Wait! Don't Fix it Too Quickly
In 2006, Arthur was invited to conduct the Transylvanian State Philharmonic Orchestra in Cluj, Romania. What did I know about Romania? Well, the whole Dracula connection, of course, and that they’d suffered under Ceaușescu until he was executed during the revolution on Christmas day 1989, but that was about it. In 2006 Romania was not yet in the European Union and was lagging behind the other countries of the Warsaw Pact that had toppled their communist dictators. The country was subject to one corrupt government after another throughout the 1990s and into the new millennium, so progress had been slow. Money went into pockets rather than infrastructure. The result was a living anachronism.
We flew into Budapest and drove the remaining distance to Cluj in a rented Smart Car. The western world of highways came to a grinding halt just past Budapest. Literally. The pavement stopped with a row of concrete blocks. From here, on to Cluj, it was lumpy, patched and uneven single and double track roads winding through small villages and over big mountains. As we passed through the first village a group of children at the village school pointed to us, and doubled over laughing, pushing and jostling each other – Bahaha! Came the ring of their laughter. This was repeated again and again, and we soon realized these kids had never seen a Smart Car. Horse-drawn wagons, older model Dacias, Romania’s production car of its communist days, were still the norm for them.
After Arthur's Cluj gig, we pointed our miniature car to the north, eager to explore for a few days. There were no restaurants outside of the city centres, so we stopped at a village market and wandered through the tables filling a cardboard box; a bottle of fresh creamy milk, a ball of sheep cheese, smoked sausages, and langoș, which is deep-fried flatbread. We drove on. A couple of hours later, ready for a break from the jolting and needing a snack from our food box, we followed a dirt track to a clump of dusty bungalows. Upbeat marching music, a similar genre to the Russian national anthem, blared from two clunky speakers hanging from a tall wooden pole in the centre of the small village. It was December 2nd, National Day in Romania.
We pulled to the side to let a horse-drawn wagon pass by. At the front of the rough wooden, trough-shaped cart, a man sat on a bench holding onto the reins, driving the horse forward at a slow trot. The wagon rolled along behind on four worn car tires. Was it a coincidence that the horse seemed to keep time with the marching music? Behind the driver sat a middle-aged couple - a man dressed in black pants, a white shirt and a black vest and a woman wearing a brightly coloured skirt, blouse, and headscarf. Each had their arms wrapped tightly around a computer monitor - the sort of monitor I associated with my first computer in the mid-1990s - two feet deep, heavy, faded and yellowed, with a small grey screen. I glanced at Arthur, widening my eyes in wonder but not daring to speak lest I break the magic of the moment as they trotted on, down the muddy track and out of view. We stayed a little longer under the speakers to snack on langoș and sheep cheese and then started up our little car to move on.
A few days later, we had progressed to the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains. We stayed in pensions – family-run rooming houses. We were welcomed by locals, warm and open, delighted to have foreigners discovering the land they loved. It was already dark when we found a place for the night outside Borșa. Anna, the proprietress, invited us to join her and her brother Viktor in dim candlelight around a massive hand-hewn table. A large platter of unidentified roast beast lay in the middle of the table. Viktor was cutting away slabs of meat, and he pointed his large carving knife at my plate in a "would you like some" gesture. Oh, no thanks, I said and smiled carefully, I just ate... I patted my stomach for effect. Viktor grunted, poured himself a tumbler of palinka - homemade plum brandy - from a two-litre plastic water bottle and then poured a glass for Arthur. He looked my way and raised his eyebrows. I suspected women were not required to drink tumblers of 100 proof brandy and shook my head, raising my glass of water to show him I was just fine. Viktor's words were beginning to slur, as he asked in a thick accent, Djou like Romania? He waved his glass around the room to indicate the Greater Romania. It's very beautiful, I said safely. And then I ventured further, I find it fascinating. That was true. Along the way, I looked for opportunities to discuss past and present-day politics with anyone who would talk to me. Viktor, though, seemed bitter and a little bit dangerous, so I was cautious. He sloshed more palinka into his glass. I dunno, he sneered, what country shoot hees own prezident? Right. Enough politics for one night. We retired to our room, and I was thankful for the locking bolt on our door.
The next day we rescued a group of four nuns who had crashed their car into a barrier high in the Carpathian Mountains. They were uninjured, but their car was completely disabled. How do you rescue four nuns with a Smart Car, you ask? Well, the passenger bundles up and steps out into cold onto a shoulderless hairpin corner to spend an hour with three nuns, with whom she shares no common language, while Nun #4 joins the driver in the warm car to drive 30 kilometres back into the mountains to that logging camp that they passed a while ago, to ask for help. When we drove off leaving the loggers with the nuns, they were all chatting amicably.
We headed north to visit the wooden churches of Maramureș. We spent hours reading the grave-markers at the Merry Cemetery in Săpânța. We stopped to talk to villagers whenever we could, always finding a way around the language barrier and I've been hooked on Romania ever since. The people never cease to astonish me with their diversity, resourcefulness, and kindness to strangers like me. I have returned for a few weeks every year since 2006. Arthur guest-conducts several state orchestras, and we always take the opportunity to stay a little longer for some exploring. As a matter of fact, I have spent more time in Romania than any other country aside from my two home countries.
The European Union has arrived with transport trucks and big-box grocery stores. Restaurants and hotels are becoming commonplace, and Smart Cars abound. A few highways have been built between the larger cities, but, for the most part, the roads are still narrow and winding and frequented by horse-drawn wagons. I still prefer to shop at the markets, and I always head straight for the langoș seller. When it's too cold to sleep on the roof, we stay in family pensions.
Hover over the pictures (or choose landscape on mobile) for more Romanian impressions.
