Legitimati, part three

I still don't have my Legitimati. When I left the police station last month and they told me to return in thirty days to pick up my temporary ID card, I had a feeling that there would be another chapter and there is.

The day I was to leave for Timisoara, Daniela received an urgent phone call from the young policeman asking that I return to Suceava immediately with proof that I had this new European Union insurance. She seemed to think that I should cancel my trip to rush over there. I told him that I was leaving for a few days and would go to Suceava when I returned.

Apparently, there is a new law in Romania, and now I must purchase Romanian health insurance to obtain this card. They say this is because the EU does not recognize American insurance. I think it is because it is a way to get more money from us. I have Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance through the school. I understand it is in the top ten policies I in America. Then we have a second local policy that covers what Blue Cross doesn't. I only need to have the bills translated into English for them to be paid by my own insurance. Then I have Fulbright insurance on top of that to cover things like emergency evacuation for medical purposes. I think I have all my bases covered.

Consider this scenario. I catch a disease here or I get seriously injured in some manner, say I trip on the non-existent sidewalk, fall into the roadway and get run over by a vehicle or two while I try to get out of the road. What if the maxitaxi should burst at the seams and spew us riders out into the street? Several vehicles, both motor-driven and horse-drawn, will have run us over before anyone realizes what has happened. There would be mangled bodies everywhere. Some would be on the pavement, while others would be hood ornaments as drivers tailgate so close that there would be no room to fall to the ground.

I went to the local insurance company to purchase this new insurance. It seems it is so new that they do not have the forms yet, but the lady assured me that I could return on Friday and that she would have them. When I returned, she did have them and so 110. lei lighter, I had the necessary form.

Now back to Suceava…

Wednesday seemed like a good day to go back to try again. I went to the hitchhike station for Suceava. There were four drivers ready to take me but, of course, they needed four passengers, not one. I waited and waited. It was snowing and cold and getting later. After a half hour, I asked them if one of them would take me if I paid for all four seats and he took me to the police station. It took awhile before they understood that I would pay for all four seats. Finally one of them agreed and off we went. It actually wasn't as scary a ride as usual. He dropped me off in front of the police station and in I marched, back to the second floor, and waited. No one acknowledged that I was there. No one seemed to be in line. It was student visa day. Apparently, I pass for a student. I waited for a while. The people in the various offices rush from one office to another with sheaves of paper in their hands. They always close the doors behind them. I asked a passing woman if I was waiting at the right office and she pointed at the door and so I resumed my position of leaning on the railing where whoever goes in or out has to pass me.

There was a Moldavian student in the Office for Foreigners. He was seated on the hard backed chair that serves as perch for the official photo. He sits there and continues to answer questions. Every once in a while they ask him a question and he just sits there with no response. There seems to be an issue with his visa. He is a divinity student trying to get a student visa. He is missing some piece of paper. Rather than simply telling him that he needs to get it, they keep him in the hot seat for two hours with no resolution in sight. When I arrived he was in there. People come in and go out and he sits there. They will not let him leave. I have been waiting for over two hours now.

Finally, after watching the same man walk back and forth a dozen times, I dug out the insurance form and approached him. "You called me to say I needed to bring this insurance form."

He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. He indicated that he needed to take care of them. He had his key ring out but did not have one to fit the door. He walked to another office, borrowed the key from someone, returned, opened the door, put the papers on the desk, locked the door, returned the key, then came back to take my paperwork. We walked into his office. IT is only five feet from the one I have been waiting in front of. I am sure that he saw me standing there during his several trips back and forth to other offices. He took my certificate and examined it closely. It passed muster. I asked if it was what he needed and he nodded that I had managed to jump through all the hurdles he had laid out for me. Now he asked for the photocopy of the certificate. I did not bring that. I brought the original. I tell him to "take the original as I will not be needing it." The truth of the matter is that my Blue Cross/ Blue Shield is better than anything his government has to offer. And then there is the second policy the school carries which covers anything Blue Cross/ Blue Shield. And then there is the Fulbright insurance which will medivac me to an American hospital if need be. So why do I have this Romanian health insurance??

