I've long been a fan of the 5's pattern. I love teaching it, it is nice and rounded off and conforms to my werid desire for order.
I have 35 days of school left. For a while I was counting down the days in anticipation, looking forward to the dwindling numbers. I'm not sure what happened, but now I'm aching for time to slow down. Each day passes with a sort of regret, and I find myself on yet another Friday afternoon longing for more time.
More time in the country of incredible contrasts, wonderous beauty, and warm hearts. More time with these students that I am just now getting to know and love. More time in this place of joy and peace and sometimes frustration. I cannot believe this chapter of my life is coming to an end.
There are obviously big things ahead. I cannot wait to see my family and friends, start an exciting new summer job, and plan the future. I'm looking forward to so much, but this place is going to stay in my heart.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Trip Log
8:00pm: The train just pulled out of Oradea and I have a sense that I’m leaving one of the few places on Earth where I can be truly happy. I’m in a nice compartment, about 10 times better than the train I was on from Cluj-Napoca. There are two people on the other side of the compartment and I have a lovely seat next to the window… number 56, the same seat I’ve had on 7 previous trips. I suppose there is a benefit to going early. I also very nearly lost my water bottle- about 5 minutes before the train pulled away I remembered that I had left it in the station. My poor friend looked so lonely when I ran in to grab him… and then chased the train a bit. Luckily I had at least grabbed my bag with wallet, passport, and phone. I'm not totally stupid.
9:00pm: I’ve not even finished “Driving Miss Daisy” and it’s already one of my favorite movies. I’m kind of dreading when one of them dies… I mean, one of them is going to die at some point. I hope they die together in a car crash. I’m alone in the compartment and taking advantage of it. I need to go to sleep soon and spread out across the seats so that people leave the compartment alone.
9:30pm: He is feeding her now. This is the best movie ever. No one dies.
9:35pm: I’ve made a makeshift bed and I’m going to sleep. All the way to Bucureşti.
10:41pm: Hahahaha. Maybe not all the way to Bucureşti. Just to Cluj-Napoca, where a selfish person came into my compartment and took a seat NEXT to me. Was that really necessary, you prissy girl with the curled hair and the leggings? No.
1:30am: Just finished watching “Shakespeare in Love.” So cute…
4:52am: Dang it. That was a nice long nap. Welcome to Braşov… again. Really, guys? I know you love each other... but please stop sucking face in my train compartment. It isn't even 5am. And why do you need the light on? You don't. You don't need the light to be on at all.
5:45am: So sweaty.
5:47am: SOOOO sweaty.
5:54am: Why do I do this to myself?
6:30am: 3 hours to go, and I’m conking out… again.
8:30am: So sweaty and gross. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for 24 hours now. I need a shower. I need a bath. I need a better method of travel. I need money so that I can fly places. I need this train ride to be over.
9:27am: Ahh, home sweet Bucureşti. Gara de Nord. I’m off to buy more train tickets for this EXACT same journey in about 3 weeks
9:00pm: I’ve not even finished “Driving Miss Daisy” and it’s already one of my favorite movies. I’m kind of dreading when one of them dies… I mean, one of them is going to die at some point. I hope they die together in a car crash. I’m alone in the compartment and taking advantage of it. I need to go to sleep soon and spread out across the seats so that people leave the compartment alone.
9:30pm: He is feeding her now. This is the best movie ever. No one dies.
9:35pm: I’ve made a makeshift bed and I’m going to sleep. All the way to Bucureşti.
10:41pm: Hahahaha. Maybe not all the way to Bucureşti. Just to Cluj-Napoca, where a selfish person came into my compartment and took a seat NEXT to me. Was that really necessary, you prissy girl with the curled hair and the leggings? No.
1:30am: Just finished watching “Shakespeare in Love.” So cute…
4:52am: Dang it. That was a nice long nap. Welcome to Braşov… again. Really, guys? I know you love each other... but please stop sucking face in my train compartment. It isn't even 5am. And why do you need the light on? You don't. You don't need the light to be on at all.
5:45am: So sweaty.
5:47am: SOOOO sweaty.
5:54am: Why do I do this to myself?
6:30am: 3 hours to go, and I’m conking out… again.
8:30am: So sweaty and gross. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for 24 hours now. I need a shower. I need a bath. I need a better method of travel. I need money so that I can fly places. I need this train ride to be over.
9:27am: Ahh, home sweet Bucureşti. Gara de Nord. I’m off to buy more train tickets for this EXACT same journey in about 3 weeks
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Kindred Spirits and the Purpose of MY Life
I've spent the last three days in Oradea, my original gateway to this incredible place I've called home for the last 8 months.
I've never been happier. Never. The kind of happy that emboldens me to feel like I can do anything, face challenges yet unconquered, and be truly content.
To begin, I'm staying in the Noble House at Caminul Felix Village Two, where they host most of the missionary groups and visitors who come to work. There are currently 9 other people staying here. Lars, Julius, Willard, Jake, Larry, David, John, Gary, and Steve have become my neighbors, my entertainment, and my friends. The youngest man is 52 years old and the oldest is 83, and wow do they have stories. I don't think I could ever tire of spending time with these wonderful gentlemen. I spent the afternoon playing tour guide and translator for these men in downtown Oradea... one of the most shining times in recent memories.
Now for the purpose of my life. I'm feeling pretty lucky to be 22 years old and have fully and totally discovered that I'm supposed to hang around kids. How can you deny that this kind of joy isn't related to some larger/bigger/higher calling?
I've never been happier. Never. The kind of happy that emboldens me to feel like I can do anything, face challenges yet unconquered, and be truly content.
To begin, I'm staying in the Noble House at Caminul Felix Village Two, where they host most of the missionary groups and visitors who come to work. There are currently 9 other people staying here. Lars, Julius, Willard, Jake, Larry, David, John, Gary, and Steve have become my neighbors, my entertainment, and my friends. The youngest man is 52 years old and the oldest is 83, and wow do they have stories. I don't think I could ever tire of spending time with these wonderful gentlemen. I spent the afternoon playing tour guide and translator for these men in downtown Oradea... one of the most shining times in recent memories.
Now for the purpose of my life. I'm feeling pretty lucky to be 22 years old and have fully and totally discovered that I'm supposed to hang around kids. How can you deny that this kind of joy isn't related to some larger/bigger/higher calling?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Life Again
I've noticed a sense on increasing happiness lately, and I wasn't entirely sure where it came from. I am moving quickly towards the end of my time in Romania, but I didn't think this was the reason for my joy. School is still challenging and I still get sick with way more frequency than normal. Bucureşti is still a sprawling concrete jungle and I am still 7 time zones away from most of my friends. But I have been happier, and it wasn't until about 2:47 in the afternoon in Cluj-Napoca that I realized why.
At 2:47 in the afternoon I looked at my watch as I sat under a tree in the middle of the Botanical Gardens. At 2:47 I could hear the birds chirp and feel the breeze play across my skin and I could see signs of life. Not just any sign of life, but the tender and beautiful signs of life that come every spring. New and delicate buds on the branches, flowers that are just starting to bloom, and tiny shoots of green everywhere. At 2:47 I realized that my happiness is a result of life, and how blessed I am to experience it in this place.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Children
About an hour into the six-hour journey from Sighetu Marmaţiei to Cluj-Napoca, my train compartment was invaded by a few additional people. I was completely wiped out from two full days in Maramureş and little sleep the previous night, so I struggled to pull myself awake and move back to taking up just one seat on the train. Two of the people who boarded soon became my source of entertainment for the next 5 hours.
