Traffic Jam

Ordinarily being stuck in traffic for a very long time is miserable. But how can you complain when you are watching the sunset through the pass in the mountains? I may have been the only one who didn’t care. I experimented with different lenses in my new camera. I am not sure how I got the blues and browns, but they are interesting.

This one is my favorite.

Money

With modern banking, it should be no problem getting money from the ATM. I am, however, in a part of the world that does not function as we do. I have an account at the Bank of Transilvania. We all know that I will be keeping that account open forever. Apparently, in this country, only businesses can have checks. Individuals can only get an ATM card to withdraw lei, the Romanian monetary unit. One dollar equals about 2.5 lei. That is new lei, or RON. In old lei which are still used, it is several million lei. It makes me think of those Depression era pictures of people bringing wheelbarrows full of paper bills to buy a loaf of bread.

The bank issued me two cards. A blue one to use only in Romania, and a yellow one to use out of Romania. I have yet to understand the difference. Of course, there are additional charges to use other ATMs.

I have always had issues with using my ATM card in Europe. I seem to have the only one that has an automatic shut off. I have emailed the bank, stopped in to tell them personally, written letters, and phoned various departments in the past to let them know my travel plans. I cannot be the only person that goes away for the summer. But every year, without fail, I get where I am going, use my card a few times, get confident, and WHAM! It gets shut off because I am in another country. Of course, they call my house and leave a message that someone is using my card in Europe and I should call to let them know if it is alright. I, of course, am not at home to receive the call until weeks later when it no longer matters. And so I have learned that cash is a good thing to have in my pocket at all times.

This year, though, the bank has come through with flying colors.

There are three banks in town – two are Romanian and one is German. I tried my card at my bank and it was denied. Of course, I cannot read what the slip says, but it does not spit out any money and so it is not working for me. I try the other Romanian bank another day. Same story. Fortunately, this has happened to me so many times, that I don’t really need any money as yet. I am just trying to find a way to work the system. It is raining. Again. I am about to board the minibus to go home when I soy the German bank across the circle. Why not? I am already wet. What is another disappointment? I trudge over to the automatic teller. It is outside with a six inch awning. It doesn’t even keep the machine dry. In goes the card. I press the key for the British flag. English instructions!! I key in my password. It makes all sorts of noises and I figure my card is gone. But, no. Out pop brand, spanking new lei! Do I want another transaction? No, just my card back thanks.

The bills here don’t feel like money. They must be some sort of plastic as every denomination has a see through, plastic image to the left of center. There is what looks like the German eagle, a musical note, a painter’s palette and brush, and an eagle. The best one is the 100 Lei bill which has the happy/sad faces of the theatre on it. The each bill is a different pastel color and a different size. It is easy to tell which is which. Unfortunately, it is also difficult to hang onto as they slide easily. So far I haven’t washed any yet, so I don’t know what happens then.

We have certainly built our lives around convenience in America. Here, you have to go to the water company, stand in line to pay your bill every month with cash. You have to go to the bank, use the ATM or go to the teller to take out the cash, go to the electric company, stand in line, and pay your bill. And it is the same for the internet and the cable, and the gas, and whatever else there is. You will spend hours doing this several times a month. I am living in a cash society. My Visa card is getting dusty because it is useless here as no one accepts them. We just sit down for five minutes, write the checks, tear off the stub, out them both in the envelope that is provided, put a stamp and return address on it, and pop it back into the mailbox and raise the flag. The trusty mail person will pick it up later in the day and send it on its way to the appropriate mailbox to be handles and posted to my account.

A Walk in the Village

It is a lovely day and I am home early from school. The mountains beckon. I put on the only shoes I have for climbing – a new pair of Birks and a good thick pair of socks. I have my camera and so I am ready. First we have to cross the Humor River to get to the base of them. Fortunately, the river is not too wide and certainly not deep, but it is cold and wet. The bridge is iffy at best. It is a log that has been flattened on one side with a sort of a handrail attached. When I was a Girl Scout back in the Dark Ages, I would have scampered over it, but now I an older and wiser. I do not want to slip into the water now though, because I know that the first foot to hit the water will slip on the slimy wet river rocks, slither off onto another one or two and then down I will go, into the water. Hopefully, the camera will survive. Then there is the ordeal of getting up. I will first have to take inventory of all my limbs to see that they are intact. Then I will probably get more body parts wet trying to get up with minimal pain. I will probably have ruined my only pair of jeans, my Birks will be soaked, and I will be cold. I will have to trudge back to the house, shivering and miserable. In the morning, I will find muscles I never knew existed. I still have scabs on both knees from a step I didn’t see in town.

