haughty attitude toward this Romanian folk dancer), but he needed financial support for a short period of time until a kind of student aid/scholarship would begin. He asked his employer (dance master) if he could continue receiving his regular pay for that time as he started the classes. The master refused. Stefan feels there was some resentment, some jealousy perhaps, and this fellow didn't want to be upstaged. The dream was shattered. BUT Stefan points out quickly that he has not given up dance and along with another dancer/friend, he heads up a summer dance program for young people, using his own native ability in choreography as well as passing down the traditional steps. He's a happy man, as far as I can tell, but he harbors a bitterness, too. He feels his situation was typical of those of so many other bright and talented young people in Romania who not only don't receive encouragement and help, but are often actually held back. No wonder so many leave for other EU countries. Such a loss! I'm glad Stefan is still here and that he's found an outlet for his dance and for helping young people, too.

As many of my postings have shown, this country has great beauty in its countryside, its architecture, its traditions, dance and music, but what will remain most poignant in my memories is its people. I've decided to write about a few specific persons who have touched my life here. I can't say they are particularly representative since I've met so many vastly different personalities--just as one would anywhere. I was going to call these descriptions "portraits," but since they are limited glimpses, I'll call them "snapshots." Oh, and I'm changing their names to other typical Romanian names. Bogdan: My village is very close to the city (about 4 miles) and has a shuttle bus that runs on the hour most hours of the workday until 8pm. However, if you need to come back from the city after hours (like after a concert or movie) or if you need to go in on the weekend, or if you need to get yourself and luggage to the train station or pick up heavy boxes at the post office, you'll need a taxi. I found Bogdan last fall and was so impressed with his courteousness, promptness, and good driving, AND his good English that I immediately put his number in my cell phone. He has become not only a reliable driver...but a friend. I sit in the front with him and we speak in English so that he can practice his skills while patiently feeding me Romanian phrases as I inquire. He says it once slowly as though he's handing me a gift for my brain. "I have to see it written," I whine, laughing at my bad pronunciation. Then he'll say it again rapidly several times as though that should do it. Bogdan is in his early 30's, college-educated, a vegetarian, and a t-totaler. He laments the fact that poor economic times have hurt the taxi business and is not as happy about sunny weather as I am. "No one in the city wants to ride when they can walk in this nice weather." He and his wife have no children and very little extended family. They are intellectuals (he agrees with me when I offer this description), read voraciously and do not have much of a social life. (It would be difficult in Romania to have much of a social life if you didn't eat meat nor drink...nor have children.) Another unusual aspect of his personality is that he is not Orthodox and is in fact more Hindu--a follower of Hari Krishna and the Upanishads philosophy. For my birthday, he gave me a very nice copy of the Bhagavad-gita in English. I am reading passages with titles that seem interesting like "Nature, the Enjoyer and Consciousness." He likes discussing life-and-meaning and believes there are no accidents in life, that our random meeting was not random at all. We are surprisingly close on many of our views of spirituality, but miles apart in other areas like government and society. When we were discussing family at Christmas, he told Lee and me that he had very little. "Well, we can just be 'family'," I said impulsively and he immediately agreed, "Yes, you are family." I can't tell you how comforting that attitude was when I hurt my back last winter and he helped me up and down stairs and along icy sidewalks, to the post office once where he carried the package, and always driving slowly so as not to jar me. I don't think a son could have been more attentive. Family indeed.

Well, here we are. My birthday came and went and the predicted Doom's Day came and went and we've all survived. The busy-ness of springtime in my village this past week involved the aid of the good caruta horsies more than usual. They are very sweet-tempered and well-behaved creatures (certainly deserving of Rapture transport as much as anyone!). I took these photos one afternoon from my kitchen window as I baked birthday brownies.****So on Friday, it was all about me. ;-) Ziua mea, my day, my birthday. (Photos) In keeping with the rather nice Romanian tradition of the honoree being the one who gives, I bought bunches of miniature Snickers and Mars bars to give to my students and made brownies with chocolate frosting and sprinkles to put out in the faculty lounge. My counterpart Veronica had organized a surprise for me, however, and I became the receiver more than the giver. All the faculty sang Happy Birthday in English to me and presented me with an enormous and scrumptious cake with a filling of fresh raspberries and strawberries with cream. SO nice! A group of eighth grade students gathered in the media center to sing to me and students throughout the morning gave me little tokens (a rose, a card) and always the double kisses AND hugs. It's hard for me to imagine middle school kids (especially boys!) back in the states being so demonstrative and unselfconscious in their affection. I felt humbled by their sweetness. Later back at my apartment at the English Club gathering of eighth graders, I wanted to do the typically American birthday thing, so I stuck candles into the remaining fourth of my cake and had the kids sing to me in English and let me blow out the candles, but unbeknownst to any of us, they were the kind that kept relighting themselves. The kids were astonished (their first encounter with these), I was surprised, and we all had a good laugh until I finally just dropped them into a glass of water--the only way I could extinguish them.****On my birthday eve, I must mention, I had another treat. Fellow PCV Connie came into town and we had dinner in the courtyard of a lovely Italian restaurant before seeing a fabulous tribute of arias to Virginia Zeani, Romanian opera diva now 87, gracious, regal, and amazingly well-preserved. The best operatic voices of Romania came to the Philharmonic Hall in Oradea to honor her and to entertain a packed house. It was a stunning review, a very special evening for all the opera lovers here. There seemed to be no resentment that she had left Romania in 1984 and has lived in the US ever since. They were just glad to have her back in their midst--the prodigal daughter, their beautiful Romanian nightingale.****And May 20 was also another anniversary--our Peace Corps group arrived in Romania on that day a year ago, so it was my second Romanian birthday, both memorable--the first mostly spent at the airport, all of us bleary-eyed and exhausted. I have to say, I liked this one better!

These are the days of the great green hope. Everyone seems involved in a gardening project, even if it's in window boxes or balcony pots. Romanians seem to draw from the soil a special nourishment that goes beyond the benefits of good food. One could say it has pagan roots (no pun intended) and that the ancient rhythms of the seasons remain spiritually important unto themselves even when anointed with religious labels. No matter the reason--this time of plowing, planting, and tending seems a very satisfying and rewarding season. I was fortunate enough to be invited to a gratar (cookout) (Photos) in a garden setting here in my village last week and was given a tour of the beautifully planned and planted garden--a large one of vegetables of every kind, smaller beds of flowers and herbs, and many fruit trees and berry shrubs. The owners were rightfully proud. Never mind the hard work, there was a real joy in the accomplishment of establishing the garden for another year. And under the blooming chestnut trees we celebrated, of course, with delicious food cooked on the grill and sinfully good little pies and pastries ("little lies" was the translation of the dessert).**** And speaking of chestnut trees (castana), they are in full bloom and everywhere. They're the preferred shade tree here, having thick foliage and growing quickly to maturity. The other blooming tree one sees and smells all about this region is the locust (salcam). It's highly prized both for the tea made from the dried flowers and the honey that comes from their pollen. When I looked it up (Wikipedia to the rescue), I learned that it has been naturalized from the native trees in North America. I know we have Honey Locust in Georgia, and I suppose this is the same, maybe a bit altered by the climate. To my knowledge no one back home made tea from it, but certainly the honey is important (hence the name).The fragrance is fresh and clean from little white flowers that could be flakes of soap.***** I'm missing my visits to the Roma Boys home these few weeks as they work in their villages with a team of Americans from upper state New York. Seeing them on Mondays is always a real pleasure and I wish I and they could work out other times for tutoring classes, but they're busy guys and my schedule is full, too. (Photos) The agency running the home and other such schools and homes in the area are providing a wonderful service and I salute their mission and dedication. As I've said in the past, the complicated issues involving the Roma (gypsy) population in Romania have no easy answers, but certainly working with the children is the most effective approach for lasting change.**** My birthday is this week. It will mark the one year anniversary of our group's arrival in Romania. Sometimes it seems only yesterday and sometimes it seems a lifetime ago. Just as a tree shows by its rings that it grows more or less in a given year, so I believe the human soul has greater or less growth in a year's time. For me, soaking up all I can in this endlessly interesting culture, I think I've added one heckuva broad ring, not to mention a few pounds!

Just as in the states, the last month or so of the school year is filled with many extra events. Coming up is a Youth Day celebration in the park on Sunday, the 29th (though the actual holiday is on the 1st) and the painting of our peace mural, which has been designed and located (a wall at the school's entrance), but not painted. There are doubtless other events I'll be told about, too. This past Saturday, the National Monologue Contest took place in Oradea and I was asked to be a judge. Thirty students--county winners (ninth-twelfth grades)from all over the country--came to Oradea for the weekend. The topic this year was "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others." (Gandhi) I had judged at the county level, too, and enjoyed it and was glad to be asked for the national level. The other judges, all Romanian, are a terrific bunch of educators who, like so many of their American counterparts, wanted to find ways to honor all the finalists. They looked to me to help come up with titles, so I found myself dictating to the certificate scribe things like "Most Effective Use of Props" and "Most Dramatic Costume," and "Best Singing Voice" (for the one contestant who sang!). I was asked to speak for the judges at the awards ceremony and was able to make a little pitch for volunteerism, something still looked upon askance in Romania since the communist era's twisted version (mandatory volunteerism!). The entire weekend's program was extremely well organized, and I was delighted that it included a "sneak preview" of the National Theatre (Photos) which has been closed for restoration for the past four years. I was stunned at the richness of the interior. Even while the little nagging thought--but what about the country's roads and rails, for God's sake?--kept popping up in my mind, I admired the gold gilt work, the beautiful upholstery, the modern lighting, the deep stage and lovely box seating, knowing that this, too, is a necessity for the hearts and souls of the people.**** I'm basking in the slowly warming weather. Mornings are still nippy and I haven't packed away the blankets from my bed, but afternoons (Photos) are becoming truly springlike and everyone's spirits are lifted. I've had nodding and brief conversations with villagers on my way home from school. They've come out of the barriers of their walled-in homes and are sociable. Some of the grandmothers are out with little ones who are eager to interact with me. Smiles, waves and blown kisses are always easy to translate. Tonight I've been invited to a cookout and I may not even take a coat!

My Romanian friend Felicia promised me lilacs from her garden, but I didn't know she meant buckets of them! and many bouquets of lilly-of-the-valley besides! Being the scent-oriented person I am, leading with my nose as it were, these are flowers I especially love (along with the gardenias of my Southland which I hope to catch in June). I had mentioned my eagerness to see lilacs blooming in Romania as I had not seen them since I lived in Utah many years ago. Felicia remembered and yesterday she loaded my arms with all the lilacs I could ever want and many little bouquets of lilly-of-the-valley from her lush beds--a kind of reward for all those months of cold. For it was MAY DAY in Romania and at their garden cottage in the hills above Oradea, Felicia and Horia hosted a fine celebration of all things associated with this day--a salute to laborers (Labor Day in much of Europe), spring and all its fertile promise, and the honoring of the dead (the Orthodox version of the Catholic observance in November). Mostly it was a grand excuse for a party! I've decided that Felicia--brilliant teacher of French and English, reader, traveler, gourmet cook, skilled organizer--is a sort of Romanian Gertrude Stein who seems to gather up interesting friends and acquaintances in the great vortex of her energetic hospitality. She and Horia had just returned from 10 days in Spain but managed to have everything ready and perfect for the gathering on Sunday. Today she had to be back in the classroom! Among their fun-loving and interesting friends--this time there was a couple visiting from Israel. Ami had been the childhood friend of our chef for the day (long-time friend of our hosts) and had moved to Tel Aviv years ago and met Madelaine, both working as nurses in a large hospital there. Once a year they come to Romania to visit his friends and family. Before WWII there was a very large Jewish population in this part of Romania (one third of Oradea), but it decreased dramatically when many were sent to work camps. It's a period of history many Romanians are vague about, saying it's when the Jews left. On a between-course walk, Madelaine and I talked about tolerance, the problems with extremists in all faiths, the need for mutual respect. She's always felt comfortable visiting Romania, she said, thanks to hospitable people like Felicia and Horia. The other guests were many of the regulars--all interesting, educated Romanians with fine senses of humor, and my colleague Connie joined the group this time, too, feeling as lucky as I that English was everyone's common-denominator language.****And speaking of the courses, first: coffee and tuica (brandy) with herb biscuits, then: a spread of many appetizers from homemade bread with zacusa (sweet pepper and eggplant condiment) to all sorts of pickled and fresh vegetables and aged sausages, next: a wonderful soup--a Romanian version of the Hungarian goulash--with chicken, peppers, carrots, onions, and all-important paprika and caraway seeds, cooked outside on the grill, followed by: the must of any gratar--miti, those little all-meat, fresh sausages cooked on the grill, and finally: cozenat (a rolled up, sweet yeast bread), my American cookies (peanut butter) and more coffee and tuica and/or affinata (blueberry liqueur). Throughout the day, arriving guests would present their homemade alcoholic specialty (brandy, red and white wine, liqueur) and sampling was always a polite thing to do, of course****One interesting side note: When we returned to my village at the end of the day, we found the streets around the park and ball field crowded with parked cars. Apparently, for many, the way to celebrate May Day was to climb into a bumper car and slam into someone! A traveling amusement company had set up a small arena and it was a most popular attraction!****May, my birth month and a beautiful one most everywhere in the world, has been well-launched, it seems. And my apartment smells really wonderful.;-)