The little girl was named Gabriela, and it wasn't long before we were playing silly games, drawing, looking at pictures on my computer, and counting stickers. She charmed me like you wouldn't believe, her smile electric and her mannerisms endearing. By the end of the trip she had made her way to my lap, falling asleep against my shoulder.
There is nothing like cuddling with a toddler to make you sweaty and sticky and incredibly happy. In all of the differences I observe here and struggle with, from language to customs to culture... children are the same the world over.
The little girl was named Gabriela, and it wasn't long before we were playing silly games, drawing, looking at pictures on my computer, and counting stickers. She charmed me like you wouldn't believe, her smile electric and her mannerisms endearing. By the end of the trip she had made her way to my lap, falling asleep against my shoulder.
There is nothing like cuddling with a toddler to make you sweaty and sticky and incredibly happy. In all of the differences I observe here and struggle with, from language to customs to culture... children are the same the world over.
Celebration of Death?
One of the main attractions in Maramureş is the Merry Cemetery located in the village of Săpânţa. It was created by a wood sculptor named Stan Pătraş in 1935. He started painting each cross blue because the sky is where souls go, and he inscribed a witty poem about the deceased person.
Each cross has a unique inscription on it that tells the story of the person's life. It is designed to honor the life of the person as well as bring a certain happiness to the occasion, rather than the traditional mourning. It is about celebrating the life of the deceased person rather than dwelling on their passing.
I'm not so sure this isn't the way to do it. In my lifetime I've been to many funerals, but the ones I remember most are those of my four grandparents. My Grandpa Bernie died in December of 1998, and the strongest memory I have of the event is standing at his coffin while my Dad's hand shook on my shoulder right before they closed the casket. My Grandpa Morris passed away in February of 2002 and the most salient memory is of my cousin Jason walking in a few minutes late in his dress uniform from the Marines, and my grandmother crying out. My Grandma Fern passed away in September of 2009, and I'm struck by the memory of my brothers as pall bearers and my cousin Elizabeth crying at the church. All of these funerals were incredibly sad and vaguely uncomfortable.
When my Grandma Mary died in June of 2008, it was certainly a sad time. However, it was a time of celebration and discovery for me, because I had a chance to grieve before she was gone. I spent nearly two weeks with her and got to know her as the woman behind my grandmother. She didn't want a funeral, and instead of a sad one-day event I spent the summer memorializing her life. I traveled to many of her favorite places in the Four Corners region, hiking the trails she took and reliving experiences in the places she held dear. It was an incredible way to celebrate her life and process her death.
Walking through the Merry Cemetery, I was struck by the backwards traditions we sometimes observe. We stop talking about the deceased person and completely avoid any reference to those flaws that made them both human and endearing. We cry for a few days and then we mourn in private, expected to move on and process the end of a life with relative reservation and composure.
What are we doing wrong?
Each cross has a unique inscription on it that tells the story of the person's life. It is designed to honor the life of the person as well as bring a certain happiness to the occasion, rather than the traditional mourning. It is about celebrating the life of the deceased person rather than dwelling on their passing.
I'm not so sure this isn't the way to do it. In my lifetime I've been to many funerals, but the ones I remember most are those of my four grandparents. My Grandpa Bernie died in December of 1998, and the strongest memory I have of the event is standing at his coffin while my Dad's hand shook on my shoulder right before they closed the casket. My Grandpa Morris passed away in February of 2002 and the most salient memory is of my cousin Jason walking in a few minutes late in his dress uniform from the Marines, and my grandmother crying out. My Grandma Fern passed away in September of 2009, and I'm struck by the memory of my brothers as pall bearers and my cousin Elizabeth crying at the church. All of these funerals were incredibly sad and vaguely uncomfortable.
When my Grandma Mary died in June of 2008, it was certainly a sad time. However, it was a time of celebration and discovery for me, because I had a chance to grieve before she was gone. I spent nearly two weeks with her and got to know her as the woman behind my grandmother. She didn't want a funeral, and instead of a sad one-day event I spent the summer memorializing her life. I traveled to many of her favorite places in the Four Corners region, hiking the trails she took and reliving experiences in the places she held dear. It was an incredible way to celebrate her life and process her death.
Walking through the Merry Cemetery, I was struck by the backwards traditions we sometimes observe. We stop talking about the deceased person and completely avoid any reference to those flaws that made them both human and endearing. We cry for a few days and then we mourn in private, expected to move on and process the end of a life with relative reservation and composure.
What are we doing wrong?
Monday, April 18, 2011
Memorial to the Victims of Communism and to the Resistance
Nearly two years ago I spent a few hours inside one of the world's foremost museums documenting the reign of terror in the Eastern Block: the Terror Museum in Budapest, Hungary. It was overwhelming and incredibly haunting. The museum is housed in the former Nazi and then Communist headquarters, and it creates an atmosphere quite unlike anything I've ever experienced. While not necessarily a similar sort of institution, I got the same feeling I imagine I would get if I visited a former concentration camp. The last part of the museum includes a visit to the torture and prison chambers in the basement that left chills running through my mind for days.
I never thought I would experience that sort of thing again...
Sighetu Marmaţiei was the site of one of the most notorious- and gruesome- prisons in communist Romania. It held political prisoners, dissidents, intellectuals, and anyone who the regime believed could be a challenge. Between the years of 1948 and 1952, 51 of the 180 prisoners held at Sighet died. It was one of the sites of the "re-education" program, an experiment in mind control that used horrific methods. The 2010 edition of the Lonely Planet guidebook to Romania describes it as such:
"Under an experimental system known as 're-education,' from 1949 to 1952, political prisoners were subjected to intolerable levels of abuse as a way of breaking down their identities in order to make them more amenable to the communist system... In the first stage prisoners were subjected to demeaning acts like scrubbing floors with rags between their teeth or having to lick toilets clean. Religious prisoners were humiliated through acts such as being baptized with buckets of urine. Next, prisoners were forced to betray fellow inmates who'd shown them any kindness or sympathy and then to renounce their own families. The point here was to sever any existing bonds of love or loyalty. In the final stage of the program, prisoners were forced to prove their succesful 'regeneration' by inflicting the same acts of mental and physical abuse on new prisoners. Failure to follow through meant having to spend weeks in a tiny isolation cell...."
It's sick, what happened there.
This former prison is now a museum... I spent time in the "black room," the tiny isolation cell mentioned. I closed the door and started my watch and came close to not breathing. I left when I started to panic... I lasted 57 seconds.
It's sick, what happened there. It's sick and awful and makes me question humanity in general.
And then I walked out into the sunshine, breathing normally, and wondering how I got so lucky to be born at a time and in a place of freedom.
I never thought I would experience that sort of thing again...
Sighetu Marmaţiei was the site of one of the most notorious- and gruesome- prisons in communist Romania. It held political prisoners, dissidents, intellectuals, and anyone who the regime believed could be a challenge. Between the years of 1948 and 1952, 51 of the 180 prisoners held at Sighet died. It was one of the sites of the "re-education" program, an experiment in mind control that used horrific methods. The 2010 edition of the Lonely Planet guidebook to Romania describes it as such:
"Under an experimental system known as 're-education,' from 1949 to 1952, political prisoners were subjected to intolerable levels of abuse as a way of breaking down their identities in order to make them more amenable to the communist system... In the first stage prisoners were subjected to demeaning acts like scrubbing floors with rags between their teeth or having to lick toilets clean. Religious prisoners were humiliated through acts such as being baptized with buckets of urine. Next, prisoners were forced to betray fellow inmates who'd shown them any kindness or sympathy and then to renounce their own families. The point here was to sever any existing bonds of love or loyalty. In the final stage of the program, prisoners were forced to prove their succesful 'regeneration' by inflicting the same acts of mental and physical abuse on new prisoners. Failure to follow through meant having to spend weeks in a tiny isolation cell...."