I look at the bridge again and determine that I can do this. Don’t look down. Hold onto the railing. One step at a time. Oh, I am getting old. How did this happen?? So I surprise even myself and make it across without any mishaps. We head over to the trailhead. It is still muddy from the incessant rain of the past two weeks. We have to walk on the outside edge of the path or else we will be knee-deep in mud. Not my idea of a good idea – especially as I have sandals on. It is a delightful 70 degrees – a lovely day for a walk.

It doesn’t look steep but that is deceiving. We head on. The path is not at all smooth. You would never know that people have been climbing this very path for centuries. It was strewn with big river rocks and ruts. I took my time so as not to lose my footing. I suspect it would really hurt a lot if I took a tumble here. There are no real handholds. I found that out the hard way. I grabbed a piece of fence to get by a particularly treacherous bit of slop and wet river rock when my hand began to sting. I thought it was bees but no, it was stinging nettles. I have never seen them before, but I bet I never do that again. It still stings and it has been two days. Up and up we went, with Birsook in the lead. He had every dog barking for miles around.

The scenery gets better and better the higher we go. I am convinced that this is where all the fairy tale settings come from. This looks so much like a picture in a history book of the seventeenth century. I keep seeing these vistas everywhere I go. One of my friends asked me if the image from my bedroom window was from National Geographic. It really is this gorgeous! Look at the mountains in the distance – they just go on and on and on.

We hear cow bells from a farm on the next rise. Still higher we go. As we head up the mountain, we leave the farms and head into open grazing land – at least that is what I am told it is. I am now starting to wonder whether this is a good idea or not. We are almost blazing a trail through the pines. I cannot see my feet or what is on the other side of the tree. A clearing! I now have two wet feet from the bogs on the trail.

Looking out over the trees and fence line it is a wonder. It goes on forever. Mountain peaks rise up, one after another, until they fade into the horizon.

The sound of dogs is getting closer. The dogs are moving the sheep this way. We must leave as they will not stand for Birsook. We didn’t make it to the top today. Maybe another day. It is time to descend. Down to the tree line, through the dense pines. I am only sure that I am going the right way because it is downhill. Hopefully I will come out in a place where I can cross the stream. Finally, we reach the path that runs along the fence line. I look up and realize that the sheep are looking at us as if we are the odd ones on the mountain. Perhaps they are right.

It is getting late to be out on the mountain. The skyline is unbelievable. Back to the Humor River and home.

As we return to the house, I hear English out on the street. It turns out that there is a British walking club out for a holiday. They are walking from the hotel in Gura Humorului to the Monastery and back. We talk for a while. It has been a while since I actually talked to someone who speaks English as a first language. It almost seems odd not to be stumbling around in a variety of languages for words to make sense. Soon it is time for them to be on their way and I am heading for the Advil.

Campulung

The second day of school arrived a bit early as the English Department had to go to Campulung for a district meeting. It is about an hour away through the mountains. Lovely scenery! The mountains are taller here.

We found the host school and climbed up the stone steps. Half-moons had been worn into them from years of use.

After three hours of being lectured at, the teachers look tired. After the Inspector finished his comments about the year ahead, these three presented their textbooks for schools to buy. Romanian teachers have free rein to choose the text they will use for class from a list that has been approved by the government. Unfortunately, these three need to learn how to capture their audience. Each one handed out plastic bags with catalogs in them and then read the catalog to us word-for-word. It was unfortunate for them that they were given the last time slot. We had been sitting in straight backed chairs for three hours and had not been allowed any sort of a break as yet. They were not excited about their products and lost their audience when they started reading. The third fellow at least chose to only read the last page where the discounts were.

There was no break and it was after noon when the meeting finally let out. I met several interesting people at the meeting and was asked to prepare a presentation about American schools and the Fulbright programs for the May meeting. I promise not to read from the slides! There is a teacher whose brother lives in Saline - a stone's throw from Milan. I met a Peace Corps volunteer from North Carolina who is also teaching English as a Second Language in two schools. The Peace Corps gives six weeks of intense language training. Michael was able to speak in Romanian. I am jealous.

After the meeting several of us had lunch at an outdoor café and then we found the Museum of Wooden Art . It was an excellent ethnographic museum, full of well-preserved wooden tools and implements. The exhibits progress from very early times to the early twentieth century. It is amazing that we are here at all. After looking at the displays of fishing, I am surprised that someone ever caught the first fish. And then cooking could not have been much better. There was a contraption that looked like it was a mill for grinding flour for a single dwelling. Who would have the time!? Can you imagine picking vegetables from wherever, keeping the fire going for heat, catching fish or game to eat, not to mention making cloth and clothing in your spare time. And then there is the little issue of keeping a roof over your head and keeping marauding animals and enemies at bay. It is truly a wonder that we are here today.