He insists that I must give him a photocopy. I do not have one and there is no place for me to get one nearby. I know he knows this as he looks outside and realizes that I am not going to be able to do this. He makes the decision to make the photocopy himself. He takes the certificate to another office. Soon he is back with his keys. He takes a sheet of white paper from a locked drawer and leaves again. About five minutes later, he returns with a copy of the certificate and returns the original to me.

I ask if there is anything else he needs and he indicates that it is all in order. I thought about asking what to do next, but decide that I will leave while I am ahead. He will call if he needs something else and he will call or mail the legitimati if it ever is ready. We shall see.

The Shoes Arrive

I have stooped to buying American. Well, actually, they were made in China, so I guess that stopping in the US is ok. The shoes finally arrived at K's. She said, "They are en route. Some little goodies are packed in the boxes too. Your shoes are cute!" She sent them two weeks ago. I watched every day for them and finally they have arrived. I got a tiny slip in the mail that said I could go pick them up. It was crumpled and could easily have been mistaken for trash. It certainly does not look important.

Now I must go to Suceava tomorrow between the hours of 8 and noon to pick up the box or they would return it to sender. Apparently, Romanians are willing to drop everything at the drop of a hat to comply with these ridiculous requests. I teach until 11 and so decided that I could still make the 45 minute trip in the hitch-hike car and get down the street to the post office in time with Ross' help. He is a Peace Corps Volunteer whose room I have usurped. He hails from Seattle, but has been traveling through Europe since June. He will return to the States for Christmas and then he will "have to get a real job," as he puts it. In the meantime, it is nice for me that he is here and knows how things are done.

We meet at the official corner and head into Suceava. This time we manage a brand new Mercedes. It is a relatively quiet ride as I think the driver wants his new car to last for a while and so he doesn't take quite as many chances.

We get to town and jump in a bus that takes us to Central Station where we go a few more blocks to the post office for foreigners. I would never have found it myself and most Romanians have no reason to go here so I would have been wandering around lost if it had not been for Ross. We finally get to the building and it is under construction. It does not look like this is it, but there is no information on the door indicating where to go.

We are leaving when we take one last look. There is activity in an office way off to the side of all the construction. A closer look makes us think maybe it is the post office for foreigners. We go inside and start the red tape process. I hand the clerk the paper I received with yesterday's mail. He begins to fill out another form in triplicate. He scrutinizes my passport. What exactly he thinks I am going to have mailed to me is beyond my comprehension. Knowing that they open all packages, who in their right mind would send something that is not stated on the manifest. He then marches off through piles of rubble to the next office. There another gentleman has yet another form filled out. They put the package on the scale and weigh it. He points to the weight on the scale and the amount written on the form and indicates that I must sign it. I must sign a second form to indicate that I am indeed the addressee of the package. The bureaucracy is amazing.

Now the clerk begins opening the package. There are a few boxes inside the big box and he opens each of them. He is strewing the contents all over as he opens each smaller box. I am collecting it all and returning it to the big box. Finally, he is satisfied that it really does contain what it says it does and he sends us out of the office. Thank heavens Ross has come along because I am not too sure I would have made it back alone.

We head outside to regroup. We find a trash receptacle and begin to unpack the boxes. If I try to take this big box back, I will have to pay for an additional seat and that is too much. We open every piece of packing as K has deftly hidden prizes all through the packing material. It is a glorious day! Chocolate! Ribbons! More chocolate! A Pin the Tail of the Turkey game that will be great fun next week on Thanksgiving. I have four classes and so they will be having great fun. And, of course, the shoes. She has hidden all sorts of toys under the lids, in the tissue. I think the customs guy actually took the Lay's potato chip bag for packing material. Little did he know they wouldn't last the evening and they were great! And then there are the shoes!!! Shoes that fit! Pretty shoes. I would put them on now, but that would mean carrying my boots home, and they are much too bulky. I packed my bag and stuffed one of the smaller boxes with all the great stuff we found. I have to admit to eating one of the Milky Way bars right there on the spot. It was too tempting.

It took us two different trash bins to get rid of the cardboard and then we left the bigger pieces folded under one of them.

We wandered to the big grocery store and then headed back home. It was a lovely day – made all the better with the arrival of new shoes.