A young Romanian woman on the train back from Moldavia asked Connie and me if we liked Romania, and before we could answer, she shook her head and said "Disappointing, isn't it?" We had just spent six days seeing the glorious painted monasteries of Moldavia and the old medieval capital town of Suceava, a fine symphony concert and botanic gardens of Iasi. We both leaped to disagree and thought it sad that so many Romanians only see the country's problems and not the riches all around them. But WE certainly enjoyed them, taking our spring holiday on the other side of the country in an ancient area we have wanted to see. Getting there was adventure enough--a long train ride from Oradea to Suceava where we stayed for 3 days and then a bus ride to Iasi for a few more days, and finally a 12-hour train ride back to Oradea. When I bemoaned the fact that we were only going about 350 miles (albeit, over mountains some of the way), Connie pointed out the bright side: slow trains mean photo opportunities. So we lowered the window of our compartment or walked into the hall and lowered one on the other side and took boo-coos of shots. The spring weather was wonderful and we saw the awakening fields and fruit trees, the grazing sheep and horses, and industrious farmers and villagers scroll by.****Being in Suceava this time of year was especially fun because it is the home of the famous Easter eggs of Bocavina. At a craft fair in the town square, earnest vendors sold fine traditional pottery, linens, carved spoons, clothing, and eggs, eggs, eggs! These intricately decorated beauties were being sold for only 5 to 7 lei (about $1.65--$2.30) each. I wanted to buy them all! I settled for 15--all different with symbolic traditional markings. Of further interest in the town was a well-preserved-and-maintained village museum where we saw traditional dances along with authentic buildings and tools from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And then we had to see the medieval fortress, lovingly restored in places, presiding majestically over the city, just as Steven the Great (Stefan Cel Mare who fought off the Turkish invaders) would have wanted.**** The next day we and our interesting fellow hostel guests (a Japanese fellow living in Spain, an Indonesian teacher living in France, a Canadian, two Americans and one Romanian) set out for the tour of the painted monasteries. We only had time for the four most impressive ones, which was enough to absorb, I can tell you. What makes these 15th and 16th century churches so special is that the colors of the frescoes on the exteriors of the buildings have remained vivid and stunning all these centuries. The explanation has to do with the composition of the dyes, of course--all from minerals. The sun doesn't bleach out rocks, so the south sides of the churches are still rich and bright. Driving winds and rain, however, erode the dyes, so the north side paintings are all but washed away. The much-beloved bright blue of the Veronet church, for instance, is made of ground lapis lazuli. The paintings, depicting Bible stories but also the fall of Constantinople, the ancient Greek philosophers, a lengthy poem, and local saints and heroes were intended to educate and instruct the illiterate of the day. Could the artists have possibly guessed how long people would be standing and staring at their artwork?****Our stay in Iasi, a city of 338,000 near the border of the Republic of Moldova, was brief, but we got to attend the symphony (Handel's Messiah)and see the country's oldest public university, a few impressive churches, and many monuments honoring their favorite son, the nationally beloved poet Mihai Emanescu. We also spent a splendid afternoon in the botanic garden and the adjoining beer garden. ;-) All in all, the Romania we encountered in this spring-time get-away did not disappoint in the least!

It's spring. Quick! Paint the trees! Everywhere--tree trunks are freshly whitewashed. I (and apparently many others, according to a web search) question the practice. Answers and theories vary widely--many I had already heard from Romanians I asked. Top of the list is that the wash is an insecticide, that it prevents crawling critters from reaching the leaves and fruit to do their damage. Next in popularity is that it protects the bark from "scalding" from the sun, followed by weather-fluctuation protection--bark being damaged by the quick change from freezing temps at night to the daytime warmth of spring sun. But I like the unguarded, honest answer someone let slip out--it just looks neat and tidy, like the trees are cleaned up and fresh. And not just the trees either; notice the concrete communist-era utility poles with their fresh stockings. I really doubt the insects will bother them, right? They just look cleaner. This seems fitting for a country fairly obsessed with cleanliness in their homes and yards and in their personal hygiene. And I have to say that this cleanliness isn't easy here in a country where dish washers and clothes dryers are virtually non-existent, where owning a washing machine is still quite a luxury, where hot water is an iffy prospect, where water pressure is often at the dribble level, and where detergents, shampoo, and deodorant are (relatively) expensive. Recently a fellow PCV wrote this in answer to using her apartment when we visit her city, "the kitchen sink plugs easily and often.... shake the hose under the sink...but know the hose will come out of the wall... it is just resting there...so hold it while you shake...[***] the shower.... you may or may NOT have hot water...some days NO water at all... but saying that you do... the leatherman by the sink turns on the shower water... pull hard .....and know the shower hose leaks and sprays everywhere until you have your hand over the leaks... it is a messy deal taking a shower.... my hygiene has taken a nose dive... here is to your having hot water.." I'm lucky. My apartment always has water, usually hot water, too, if I wait long enough and don't mind dealing with a trickle, and my plumbing is fairly new and in decent shape. I was able to find an expandable rod to install over the tub for a plastic curtain. Romanians don't use shower curtains, managing the hand-held hose with a technique I'd really love to witness. Still, for many Romanians keeping body, clothes and home clean is a major accomplishment and they do it very well. The women take housekeeping seriously and spend inordinate amounts of time making sure the floors and bathrooms--in particular--are clean. No one wears shoes in the home, and slippers are often provided for guests. (If I were an entrepreneur in Romania, I'd start a charming line of guests' slippers in all sizes and styles, washable and snuggly.) Effective cleaning products here are all but canonized, spoken about in reverent whispers--no kidding! So, I salute the clean Romanians and marvel at their resolve. If Cleanliness-is-Next-to-Godliness, then they certainly have a nod from our Maker. Unfortunately, these good habits have not ventured out to where litter abounds at road sides and fields. But then, the white-stockinged trees preside there, giving perhaps a little inspiration.

Though Easter is twelve days away, it and Earth Day (22nd) are my focus in lessons this week since our spring/Easter break starts after this Friday. So I'm a veritable cornucopia of Easter vocabulary, Easter Bingo, and Easter cookies this week. And I try to have Easter "conversation" at the end of each class where I ask about Romanian traditions and tell about American ones. Both cultures have the decorated eggs (theirs are amazingly intricate and beautiful) and both have the Easter bunny. I thought they were making a joke when I asked what they eat that's special at Easter and they said "Rabbit!" "Oh, no!" I said with mock horror, "You eat the Easter Bunny?!" They assured me yes, but I'll have to find out if it's true. Lamb is eaten, I know, and in rural settings a lamb is killed with a measure of celebration just as the pig was killed at Christmas. My PCV friend Connie and I will be in the northeastern side of the country next week--the area which was once Moldova--to see in particular the famous "painted monasteries." These small Byzantine churches were built in the 15th and 16th centuries, some serving as fortresses against invaders. Their exteriors are painted with vivid religious scenes, an attempt to educate the illiterate masses about Christianity. It seems an appropriate Easter destination. I'm sure I'll have some colorful photos for my next post.*****As for Earth Day, our school's multi-talented documentarian is planning a video shoot this week of our students running through a field, doing chalk drawings on the school's playground, forming a human peace symbol. Saturday I made wreaths of flowers (silk) for the girls to wear in their hair. We've already recorded children singing the anthem, an original tune by the music teacher--in Romanian and in English with my lyrics, based on a loose translation of the original. It was quite an challenge to write the rhyming, perfectly-metered lines for 3 stanzas and a chorus, keeping the general gist of the original. We're planning to put the finished product on YouTube, so I'll give you the link when that happens.*****Alas, the few days of sun last week are history. I caught some lovely sunsets, but now we are in a solid week of rain with temps in the mid 30's at night and the low 50's in the day. It's supposed to clear by Saturday, which will be wonderful because it's the christening day (or blessing day) of baby Elijah, the son of the foster parents at the Roma boys school where I volunteer tutoring. It will be at the small Baptist Church in our village and I've been invited to attend. Let the sun shine in!

Well, I think it's safe to say Spring has arrived even though days are still a bit chilly for me, but there is SUNSHINE and some fresh new green popping out everywhere. Yesterday I had the good fortune to be invited to a garden gratar (cook out). My friend Felicia, a high school English and French teacher in Oradea, invited me to join her and her husband and assorted long-time friends at their summer cottage in the hills overlooking the city. The cottage and garden have been in her family for generations--through communist requisition and restoration--and is surrounded by similar holdings though newcomers are erecting some two-story large homes that she and her friends regret. There is still a rural feel to the area and yesterday, the first visit of the season, everyone seemed to be in a holiday spirit. Food and drink (as at all Romanian gatherings) were abundant. The husband of one of Felicia's best friends was the chef and presided over the grill with impressive--and jovial--mastery. A couple from Italy also joined us and we were quite the international group--talk sliding from Romanian to English to Italian. Most spoke English--lucky for me (though I'm understanding a little more of what I hear now) and another English teacher whom I had met last week at the speech contest joined us, to my delight. Between courses (yes, courses!) the women took a walk while the men cooked and we visited another gathering of long-time friends at a neighboring cottage. I call a day a golden success when I've spent hours in the sunshine, had my hand kissed numerous times, been cooked for and presented flowers. It was definitely a "Life is Good" kind of day. I noted to my friend and she agreed that Romanians--even those who live in the city as she and her husband do--seem to maintain a connection to the soil. Everywhere I see garden work beginning, even if it's a tiny plot in the front yard. Spring means delving into the soil and planting something, an exercise of hope they've learned to count on. **** I must tell you about another international experience. Thursday night I went to the Oradea Symphony concert. I've mentioned them before--a wonderful group of musicians who perform weekly. I rarely can manage to get into the city on Thursday nights, but I was determined this time. The concert was the third and last of a collaboration with musicians (orchestral and choral) from Japan. It was fabulous! The very distinguished Japanese conductor spoke to the audience in English at the start of the program, asking for a moment of silence for those who were suffering in his country. It was very moving. The program was all Mozart and Handel and at one point during the "fragments" of the Messiah, I thought to myself how surreal to be sitting in a concert hall in Romania, listening to the music of a German composer, performed by Japanese and Romanian musicians and sung in English! The encore was the Hallelujah chorus. Indeed! ***** And I should also mention the "World Peace is in Our Hands" display that my students and I put together at school--everyone had a "hand" in it, so to speak (the feathers are fingers) and I was satisfied with the results, an attempt to prime their thinking as we design a peace mural for the school's entrance. Peace to you, dear readers, in this beautiful primavara.

I love that word--seen often here on everything from store signs to bags of sweets. It has to be something borrowed and refashioned from English. In Romanian it would be amestecat--mixed. But mixt (meekst) just sounds saucier, doesn't it? Anyway, mixt blessings, mixt reactions, mixt bag. This is my blog entry today--mixt. ***** It's been a good week overall. My session with the Roma boys (that always sounds like a gospel singing group) was terrific on Monday. We concentrated on body parts and after the flash cards and pointing, I asked for a volunteer and handed out little post-it notes with "elbow," "knee," "ear," "hand," "nose," etc. on them to all the others. They had to come up one at a time and stick the note to the proper place on the vol's body. The volunteer--Cristi--wants to be a teacher and loves to be in front of the group. He was quite a sight covered in little yellow notes and loved hamming it up! The director took a picture and promised to send it to me, but I don't have it to show you yet. We also sang and acted the ever-popular "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" song, which I was afraid might be too young for them, but they loved it, especially as we went faster and faster. The boys seem to be learning quite well and remember alot from week to week. I'm going to tackle grammar with them tomorrow--present progressive/continuous. After the weeks of mostly songs and vocabulary, they may balk. ***** There was tension in the air last week at school as the county education inspectors visited classrooms and evaluated teachers. I was not part of their evaluation and just smiled and looked American as they tromped through the media center where I was teaching. **** I introduced the Peace wall mural design competition last week and hope we get a few good concepts turned in this week. We PCVs (several anyway) are doing this all over Romania as a salute to the 20 years in Romania, 50 in the world celebration. Our wall will be right at the front entrance to the school, so it better look decent.(!) Of course, I have a hunch that it might get painted over as soon as I'm on a plane back to the states, but for now they are humoring me and the documentarian, a fine artist, is on board to help with making the design work on a large scale. More later on this. **** Wednesday I was in Oradea for the day at the Main Library, judging speeches in English given by 5th-12th grade students. The 30+ kids did a great job, but what I really enjoyed was hearing them speak about such hopeful and uplifting topics, having to do with volunteerism, serving others, etc. Since the communist era these have not been easy values for Romanians to embrace. The younger generation, however, never having experienced the oppression, seems to have a more positive mindset. I found the experience very encouraging and enjoyed meeting other English teachers, especially the 4'10" dynamo who organizes the event each year--a very gracious, intelligent and highly organized person who is also the only Jew I've met here. (Oradea lost 1/3 of its population--Jews--during WWII when they were sent to work camps and never returned.)*** Friday afternoon the "English Club" of eighth graders who want more practice with speaking English had a good meeting. They come to my place, drink Cokes, eat popcorn and cookies, listen to American music from my iPod and speakers, and we play vocabulary games, debate issues, respond to quotes, whatever will get them talking. **** This morning I attended church service at the largest Baptist Church in Romania and the 2nd largest in Europe (Emanuel). The foster parents at the Roma home where I volunteer took me. Wonderful (all male) choir complete with a brass section. I had headphones with English translation of the service. The beautiful round interior with natural light and plants made me think of my UU church in Athens--only about 10 times bigger! It was quite an experience. I sat with visitors from Korea and the UK. Here in a country where 87% are Orthodox, the Baptists are considered the liberal, progressive religion. **** And the week held some down moments, too, part of the mixt package. It's always true that we alone are ultimately responsible for our own happiness--but it seems that when you're thousands of miles from home, speak little of the local language, have a host of expectations placed on you, and are not even sure what you're doing is really needed that the "alone" part of that gets pretty heavy, and as one PCV friend put it, it's enough just to keep from going crazy. And that's why God gave us chocolate, Vivaldi, poetry, Kindles, and a little Transylvanian white wine.