It's sick, what happened there.
This former prison is now a museum... I spent time in the "black room," the tiny isolation cell mentioned. I closed the door and started my watch and came close to not breathing. I left when I started to panic... I lasted 57 seconds.
It's sick, what happened there. It's sick and awful and makes me question humanity in general.
And then I walked out into the sunshine, breathing normally, and wondering how I got so lucky to be born at a time and in a place of freedom.
Stories
I met a woman named Nomi, and her story has become interwoven with mine in the way only chance encounters and near-misses of opportunities can facilitate. She is from Israel, and her father was born in the Ukrainian town just across the river from Sighetu Marmaţiei. I knew that I wanted to cross the border into the Ukraine, and I figured I might walk around for a bit and then go right back to the Romanian side. Nomi was on her fourth trip to the village of Solotvyno, exploring because her father was born in the town and spent a year there during his adolescence. We crossed the border together and then I walked with her through the town, exploring the old Jewish quarter, the recently collapsed salt mine, and the rather haunting Jewish Cemetery.
This woman told me stories that inspired me and showed me a perspective that was my original motivation when visiting Sighetu Marmaţiei. The reason I wanted to visit this particular place is because this is where the writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Weisel spent his childhood, and where he was deported from in the spring of 1944. Jewish history has always fascinated me, especially the events surrounding the Holocaust and the impact on the people of Eastern Europe. Sighetu Marmaţiei seemed the perfect place to discover such a history, and meeting Nomi brought an element of living history to my journey.
I learned that her father studied under his uncle in Solotvyno, one of the most important Jewish men in the village. He returned to Palestine just years before the deportation of Jews in this region occurred, missing terror by a breath. His uncle was an elderly man, but apparently still held a great deal of influence. During transport to a concentration camp, he organized the group of men to jump off the car all at the same time. It was a suicide mission but an attempt to capture freedom, and a few of the younger men survived the shootings that took place immediately by hiding in the forest. Her connection to Holocaust history and to the village of Solotvyno is touching, and I felt incredibly small as we wandered around the Jewish cemetery together. Gravestones were crumbling and I made some comment regarding how they had been forgotten. Nomi’s reply won’t leave my head: “Not forgotten. All of the people have died. All of the Jews were killed.” Solotvyno has a Jewish population of just seven people now. And it didn’t strike me until I had left the cemetery, left the village, left the country- that some of the women we talked to would have remembered the occupation, the ghettos, and the deportation of an entire community. Where have these memories gone?
Nomi’s mother was German, and her family fled across the border to France when the war started. They were constantly on the move, eventually finding permanent refuge in a convent. Nomi told me that her mother attended 14 different schools during the war. There were times that her family would have the car packed and ready to flee again, just waiting for a school exam to finish. She clung to her education as a sense of stability, and finished her training when the war finished. She later moved to Israel and met Nomi’s father on a kibbutz. And 60 years later, I got to sit and hear these amazing stories.
This woman told me stories that inspired me and showed me a perspective that was my original motivation when visiting Sighetu Marmaţiei. The reason I wanted to visit this particular place is because this is where the writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner Elie Weisel spent his childhood, and where he was deported from in the spring of 1944. Jewish history has always fascinated me, especially the events surrounding the Holocaust and the impact on the people of Eastern Europe. Sighetu Marmaţiei seemed the perfect place to discover such a history, and meeting Nomi brought an element of living history to my journey.
I learned that her father studied under his uncle in Solotvyno, one of the most important Jewish men in the village. He returned to Palestine just years before the deportation of Jews in this region occurred, missing terror by a breath. His uncle was an elderly man, but apparently still held a great deal of influence. During transport to a concentration camp, he organized the group of men to jump off the car all at the same time. It was a suicide mission but an attempt to capture freedom, and a few of the younger men survived the shootings that took place immediately by hiding in the forest. Her connection to Holocaust history and to the village of Solotvyno is touching, and I felt incredibly small as we wandered around the Jewish cemetery together. Gravestones were crumbling and I made some comment regarding how they had been forgotten. Nomi’s reply won’t leave my head: “Not forgotten. All of the people have died. All of the Jews were killed.” Solotvyno has a Jewish population of just seven people now. And it didn’t strike me until I had left the cemetery, left the village, left the country- that some of the women we talked to would have remembered the occupation, the ghettos, and the deportation of an entire community. Where have these memories gone?
Nomi’s mother was German, and her family fled across the border to France when the war started. They were constantly on the move, eventually finding permanent refuge in a convent. Nomi told me that her mother attended 14 different schools during the war. There were times that her family would have the car packed and ready to flee again, just waiting for a school exam to finish. She clung to her education as a sense of stability, and finished her training when the war finished. She later moved to Israel and met Nomi’s father on a kibbutz. And 60 years later, I got to sit and hear these amazing stories.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Cuddling
I am, in general, a pretty cuddly person. I enjoy getting physically close to someone and sharing warmth and connection. It has always been easier for me to sleep when I'm in bed with someone else.
But I don't sleep around. I'm usually pretty choosy about who I cuddle with and fairly selective of who I crawl into bed with. Until last night.
My friend Cristian (see previous post) went to sleep last night sometime after about 9:30, and I followed shortly after, still drying my tears from a viewing of "Out of Africa." On a side note, Meryl Streep is amazing and that movie does terrible things to your heart. I didn't even see it coming! Anyway, I fell asleep, alone, in my bottom bunk.
It was around 2:30 in the morning that I noticed an arm slung across my chest. Immediately startled, I sat up (of course I hit my head) and looked to see Cristian sound asleep in my bed. I knew that we had been pretty friendly and I was certain that the songs we had sung earlier had made a good impression, but I didn't think we were quite THAT close. I tried to wake him up with absolutely no success. The kid sleeps as hard as he plays, I guess. I didn't want to wake up his grandma or Dan, so I just moved over as far as I could to the inside of the bunk.
He followed about 10 minutes later. I tried to shift him, and he clung on like a baby chimpanzee. At this point I realized I could either forcibly remove him and wake an entire cabin of people on the precarious edge of sleep on a train rumbling through the Romanian countryside... or I could settle in. So Cristian and I snuggled as much as my sense of honor would allow. I woke up with hot, sticky kid breath on my neck as Cristian played with my hair absentmindedly. Maybe he just missed his mom, and I was her soft and warm substitute. Regardless, I slept with my first random last night, and it actually was rather lovely.
But I don't sleep around. I'm usually pretty choosy about who I cuddle with and fairly selective of who I crawl into bed with. Until last night.
My friend Cristian (see previous post) went to sleep last night sometime after about 9:30, and I followed shortly after, still drying my tears from a viewing of "Out of Africa." On a side note, Meryl Streep is amazing and that movie does terrible things to your heart. I didn't even see it coming! Anyway, I fell asleep, alone, in my bottom bunk.
It was around 2:30 in the morning that I noticed an arm slung across my chest. Immediately startled, I sat up (of course I hit my head) and looked to see Cristian sound asleep in my bed. I knew that we had been pretty friendly and I was certain that the songs we had sung earlier had made a good impression, but I didn't think we were quite THAT close. I tried to wake him up with absolutely no success. The kid sleeps as hard as he plays, I guess. I didn't want to wake up his grandma or Dan, so I just moved over as far as I could to the inside of the bunk.