I a me a year, the computer for many area where m including a few pictures of the landscape on the return trip. The light was perfect on the snow and through the trees. The sheep were at the roadside in one of the meadows. They do not use fences to keep the animals in. There is no road kill at all so they must have smarter animals in Europe than we do in the States. Seldom are there even people with the animals when they are out grazing. The gates are opened at 7am and the sheep head for the mountain side to graze with their dog escorts. At 5pm they are all back at the gate, waiting to be let in. It seems that they need no one to tell them the time. You could set your watch to them if you wanted to. They know what they are supposed to do and do it well every day.

The Second Snow

Snow is beautiful. It coats all the mud with a white blanket and looks so soft and pretty. Waiting for the bus, I see the sunrise has turned the snow pink on the mountain farther up the valley. I don't think I have ever seen this phenomenon before. I have never been where the sun rays touch the ground before they are actually in the sky. It is quite a sight.

These apple trees are right across the road. It rained for quite a while last night and so they are covered with ice first and then snow.
We pass the mountains to the north on the way to school. They are covered with a light dusting of snow. They look like a Christmas card.

Later, when I get to school, the sun is higher in the sky and the snow is looking like it may blanket the town soon.

St Michael and St Gabriel Day

Thursday was Saint Michael and Saint Gabriel's Day. I do not celebrate saint days as a rule and so I didn't think much of it. I found that only seven of fourteen students showed up to my first hour class and nine of thirty-one to my second hour class. I understood that the other students had stayed home because it was a holiday of sorts. Those who were in school were only there half-heartedly. The twelfth formers were studying for the driver's test on Tuesday and the rest were celebrating name days. Apparently, if you are named Mihai, Miheala, Gabriel, or Gabriela, it is your duty to bring chocolate to celebrate your name day.

As it happens, my day is over at noon today. Every day at 11 there is five minutes added to the ten minute break and there are excellent bread rounds that they call bagels available for everyone. This is what comprises lunch most days. I have managed to lose twenty-two pounds so far. None of my clothes really fit anymore but I am determined to save the money and wear them anyway.

Back to the Saints day. I went into the teachers' work room to drop off one attendance book and pick up another and grab a bagel for sustenance. I find a huge spread laid out complete with white wine and scotch. I would be fired at home. Everyone indulges. There is music blaring and the food is excellent. Soon it is a full-fledged cocktail party in full swing.

As it is considered rude to be in class when the bell rings, I have gotten into the habit of waiting for about half the teachers to go and then I go to class. The bell rings. Nobody starts packing up to go to class. Nobody leaves. I watch but it looks like they are all settled in for a while. I ask another teacher what is going on. She tells me that all the students have gone home and to have some ham and cheese.
Finally, when there are only ten minutes left of the hour, a few teachers begin to head out. I gather my books for class but someone tells me they are going home, not to class. I stay a little longer and then I go home also. What an odd day.

Fulbright in Romania

The Fulbright Commission has been in Romania since 1960. Interesting that it would have been allowed before 1991. It has an intriguing history. Today the Commission fills many roles in education in Romania. The Teacher Exchange Program is the one that has brought me to Romania. It has allowed Cristina and I to change places for the academic year. Do I hear a possibility for a reality show? “Changing Places?” I can see it now – Cristina in my classroom and me in hers. I wonder what we would each choose to highlight?

Fulbright has a number of programs in the States, but it seems that there are a myriad here also. Mihai Morieau runs the office. He has managed to get me where I need to go and put all the pieces together. Miheala runs a program today as students are studying for the SAT and TOEFL exams. There are two rooms of students getting ready to take the exams so that they can do their very best. Diana is a student from Gura Humorului and is studying for the TOEFL. She wants to attend an American college for to study journalism. We talked for awhile and then she got back to her studying. I will have her sister in class. I told Diana that she is welcome to visit any time.

It is a very successful program. Students come from all parts of Romania to study here. They are committed to an educated populace. I find it refreshing that people young and old are interested in philosophical and educated issues. Certainly there are discussions of mundane topics, but I have heard esoteric discussions as well, much more so than I might at home.