I'm finally finding a little pocket of time for my blog writing and am feeling some of you may have wondered where I was. I don't know who reads my entries but since Christmas I've watched my "stats" and know that I am about to reach 5,000 hits--probably with this piece. It seems a sort of milestone. I find this amazing, to be honest, and though I know some bloggers have much greater audiences, this reception far exceeds my original thought of letting the "folks back home" know what I'm up to. I'm gratified, too, to think that I'm addressing the Peace Corps' third goal (helping Americans understand the host country better)AND the second goal (helping the host country understand Americans better) since most of my readers are in America and Romania. Many of my American friends have indicated a new awareness of and appreciation for this complex and beautiful country. So here I am back "home" after a short, sweet rendezvous with Lee in Barcelona, and it DOES feel like home--even if it's a rainy, chilly home that seems very resistant to springing into spring. Barcelona weather wasn't terribly different the few days I was there though we had two and a half glorious days of sun, and with the sea, the food, and the architecture and art, it was a happy venue as a get-away with my hubby. I won't elaborate on the city--that's not what my blog is about-- but I'll give some links to my photos (with comments) of the streets and seaside, the cathedral of the Sagrada Familia, and the amazing Casa Bolla, my favorite Gaudi building.****Back here in my village, I'm feeling a bit energized by the longer days, even when they're rainy, and with highs in the 40's and low 50's, I've put away my heavy coat and wear only my all-weather coat. Some of the layering is gone, too. No more long undies. So I'm feeling I'm gradually crawling out of my winter cocoon and want desperately to be able to stretch these wings in warm air. The celebration of Women's Day on the 8th was lovely, by the way, with gifts of flowers, plants, candy, bath products, and glass ware from my students...even some of the adult ones. So my apartment is blooming with pretty plants, which I had to ask the ten-year-old downstairs to water for me while I was gone. I have a score of things on my to-do list; the projects I thought were hopelessly detoured seem to be back on track and demanding some attention. We have another PC report to file in a few days and I've resumed my language lessons on a steady schedule. I'm not only tutoring the Roma boys at the foster home, but have started an English Club for ambitious 8th graders, and am visiting weekly some neighborhood children who attend school in the city but would like some time with me, too. My adult class also meets every Wednesday night. Beyond these activities and my regular classes, I have to cook (no restaurants nor fast food in my village), wash and hang clothes, buy groceries, and keep my apartment reasonably clean. Sometimes when I get up feeling tired and think Oh, fiddly-dee, it's the age thing, I consider all I'm doing (plus walking 4 kilometers a day) and think this could make anyone tired. But, of course, when things are going well, it's a very good tired. When they're not, well, I KNOW spring is coming...at any moment now, and I know a warm breeze will be tinkling the Gaudi wind chimes I just bought. I know I'll be visiting family and friends in June. Sometimes just knowing is enough.

It's been a difficult week. Many disappointments--projects taking unexpected detours, poor attendance in my adult class and in the English Club for my 8th grade students and cancellation of my Roma boys' session, a travel agent standing me up, an expired bank card, my brother canceling his trip to visit me (for good reasons, albeit), technology problems, and many of the little daily irritations that seem to accumulate into ball-and-chain hindrances. And to top it off, the weather was just awful--dreary gray and cold, fog or mist or snow in the mornings, mud and overcast skies in the afternoons. We've had so little sun here in the past few months. I've become fairly neurotic about my sun hunger. If there is a ray peeking through and I'm home, I'll grab my sunglasses and peel off as much as I can get away with without neighborhood scandal and sit on the end of my desk at the big window there. I pretend I'm a solar cell and imagine the light seeping into my bones where it will store. I wrote a poem about a fire eater this week, I read travel guides on Spain, and I taught my students two sunshine songs! Yes, I know it sounds desperate, but somehow singing about sunshine seemed to create the illusion. So I mugged, mimed, and otherwise entertained as I sang "Let the sunshine in, face it with a grin," and "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." Interestingly, they had a difficult time saying "sunshine," which is surprising since the "sh" sound is so prevalent in their language. Anyway, they seemed to enjoy it and paid polite though clueless attention when I tried to explain Seasonal Affective Disorder. (Just get on with the singing, Doamna).****But as with most of my weeks here, this one was not without a few positives--we celebrated the Peace Corps' 50th Anniversary and Peace Corps Romania's 20th. Balloons, banners, M&Ms, and some short videos of Kennedy's original announcement were part of my lessons this week. It was good to hear the original goals again. And Tuesday, March 1st, was also Martisor--a celebration welcoming spring--on which day lovely little trinkets tied with red and white threads are given to girls and women. As with all Romanian holidays and tradtions, much lore and symbolism accompanies the custom--in particular, the woven red and white threads signify the joining of man, wisdom, winter (white) to woman, passion, spring (red) and the various flowers, spirals, icons, and figures (one is a chimney sweep!) have long-held importance in honoring spring. These "martisoare" are supposed to be worn every day from the first to the eighth when women are honored in Romania's version of Mothers' Day (Ziua Mamei), which is International Woman's Day in much of the world. I've heard it's a big deal here and noticed the flower shops stocking up. I'm curious to see how it's celebrated this Tuesday, but mostly I'm just hoping for sunny weather, which, like spring, is promised.

With unaccustomed accuracy, the meteorologist got it right last weekend. Timisoara was as rainy and cold as predicted. As antidote to the weather, however, my PCV colleague Connie and I experienced many "sunny" moments of extreme generosity and kindness during our visit. To begin with, we were given a comfortable apartment to stay in and were chauffeured about the city by a sociable young Romanian couple who spoke excellent English. Adi, a computer technician and the son of some of Connie's good friends at her site, and Mirela, his dentist girlfriend, helped us make the best of a short visit to a beautiful city that can only be described as stunning. The amazing variety in the architecture of the secessionist buildings--all unique, colorful, often whimsical--and the sheer size of many of the mansions and cathedrals kept us in awe. The city is grandly laid out with stately squares and small residential parks. It was the first city in Europe to light its streets with electricity, and the large elaborate street lamps in the main square (though only old in appearance) attest to the pride in this fact.****Another point of pride is that Timisoara is where the 1989 revolution against Ceausescu and the communist regime began. What seemed a spontaneous protest by thousands of the citizens had been building and organizing for some time. Their courage was immense as they faced the tanks and guns, and many lost their lives or were badly injured. One such man who walks with a cane due to having taken two bullets in his leg is the curator/proprietor of the Revolutionary Museum. He, too, showed us uncommon kindness as he patiently took us through two levels of rooms surrounding a courtyard, which also housed exhibits, and explained the significance of the pieces. Sculptures, carvings and paintings that depicted the events of the revolution showed both artistry and reverence for the sacrifices and bravery of the people. The curator had a soft-spoken dignity and humility, and it seemed to me HE was the greatest feature of the museum. He seated us in a small theater to watch a video about the revolution and then disappeared to return with a tray holding two cups of herbal tea. I've certainly never been served tea in a museum before and we found it especially nice on a cold, wet day. It was his birthday, he admitted at the end of our tour, and we were invited into his living quarters briefly where we were given more information in pamphlets as we said our goodbyes. I will no doubt forget the murals, the bell of freedom and other tributes in the museum, but I'll never forget this man. Connie captured his back in this photo. He didn't want to be photographed because he said the museum wasn't about him. Oh, but it was, dear fellow,it was. ***In the art museum the day before Connie and I were impressed with the quality of the three floors of exhibits, and we were also impressed--as we have been in Sibiu and Brasov--with how few people visit these excellent museums. Connie was taken by an extensive exhibit of photographs and paintings of the work of a female Romanian architect, but I gravitated to the second floor where a painter's water colors--some whimsical depictions of people, animals and flowers, some bold abstracts--were exhibited along with glass cases holding books of poetry. It took me a minute to realize that this was not just the illustrator but also the poet, herself. I spoke to the hovering docent (in my baby-talk Romanian) who looked rather lonely and she gave me more information than I could possibly fathom, but no matter--I loved this woman's work. Later, as we were leaving the museum after a quick foray into dark Renaissance paintings on the third floor, a docent came running after me and told me to wait. (I thought I must have committed some terrible breach of museum etiquette.) To my surprise, the docent from the poet exhibit rushed out with a beautiful book of the artist's paintings AND on every facing page were her poems in Romanian, English, and French. It was a very fine, museum-quality book and I admired it and asked where I could buy one. "Nu, nu," they both said and made it clear to me that it was a gift. I was flabbergasted and sputtered my thanks and gave them double-kisses. So our weekend may have been soggy and chilly and the bus ride back long and dark, ending in snow, but we sure received some wonderful kindness and generosity to warm our memories of Timisoara.

No, I'm not going to try to speak knowledgeably about the Gypsy/Roma population of Romania, their treatment and management an unsolved dilemma for centuries, except to say that in every underclass there are scalawags and saints, those who wallow and those who strive, and mercifully there are those on the outside who seek to help. I have become involved with such a group, Children of the Son Ministry, who is funded by a US NGO (New Life for Children), various churches (particularly in North Carolina, home state of the founder), and by private citizens. This group works to place orphaned or abandoned Roma children in foster homes and aids in adoption proceedings. They operate preschool programs for five-to seven-year-olds, and after-school programs for 1st to 3rd graders. And, important to me, they have a home for Roma boys, high school students, here in my village. I have begun going there every Monday afternoon to give a tutorial class in English to the six who are now in residence. These are young men who want to finish high school (a rarity, unfortunately) and benefit from the care and attention of the foster parents and staff in this home. They spend the week in the home, attending school in Oradea, and then return to their families in their villages for the weekend. They are terrific kids--eager, funny, responsive. Working with them was the highlight of my week and I look forward to our next session. They got far behind in their English studies while in elementary school, missing more days than attending, a common problem with Roma students, and now are trying to catch up since passing English is mandatory for graduation. The "parents" are a wonderful Romanian couple who have love and discipline to share. The house, built of wood (unusual for this area) from American donations, is cheery, clean, well-organized, and always smells of something delicious from the kitchen. I'm glad to be a part of the team to help these guys reach for a better life. **** On a lighter note, I had fun Wednesday night introducing--in the cultural segment of the adult class period--PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES! Believe it or not, these adults had never tasted them and dutifully, if not eagerly, took one of the quarters I passed around. These were made with crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jam. Grape jelly doesn't exist here because, they explained, grapes are used for wine! Duh! Americans' love of peanut butter is almost a joke here. Romanians like peanuts just fine, but the texture of peanut butter (unt de arihide) doesn't appeal to them in the least. We tried to come up with an equivalent staple in the Romanian household, something to always have on hand to spread on bread, and decided it was zacusca, the wonderful roasted pepper concoction. As one class member said, "Maybe that's why we don't need peanut butter." Good point. *** I'm finally off to Timisoara this weekend. (Read about this interesting city here.) Weather and conflicting interests of my companions kept us from going a few weeks ago. The forecast is not so great for this weekend, but we have the offer of a friend's empty apartment and a tour of the city by two very nice Romanian young people, so Connie and I are taking a bus this afternoon and will arrive there four hours later in the evening. Right now the sun is shining and I'm hoping the forecast is off. Stay tuned!