He followed about 10 minutes later. I tried to shift him, and he clung on like a baby chimpanzee. At this point I realized I could either forcibly remove him and wake an entire cabin of people on the precarious edge of sleep on a train rumbling through the Romanian countryside... or I could settle in. So Cristian and I snuggled as much as my sense of honor would allow. I woke up with hot, sticky kid breath on my neck as Cristian played with my hair absentmindedly. Maybe he just missed his mom, and I was her soft and warm substitute. Regardless, I slept with my first random last night, and it actually was rather lovely.
Train Diary
It took me two tries to successfully purchase a reservation on a sleeper car to travel to Sighetu Maramaţei in Maramureş. The first time I went to Gara de Nord in Bucureşti I was met at the ticket window by a very hostile woman who wasn’t very interested in me from the moment I said “I’m sorry, I only speak a little Romanian.” I showed her my accurately translated ticket and reservation requests, and she immediately began shaking her head at me. She sent me away, and I went to another window where the woman was friendlier but the result was the same- it seemed I could not purchase my tickets. Confused but short on time, I ran to catch my train, resolved that I would return another time.
The next time I tried, I found an agent who admitted to speaking a little bit of English, and discovered that while I could purchase all of the other tickets and reservations for my trip from her; I had to go somewhere special for the ticket on the sleeper car. I wasn’t at all concerned as I set off bolstered by her helpfulness, looking for window 809. Friends… I wandered around that station for about 45 minutes. Walking back and forth, up and down, entirely around the outside and into every little room I could find. No one knew where window 809 might be. Exhausted, I was nearly ready to go back and just book a regular seat on the SIXTEEN hour journey, when I had a stroke of luck. I saw two people walking together, speaking in English. This isn’t entirely uncommon at Gara de Nord in Bucareşti, as it is where many international travelers enter the country. What made this couple different was the fluid Romanian they spoke with service personnel outside the main entrance. Yes, eavesdropping sometimes pays off.
To their credit, they only laughed a little bit when they explained that I could buy my ticket and reservation from window 8 OR 9.
So here I am, about three hours into this journey, and incredibly thankful for a few things. Firstly, that I booked a reservation that doesn’t involve me sitting in a regular seat right now. For one thing, it is crowded- I wanted to see where exactly I would have been slumming it. For another, I’ve already taken a nap on the bed that is even more comfortable than my futon. My first night on spring break in relative luxury, compliments of CFR. Secondly, I am thankful that I have the bottom bunk in this cabin. The reservation said that there were four beds in a cabin; actually, there are three. And they are stacked one on top of another. The nosebleed bed is way up at the top of the cabin, naturally, and if I got up there in Bucureşti, it might be difficult to get back down before arriving in Sighet. I’m sharing a cabin with a grandmother and her two grandsons. Dan is 15 years old and speaks English pretty well, and his younger brother Cristian is 8 and filled with energy. I thought I was going to go crazy on this trip- I have no idea how he is going to survive. Maybe they’ll drug him in a few hours.
It is relatively quiet in the cabin, but the train noises are ever present and make me thankful for my iPod and noise-canceling earphones. I should be able to sleep tonight fairly easily, which will go a long way to making my first day in Maramureş enjoyable. For those of you who know me, I operate under a constant fear that I won’t have water to drink, and this trip is no exception. With the recent demise of Mr. Purple Nalgene (don’t worry, he came along for day trips) I had to rely on purchasing bottled water from the station and bringing it aboard with me. Now, I understand that this is a little bit maniacal, but I’m currently worried that the FOUR liters of water won’t be enough. I mean, I understand on an intellectual level that an entire village in Africa could probably survive on this much water for the trip if necessary, or that I actually could go 16 hours without drinking any water if it came to that. But my heart is still concerned, so much so that I’m going to hop off in Brasov and buy some more water.
*Update* I bought more water and ended up leaving about 3 liters on the train.
That brings me to the last thought for this blog posting- Braşov. I never thought I would find myself complaining about a trip through the mountains, but I’m getting tired of this ride. It’s terrible and horrendously ungrateful, I know. But I have been on these tracks quite a few times since my arrival in Romania. There was the first actual trip to Braşov and return to Bucureşti- 2 trips. Then, the trip to Braşov with my Dad made 3. The return from Sibiu made 4, the return from Sighişoara 5, and traveling to Maramureş makes 6. It is a bit different this time though- nothing like a thick layer of snow on the 15th of April to remind you that you are in the mountains. It is rather beautiful if not the best start to a spring break trip, and it makes me worried that I didn’t pack enough warm clothing. For all the improvement I’ve made on shoving 10 days worth of clothing into a backpack, they never seem to be the RIGHT ones.
One more thing I’m thankful for at the moment- power plug-ins. I’m going to watch a movie in the bottom bunk of a sleeper cabin in a sleeper car in ROMANIA. My life is awesome sometimes.
The next time I tried, I found an agent who admitted to speaking a little bit of English, and discovered that while I could purchase all of the other tickets and reservations for my trip from her; I had to go somewhere special for the ticket on the sleeper car. I wasn’t at all concerned as I set off bolstered by her helpfulness, looking for window 809. Friends… I wandered around that station for about 45 minutes. Walking back and forth, up and down, entirely around the outside and into every little room I could find. No one knew where window 809 might be. Exhausted, I was nearly ready to go back and just book a regular seat on the SIXTEEN hour journey, when I had a stroke of luck. I saw two people walking together, speaking in English. This isn’t entirely uncommon at Gara de Nord in Bucareşti, as it is where many international travelers enter the country. What made this couple different was the fluid Romanian they spoke with service personnel outside the main entrance. Yes, eavesdropping sometimes pays off.
To their credit, they only laughed a little bit when they explained that I could buy my ticket and reservation from window 8 OR 9.
So here I am, about three hours into this journey, and incredibly thankful for a few things. Firstly, that I booked a reservation that doesn’t involve me sitting in a regular seat right now. For one thing, it is crowded- I wanted to see where exactly I would have been slumming it. For another, I’ve already taken a nap on the bed that is even more comfortable than my futon. My first night on spring break in relative luxury, compliments of CFR. Secondly, I am thankful that I have the bottom bunk in this cabin. The reservation said that there were four beds in a cabin; actually, there are three. And they are stacked one on top of another. The nosebleed bed is way up at the top of the cabin, naturally, and if I got up there in Bucureşti, it might be difficult to get back down before arriving in Sighet. I’m sharing a cabin with a grandmother and her two grandsons. Dan is 15 years old and speaks English pretty well, and his younger brother Cristian is 8 and filled with energy. I thought I was going to go crazy on this trip- I have no idea how he is going to survive. Maybe they’ll drug him in a few hours.
It is relatively quiet in the cabin, but the train noises are ever present and make me thankful for my iPod and noise-canceling earphones. I should be able to sleep tonight fairly easily, which will go a long way to making my first day in Maramureş enjoyable. For those of you who know me, I operate under a constant fear that I won’t have water to drink, and this trip is no exception. With the recent demise of Mr. Purple Nalgene (don’t worry, he came along for day trips) I had to rely on purchasing bottled water from the station and bringing it aboard with me. Now, I understand that this is a little bit maniacal, but I’m currently worried that the FOUR liters of water won’t be enough. I mean, I understand on an intellectual level that an entire village in Africa could probably survive on this much water for the trip if necessary, or that I actually could go 16 hours without drinking any water if it came to that. But my heart is still concerned, so much so that I’m going to hop off in Brasov and buy some more water.