Having fun inside the museum. Can you imagine an American museum where you can sit on the exhibits?? We would have this chair and everything else behind glass and off limits to touching. I cannot think of a single museum where you can touch such priceless pieces, much less actually sit in them.

This lovely church has a beautiful tiled roof that sparkles in the sunshine. It is in the center of town. The guide books call it a pseudo-medieval church. I am not sure what that means but it sits quaintly near the square with its back to the mountains. The mosaic tiles on the roof are unforgettable.

We stopped to admire the flowers, both cut and potted. There are flowers to be bought any time of year in Europe. It seems that Europeans like to make their environments prettier places with flowers inside and out. This stall still has beautiful flowers for sale and it is the end of the day and they are all still fresh.

A last look at the Carpathians overlooking Campulung . The town is nestled high up in them alongside the Moldova River. It was once established as a logging town and still maintains that industry.

This fellow came flying past us as we waited for the minibus to go home. He was oblivious to the traffic around him. His horse was having a grand time almost running through the town. The horse looked from side to side as he raced by as if to see all there was to see. He was a solid little pony that looked as strong as an ox, but he was a sweet pony. His eyes met mine and they were friendly eyes, not fierce. The two of them looked like they would be just as at home on the steppes of Russia as they are here in the Carpathians.

Staff meetings…

I attended the first staff meeting in Gura Humorului. It was like many others I have attended. We all want to be anywhere else. At this first meeting, everyone is catching up with summer happenings. Soon the director arrives, speech in hand, and begins the meeting. We listened to a listing of who has which form class, who is new to the staff, who earned honors in the past year, who had new duties this year – lots of lists. Then Mihaela, the director, invited us to join her in a toast to the coming year in the hall. The national drink is a blueberry liquor served full of blueberries. Can you imagine the phone calls if we did this at home??

I felt right at home as I walked to the bus stop. I am not sure where this student obtained this jacket, but it certainly looks like it came from one of the cross country team.

First days of school in Gura Humorului

The first day of school is always an adventure. I don't know that I have ever set off for school in such a lovely setting. It is so quiet and peaceful here. Across the road and down a few houses is the bus stop. This minibus goes to town every half hour. How convenient. Can you imagine a minibus between Azalia and Milan every half hour? It only costs about 45 cents!

There is not a lot of traffic in the village. People pass by in cars, on bicycles, in carts, and walking. It is fascinating to watch them all make room on the road for each other. It has been raining and so the shoulder is muddy. We all try to stay out of it.

This fellow has such a wonderful face.

Traffic is sparse out here. There seem to be almost as many horse and wagons as there are cars at this hour. It does not seem so the rest of the day, but morning is a busy time for everyone, it seems. The minibus arrives quickly and we are off to the town of Gura Humorului a few kilometers away.

This little girl came to town with her father. She has such an adorable face.

The view from the minibus is spectacular. I took this through the window and so it is not very clear, but it certainly is beautiful. Nowhere is it flat as it is in southeastern Michigan. The mountains rise up all around us. They are dotted with haystacks and sheep. It looks like a scene from a fairy tale book. Soon the minibus dropps us off at the center of town. We must walk several blocks to the school from here. Although I walked there this summer, it seems new now. Here is the school. It sits back from the busy street. This is the Aexandru cel Bun high school. There are about 2,000 students here. It is named after Alexander the Good who was the ruler of the area in the 1500s. The front yard is well kept. There are several flower gardens with pretty flowers. Most of them I recognize. In the center of the yard is a fountain and benches to enjoy the view.

This week is full of meetings and curriculum mapping. It is called a planificat here but it is essentially the same. I am not only curriculum planning, but doing it in another language. Amazing how those skills transferfrom culture to culture. A stop at the Lions Restaurant for a meal seemed like a good idea after the day's activities. An excellent way to share the thoughts of the first day of school. An my first taste of Romanian wine. It is as good as it is reputed to be.

Finally, we call it a day and catch the minibus home. I looked out the window later to find this horse going home also. He was alone without any help. He knows the way.

Humor Monastery

This afternoon we walked to the monastery. It was amazing. Imagine building one of these buildings in a matter of months with no modern machinery. The paintings were done by four different artists. Looking closely, you can discover those differences.

We passed this gentleman on the way and asked for his picture. He happily agreed. This is the traditional clothing that is often worn on a Sunday here. Traditions are honored very highly in Eastern Europe.

This garden is on the way to the monastery. So many houses have flowers everywhere. It is really very cheery. Today it is like a fall day. The sky has had a grey cast to it for several days and the rain has made it chilly. Blue skies keep peeking out of the grey to bring cheer to the last days of summer vacation.