Walking into the office of my friend the Documentarian (media specialist) this afternoon, I threw up my hands and laughed, "I used to love Valentine's Day!" I'm valentined to bits, I'm up-to-here with paper, scissors, glue, and glitter, I'm over-glazed with cookie hearts and sprinkles. In short, I've had a *heart attack*!! And it's only February 10th! But I wanted all my students to know the legend of St. Valentine (16 class periods of that) and make valentines and have a cookie, so I had to do it this week. It's funny how we take our customs so for granted until we try to help others understand and appreciate them. Actually, the Romanians have their own celebration of love in February, on the 24th. It's called Dragobete after their version of Cupid, god of love. It's an ancient holiday that apparently was all but ignored during the communist era, but is making quite a comeback now as a reaction to the increasing interest in Valentine's Day. Dragobete is related to nature more than our holiday. Supposedly, February 24th is when the birds choose their mates for the spring nest-building and reproducing. In ancient times the young people of the village would go into the forests and fields to find the first snow-drops or violets or any sign of spring. There they were encouraged to make promises of betrothals on that day to insure the protection of the gods. If snow was on the ground, the maidens collected it and melted it. The water was believed to have magical powers and was used in love potions and to wash their hair to make them especially appealing to the young men. If a woman wanted to be loving and alluring all year, she was supposed to touch a man from another village on that day. (Where? one wonders) To determine who would be the dominant partner, a couple took part in a "foot-upon-foot" maneuver. Today the holiday seems very much like our Valentine's Day though less commercial, and the cards I've located online are all nature-centered with the earliest tiny flowers and matrimonial birdies--all very sweet and delicate. So my introduction of our silly little valentines ("Bee Mine" with a buzzing bee and tulips, "You're a dear" with a doe holding a valentine, "Whale You Be Mine?" with a whale spouting valentines) took a bit of explaining. "Gluma (joke)," I would say, "It's a joke, see?" A few would get it, but cross-culture puns are hard. The highlight of my three-day marathon was when I told one class as they were finishing up that now they had pretty "felicitare" (cards) to give to someone they loved. One by one they each brought me one of their cards, complete with hugs and double-kisses. Well, maybe I do still like this holiday after all.

I live in a crystalline world--frigid and brittle. Snow and ice in frozen layers on stem, twig and fence post. I have the feeling that if I poke my head out the window and scream, everything would shatter and fall tinkling into a mound of glitter. **** These are the days of layers: underwear, silk longjohns, turtle neck sweater, pants, cardigan, coat, scarf, hood over hat, mittens over gloves, boots over multiple socks. And in my mind, too, concerns build up in layers: family, friends, students, colleagues, PC forms, PC projects, PC goals, health, travel. Somewhere under it all I breathe and the essential me (love, laughter, music, poetry) taps out a cardiac rhythm on that old bongo drum, and I abide. **** A few more weeks into this month in Portugal and Spain and France, the air will be unexpectedly filled with fragrance. The mimosa's little yellow globes will bloom. "Winter Sun" it's called and there are festivals to honor it. I learned about this because I've long loved the bottled fragrance (from L'Occitane), so yesterday, in a little in-your-face to winter and because my husband accidentally packed and took my only bottle of cologne back to the US, I splurged on a bottle with my tutoring reimbursement. So now as a first layer I'll spray on sunshine, blossoms, the fields of Provence. **** Spices! These are also the days of warm spiciness: cinnamon toast, gingerbread (thanks to my son who sent the packages mix!), spice and nut tea bread, sweet potato bread, banana cinnamon muffins, carrot/apple/spice muffins. These are not typical in Romanian cuisine though I've been able to find cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves with little trouble. Ginger is a different story, but I'm sure it can be found, too. My landlady is always surprised when I share something sweet and spicey from carrots or sweet potatoes. I'm sure it seems a strange dessert compared to their frothy confections and flakey pastries. I must learn to make some of these lovely little jam-filled treats, learn the secret of the flakiness, all the layers, layers, layers.

Do the Powers that Be have a sense of humor? or at least a sense of the ironic? or do They (He/She) just dislike hubris? I was telling a friend the other day how healthy and fit I've been and how successfully I've (carefully) maneuvered in all the ice and snow. Hubris! On Wednesday, hurrying to print out materials for my adult class that afternoon, alone in the media center, I used a chair to climb up to kneel on the desk in order to close a window above the computers. I've done this at least a dozen times in the past--no problem, but being in a hurry, I stepped back with my body already in motion, caught my toe in a metal loop on the side of the chair seat, and down I went--on my back...hard! I had a sense of this-just-can't-be happening, visions of my mother and her falls and the broken hips that were the beginning of the end for her. I jumped up (3-second rule?) and then the pain hit. To spare you all the details, I've been under the Peace Corps doc's instructions: massive ibuprofen, which I've gradually decreased, ice, moderate movement. My Romanian friends say palinca (the super-strong plum brandy of this region) is the best medicine, so I've taken a few doses of that, too, just to cover all bases. I'm progressing, hoping I haven't given myself any permanent injuries, feeling pretty stupid about the whole thing. Two of the other Westside vols and a visiting friend from China were here this weekend and brought me provisions and cooked. It was great to have them here in The Red House, snow outside and lively conversation and plenty of hot food inside.****Sometimes it's good to clarify our convictions. I must admit that I've wondered about my commitment from time to time. I think most of my volunteer friends would admit to this, as well. We lost another of our group two weeks ago, the second of my "buddies" from our training days. It's hard when a friend leaves. I ponder whether or not I'm just indulging a schoolgirl dream, being selfish in what I'm asking my loved ones to endure, being too ineffective to warrant staying. I question whether or not my ability to keep my spirits and body healthy will break down. But when I fell this past week, while being driven home by my principal, wondering whether or not I had cracked my pelvis, caused some damage that would be slow-to-mend and would require me to leave the corps, I felt an unequivocal "No" rising in me. I'm not ready to go. If there's a silver lining to this whole dark-cloud experience, it's that. I know.***** At the end of next week, Romanian schools close for a week for the between-semester holiday. This week teachers must write their final grades--in blue ink only and with no undocumented corrections--into a huge ledger. I feel like a monk in a monastery every time I approach it--usually with trepidation. This seems a strange time for a holiday since we are just back from Christmas break. But the time off will be nice--I'll welcome the chance to travel to Timisoara with a PC friend. Neither of us has been to this well-loved western Romanian city, the "Little Vienna" that was under Austrian rule for two centuries and boasts a vibrant cultural scene. Uh-oh...wait! Not that I'm SURE my back will be well enough for the train/bus travel, mind you. But it's only POSSIBLE (merciful God/Fate willing) that I will get my lowly self sufficiently healed to enjoy the trip.

January. A new year begins and with it a host of fresh aspirations and resolutions. Is that quintessentially American? When I explained the tradition of New Year's Resolutions to my Romanian students and asked them to come up with three things they could do "to be a better person" in the coming year, they blinked in an innocent-calf sort of way and waited for me to make suggestions. Which I did, of course. But the concept seemed totally foreign. "A promise to yourself," I said. "It can be something you will do or will NOT do." I gave examples in my own life--too much chocolate, not enough stretching exercises. They found me amusing, as they often do. They complied but with statements that were clearly not from the heart (I will not play football (soccer) every day. "But why not?" I wanted to know!) Anyway, I found the whole experience interesting in a sociological sort of way. I often hear Romanians comment on American optimism and maybe that's what this is about--but where do you draw the line between optimism and hope?****Lee, my long-suffering husband, returned to the states yesterday after a month-long stay in the Red House. We had a fine visit with lots of good times in Oradea, Astileu, Maramures, and Brasov. I'll miss him, but I'm seeing our time together as a good tonic to get me through the dark months of winter ahead, and there's a possibility of a rendezvous in Spain in the spring. In truth, I have my hands full here with teaching, my adult class, community projects and just keeping myself fed and in clean clothes. This week besides my 16 classes and adult club, I need to fill out a quarterly report for PC AGAIN since they decided to change the form right after we submitted the lengthy report last month, I have to get grades in (writing them into the "big book"), start plans for a Valentine dance/contest, and be observed by PC staff in the classroom. Staying busy is no problem.**** Sometimes too busy. Several of you have asked about my poetry writing. I was quite prolific back in the states and would feel very antsy if two weeks went by and I hadn't written a new poem. It's different here--even if I have some time to write (as I clearly do at the moment), the climate of my brain is not always "right" for poetry. However, I have written a few and will copy one below that is just for fun to entertain my fellow PCVs and which I'll not submit anywhere for publication in the future. (PC does not allow us to pursue publication while we're on assignment--unless it's in a PC publication.) Ziplock bags are virtually impossible to find here and the poem plays with that dilemma. I'll also paste in a poem published in the PC Romanian lit magazine Spuneti., one with more serious subject matter. And I've written others, too, but will hang on to those for the possibility of future publication. For those readers who may not know, I have poetry books available through Amazon.com and one that is also Kindle loadable. **** As I struggle with learning Romanian, I was especially touched when a friend said not to worry, that poetry was my true language. I was reminded of this when reading Romanian poet Nina Cassian's beautifully translated poetry (a gift from Lee). She rhapsodizes about her devotion to her language as she speaks of the "...clitoris in my throat/ vibrating, sensitive, pulsating,/ exploding in the orgasm of Romanian." Oh, dear Nina, I'm afraid I've scarcely begun the foreplay! The Blessing of the Baggie Oh, virgin zip-lock baggie I take from the drawer, (thirty-third in my limited collection) fresh and satin smooth, may you serve long and well. May you hold leftovers with no evident drips, may you keep grapes and plums firm and whole while bouncing in my school bag pocket, may you save my croissant from the blight of stale and hold my crisp crackers in dryness. May you handle wipes that are wet and tubes wont to drip and keep various baubles well bundled. And may your washings be many and clear, your integrity solid and true as you dry on your wooden spoon pedestal, inside out, chaste in evaporation. May your zippy lips continue to match, your seamy parts bonded for good. And when at last you reach the inevitable ending—leaking seam or stubborn stench or zip that’s sadly lockless—may you, Oh 33rd from the drawer of Vesta, be held above the trash bin’s rim, honored with a sigh, then let fall, maiden to the pit, your loss bemoaned, your service well saluted. The Weighing ~upon completing Peace Corps training I had never seen her carry her own weight. She was always seated, maybe carried there early in the morning by someone who knew how small and alone she would look there on the city street, legs and feet wrapped for warmth, kerchief knotted beneath her chin—someone’s bunica with a bathroom scale and a basket by her side. Hurrying to my bulging days of language and enlightenment, gray-concrete protocol and fine finesse of cultural sensitivity, and the challenge of endurance for this body (just reaching womanhood when Kennedy made the call to look beyond the getting to the giving) and for this brain which has never reasoned better, thank you, but which falters now in the quick recall of words and facts just-tucked into the folds, I often saw my morning walk as a march of will, a rhythmic chiding that sometimes dared me not to whine, to ignore the pain in my ankle, or worse, within, where the limp never shows as long as I smile, to forget the hosts who didn’t want their guest, to dismiss the coaxing smiles and my school-girl degradation when the alien words I wanted to say weren’t there. I could stroll right past another’s pain and scarcely feel the tug. When it was all over then, final days, swearing in, packing up, I passed her one last time and something in me tipped. I stopped and circled back. I placed five lei in the tattered basket, removed my shoes, and stepped onto the scale. I stood up straight, breathed in deep and finally weighed it all—-three months of voluntary struggle, doubting self and Fate and others—-weighed it all and felt its mass, and let it drop away. Touching her shoulder before I left, I said, “God bless you,” and she smiled with watery eyes, no doubt noticing my own as we saw and weighed each other. Clela Reed

It seems that Brasov, the beautiful medieval city in Transylvania, was the place to be on New Year's Eve. We arrived around eight in the evening and found our hillside lodging to be a perfect location (online booking is always a gamble) and that our room, which seemed to be the last to be had in the crowded city, had a great view. This was most fortunate because later after meandering about the square, drinking vin fierte (hot, mulled wine)and finding restaurants all booked up for private parties, we ended up having champagne and snacks in our room and watching colorful fireworks go off all over the city, sounding as though it were under attack, but looking far too merry for war.**** The next day we explored the city, spending some time at the citadel (1580 fortress above the city)where we found the remains of what must have been a fabulous outdoor party the night before! We also walked along the old city wall, found a stunning gem shop, and visited the impressive Black Church, one of the largest Gothic churches in Europe, beginning as a Catholic church in 1385, but becoming Lutheran in the 16th Century. We missed the organ recitals which must be awesome, considering the organ has 4,000 pipes and 4 keyboards.****That night we were fed and entertained like royalty in the restaurant atop the Citadel. In addition to the four-course meal was music by a 10-piece mini-orchestra, four opera singers, and two ballet dancers (but no partridge in a pear tree). They were all splendid! The hall was decorated with fresh greenery, ribbons and candles, and the fact that the walls were also adorned with museum-quality ancient weapons (and some more recent) was only slightly disquieting. Peace on earth, indeed! The next day Lee and I hired a driver to take us to Peles Castle (1873), the picturesque Neo-Renaissance palace in nearby Siniai built by King Carol I, one of Romania's most beloved monarchs and under whose reign, independence was won. We enjoyed the tour and on the way back (very slow holiday traffic), our driver urged us to stop at a roadside vendor to buy fresh sheep cheese--some smoked, some balled up in a belly bag, and some sealed in wood. I bought way too much, but will try to use the branza (mild white cheese) in some recipes and gave the cheese-in-bark to Veronica's mother who has been so generous sharing her farm's good products. The last day in Brasov we did a bit more shopping, ate lunch at a really fine Chinese restaurant on the square, and bade farewell to our very special inn and the staff who had been so helpful. Our nine-hour train ride back to Oradea was in the dark, unfortunately, so we couldn't see the beautiful snowscapes we saw when we went there three days earlier. Over all, the trip turned out to be a memorable way for us to welcome in 2011 here in Romania. Lee will be with me until the 15th, and we're trying to make the finest memories to hold us until our next visit. And sometimes just sitting at the kitchen table and talking about poetry and law and our boys makes for the best ones. He will return to teach a course at UGA and revise his textbook, and I will get on with the work of Peace Corps. Purpose and industry, true to my parents' philosophy, saves us...and poetry, true to mine, keeps me sane and whole. New Year's blessings to all.