*Update* I bought more water and ended up leaving about 3 liters on the train.
That brings me to the last thought for this blog posting- Braşov. I never thought I would find myself complaining about a trip through the mountains, but I’m getting tired of this ride. It’s terrible and horrendously ungrateful, I know. But I have been on these tracks quite a few times since my arrival in Romania. There was the first actual trip to Braşov and return to Bucureşti- 2 trips. Then, the trip to Braşov with my Dad made 3. The return from Sibiu made 4, the return from Sighişoara 5, and traveling to Maramureş makes 6. It is a bit different this time though- nothing like a thick layer of snow on the 15th of April to remind you that you are in the mountains. It is rather beautiful if not the best start to a spring break trip, and it makes me worried that I didn’t pack enough warm clothing. For all the improvement I’ve made on shoving 10 days worth of clothing into a backpack, they never seem to be the RIGHT ones.
One more thing I’m thankful for at the moment- power plug-ins. I’m going to watch a movie in the bottom bunk of a sleeper cabin in a sleeper car in ROMANIA. My life is awesome sometimes.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
A Cautionary Tale
Every once in a while, we do stupid things. Some of us do more stupid things than others. I am one of the "us."
I've done a lot of stupid things here in Romania, many of which I've told you about. There was the time I bought a train ticket for the wrong date (or at least failed to check it after purchase). There was the time (ahem... a few months) that I thought my washing machine was also a dryer. There was the time I closed the cover on the stove with a burner still on... and then touched it. Goodbye fingerprints. There was the time(s) I let all the water boil out of the pot.
Excuse me while I go turn the burner off.
Today might have been my most impressive display of stupidity yet.
It all started yesterday, when I lost my dear friend. My friend who has traveled the world with me, who hs supported me through many trying times and circumstances. My friend who brings me both nourishment and refreshment, who is with me so often I feel a sense of loss when we are separated. Yes, I am talking about my purple Nalgene water bottle. Those first graders knew just where his weakness was, and dropped him right on his unreinforced plastic head. Only a slight crack, but enough to render my buddy nearly useless for anything but drinking. No more throwing him in a bag to journey together again, no more tipping him up and down while watching a show online, no more fun memories and happy times. It was the end of an era...
I decided to go to the park today, as it was nearly 70 degrees out and sunny. I brought along my little computer buddy, so faithful and such a hard worker. He fits in my purse AND holds all my books for me. Well, a creature of habit I am, and so I tucked Mr. Nalgene into my purse to come along. A brief walk later I felt a droplet of water on my foot and realized in a flast of enlightenment... OH NO. Not only was the bottom of my purse soaked (Mr. Nalgene must have been tired after his accident yesterday- he fell over) but my computer was in there. My beloved, cute, blue baby of a computer. The little guy who worked so hard for me, who keeps me sane and connected here... and his only request is that I don't give him a bath. I failed, guys.
After about 10 minutes of blowdrying, he came back to life. Slowly but surely, as I restored all my faith in the world of technology and swore to all the computer gods that I would never be so disrespectful again, he turned back on.
Treat your loved ones with care, my friends.
I've done a lot of stupid things here in Romania, many of which I've told you about. There was the time I bought a train ticket for the wrong date (or at least failed to check it after purchase). There was the time (ahem... a few months) that I thought my washing machine was also a dryer. There was the time I closed the cover on the stove with a burner still on... and then touched it. Goodbye fingerprints. There was the time(s) I let all the water boil out of the pot.
Excuse me while I go turn the burner off.
Today might have been my most impressive display of stupidity yet.
It all started yesterday, when I lost my dear friend. My friend who has traveled the world with me, who hs supported me through many trying times and circumstances. My friend who brings me both nourishment and refreshment, who is with me so often I feel a sense of loss when we are separated. Yes, I am talking about my purple Nalgene water bottle. Those first graders knew just where his weakness was, and dropped him right on his unreinforced plastic head. Only a slight crack, but enough to render my buddy nearly useless for anything but drinking. No more throwing him in a bag to journey together again, no more tipping him up and down while watching a show online, no more fun memories and happy times. It was the end of an era...
I decided to go to the park today, as it was nearly 70 degrees out and sunny. I brought along my little computer buddy, so faithful and such a hard worker. He fits in my purse AND holds all my books for me. Well, a creature of habit I am, and so I tucked Mr. Nalgene into my purse to come along. A brief walk later I felt a droplet of water on my foot and realized in a flast of enlightenment... OH NO. Not only was the bottom of my purse soaked (Mr. Nalgene must have been tired after his accident yesterday- he fell over) but my computer was in there. My beloved, cute, blue baby of a computer. The little guy who worked so hard for me, who keeps me sane and connected here... and his only request is that I don't give him a bath. I failed, guys.
After about 10 minutes of blowdrying, he came back to life. Slowly but surely, as I restored all my faith in the world of technology and swore to all the computer gods that I would never be so disrespectful again, he turned back on.
Treat your loved ones with care, my friends.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Post
Somewhere in Lonely Planet's guidebook to Romania (2010) it says that all you need to do to experience communist times in this country is to step inside a local post office branch. I've had my fair share of experience with the Romanian Postal Service and I can say with certainty (unlike some of my students) that we are better off living in the modern day.
The majority of my post office immersion has occured at the international office located way over there on THAT side of the city. Two metros, a bus, and a 500 meter walk later, you find yourself at what looks like a normal post office branch. The difference, my friends, is that it holds the key to happiness in the form of external package pickup. I've gotten quite a few packages during my time here, all very appreciated and even needed. But I should say that I steel myself against the experience. Usually going after school is the best option, because I'm out anyway and there is no way I can convince myself to actually leave the comforts of home to go through THAT ordeal.
Okay, maybe I'm painting too harsh a picture. It's not awful... just how it is here. I've learned about going RIGHT to the window, even if it means pushing that old woman out of the way. I've learned to stare at the postal employees so that they have no choice but to notice me (5 minutes later), and then to apologize when they see my passport from the USA. "I'm sorry, I only speak a little Romanian." Oh... not that much apparently. "I don't understand. I don't understand. (change accent slightly) I don't understand." Ahh- good. They now understand that I don't understand. Please stop looking at me like I'm an idiot. I'm really sorry, I am. I wish I was better at this but I'm not and you don't have to give me the eyes of hate and shame. Between 15 and 45 minutes later, I'm usually called back behind the counter to receive the package. More talking in Romanian and awkward head shaking, and I've signed and I'm out of there. Unless, oh wait- why am I paying money for this package? Ummm... I didn't do that last time. Okay. No, I don't have anything smaller than a 10 RON note. Please don't hate me... Oh shoot- my passport! I need my passport! Thanks, and please try to kill me from behind where I won't see you for forgetting to take my passport EVERY SINGLE TIME.
It's really not too awful... to pick something up.
I don't know if it is my own personal failures that cause such immense problems when I'm trying to send something, but I can say with great certainty that I'd rather pick something up from the post office, and not just because there is a box of goodies waiting for me. I cannot, to save my own LIFE, tell you why it takes such an absurdly long time to mail a card. I know it would be easier if I spoke Romanian... I know this. But all those other poor buggers speak Romanian, and they are behind me in line (that's right, more old-lady pushing). I've started playing a game while I wait that involves not looking at any clocks in an attempt to avoid the deep frustration experienced with the THIRTY FIVE minutes it took for the THREE attendants to help the FOUR people in front of me. Okay, I did look at the time.
It's fun, in a way...