Tonight it is raining. I do have an umbrella with me! That is one thing I have learned in Europe. I try to always have an umbrella with me. It is one of the most useful things I carry in my sack of goodies. I have three this time and I hope they will last the year. I could probably count the number of times I have needed one in America on one hand, but that is certainly not the case here. It rains much more often in Europe. Either that or I have an Eeyore cloud over me.

Mihai told me of a tiny museum that is only two blocks from the Commission. The museum is a little jewel, to quote Mihai, and it contains Romanian classical painting in a nutshell. Nicolae Grigorescu lived and painted in the house for a time, which has now been transformed into a museum. This little museum has the paintings and sculptures displayed so that you can walk right up to it to see the brush strokes and the colors. Grigorescu is Romania’s greatest painter. He was in his glory when he lived here. Some of his earlier work is the church painting at Agapia Monastery. One of the unexpected joys of Eastern Europe is stumbling upon these little, unpublicized, hidden treasures.

I spent the day at the Fulbright Commission and managed to find my way home without any detours. Along the way I saw this garage. Can you imagine driving out of it and still have a car in one piece. It would have to be on stilts not to scrape.

This is going to be great. The hotel is a quaint one where you can walk at night. This was actually too sweet for me to finish if you can imagine that. What will this year bring?

Christian Rock Band in Timisoara

Walking back to the square, we found a Christian rock concert in full swing. They were singing and rocking for all they were worth. I am not sure if it was in English or Romanian, but the crowd was grooving with them. Dancing and swaying with the beat. It was quite a show.

The stage lights lit up the square. For my theatre friends, check out the number of smart lights. As I recall, they are a thousand or two a piece. This guy stood here all night long panning the stage manually with this intricately balanced, counter-weighted tripod. I cannot even imagine the amount of money they have tied up in equipment. Sadly, the lead singer was off-key for most of the night.

Not bad for such a scruffy looking group. We ran into them a few days later at the Opera. They had not improved their appearance in the least. No wonder Americans are looked on so poorly in other countries. We were able to pick them out of the crowd instantly without hearing their American English at first. They were loud and didn't take notice anyone around them as they were obviously the center of their own universe.

The Opera

Timisoara is near the border of Serbia. There is an opening of an opera and several of us decide to go. As Meghan put it, "We are at a Romanian Opera House watching an opera being sung in Italian with Romanian subtitles about an American and a Geisha in Japan in 1895 by Romanian actors." And so begins a marvelous production of Madama Butterfly.

The Opera House is at the far end of Piata Victoriei and so we must join the promenade to the opening of Madama Butterfly. Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best, ready for an extravaganza.

The proscenium is built for the opera with its huge scenery and larger than life characters. Above the arch is an invitation to the audience. It says, "Huge scenes, life changing. Come, See, Listen." Apparently, the Romanians have been reading their Shakespeare.

This is a traditional theatre with the royal boxes rising up alongside of the stage. They are intricately carved and gilded, offering a bird's eye view of the production. The loges above the main floor have the same intricate embeliishments. Above the ceiling is decorated with vibrant frescoes. Amazing that such a fabulous theatre remains in a country with such abject poverty.

The conductor appears and the overture begins. We are transcended into Japan of the late 1800s. The actors arrive on stage and the opera begins in earnest. It is interesting listening to a language I do not know with subtitles in another language I barely understand telling a story I do know. The actors move about the stage in costumes that seem to waft the very essence of Japan into the house. The theatrics are every bit as good as New York theatre.

It is over all too soon and we are carried out into the nighttime otherworldliness of the Piata with the crowd. We turn to head back for a late light ice-cream before calling it a night.

A Sidewalk Art Class

On the way to the conference, we passed an art class on the sidewalk in a square. The theme for the day was fall landscapes. The students had palettes filled with brilliant shades of red and yellow.

A huge banner proclaimed this to be the opening day for a sidewalk exposition of student art. The students had easels and chairs and were very busy creating masterpieces.

It turns out that the reason they are out on the sidewalk is that the conference we are going to is housed in their school and they have been banished for the day. We tried to explain to the lead teacher that we would like to see more of their art but she never really understood what we were saying. There were some clearly talented artists in the group.