On Christmas Day—in the Red House with Lee and Dan—as I’m preparing the sweet potato soufflé and the pork roast from Veronica’s mother’s annual pig killing, the gift of song continued. The house owners brought to our flat carolers of a different sort. To our surprise we were serenaded by four Orthodox seminarians who sang several carols with great expression and in fine harmony. We sang back our best rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” which they joined in on, too. It was a nice cross-cultural moment. ****We had an otherwise quiet little Christmas, exchanging gifts and visiting with Adam and Magdalena via Skype. Dan’s luggage spent the week on holiday in Paris (CDG airport—worst on earth), so he felt bad he didn’t have his gifts to give us, but his being here was the greatest gift, one I cherished and relished every moment. It’s a long way from California to Romania. We gave him clothes, which he needed on this visit! Lee gave me poetry books and snazzy shirts from MOMA—and, most importantly, a month-long visit before the six months I won’t see him. I had found him a wool muffler in Sighisoara and a beautiful rock (Alexandrite with special markings) in Sibiu. It was a good day. ***The next day we left for Maramures, the district to the northeast of Oradea and the most “purely Romanian” of all the country. Here the “old ways” are valued and continued, traditions honored, costumes worn, music and dance passed down in families. They boast of never having been under the rule of another country, and during the communist era, they were mostly left alone, possibly because the topography of the land made collective farming too difficult. Through a Peace Corps colleague I learned of a native of this area who would give us a good tour and find us housing. He turned out to be a most efficient and helpful fellow who picked us up at the Baia Mare train station that night, and drove us to some amazing places the next two days. It was snowing enough that he had to put chains on his tires, but we made it to a village where we found one of the old wooden churches (see pictures) from the 1700s atop a snowy hill. Here a priest was performing mass (it was for St. Stephen’s Day) and some of the villagers had braved the weather to attend. The inside of the church is decorated with primitive paintings and more recent icons. From here we went to Sighetu-Marmatiei where we were in time to see the parade of villages. This is an annual event for three days at Christmas. Villagers from all around Maramures march in colorful costumes and play instruments and sing. (see pictures) Though it was snowing quite hard and the third day of the parades, the participants were spirited and jolly and obviously proud of their heritage. Some of the animal costumes were stunning and I want to learn more about their significance. While Sighetu is quite a stately and pretty town, our guide pointed out one building that had an ugly history—it was the prison for the academic and government elite of Romania during the communist era where the prisoners were tortured and starved and eventually died. The name now—in English—is The Museum of Arrested Thought. “Arrested thought” haunts me and may find its way into a poem at some point. The museum houses a memorial to the victims which I’d like to see one day. Ironically, Sighetu is also the hometown of Elie Wiesel, laureate of the Nobel Peace Prize. ****Our next stop was a place I’ve been wanting to see since coming to Romania, the Merry Cemetery! An artist in the little town of Sapanta wanted to honor the dead of the village with carvings that depicted their personalities and everyday lives. The colorfully painted grave markers are complete with rhymes about the person, told in first person as though the deceased were speaking. The person’s foibles and merits and often cause of death are mentioned. (see pictures). Near the cemetery is a bed and breakfast that was a highlight of our visit in the area. The cozy inn is owned by a woman of exceptional abilities. Besides running the inn and cooking the (delicious) meals, she weaves beautiful rugs from wool of the local sheep, and was even elected mayor of the village for a period of time! What endeared her to me was that she spoke slowly and clearly in Romanian and let me bungle my way through conversation, helping and correcting where needed. I’d love to have her as a language tutor, and promised I’d come back in the summer to spend some time there. ****I’ve been writing this on the train home from Brasov where Lee and I had a memorable New Years beginning. More later on that, which will be my last holiday season entry. (to be continued)

I'm writing this on a train which is making slow progress through the snowy fairyland of Transylvania--fields, mountains, streams, villages--on our nine-hour trip to Brasov. We'll arrive in time to celebrate the New Year with some of my Peace Corps colleagues tonight and then Lee and I will enjoy this wonderful old city for a few days until our Monday return. I finally have a little time to write and so much to tell about the events of the past few weeks. Christmas in Romania has been a whirlwind of song and dance, food and drink (hot, spicy wine (vin fiert) and polinka (dinka-doo!) in great abundance), and the kind of warm-hearted hospitality that should characterize the season everywhere.****Lee arrived in time for the community Christmas program, a presentation of traditional and modern dance and song, poetry and holiday songs in both Romanian and English, and a contest of table settings (our documentarian's idea) by the different classes, judged by Santa Claus, himself. It was a evening everyone seemed to enjoy (see pictures.) A few days later, on the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the great pleasure of presenting the teachers at my school gift bags I filled from the boxes of supplies my Unitarian Universalist Fellowship back home sent. The boxes arrived just in time and I loved making up the bags of everything from post-it notes to staplers to stickers to pens. They were surprised and in a festive mood they sang their thanks--some beautiful Romanian carols in 3-part harmony!****The next day our son Dan arrived from California. Lee and I had bought a small tree and decorated it and had lights in the landing window outside our flat, a star wreath on the door. I was disappointed the snow had melted, but he got to experience plenty starting the day after Christmas. On Christmas Eve we had the great pleasure of accepting an invitation through my friend/colleague Connie to spend the afternoon and evening in a village just south of Oradea. Our hosts (friends of Connie's) were warm-hearted Romanians who had spent some time in the US and spoke very good English. They wanted us to experience the carolers, food, traditions of their village. Lucky us! The food was a feast of all things Romanian, the homemade wine and polinka well-done, and the walk through the little town with a visit to the Orthodox Church and its priest was a highlight. (see pictures) The priest is an accomplished architect and artist and is adorning the interior of the domed sanctuary in colorful, accurately portrayed iconic paintings. He has been working on this project in faith and artistry for a few years now and is determined to complete the task. He has created a space for worship filled with joy--colorful, light, and welcoming. He also had us join him in the parsonage for a sip of polinka and/or homemade wine from his grapes. While there, carolers visited--one of three carolings of the evening. Different from the Dickensian singers with choir-like decorum (our British/American ideals), the carolers here are revelers, often wearing animal or demon masks, wearing fur capes, beating drums, and acting out cautionary tales. Someone always seems to represent good, too--a priest-like character in white who carries a replica of the church constructed of cardboard and foil. We were told the masks and capes were often passed down from one generation to the next in a family, along with the particular role. (In a restaurant in Oradea on the 23rd, we were visited by strolling carolers who sang, acted, and danced the "goat dance," something I want to learn more about.) Another group we encountered on our walk--teens led by a different priest--seemed less costumed and medieval, but were just as eager in their singing. It has become more and more clear to me that singing is a very Romanian way to give of oneself. A gift of song is always the right size, always appropriate, always from the heart. (to be continued)

Our IST (In Service Training) in Sibiu was a kind of week-long echo of our summer training: language classes, cultural sessions, and much information and urging about community projects. It was great seeing fellow PCVs I haven't seen since August though we had less time to visit than I had hoped we'd have.****I think our "settling in" time has ended now and besides our teaching, we must concentrate on other aspects of our community's needs. It's a bit daunting--figuring out the need, the process, the means. I'm lucky to have unflagging support at my school/community and forward-thinking people with lots of ideas. I know it's not so everywhere.****So the Christmas season is upon us. Pigs are being slaughtered all over Romania with family members helping butcher and prepare the meat in sausages or hams for smoking or freezing. It's a tradition that occurs sometime after Saint Nicholas Day on December 6 (which begins the season) and Christmas. I was feeling a bit left out of the gifting of St. Nick's Day when my landlady dashed down the stairs and presented me with a lovely wool felt hat as I was waiting in the foyer for the taxi to the city and then the bus to Sibiu. And Sibiu with its lovely decorated square and with the snow that has fallen in the past week, I'm starting to put some jolly in my jingle. Oradea has a coating, too, and today for the first time I had to walk my 4K in snow and slush and with flurries flurrying. I was relieved to find that my pricey Geox boots do indeed stay 100% dry inside and have fine traction. (Thanks to Joe R for the recommendation via his wife Diane.) I came home and strung up some lights in a window, put on some holiday music, and started a big pot of soup.****I have to say though that what really hit me full-force in terms of "the spirit" and what surprised me in my reaction was today's rehearsal for the community program this Friday. I lost it, quite frankly, when I heard the sweet voices of those Romanian children singing "White Christmas." I had to excuse myself to my office momentarily where the documentarian followed me, gave me a big hug, and told me to be strong. It was such a Romanian gesture. I laughed and wiped my eyes and returned for a rousing "Jingle Bells" where I made the children do the sub-text "Ha, ha, ha" after "laughing all the way." I had bought a pretty red wooden, jingle bell "rattle" in Sibiu with the idea that it would be perfect for the percussion and it was/is! The program at the community center will consist of a dance number (we have quite a talented troupe and a creative media specialist who choreographs) where worldly souls are visited by angels who set them straight, carols and songs in both English and Romanian, and Christmas poems in both languages. Apparently we'll have a visit by Santa Claus (the mayor, I think). And my husband will arrive on Thursday and be here for the program. His visit is anticipated by the village, too. Perhaps I should insist he wear a Santa hat and laugh alot. :-) Joy to the world--all over--in whatever land you're reading this. This season of love and peace has meaning for us all.

Extremely busy days just now--preparing for the holidays with its special Christmas program for the community and my family visitors (yay!), getting various presentations ready for a week at IST (In Service Training) which begins a week from today in Sibiu, finishing our budget report, and completing the 30 hours of language tutoring by December. I'm waiting for my tutor right now and decided I could take a few minutes to let you know that Thanksgiving was indeed well celebrated by the PC volunteers in Romania--and true to our third directive, we also shared information about this quintessentially American holiday with our students and colleagues. I made presentations, using video clips from the History channel's website, pictures, and personal anecdotes 18 different times during the week and had my students make the "hand turkeys" American children make and had them present them in English with an emphasis on the thankful part. I must say I have never felt more keenly the significance of and true appreciation for this holiday as I've felt it this year. Those of us volunteering on the west side of Romania (too far to go to Bucharest for the American ambassador's big Thanksgiving Dinner) had our own gathering in a lodge at a national park near Arad. We did indeed go "over the river and through the woods" to make this celebration happen. Twelve of us met on Friday and cooked and prepared toward a big dinner on Saturday for ourselves and our Romanian guests--about 40 or so. It was a collaborative effort in the planning and execution--trying to pull together the ingredients to faithfully represent a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. We did pretty well, missing only the cranberry sauce, which is something Romanians know nothing about. I found sweet potatoes finally (from India) and put those into spicy little iced cookies since I was told there wouldn't be oven space for a souffle. I was also the gravy maker and was anxious for days ahead trying to figure out how to make it without the "drippings" from the roasted turkey. (Ours was grilled in pieces over a fire.) As it turned out, the fat from beef and chicken, which I had saved in my freezer and the broth that came from two large turkey necks, which I cooked at site, formed the stock and many herbs and seasonings were added. It was a hit on the mashed potatoes, dressing, and meat, and I even had Romanians wanting the recipe (gravy isn't part of their cuisine). Recipe? I could never duplicate this particular gravy. Nor this particular Thanksgiving, for that matter. And though--like most holidays for PC volunteers--there is sadness at being away from loved ones back home, the pleasure of cross-cultural sharing is a grand compensation and will make these times memorable.