The majority of my post office immersion has occured at the international office located way over there on THAT side of the city. Two metros, a bus, and a 500 meter walk later, you find yourself at what looks like a normal post office branch. The difference, my friends, is that it holds the key to happiness in the form of external package pickup. I've gotten quite a few packages during my time here, all very appreciated and even needed. But I should say that I steel myself against the experience. Usually going after school is the best option, because I'm out anyway and there is no way I can convince myself to actually leave the comforts of home to go through THAT ordeal.
Okay, maybe I'm painting too harsh a picture. It's not awful... just how it is here. I've learned about going RIGHT to the window, even if it means pushing that old woman out of the way. I've learned to stare at the postal employees so that they have no choice but to notice me (5 minutes later), and then to apologize when they see my passport from the USA. "I'm sorry, I only speak a little Romanian." Oh... not that much apparently. "I don't understand. I don't understand. (change accent slightly) I don't understand." Ahh- good. They now understand that I don't understand. Please stop looking at me like I'm an idiot. I'm really sorry, I am. I wish I was better at this but I'm not and you don't have to give me the eyes of hate and shame. Between 15 and 45 minutes later, I'm usually called back behind the counter to receive the package. More talking in Romanian and awkward head shaking, and I've signed and I'm out of there. Unless, oh wait- why am I paying money for this package? Ummm... I didn't do that last time. Okay. No, I don't have anything smaller than a 10 RON note. Please don't hate me... Oh shoot- my passport! I need my passport! Thanks, and please try to kill me from behind where I won't see you for forgetting to take my passport EVERY SINGLE TIME.
It's really not too awful... to pick something up.
I don't know if it is my own personal failures that cause such immense problems when I'm trying to send something, but I can say with great certainty that I'd rather pick something up from the post office, and not just because there is a box of goodies waiting for me. I cannot, to save my own LIFE, tell you why it takes such an absurdly long time to mail a card. I know it would be easier if I spoke Romanian... I know this. But all those other poor buggers speak Romanian, and they are behind me in line (that's right, more old-lady pushing). I've started playing a game while I wait that involves not looking at any clocks in an attempt to avoid the deep frustration experienced with the THIRTY FIVE minutes it took for the THREE attendants to help the FOUR people in front of me. Okay, I did look at the time.
It's fun, in a way...
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Home
The old adage "home is where your heart is" is a very lovely thing to cross stitch and hang on your wall... when you have a place to live and a settled life and a career that isn't completely terrifying.
But my life isn't like that right now. I don't have a place to live or a settled life or a career that is certain.
And my heart isn't is one place, so you can imagine that the specific location of "home-" that one spot on the map- is pretty hard to figure out.
My heart is in Blissfield, where I grew up, where my roots are, where my parents are. My brothers have gone for the most part so the ties aren't as strong, but it is still the place where my childhood happened.
My heart is in Anderson, where I discovered my passions and my dreams and developed my person. I have friends there, and connections, and fantastic memories.
My heart is in Chicago, where I found myself independent and challenged and inescapably happy. I miss teaching in the city, walking in the city, listening to the city.
My heart is on the East Coast, where I have a fantastic job this summer and some prospects for the fall. I feel like I could be really happy there, both professionally and personally.
And my heart... my heart is in Romania. Part of me will be left here, in the eyes of my students and the juxtaposition of concrete and green spaces and the warmth of an entire nation.
I booked a plane ticket back to the States yesterday, and it feels final. It feels... real. I have an end date for this chapter of my life, and it's bittersweet. I'll leave this city on the evening of June 18th and arrive in Chicago on the afternoon of June 19th, more than 24 hour later. I'm worried about a lot of things, many of which I'm sure I'll blog about... but not feeling like I belong anywhere is currently at the forefront of my mind.
But my life isn't like that right now. I don't have a place to live or a settled life or a career that is certain.
And my heart isn't is one place, so you can imagine that the specific location of "home-" that one spot on the map- is pretty hard to figure out.
My heart is in Blissfield, where I grew up, where my roots are, where my parents are. My brothers have gone for the most part so the ties aren't as strong, but it is still the place where my childhood happened.
My heart is in Anderson, where I discovered my passions and my dreams and developed my person. I have friends there, and connections, and fantastic memories.
My heart is in Chicago, where I found myself independent and challenged and inescapably happy. I miss teaching in the city, walking in the city, listening to the city.
My heart is on the East Coast, where I have a fantastic job this summer and some prospects for the fall. I feel like I could be really happy there, both professionally and personally.
And my heart... my heart is in Romania. Part of me will be left here, in the eyes of my students and the juxtaposition of concrete and green spaces and the warmth of an entire nation.
I booked a plane ticket back to the States yesterday, and it feels final. It feels... real. I have an end date for this chapter of my life, and it's bittersweet. I'll leave this city on the evening of June 18th and arrive in Chicago on the afternoon of June 19th, more than 24 hour later. I'm worried about a lot of things, many of which I'm sure I'll blog about... but not feeling like I belong anywhere is currently at the forefront of my mind.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sighişoara
It's a cool city, a beautiful city, an OLD city. It was an absolutely wonderful and relaxing weekend. Let's take it step by step...
I got to the hostel after a rather interesting train ride. 5:00 is early, and 6:00 on a train isn't too much better. I was able to sleep for about 3 hours or so. However, it was super hot, so I actually took a shower and nap for about 2 hours before heading back out again. The hostel was nice, located in the citadel itself, really accessible and friendly. What they DON'T tell you is that there are about 3 total ways to get into this citadel... located on a hill... and you might climb nearly 200 stairs to find that you can't actually get in. And then you might do that again. So the third time you do it, you are REALLY hoping that there is an actual gate there, and really wishing you hadn't actually packed a thing because you've carried it up nearly 600 stairs at this point. Combined with the train ride...
I met a really funny guy on the train, until he turned weird. We chatted for a long time in broken English (his, not mine ;) about Romania and stuff, and he asked me who punished me and made me teach here. It got weird when he talked about how Romania is "picante" (spicy) and how he likes some spicy food, but the thing he really likes to be spicy is sex. "Ummm... no, thank you, I have somewhere to stay. No really, I have a reservation. Yeah, it's in the citadel. No, I don't think I should tell you the name of the place."Anyway...
The rest of the weekend was filled with wandering and picture taking and reading at cafes and enjoying the sun and feeling like I was in a fairytale.
My final misaventure occured while leaving the city. On my way to the train station I stumbled a bit and skinned my knee, while carrying all of my things of course. It was an absolutely beautiful day and I was sad to be leaving... so I did what I sometimes do. I talked to myself.
So standing at a crossroads with a bloody knee and a backpack on my back and a daypack on my front and a canvas tote bag, I started speaking. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to get on this train and leave this place. I don't want the week to start. I want to stay here forever. You can't make me leave. You can't make me. You can't make me leave."
Well, I thought I was alone... until the man behind me cleared his throat. The...um... gorgeous man (as most Romanian men are)... just staring open-mouthed at me. I give a half-smile and a bit of a chuckle, and then he speaks. "Ma'am, would you like me to call you a doctor?"
Great. Not only did he hear me, he is one of the people in this city who speaks English. Really just... super.
What I was most struck by, however, was the juxtaposition of sensation I experienced. In one way, being in a place so incredibly old, with such a full and rich history, gives a feeling of inconsequence. How could I matter when I think about the thousands of people, across entire centuries, who touched that very stone I walked across? Their lives, just as full of joy and heartache, love and despair... and mine, clashing together in one place, at one moment. Who experienced what emotion in this church, at this corner, in this archway? I felt small and uninfluential.