The Monastery is well hidden by the fences and buldings around it, After coming through the entrance to the grounds the huge stone building stands there to greet visitors. These nuns are dressed all in black habits. These are different from the ones in the West. These are completely balck, even the black wimples and the skirts are not as full. These are Orthodox nuns, carrying on their lives, almost as if the visitors do not exist. They barely speak except for the one collecting the entrance fees. The grounds are immaculate.

It is four o'clock and time for afternoon matins. At least that is what I would call it. I am not sure what it is called here. This nun is calling everyone to the service. She beats a rhythm on the long pole with a wooden hammer, probably much the same as others before her have done for centuries. Inside the sisters are conducting a service with singing and what must be a sermon.

One of the paintings on the outside walls of the monastery depicting the resurrection. Each animal has a part of something it has eaten in the past. The fish have heads. The snake has a hand. Looking closely reveals that each animal has returned some body part. I don't know that I ever heard this part of the story.

These angels' wings are interesting. They could easily have been painted by a modern artist, so universal is the design. The scales of justice.

There is an entire section of the paintings devoted to men with exceedingly long beards. Although the lower ones are damaged with graffiti, the paintings are amazingly clear and intact considering that they were painted nearly 500 years ago and have withstood wind, rain, and snow. They have survived several occupations.

There is another monastery on the gtounds. The first monastery was burned down by the Ottomans and all that is left are the river stones of its base. This is the side of the painted monastery as seen from the original monastery remains. So many of the paintings are still vibrant.

The nuns live in the cloister on the grounds. It is very well-maintained. There must be hundreds of roses lining both sides of the paths throughout the grounds. This garden leads to the cloister which is off limits. Note that this stone wall is thigh high.

At the edge of the grounds is a tower which stands alone. It is open and so we walked up the wooden stairs. They could easily be the original stairs, so old and worn are they. The exposed staircase leads to a large chamber which leads to another staircase. This one is cut into the stone. It is very narrow and the stone steps are very steep. The walls have slits carved into them for archers to slip their arrows through for protection. This staircase leads to another chamber where the tiny windows are. This would have been a defense tower. From this level an even tinier stircase leads farther up. These stairs are made of stones set in dirt. They are even narrower than the ones before. They are probably fifteen inches high and maybe six inches across. The passageway leaves little room to negotiate. The walls are close on all sides with no railing. There is almost no lighting and so the footing is iffy at best. This leads to the final chamber. The doors lead out onto a balcony which encilsles the tower. It is a lookout tower designed to get a view of the surrounding countryside to give first warning of marauding invaders and prepare the defenses.

This would never pass OSHA regulations. I am so glad to have been here while it isi still accessible. Remember the huge garden in front of the nuns' cloister. It looks tiny from the top of the tower. The tower walk is above the roof of the Monastery. The treads of the walkway do not lap each other and so the ground is visible between them. It is a queasy sort of sight.

Remember the picture where I am standing next to this garden and it looks really big. I am at the top of the tower now. I can see for miles. It is easy to imagine the monks in the 1500s standing up here on the lookout for invaders. Much of what is here has changed very little since then. There are probably more houses and the road is paved. There would have been no cars. Otherwise, life is much as it was then. The nuns run the monastery now instead of the monks. No one seems to know what happened to them.

The view is spectacular. The traditional houses look like a fairy tale village below. The sheep on the mountain are tiny specks of white. The Carpathians rise up behind a pretty garden. The white dots are sheep. They are up on the side of the mountain without a shepherd. Only dogs keep them together and will bring them home in the evening. Each of them knows what they need to do and where they live and how to get where they need to go. No fences. In America, the DNR and police would be called. Probably the ASPCA, and other animal rights organizations, too.

This lovely little church sits across from the monastery. Everything here is so very peaceful. It doesn't look as if time has touched very much of this area. If you didn't know there was electricity and the internet in many of them, you could easily imagine days being whiled away as they have for centuries. Much of the food prepared here is local. The cows provide milk and much bartering goes on. It is very quaint.

Climbing down from the tower is an interesting proposition. Needless to say, the shoes have to come off. Going up is one thing, but coming down is quite another indeed. My high-heeled sandals were not made for this at all. I tucked them in my pockets and started down. Using the walls for balance, I sidled down the stairs, one step at a time. They are really quite treacherous. I can not see my feet at all and so must feel the next step with my toes as I reach ever downward. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I finally touched the ground.

It has been a delightful visit. It is so quiet and peaceful here. It is easy to imagine that it is 1550. That the tower is manned. That fresh bread is in the oven. That the monks are praying. That village life goes on as it always has. The Monastery hides behind the tree as we leave the grounds.