When I tell my friends and family about the little discoveries and coping strategies that punctuate my life here, they often say, "Oh, that's worth a blog." But, of course, they're not--taken individually--but I've decided to lump them here into a random, rambling list, just for a rainy day's entertainment. 1)The only way to arrive at school (after my 2K walk in early morning mist) with hair that isn't lank and damp is to brush, spray, and tuck it into a shower cap--the kind you get in hotels--and pull on a toboggan hat or a raincoat hood. At school, I dash into my office, whip off my head gear and shake out my hair. It works! 2)Now that I'm using the official Peace Corps double-barreled, super-duper water filter (installed by Dr. Dan during the Health and Safety Inspection), I'm glad not to be lugging bottled water home from the local magazin, but I have to say that PC-filtered water is the flattest-tasting liquid on the face of the earth! 3)Big slices of Romanian bread "toasted" in butter in my omelet pan make me glad I don't own a toaster. 4)I must always carry packets of tissue with me and if I can manage it gracefully, a small role of toilet paper. Paper products are the responsibility of the individual here. 5)I've learned to always know the name of the train stop (town) just before my station destination and *watch* for it since there are usually no announcements. 6)Besides the tissue, I always carry a tightly-folded, large shopping bag and a small umbrella. Forecasts are notoriously off and you must pay for shopping bags. 7)The weekend bus schedule to and from my village is a test of patience, unlike the predictable weekday schedule. I can imagine the drivers thinking that no one really needs to hurry anywhere, it's *weekendul!* This is when I make phone calls to other PCV's to catch up. 8)The local magazin, which can be the size of a large walk-in closet, can actually provide you with enough items in the basic food groups to keep you alive and without scurvy. 9)A 12 Lei (about $4) bottle of dry Romanian white wine can be just lovely! 10)You just can't buy any plum jam, smoked pepper-eggplant spread, or plum brandy as good as what is made at home by someone's relatives. I've tried and failed. 11) Soup made from tripe (pig's belly) is surprisingly delicious! 12)Don't give your adult class a list of 15 topics and ask which ones they want to cover. All of them, of course!

Before you read this, note the disclaimer to the right and understand that my comments are merely the observations of one who has lived here six months, not a sociologist, historian, nor theologian, and certainly not one who speaks for my government and its programs. Since I first arrived, I have struggled to understand the complex relationship between the government of Romania and the Orthodox church. While theoretically there is separation of church and state, in practice they seem tightly woven into a fabric that defies fraying. Here's what I've found through personal observations, comments from others, and online research (mainly having to do with the education system since that's my arena). In every school I've entered here, I've noticed icons of holy figures on the walls of halls and classrooms. Religious messages and notices are on bulletin boards. The state curriculum requires that religion classes be taught--in theory, as non-denominational , but in practice many times they are taught by priests or by teachers whose own orientation is Orthodox. The state pays salaries to priests and augments construction of church buildings. Schools participate in a point-gathering competition throughout the year and one way to gain more points is to have iconic art created by students for a regional exhibit. Priests bless the schools at opening day ceremonies and holy days are observed in schools. I'm sure there are more connections I've yet to learn about, but these have caught my attention and were at first shocking to this American with liberal principles firmly ingrained. Gradually, however, I've come to a better understanding of the importance of the church as a constant in the lives of people who have endured feudal lords, barbaric invasions, vicious monarchs, dictators, communism, frequent redrawing of country borders to add or subtract large tracts of land and ethnic populations, and rampant government corruption. The church has been there from the earliest times and has survived even through the years of atheist communist rule, by means not always noble but certainly pragmatic, in order to keep church doors open and parishioners served. It is a quintessentially paternalistic institution and has come to be--for the 87% of the Romanian population who identify themselves as Orthodox--a symbol of nationalism, its beautiful churches and cathedrals aesthetic foils to the horrors of communist architecture, its solemn traditions and elaborate ceremonies points of pride. It serves an important role in Romanian life and has offered stability and order where other institutions have failed. "If I ruled the world," would I have the church less entangled with the government? You bet I would. But I can at least understand WHY things are as they are...and will be long after I'm gone.

I love teaching sound words (onomatopoeia) and thought this would be a good time to introduce them--in conjunction with a lesson in the 7th Class's text on super heroes. Inevitably, amongst the zaps, pows, and sizzles, pounce the animal sounds. This particular half-class, all boys, reveled in this noisy lesson and enjoyed my reaction to various sounds animals make in Romanian. (Though apparently some animals are very quiet here for there are no words in the language for their vocalizing!) I could sort of see how most of the words for their sounds came about. I could even accept the "mac mac" of the duck, knowing it's impossible to make an m sound with no lips! But the one that throws me and makes me laugh out loud from the time I first heard it last summer is their word for "what the dog says." Now you must understand that Romanian dogs are notoriously rapscallion. In our training city last summer there were packs of them that roamed the city streets, mainly scavenging for food and often pitifully shaggy, but at times gang-like in their street fights and occasionally attacking humans as well. Here in my village everyone seems to have a dog--big dogs--behind fences and gates. Many on my street can't get past the fact that I live here and will pass them without threat or incident at least twice a day. They still want to alarm their household that the stranger approaches. (Do Americans smell different?) Most are just loud. Only two--one of which I've only seen a snout--seem to really want me for breakfast. The snout pokes out from under a solid metal gate along the sidewalk and literally drools as he growls and bares teeth, trying his best to reach my passing ankles. Dogs, dogs, dogs--even in my civilized little village a few packs of strays are allowed to run free, their cross-breed variations quite stunning. OK, you get the picture. So what do these rascally vagabonds/vicious protectors of home and kin "say?" Ham, ham, ham! (pronounced hum, hum, hum) "Nu, nu," I say, laughing, "Dogs don't hum! They go arf, arf, or grr or bow-wow." Blank stares. "No, Mrs. Reed (or Mrs. Clela or just Teacher), hum, hum." They actually believe it! So I'm left with the notion that while beauty is in the eye of the beholder, animal noises are definitely in the ear of the beholder and I suppose to my Romanian students a barking dog is silly indeed. Why doesn't he just hum?

They said it would happen and they tried to prepare us. Our good Dr. Dan even put up a chart during a Peace Corps training session showing the inevitable ups and downs our emotions and general psychological state would take during our two years at site. I hit one of those lows this morning. After the hurry-scurry planning and preparation for the big community Halloween Carnival last night, I woke up from fitful sleep with a headache, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, tired, lonely and altogether incapable of making my life here WORK. On the immediate horizon sit a deadline for a huge report for Peace Corps (Monday), language lessons I desperately need and have had to miss the last 2 weeks, lesson plans for my 16 classes and 2 sets of diagnostic tests to grade. Added to that is an apartment full of dust bunnies and a pile of dirty clothes, rubber gloves that leak, a computer that is agonizingly slow at downloading/uploading anything and which has recently inexplicably lost a tool bar which I can't recover, and a large, sensitive swelling on my left arm where I was given a flu shot Wednesday. Sigh. A friend recently commented that to do what we must do in Peace Corps, you have to be your own best friend. I've thought alot about this statement and find it's true. So today after I swept, washed and hung 3 loads of clothes, did my floor exercises (yes, with my purple "peanut" inflated ball), and multi-tasked downloading pictures from the Halloween *do* while I worked on language translations, I invited myself to a nice dinner. I gently fried floured talapia (frozen from Vietnam albeit)in olive oil and lemon pepper, baked a potato, made a fresh spinach and tomato salad, put on the iPod playlist (thanks, sons) "Mellow Songs #3," lit a candle, poured a glass of good Transylvania vin alb, and sat down to dinner with myself. Many times I just collapse with my plate in front of the TV and watch whatever I can find that isn't sports or animals (not that I have anything against animals, of course--just want people), but this was nice and I was actually pretty good company, sorting through my thoughts, finding things to be glad about. Anyway, it's 8:30 now and I'm feeling like I can "do this thing" once again. Tomorrow I'll tackle the report which has 56 pages of instructions but is supposed to take no more than 5 hours to complete. And my PCV friend Connie a few bus rides away wants to make plans for something fun next weekend when we both come up for air. Yay!**** On a much lighter note, as promised, here are pictures with commentary from last night's carnival. My village has never had anything like this apparently--not even a harvest festival. I was amazed at how eagerly and enthusiastically they embraced the whole idea. We had a smashing turnout and everyone truly did seem to have fun. OK--must go wash up the dishes with my rubber gloves that I carefully dried in the sun and patched with the duct tape I brought from home. Ah--Yankee ingenuity!

Seeing Romania afresh through my good friend Diane's eyes is such a pleasure! She arrived on the 15th and will return to Georgia on Monday (25th), and we've managed to cram in a lot of experiences and fun in these 10 days. Oradea, Baile Felix (nearby thermal baths), a movie, some shopping, a day at my school, a six-hour train ride through the beautiful countryside between Oradea and Sighisoara, and now we're ending a 3-day stay in this awesome (in the truest sense of the word) medieval town. We've had gorgeous fall weather--quite crisp, but sunny--and we've had beautiful walks, sightseeing, great shopping, and some indulgent Romanian/German cuisine. Added to that are several jolly encounters with other English-speaking tourists from Finland, Washington DC, and two families of Baptist missionaries from Arkansas and Alabama who have lived here in Romania for 10 years. We're also continually besieged by groups of school children who hear our English and want to talk to the Americans. All Romanian students study English and to speak to native speakers seems to be an opportunity they can't pass up. They are bright, inquisitive and utterly *darling* as we both have come to exclaim after such a meeting. Because I can speak some Romanian, they become embarrassed when they think I've understood all their chatter. (Don't worry, kiddos!) Diane is such fun through our travels because she never meets a stranger and the Romanians love her genuine interest in the culture and history here. And we've had funny things happen. I bought a collapsible umbrella and the 2nd time I used it in downtown Oradea as we're making our way to the train station, I pushed the button to open it and it opened and flew from the shaft like a flying saucer! Di had to take a picture of it forlorn on the sidewalk where we had to leave it. Then because of a little tumble from the top of my suitcase, the bottle containing the last of my landlord's gift of Palinka (strong plum brandy) cracked just enough to flavor the inside of our plastic snack bag and to let us know that we needed to finish it off on the train quickly before it all drained away. We tried to be subtle as we passed the bottle back and forth--nobly frugal in saving a waste of perfectly good spirits. The rainy train ride was quite cheery after that! These are only a few of our laughs. So I'll miss her after the Monday departure for sure, but will be so busy getting ready for the big community Halloween Carnival, which this American is *creating* and overseeing, that I won't have time to be gloomy. More about this invasion of Yankee kitsch and commercialism in the next entry.

The Hungarian Cave Thermal Baths last weekend were as interesting and decadent as they sound. You may have seen my Facebook pictures, but if not, you can take a look here. It was the nicest kind of escape from the bone-chilling damp cold of the previous weeks and I'm really grateful to the 4th year Peace Corps Vol (Chris Fontenasi)who organized it. My brief encounter with a Hungarian massage therapist was noteworthy, too, as I've never had anyone get up on the table with me, straddle my back and knead away! I have to say it was all very clinical and sterile--a medical procedure, even though it was advertised as Aromatic Massage and the spa is housed in the luxury of the baths (a la Roman). I suppose I should be glad he didn't bring out the small tamed bear to walk on my back--a Romanian custom I may have to skip. **** Back in my village on Monday, I happened upon a funeral when I went to the Post Office. The procession was organizing in front of the Orthodox church on the main road. Two priests in full regalia and two alter boys carrying the staffs-with-crosses (must learn the name for those) led the way. The mourners, all in black and two-by-two, solemnly followed a flower-laden, casket-bearing pick-up truck down the main (busy) road all the way to the cemetery--a good 5 or 6 blocks. All the churches in the village (Orthodox, Catholic and two Protestant) tolled bells a long, long time. I liked this interfaith salute. Traffic was slowed, clerks came out of their shops and crossed themselves, and there was a general "paying respect" to the dead that seemed genuine. **** My school participates in a project "The Heart of a Child" which helps children with profound physical/medical needs who could not otherwise receive help. Our students generously brought in bushels of used toys and several students and the media specialist contributed artwork to a sale this week, first at our school and then at the Children's Town Hall in Oradea on the weekend. I was very impressed with this enormous park in the heart of the city with colorful, sturdy, well-designed playscapes outside and in, a well-equipped hall with offices and meeting rooms, and permanent stalls outside (more like little log cabins with drop-door/counters in front) where vendors on occasions such as this fund drive could set up their wares. It was a beautiful fall day and a good turn out of families and helpful citizens and me without my camera! When I told my counterpart that I didn't think I had ever encountered a city in the US with this concept of a town hall for children, she was shocked. I am constantly reminded of two things: 1) my country does so many things right and I'll be even more appreciative when I return of those things I took for granted, and 2)other countries can offer us examples of what they do right as well, and we need to be open-mined enough to allow ideas to flow both ways. **** To end on a warm note: I have HEAT! The landlord has cranked up the wood-burning soba/furnace and the radiators are doing some impressive radiating to the point where I have to keep taking layers off the bed--and myself. I've retired the hot-water bottle for now. Three of my PC Westside colleagues spent the night here last night, and thankfully we were all warm with minimal blankets. If they had come a few days earlier, I would have had to bring in the landlord's hound dogs to keep them warm. Sweet timing. Peace to you, friends.