And then the incredible connection hit me. I am small... but we all are. Because my emotions and experiences and opportunities aren't small to me, just in the grand scheme of the world. And maybe... all of our inconsequential emotions and little experiences and tiny opportunities are actually what allow us to be... people. And then to somehow make an impression on the face of this very old and very connected world.
It was a GREAT weekend :)
I got to the hostel after a rather interesting train ride. 5:00 is early, and 6:00 on a train isn't too much better. I was able to sleep for about 3 hours or so. However, it was super hot, so I actually took a shower and nap for about 2 hours before heading back out again. The hostel was nice, located in the citadel itself, really accessible and friendly. What they DON'T tell you is that there are about 3 total ways to get into this citadel... located on a hill... and you might climb nearly 200 stairs to find that you can't actually get in. And then you might do that again. So the third time you do it, you are REALLY hoping that there is an actual gate there, and really wishing you hadn't actually packed a thing because you've carried it up nearly 600 stairs at this point. Combined with the train ride...
I met a really funny guy on the train, until he turned weird. We chatted for a long time in broken English (his, not mine ;) about Romania and stuff, and he asked me who punished me and made me teach here. It got weird when he talked about how Romania is "picante" (spicy) and how he likes some spicy food, but the thing he really likes to be spicy is sex. "Ummm... no, thank you, I have somewhere to stay. No really, I have a reservation. Yeah, it's in the citadel. No, I don't think I should tell you the name of the place."Anyway...
The rest of the weekend was filled with wandering and picture taking and reading at cafes and enjoying the sun and feeling like I was in a fairytale.
My final misaventure occured while leaving the city. On my way to the train station I stumbled a bit and skinned my knee, while carrying all of my things of course. It was an absolutely beautiful day and I was sad to be leaving... so I did what I sometimes do. I talked to myself.
So standing at a crossroads with a bloody knee and a backpack on my back and a daypack on my front and a canvas tote bag, I started speaking. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to get on this train and leave this place. I don't want the week to start. I want to stay here forever. You can't make me leave. You can't make me. You can't make me leave."
Well, I thought I was alone... until the man behind me cleared his throat. The...um... gorgeous man (as most Romanian men are)... just staring open-mouthed at me. I give a half-smile and a bit of a chuckle, and then he speaks. "Ma'am, would you like me to call you a doctor?"
Great. Not only did he hear me, he is one of the people in this city who speaks English. Really just... super.
What I was most struck by, however, was the juxtaposition of sensation I experienced. In one way, being in a place so incredibly old, with such a full and rich history, gives a feeling of inconsequence. How could I matter when I think about the thousands of people, across entire centuries, who touched that very stone I walked across? Their lives, just as full of joy and heartache, love and despair... and mine, clashing together in one place, at one moment. Who experienced what emotion in this church, at this corner, in this archway? I felt small and uninfluential.
And then the incredible connection hit me. I am small... but we all are. Because my emotions and experiences and opportunities aren't small to me, just in the grand scheme of the world. And maybe... all of our inconsequential emotions and little experiences and tiny opportunities are actually what allow us to be... people. And then to somehow make an impression on the face of this very old and very connected world.
It was a GREAT weekend :)
Friday, April 1, 2011
Social Problems- 6A
In order to avoid bragging like crazy all over this class of students, I'll just let you read their work. They were asked to write a composition about a social problem in Romania. These are 5 of the best compositions from the class, but it was extremely difficult to choose.
Pollution
By Boldeiu Costin
One of the biggest problems in Romania is pollution. Pollution hurts out health and it could kill people or animals. But this big problem didn’t appear because that’s what it wants, people created it. Every day, people drive cars, which eliminate toxic smoke. Another reason that our country is polluted are factories. They pollute the air and destroy the nature, too. The Nature is destroyed by people too, because they cut the trees. By cutting trees, we kill the nature and the oxygen disappears. All is green means life. We can’t stay and watch on the window how pollution destroys the nature. We must stop the activities which pollute the air and start doing some things to help the nature, like recycling. We must give the people some ideas about how pollution hurts our life by doing some projects and activities. All the people should start to protect the nature by going to work or to school without a car or to recycle all we can. We should give people some posters and informations about what means the nature for us. All the people should protect the nature and destroy the pollution, because they save their lifes, they protect their health or they can save other people.
Deforestation
By Pîslan Maria-Fabiola
Every country has problems. And deforestation is very popular. But, in Romania, this is something very alarming. Unfortunately, the people who can do something are too blind and too deaf about this problem. Deforestation is a very big and important problem. It contains a lot of other small, but very important problems These are some of them: The industry of wood building. This industry is crazy! From doors and bed to houses, they are all using wood. Solution: finding other materials to build with. If we really want to do something, then we have to think twice about buying objects made of wood. Annually everywhere in out country are very bad ground slides. I can’t say if people are dying because of ground slides, but their houses are. One solution is planting new trees in the zones there are no trees. But a tree is growing very slowly. Too slowly for this problem! But why do this people cut the trees? The majority ground slides are in the country sides. People need wood for cooking, heating and other things. So, we have to think about problem number 3. Too much systems are using wood. Here we are talking about heating systems. Solution: improving them, and making them to use fewer wood. They should use different materials. But what materials? For a person from the country side, a better system means more absent money. So this is a good solution, but only for people from cities. What about the others? Well, they have to plant as much trees as it’s possible. They have to hope, to wait, and to have faith in the God. Deforestation is a very big problem. Unfortunately, just about 25% depends of us. The rest of 75% depends of… other people. What exactly can we do: planting trees, recycling, take care of our green gold.
The Dark Side of Romania’s Environment and Health
By Roşca Anca
Romania is a country where problems reign. The worst is that people do not care about the fact that they breathe smog and toxic gases and they live in crowded towns and cities. They don’t care of epidemics and the fact that only if you’re famous you get good care. They have no interest in keeping their country as it should be: no crowded hospitals, accessible treatments, more green spaces, more protected areas, more rural space. If this is the dark side of Romania, why can’t they turn it into a lige side? They have no interest. They care only of money, and reigning in a country who, they think, should recognize them as kings and queens. There are solutions but they tell us they have no money to apply them, they have money for: malls, fountains and other things and no money for the life of the people. If they would promote bikes, camping, walking, if we would encourage ecotourism, if we would be stricter in rules regarding landfills, if people would care more about their health, if they would vaccinate, if the doctors would have more interest in respecting the medical ethics, if there would be more rooms in hospitals, it would all be better. If we would provoke people care more, then they might care more.
Crime
By Nicolae Teodora
Problem: Crime 1. Violent Films 2. Mental Conditions 3. The Irresponsible Parents This is a really big problem, related to the main problem, which is “Crime.” The good quality of films is disappearing. The classics “Casablanca,” “Roman Holiday,” “My Fair Lady,” and “Quo Vadis” were replaced with some violent films, with blood, murders, wars and killed people. The music we are listening and the films we are watching are influencing us. Fifty-sixty years ago there were really good movies, and people were civilized. Nowdays, people are robbing banks, are hurting other people. Those things were not happening sixty years ago. Like that saying, “You are what you eat.” I heard that once, three teenagers watched a violent film and took it as an example. They managed to find some guns and killed almost everyone from their high school! I think it really is terrible! Also, some teenagers watched “Avatar” (a film which I, personally, find disappointing) and realized that a world like Pandora doesn’t exist and our planet would never be like it. So they thought that the only solution was to suicide! Those fatalistic films, like, for example “2012” are just having a negative influence on everyone who watches them, but most of all, on minors. Even if there is an age limit, children still look at those kind of films. I think parents should really take care of them, show them, teach them to love beauty and disapprove of violence. When they would grow up, they would think that what they saw in films is real and also legal, but this could be easily avoided. Once, I watched a film, a documentary. The main character girl was sick of schizophrenia, a mental disease. She heard in her head some voices which told her what to do. They were telling her to harm the people who loved her and hurt herself. She was listening to them. The thing is that if the parents of the girl would have taken her to a hospital when she was little, the problem would be solved. But the parents decided to ignore the girl’s problem. The film is inspired from a real case. So, I think that parents should be aware that there is no shame to take their children to a hospital for their mental problems.