Later, I thought of these students when going through my photos for the day. I wonder which one of them could have painted this Monet-inspired picture that I captured from the taxi window.

Pigeons

Timisoara is home to a gazillion pigeons. They all seem to live in the Piata. For you bird-watchers, there are a few places of note in the square. First, the Pigeon Lady. She holds court in the north end of the Piata.

This morning she is dancing a slow waltz, tossing bread to them as they perch on her shoulders and arms. They allow her to dance through them as if they do this every day, and maybe they do. Maybe this is a daily ritual for them both. Suddenly, it is over. The Pigeon Lady begins to walk away and the pigeons fly into the air to give her room to escape.

Shoes

I just want to buy a pair of shoes. How hard can that be?

I love shoes and brought a few pair with me as the same pair of shoes are boring day after day, not to mention there are a lot of cute shoes out there and many of them come from Europe. I have found plenty of shoes on my previous European visits and so figured it to be a no-brainer to find them here. After all, I am living in Europe, not just passing through for a few weeks. I particularly want a pair of clogs for the fall. They are easy to wear and my feet have now swollen a full shoe size and I can no longer fit into most of the shoes I brought with me. I did not bring winter shoes as packing space was an issue. I had to decide between shoes and coats. I chose the coat which was good as it turns out. And so begins the saga of the new shoes.

I knew that I would not find them in Gura Humorului, but certainly in Suceava, a city of 100,000, there is a shoe store. My first foray for shoes was a complete disaster. There were only very high, pointy elf shoes that would not survive the sidewalks. There were truly ugly, sensible shoes that even my grandmother would never have worn. And there were sneakers which just don’t work with a skirt. Nothing even close to what I am looking for. I went home disappointed. Next week we would try another shoe store in Suceava. It was to be more of the same. There were no clogs to be found at all, although I tried on every size 40 in the store. There were two but they were terribly uncomfortable.

A few weeks later, we went to Iasi, a two-hour drive across the mountains. It is a university town and so there must be shoes in Iasi. Daniela’s sister who is a fashion queen met us and had offered to take us shoe shopping. This was going to be awesome.

In preparation for this trip, I went to the bank to withdraw a few hundred dollars in case I hit paydirt. Credit cards and checks do not work in Romania. Only cash. There are ATMs everywhere and they have the same fee structure as in the US and so I made a withdrawal at my local bank. You never know if there will be one where you need it in another city. Walking makes you think ahead.

Of course, a few of you have been hearing about the dearth of shoes from the beginning. From one of my friends - “Oh, for crying out loud! You weren't just checking the sales racks, were you? And you were looking in European sizes (e.g., I'm 7 here but 37/38 there?)?”

I have been scouring every shoe in the store. I ask for anything remotely close to my size and hear, “No, we don’t have size 40. 37?” OK, they say it in Romanian and with a lot of gestures and pointing to size numbers, but that is the gist of it. My feet have grown too big!!

After trying all the shoe stores within a five block radius in the shoe district to no avail, Narcisa declares we are going to the mall. Mall? Did I hear her say that right? A mall? Oh, boy!! I feel like a puppy with my tail wagging in anticipation. We catch a taxi directly to the mall. This even looks something like a mall. It is two stories at least. It has a central court. There are storefronts with displays. Yes, I have been out in the boonies for entirely too long.

We have been in every shoe store in the mall and in Iasi. Thought you would like to know that Romanians do not wear a size 9 or 9 1/2 or 10 shoe. I went to the third largest city in Romania to get shoes. I went to at least 30 shoe stores and not one had a black clog or a decent, black, low-heeled shoe in stock in my size. Not even for $300!!! Yes, I am that desperate.

I have been to every shoe store in this area of Romania. I am not kidding. I have been to the cheap outlet stores. I have been to tres expensive boutiques. Nothing is big enough, although there are some very cute shoes. When we arrive home after this trek, I go online, determined that there must be a way. I did find that Marks and Spencer will be in Iasi in the spring. Although that is encouraging, it does not solve the shoe problem today.

I finally bought shoes online and had them shipped to a friend who is sending them to me from the States. This is truly awful.