A week of ups and downs so typical of my life here. First my nasty cold and then enough recovery for a wonderful picnic at a lake with a Romanian family and two Peace Corps friends on Saturday (a truly delicious cookout) and a good visit with PC friend Connie as she spent the night here in the Red House. A productive session with my language tutor on Monday followed by a successful 6-class day on Tuesday (complete with spontaneous hugs and "I love English" from two of the classes!) and then an intestinal upset late Tuesday that kept me home in bed Wednesday. Some mean bug, for sure, but staying in bed with my hot water bottle through most of a rainy, cold day did me a world of good. A fine day today back with the students and another 6-class day interrupted in the middle by my principal carrying in an enormous bouquet (more like a bush!) of purple astors. When I sputtered my thanks and asked where they came from, he replied melodramatically, "From my heart!" Would this ever happen in America??? Then later my landlady brought me fresh vegetables from the garden and several jars of jam, peaches, peppers canned by her mother. While they still haven't turned on the heating system, I have a new tank of propane to cook with and a new remote control (which had been missing since I moved in) for the antique TV. And I do have my down robe. Things balance out. Poison darts and antidotes. Stomach bugs and big bouquets. Life is interesting.

Many years ago when Goldie Hawn was asked by a talk show host why she had her first baby at 40, she blinked her famous saucer eyes and said, "Guess I forgot." I loved her total disregard for the tyranny of numbers. Without conscious effort, I "forget" my age most of the time--or, more accurately, ignore it. I don't want special concessions or help when it comes to physical demands. ("Oh, thanks but I can carry that box up to my attic apartment just fine.") My genetic legacy is hearty and I try to maximize that gift with exercise and healthful eating. But I have to say that my Romanian experience has made me ponder this whole aging thing a bit more. In trying to learn the language I'm surprised at how the words and formations I think I know slip from my brain like eggs from a teflon frying pan. It takes many mnemonic devices to make anything stick. And physically, this past week gave me a good kick in the knickers. Sunday I baked to have something to take to the teachers' lounge on Monday (a sort of thanks, I guess, for going along with my Peace Day hoopla). Monday, after a quick trip by car made possible by the principal to the post office in the city to get my packages from home, I spent the day preparing for the Peace Day observance/celebration. The kids and I made 250 white poppies (symbol of peace started in NZ) from cupcake liners, which they had never seen before and which were not easy to find, and blue ribbon which I had split vertically and cut into 250 strips the night before. The students and teachers were very cooperative and congenial and seemed to honor the notion of courting peace. (see photos) Tuesday I made presentations in the media center all day and spent the evening preparing for Wednesday's 4 classes. Wednesday, after the classes and some minimal grocery shopping, I prepared for the 6 classes on Thursday. My school is over a mile from my apartment and within the school are the standard halls and stairs and the typical on-your-feet-all-day necessity of engaging the students. Last night I was exhausted and today I have a nasty cold. So on my day "off" I washed and hung out 3 loads of clothes and made a huge pot of chicken, vegetable, rice soup with veggies I picked from the landlord's garden. I'm thinking tonight I should tackle some Romanian lessons, but I'm indulging in this little whiny report instead. In all honesty, I'm fine and am managing quite well, but I'm not as facile at forgetting my age just now, I can tell you. There's a lovely custom here which has a long history. If a gentleman wants to show great respect for a woman (not necessarily, but usually an older woman), he says, "Sarut mana." Literally--Kiss your hand. At times he actually does. Some of my age-mate colleagues don't like this at all, but I accept it readily and think, "You bet your sweet palinka, this hand could use a kiss."

So much to tell!! First--the gathering of the Westsiders in Ineu. One of the volunteers in Group 26 and his director (principal) took it upon themselves to invite all the volunteers serving in northwest Romania--10 of us scattered about--to a weekend of getting acquainted--26ers, 27s and a few 25s--before we get too busy with our teaching assignments. Frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to go. Friday was chilly and rainy, and getting to Ineu involved walking in the rain about 400yds to a non-covered bus stop, riding the bus (rolling duffel, umbrella and I dripping on everyone) into Oradea, taking a taxi to the train station where I met another volunteer, riding the train into Arad where we spent the night with a third volunteer, and then taking an early train the next morning to Ineu. But I have to say, it was worth it and just what I needed to put me into a great frame of mind to start the school year.*** Justin's school has a guest house for visiting parents when the school used to board students. It was a perfect set-up, and kind staff members provided breakfasts and lunches for us. While it was fun seeing 27s again (my group who spent the summer in training) and getting to know the others, the "field trips" we took were splendidly interesting and fun. The person largely responsible for this was the director or principal of the school. Not only does he successfully manage a school that shines with careful maintenance, innovative programs, bright and cheerful facilities, and an obviously dedicated staff and faculty, but he also serves as "voluntary executive administrator" of a self-sustaining, totally-organic farm where the workers are graduates of his school's vocational program, plying their skills in all seasons to tend crops, hot houses, animals, and to build furniture, preserve food, and make brooms! We were each given a dandy little whisk broom (because traveling with a long one would be just too Harry-Potterish). When the dear man has spare moments, he retires with his wife and 4-yr-old daughter to his cabana (weekend retreat) where he tends various fruit trees and...grapes! Here he, his wife and some staff members hosted a gratar (cookout) for us, complete with his own tuica (a kind of plum brandy) and wine from his grapes. We also were free to take walks around the hilly and beautiful property, and I was actually able to hug one of those Romanian haystacks I love. (see Facebook profile ;-)) The trip home was streamlined with bus rides (2) instead of trains and I got back to the red house while the sun was still shining on Sunday. ***Now I must tell about today's most unique school opening. Well, unique for me, but as my colleagues report in from villages all over Romania, I see that it is the norm here. So here is my journalist eye-report: It's 8:15, foggy, and students and parents are already gathering in the school yard (courtyard) even though the assembly will not start for another 45 minutes. Children--little and big--are carrying bouquets of flowers, some from the shop, others (most dear) handgathered from gardens. At 8:45 the teachers who have been making preparations inside file out along with the principal, the mayor and 3 fully-robed orthodox priests to join at the top of the circle...the DJ!--right there with his sound board and speakers, looking very serious and prepared, playing some happy folk music. The children are arranged into classes amazingly quick, the music stops, and the principal says a few words of introduction. Cue the DJ who plays a loud and moving rendition of the Romanian national anthem that includes a male chorus. Following that the priests sing/chant a longish blessing and prayer, complete with swinging amulet (fumes AND little bells) passing around the circle. Introductions of teachers next and the American one gets applause. ;-) But then--my favorite part: the second graders form a long tunnel--hands joined up high for a flower-clad "roof," and the new first-graders march through, two by two, and process around the circle of classes. There is long and genuine applause from all the classes and such a sweet welcome for these little ones. The happy music (I'm sure someone will start dancing) starts up again as the courtyard empties. The anticlimax is the gathering inside, distribution of textbooks, and faculty meeting following. My big problem of the day was how to carry home all the flowers given to me by students and even a few teachers--all with the lovely double kisses. I used my handy plastic shopping bag I always carry and when it overflowed, Veronica gave me hers. Once again I was a spectacle walking home through the village with my brimming bags of roses, marigolds, goldenrod, and zinnias, but I didn't mind a bit.

Lee left this morning and the apartment seems cold and quiet. We had a fine 3-week visit and he's planning to return in December. Our communication, of course, is very good with Skype and email, but they do little to keep my toes warm. ;-) How fortunate I am to have a husband who understands and supports my unconventional aspirations!******School bells are ringing all over Romania--but not for students, for the teachers. Here faculties ease gently back into the school year by meeting in non-rushed, coffee-enriched gatherings, a few hours a day for two weeks before the students arrive. It's a time to see just who is or isn't returning, catch up on pleasantries of inquiries about vacations and families, and to take care of the business of creating a schedule--for teachers first, and then for students. My counterpart had a chunk of the program yesterday, introducing me through a power point presentation on the Peace Corps and then helping me communicate to the faculty (after my few words of Romanian) in a Q&A session. They gave me a heart-warming welcome and had some interesting questions--mainly about what Americans know and think about Romanians. I was honest--Americans don't know much about Romania. But as my counterpart pointed out, that's one of my 3 PC directives here, and I take it seriously--hence my blog and posting of pictures and the email pen pals Karen Solheim and I will facilitate with our American--Romanian students! Overall, I'm feeling a great deal of trust and high expectations for my impact here, which, of course, scares the dickens out of me!***** As to the pace, I expect things will rev up a bit next week, but for now, I'm feeling like I used to as a kid wading into cold water. It's just fine to let the water inch up as I adjust and readjust to the situation. It's been 7 years since I've been on a faculty and this approach is mai bun with me. I was sent home today after I had dressed and walked my mile or so in chilly mist because the teachers were all taking a psychological test and they didn't have the English version yet. So I went to one of the local stores and bought a broom and cleaning supplies to at least feel industrious. Now let me tell you, it's not easy to juggle a broom, umbrella, bag of cleaning supplies, purse, notebook and extra pair of "professional" shoes. I did not look cool strolling back home through the village, but I buna-ed all I met, smiled, and acted like this was the most natural predicament in the world and that I was born to do it. And maybe that's true.

We've been in Sighisoara five days and spending an extra night tonight to allow Lee to get over a stomach "bug" that attacked him yesterday--who knows from what, but one of those travel woes one encounters. He's on the mend, and all in all, it's not a bad place to recuperate. The weather is cool and sunny, the natives are friendly and our room is really a suite of sorts, located in a 400-yr.-old building on the main square of the old citadel town on the hill. We're in the attic! But we love it--all the beams of solid ancient wood and the rows of little dormer windows jutting out from the roof. We were sure one of us would bonk our noggin on a beam getting up in the night, but so far, so good. Our pretty tiled bathroom, though, is totally modern with a huge tub and non-splash shower (very special in Romania). We're surrounded by bell towers of various churches and have no problem remembering the time! The chimes are all in different tones, and if I were to stay a few more days, I could probably identify which were the Orthodox, the Roman Catholic, and the Lutheran. ***Sighisoara (in the Carpathian Mountains in the Transylvania sector of Romania)was settled by the Saxons in the 14th century and inhabited by mostly Germans for centuries until many moved back to Germany after WWII. The Hungarians have been here since the early days, too, when the King of Hungary granted settlers special privileges if they moved here and learned the excellent crafts of the village. One of the few fortified towns in the world still inhabited, it's picture-book perfect in its Medieval cobble-stone, meandering little streets and stone buildings. A great fire in the 1600's burned away much of the village, but it built back and the original buildings don't appear that different from all the rest. The eight towers for defense around the wall were built and maintained by different guilds. They are all very distinct and reflect the wealth of the particular guild. But I like the Cobblers' quaint one the best and it's the only one that is currently a residence; the caretaker of the Catholic Church yard and cemetery lives here and is a fine flower gardener! And of course, the Dracula house is here, too, as Vlad and his father lived here for a period of time. The house now houses an inn, art gallery, and little outdoor cafe which specializes in Dracula ice cream concoctions. As is true in nearly every Romanian town, a statue of Vlad Tepes, national hero, stands in a prominent place.***Below the fortified hill (with its grand clock tower, churches, and city hall) is the rest of Sighisoara, also quite beautiful on the banks of the Tarnava Mare River, but holding inferior status for much of the history of the city, when the master craftsmen and religious leaders on the hill held all the power. When the Turks or other tribes attacked, however, all were brought into the fold and helped in the defense. Interestingly, the bloc apartment buildings constructed during the recent communist era seem to have been remodeled, especially the roof lines, and made more in keeping with the architecture around them.***OK, so much for your travelogue/history lesson for the day. Must go buy water and provisions for our 7-hour train trip that begins at 8:30am tomorrow. I'll post pictures when I'm back to my site and will tell you about the brunch we plan to "put on" this Sunday. La revedere.

Lee is here! So good to be with someone who really knows me (and loves me anyway!) and to have a chance to show him some of my adopted country. We're having a good time in spite of extreme heat (in the 90s for three days with no ac), sudden violent storms that had us looking for funnels in the clouds, and a missing suitcase. What is it about the Reed luggage, anyway? I imagine a dialog that goes something like: "Reed, huh? OK, Vlad (Pierre/Juan/Marco), you know the routine. DO NOT put that one on the connecting flight. Just toss it in the corner and forget it for four (six/eight) days." *** Anyway, the weather has cooled to a delightful, breezy day with temps in the 70s, and the suitcase was retrieved last night at 10 during a storm when our landlady Ica drove us in a mad dash to rendezvous with the airport delivery man at a designated point between Cluj and Oradea. So I have copies of my new poetry book Of Root and Sky (Yay!) and my beloved purple peanut exercise ball, which I've missed greatly. And Lee no longer has to wear the sleeveless red t-shirt and clam-digger pants which were the only things that fit him at the local magazine (general store). I have pictures I've threatened to post on Facebook. ;-)****And it's tomato season! or at least the time in which tomatoes are preserved or made into sauce or juice. The whole process has been going on beneath my balcony for the past two days and I find it fascinating. I'll try to attach a link to my pictures at the end. Lee and I love the vine-ripened tomatoes and have been invited to help ourselves to what's in the garden. Here's a fine short poem that captures the essence: Cherry Tomatoes by Anne Higgins Suddenly it is August again, so hot, breathless heat. I sit on the ground in the garden of Carmel, picking ripe cherry tomatoes and eating them. They are so ripe that the skin is split, so warm and sweet from the attentions of the sun, the juice bursts in my mouth, an ecstatic taste, and I feel that I am in the mouth of summer, sloshing in the saliva of August. Hummingbirds halo me there, in the great green silence, and my own bursting heart splits me with life.