Pollution
By Rusu Carina
This is a big problem because many people don’t care about the nature and they don’t even think how it will become in a couple of years. We won’t have fresh air to breathe because of the plants that will die. Solution: We should learn people, especially children and young about how to protect the environment when they are in school. There are so many ways to stop pollution: from planting trees to taking the rubbish from the street. These are good ways to solve this problem. Even if they see a dust bin on the street, they don’t throw their rubbish there because they don’t think at all and they are having run breaking the rules. Solution: The bad people who throw rubbish on the street should pay some money to the police because this thing may stop their stupidness and they should be normal and throw their things that are no longer useful at the dustbin. They also don’t realize that many plants are going to die because they don’t want to take care of them and to plant more. So the oxygen can be fresh and good to breathe. Solution: we should learn how to plant trees and plants in every park, garden, or school’s garden and take care of them by watering it and clean it every day. Everyone can do this. Parents can help their kids to make a better environment for everyone because if this world will be totally polluted the people will die with the plants and animals, too. So we have to protect what God gave us!
Pollution
By Boldeiu Costin
One of the biggest problems in Romania is pollution. Pollution hurts out health and it could kill people or animals. But this big problem didn’t appear because that’s what it wants, people created it. Every day, people drive cars, which eliminate toxic smoke. Another reason that our country is polluted are factories. They pollute the air and destroy the nature, too. The Nature is destroyed by people too, because they cut the trees. By cutting trees, we kill the nature and the oxygen disappears. All is green means life. We can’t stay and watch on the window how pollution destroys the nature. We must stop the activities which pollute the air and start doing some things to help the nature, like recycling. We must give the people some ideas about how pollution hurts our life by doing some projects and activities. All the people should start to protect the nature by going to work or to school without a car or to recycle all we can. We should give people some posters and informations about what means the nature for us. All the people should protect the nature and destroy the pollution, because they save their lifes, they protect their health or they can save other people.
Deforestation
By Pîslan Maria-Fabiola
Every country has problems. And deforestation is very popular. But, in Romania, this is something very alarming. Unfortunately, the people who can do something are too blind and too deaf about this problem. Deforestation is a very big and important problem. It contains a lot of other small, but very important problems These are some of them: The industry of wood building. This industry is crazy! From doors and bed to houses, they are all using wood. Solution: finding other materials to build with. If we really want to do something, then we have to think twice about buying objects made of wood. Annually everywhere in out country are very bad ground slides. I can’t say if people are dying because of ground slides, but their houses are. One solution is planting new trees in the zones there are no trees. But a tree is growing very slowly. Too slowly for this problem! But why do this people cut the trees? The majority ground slides are in the country sides. People need wood for cooking, heating and other things. So, we have to think about problem number 3. Too much systems are using wood. Here we are talking about heating systems. Solution: improving them, and making them to use fewer wood. They should use different materials. But what materials? For a person from the country side, a better system means more absent money. So this is a good solution, but only for people from cities. What about the others? Well, they have to plant as much trees as it’s possible. They have to hope, to wait, and to have faith in the God. Deforestation is a very big problem. Unfortunately, just about 25% depends of us. The rest of 75% depends of… other people. What exactly can we do: planting trees, recycling, take care of our green gold.
The Dark Side of Romania’s Environment and Health
By Roşca Anca
Romania is a country where problems reign. The worst is that people do not care about the fact that they breathe smog and toxic gases and they live in crowded towns and cities. They don’t care of epidemics and the fact that only if you’re famous you get good care. They have no interest in keeping their country as it should be: no crowded hospitals, accessible treatments, more green spaces, more protected areas, more rural space. If this is the dark side of Romania, why can’t they turn it into a lige side? They have no interest. They care only of money, and reigning in a country who, they think, should recognize them as kings and queens. There are solutions but they tell us they have no money to apply them, they have money for: malls, fountains and other things and no money for the life of the people. If they would promote bikes, camping, walking, if we would encourage ecotourism, if we would be stricter in rules regarding landfills, if people would care more about their health, if they would vaccinate, if the doctors would have more interest in respecting the medical ethics, if there would be more rooms in hospitals, it would all be better. If we would provoke people care more, then they might care more.
Crime
By Nicolae Teodora
Problem: Crime 1. Violent Films 2. Mental Conditions 3. The Irresponsible Parents This is a really big problem, related to the main problem, which is “Crime.” The good quality of films is disappearing. The classics “Casablanca,” “Roman Holiday,” “My Fair Lady,” and “Quo Vadis” were replaced with some violent films, with blood, murders, wars and killed people. The music we are listening and the films we are watching are influencing us. Fifty-sixty years ago there were really good movies, and people were civilized. Nowdays, people are robbing banks, are hurting other people. Those things were not happening sixty years ago. Like that saying, “You are what you eat.” I heard that once, three teenagers watched a violent film and took it as an example. They managed to find some guns and killed almost everyone from their high school! I think it really is terrible! Also, some teenagers watched “Avatar” (a film which I, personally, find disappointing) and realized that a world like Pandora doesn’t exist and our planet would never be like it. So they thought that the only solution was to suicide! Those fatalistic films, like, for example “2012” are just having a negative influence on everyone who watches them, but most of all, on minors. Even if there is an age limit, children still look at those kind of films. I think parents should really take care of them, show them, teach them to love beauty and disapprove of violence. When they would grow up, they would think that what they saw in films is real and also legal, but this could be easily avoided. Once, I watched a film, a documentary. The main character girl was sick of schizophrenia, a mental disease. She heard in her head some voices which told her what to do. They were telling her to harm the people who loved her and hurt herself. She was listening to them. The thing is that if the parents of the girl would have taken her to a hospital when she was little, the problem would be solved. But the parents decided to ignore the girl’s problem. The film is inspired from a real case. So, I think that parents should be aware that there is no shame to take their children to a hospital for their mental problems.
Pollution
By Rusu Carina
This is a big problem because many people don’t care about the nature and they don’t even think how it will become in a couple of years. We won’t have fresh air to breathe because of the plants that will die. Solution: We should learn people, especially children and young about how to protect the environment when they are in school. There are so many ways to stop pollution: from planting trees to taking the rubbish from the street. These are good ways to solve this problem. Even if they see a dust bin on the street, they don’t throw their rubbish there because they don’t think at all and they are having run breaking the rules. Solution: The bad people who throw rubbish on the street should pay some money to the police because this thing may stop their stupidness and they should be normal and throw their things that are no longer useful at the dustbin. They also don’t realize that many plants are going to die because they don’t want to take care of them and to plant more. So the oxygen can be fresh and good to breathe. Solution: we should learn how to plant trees and plants in every park, garden, or school’s garden and take care of them by watering it and clean it every day. Everyone can do this. Parents can help their kids to make a better environment for everyone because if this world will be totally polluted the people will die with the plants and animals, too. So we have to protect what God gave us!
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