I'm here! Arrived yesterday morning at 7 and was greeted at the train door (literally) by my ever-cheerful and industrious principal and my sweet and reliable counterpart Veronica. The trip this time only took 15 hours because we made a speedy switch at the intervening station. Five of us PCVs were together to this point and we had a mountain of luggage among us. So when we learned that 3 of us had to be on the next platform over, the smart (and strong) youngsters jumped down onto the tracks and made a hand-to-hand luggage brigade to convey the bags to the next platform without having to tackle the two sets of stairs and underpass. My (senior) job was to "guard" the luggage as it stacked up. It worked great, our train was on time, and we zipped away (well--as zippy as Romanian trains can muster) to cross through Transylvania and the Carpathian mountains on to our 3 different sites. I was in a sleeper car, but didn't sleep much and then when I arrived at my village and was left in my new home, I was too excited to sleep, so just got back on a regular schedule, waiting until 11 or so for bed time.***My apartment defies description, quite honestly. It's a large attic apartment (slanting ceilings and dormers everywhere) with lots of space and some really neat features. It also has no light fixtures--only wires with light bulbs--and no screens on the huge and numerous windows. It's been partially remodeled recently and isn't finished. I keep getting assurances that it will all be done soon. In the meantime, after a night of frequent encounters with the local little vampires, I've pulled out the official Peace Corps mosquito net and have asked for a hook so that I can hang it. A family of 4 occupies the first 2 floors--lovely folks who are making me squeeze out every Romanian word and phrase I can remember. But as to the apartment in the big red house on the outskirts of town, the only thing that keeps coming to mind is "teetering on the brink of elegance." Certainly it isn't the mud hut or hide-covered yurt I once imagined!**And speaking of speaking Romanian, I met with my tutor this morning. PC pays for on-going language training and I'm taking advantage of it. I will meet with Nicole once or twice a week. She seems pleasant and professional--just what I need. After our meeting I ventured to the magazine (small store) on the way home to buy some provisions. Realizing that I had not brought my shopping bag with me, I decided to buy a bucket, knowing I would surely need one. So there I was walking back to my red house along the main road, carrying my bucket overflowing with bread, water, fruit, cheese, and some wild flowers I picked along the way. Later, I repeated the process at the other magazine (there are 2 in town), this time carrying a red, plastic laundry tub filled with cleanser, toilet paper, oranges, peaches, pretzels, and a bottle of wine and walking down different streets, saying "Buna Ziua" to all the curious folks I encountered. I introduced myself to the clerks at both stores and explained in Romanian what I was doing in their village. Integration is key. Oh, yeah, they're getting to know me, alright.

Amazing where you'll find deep and memorable conversations--at places you would least expect. Let me back up: I really needed a hair cut and my friend Martha had had good results from the sister of one of our language instructors. So after our language tutorials on Saturday, she and I were to have haircuts--back to back--at Jennifer Salon. I was first and had to leave as Martha was going into her session, so after getting general directions (I sort of knew the area), I burst into the full salon, announcing who I was in a complete Romanian sentence, just knowing I was late. Everyone stopped and stared, and finally a very sweet-faced, blond angel appeared before me and said, "Marti's friend?" (Romanians have a hard time with the "th" sound) "Da" and then she pointed at the clock and struggled a bit with "eleven, not ten." Well, drats! So I shopped for snacks for our trip to the farm (another story) across the street at Interex to while away the time. I returned at 10:55 and was told that Dana needed more time with a client and in trying to explain, she turned to a fellow who was waiting for his wife and asked him tell me in English. I sat down as instructed though I would have rather waited outside because the salon had to be 110. I'm fanning and "dewing" when the most precious child with her mother comes in. I really wanted to know the diminutive compliment and had several variations in my brain, so I turned back to the fellow and asked how to form the ending to dragut so that it was appropriate. To make a long story short(er), this 30-something, articulate man and I had a serious 30-minute conversation--to the sound of blow dryers and chit-chat-- about the plight of Romania. He had just returned from 7 years working in the UK and was now training to be a prison guard (which we both agreed was a recession-proof job). I knew all about the flight of the young, smart, and ambitious to other countries for better wages. The Romanian version of the "brain drain." "Why did you come back?" I asked. His brown eyes crinkled (he was handsome-as-all-get-out)and he said he missed Romania. "The people are warmer here," I said. "Yes," he laughed and did a little pantomime of a proper, up-tight Brit. "I lived in an apartment building for years and never knew my neighbors." We talked about the Peace Corps, the attitude of the Romanian people, the death grip of corruption in the government, and the absolute necessity of a legal system that is corruption free and dependable. (I even gave a bit of Lee's property schpiel, which he understood and agreed with.) And we talked about the irony of the incredible wealth of this country--in natural resources, cities and history, traditions and culture known by so few around the world. There are salt caves here with whole playgrounds, sports areas, and restaurants carved out inside. There are fairy-tale castles and beautiful ski resorts in pristine mountains. There is rural life that makes our Amish look like jet setters and cities with unique architecture, arts, and cuisine. This fellow and I both agreed that tourism should be pushed, that Romanians needed to feel proud of their country and that they could "right the wrong" of the government. We were fired up. And then I was whisked away to have my much-needed hair cut. Sigh. But it's so validating to talk with someone like this fellow, to know that there are sparks of hope out there because it's customary to encounter victim-like futility, especially concerning the corruption. ***Less profound was my foray into dress shopping today. We got out early and so I decided to try to find a dress for this Friday's Swearing-in Ceremony in Bucharest. My old black knit dress just looked too hot and dreary for the occasion, so I went into a number of shops, muddling through with my broken Romanian, sweating and fanning in the 90+ degree heat this afternoon. At one point I said, "Prea cald sa cumpare!"--which is supposed to be "too hot to shop," but either my accent was just too ridiculous or it came out as a joke because I caused considerable laughter. But the ladies in one shop were so accommodating and kind, bringing me dress after dress and seemingly understanding my pronouncements, that I ended up buying a summery confection from them (Romanians like confections) mainly because I felt obliged after leaving my dew on at least three I didn't buy! Now I need some of those cute Romanian shoes. I'm thinking aqua.

I'm back at my training site and should be doing my homework, but just had to post a quick entry to say that my visit to my assignment site, a village near Oradea, was very informative and thoroughly enjoyable. I was introduced to the mayor, the principal and staff of the school, the other Romanian English teacher, the librarian, police chief, the post mistress, the clerk at the general store, the Orthodox priest, the librarians in Oradea, and a few of the children of the school. The school is a friendly, cheery, clean place with conveniences and modern equipment. Veronica was a great hostess, translator, travel companion (18-hr. train trip north) and tour guide. She and her brother and sister made me feel very welcome. Her dear brother transported me all over the area and lugged my luggage around, which was muchly appreciated since I was trying to move some of my belonging here for storage until I move down in 2 weeks. (My lodging is not ready yet, so I and my extra luggage ended up in V's apartment.) V's sister is a gourmet cook and insisted on bringing wonderful dishes over--the last a big tray of her special tiramisu! The librarian and husband had me over for a cook out, and the principal and his wife prepared a multi-course lunch with lemon vodka appertif and "Bull's Blood" red wine for the meal of traditional meats with cabbage and soup, finishing with fresh fruit. We were instructed that it is wise to accept all invitations, but I would have anyway! Romanians take pride in their cooking and do it well!! Overall, I felt very welcomed and quite honestly didn't want to leave.****Oradea is very close to my village--only about 4 miles through fields of sunflowers and corn. It's a fabulous city. Budapest is just over the border and a short drive or train ride away. This is a fine location for visitors to find me. (hint, hint)**** I've posted a bunch of pictures on Facebook. If you're a "friend," take a look. Now, I MUST do my homework and study so I'll be able to stumble through conversations with the villagers sounding less like a 2-yr. old with a speech impediment. Oh, one bit of humor--Peace Corps is Corpul Pacii in Romanian, but some native speakers want to say it in English. At times, after those long train rides and umpteen meetings, being called a Peace Corpse seems altogether fitting. ;-)

I've met my counterpart and she's terrific! Veronica is intelligent, understanding, attractive and just idealistic enough to make a great partner for forward-thinking projects. We both love Hemingway, poetry, movies and Sandra Bullock. Neither of us has ever been able to keep pet fish alive and after getting lost on our way back from the train station to the university (when we decided to use our 2-hour lunch to purchase our tickets for Monday night's 15-hour train trip) we confessed that neither of us has a smidgen of directional sense. I really like this young woman and want my son Dan to visit soon. ;-) (I know, I know--but mother knows best.) **** The traffic in our training site city is insane--in a sort of Italy-meets-Bali choreography that keeps pedestrians--well, on their toes. The little green man crossing signal is merely a suggestion that this might be the best time to take your life in your hands (feet?) and attempt a crossing. Drivers DO NOT see this as a mandatory stop signal for them. If you are directly in front of one, he/she will screech to a halt and literally rev the motor waiting for you to get out of the way. I have--many times--been in the middle of a crosswalk and had cars whizzing by in front of me and behind me. Sometimes they weave AROUND me. The best thing to do is stand as near a little old bunica as you can and cross when she crosses. Yet--I've never witnessed an accident and don't hear of hits--except for the poor stray dogs whose population is somewhat controlled in this way. *** When I meet a well-dressed Romanian woman on the street, I can see her eyes focus immediately on my shoes. I can just read her thoughts about my ugly walking sandals. Because Romanian women wear pretty shoes. In stiletto-heeled or high-wedged, bow-trimmed or ankle-strapped, lipstick red, sunflower yellow, or lime green shoes, they sashay down the rough-paved sidewalks, around the standing rain water, through construction sites with the adroitness of mountain goats and the grace of butterflies. And they do this for block after block. I stand in awe. Walking only a few (3 on most days) miles a day, I still need something cushy and reasonably low to carry me along without injury. And still, I've had some minor ankle problems and some swelling. I'm trying to reason that it's an age thing, but I've seen plenty of older women in those fashionable little torture chambers, too. Veronica and I agreed today that heels definitely make women's legs look better and we like that, but... She, by the way, took a middle path today with pretty medium-wedge sandals. I? Well, yes, I was in the more attractive of my two pairs of walking sandals. ;-)

This past weekend the W(h)ine and Wisdom group (over-50 PCVs) met in Brasov, Transylvania, for gabbing, sightseeing and venting. The 3-hour bus ride up through the Carpathian Mountains was beautiful, and the city itself was a treat (see my Facebook page for pictures I'll gradually post). The weather was strange, but made for great lighting as the dark sky formed a backdrop for the lovely old buildings when the afternoon sun spotlighted them. We did eventually have a gully-washer Saturday evening that drove us inside from our sidewalk seating at an Italian restaurant. Brasov's architecture is a wonderful mixture of Gothic, Medieval, but mostly the stately 18th century style Austrian architects brought to it. Cobblestone streets and flower boxes spilling over with petunias, magnificent churches and bustling squares all charmed us. We took in museums and churches and a breathtaking cable car ride to see the city from high above. We all loved the fact that the city slogan appearing everywhere on cafe umbrellas was "Probably the Best City in the World."***The women in our group were fun to meet, many making long train rides to get there from their sites. Interesting women, every one, with wild stories of their bungles and triumphs in Romania. We stayed at a well-run and well-located hostel which was quite an experience in itself.***I'm now back to the training "camp" and behind in my journal writing homework (in Romanian, of course) and with a pile of dirty clothes, but it was worth it.***Coming next weekend is our Counterpart Conference when our Romanian teacher counterparts whom we'll be working with the next 2 years arrive here for a 3-day meeting after which we'll journey with them (a 10-hour train ride in my case) back to our sites. We'll spend all next week working with them, making plans, and getting our lodging arranged. Then we come back to our training site and prepare for the language exam and our swearing-in ceremony in Bucharest on August 6. I feel I'm on the crest of a giant wave, holding my breath as it sweeps me to the shore where I hope to glide in with only a few sand burns on my knees. May it be so. ;-)

Site announcements today and much excitement as we 44 are assigned to locations all over the country. Just a quick note to let you know I'll be in a village near the city of Oradea in Northwest Romania, near the Hungarian border. It will actually be quicker for me to get to Budapest than to Bucharest. Oradea has an airport it seems! The assignment is not what I was lead to believe I'd get when I went through the interview process, but I'm assured by some of the current volunteers who know the country well that this is a beautiful area and that the people here are forward-thinking and hospitable. I'll be working with 5th-8th graders. And though I had wanted high school students, apparently the need in the village is something the placement officials saw as right for me. I'm trying to find out more about the area and will visit there with my counterpart in a couple of weeks. Will let you know more as I find out in the next few days. To those of you who knew the assignment I thought I would have--well, with the Peace Corps, you just never know.