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.
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
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
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.
Friday, November 5, 2010
People!
My friend J~ came to Bucureşti yesterday, and I met her after classes. It was SO good to see a familar face in my city. We had a really great time, and ended up going back to the place where she was couchsurfing to eat dinner.
There, I met a couple, A~ and R~ McMasters. Yeah, that's not a local name. THAT, my friends, is an American couple. We had such a wonderful time talking and eating and drinking and just BEING with people. It was great. I'm sure we will get together again soon- I found city friends!
J~ and I met up again today before she left for the next city, and we went to dinner in the Lipscani district of Bucureşti. Considered the "old" part of the city, it is really what the entire area used to look like before the building projects of the 1980's. It is a really lovely area, but also rather upsetting because it is beautiful. The whole city USED to be this way- incredible. What kind of maniac tears down such history and charm and character? I had a really great time with J~ though, and it was actually really sad to see her go. I'm certain that we will keep in touch, and I feel so glad to have connected with her.
Regardless, I had really missed people. And I found some. Blessings.
There, I met a couple, A~ and R~ McMasters. Yeah, that's not a local name. THAT, my friends, is an American couple. We had such a wonderful time talking and eating and drinking and just BEING with people. It was great. I'm sure we will get together again soon- I found city friends!
J~ and I met up again today before she left for the next city, and we went to dinner in the Lipscani district of Bucureşti. Considered the "old" part of the city, it is really what the entire area used to look like before the building projects of the 1980's. It is a really lovely area, but also rather upsetting because it is beautiful. The whole city USED to be this way- incredible. What kind of maniac tears down such history and charm and character? I had a really great time with J~ though, and it was actually really sad to see her go. I'm certain that we will keep in touch, and I feel so glad to have connected with her.
Regardless, I had really missed people. And I found some. Blessings.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Bullfighter
One of them better parts of visiting Braşov this past weekend was the opportunity to meet people from all over the world. Transylvania is apparently a hub of crazy party-goers during Halloween, as demonstrated by the fact that there were literally no beds in the entire town of Braşov. Regardless, there is a certain amount of comraderie among people traveling in the same places, and I got to know a lot of people.
I met one group of men after flagging down the bus on the way to Bran Castle. Five men from Spain. Five Spanish men, in all their glory. Four of them were really friendly and talkative, and we chatted about traveling and life for most of the journey. The fifth Spainard was a really big guy, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, hat pulled down over his eyes and sleeping. He was dressed (as they all were) like a typical Spainard.
One of the men leaned in and said (in the most amazing Spanish accent) "You know bullfight?" I kinda giggled and said "What?"
"You know what I mean when I say bullfight?"
"Yes."
"You come to Spain and I show you bullfight."
"Um, okay?"
"You know how I show you bullfight?"
"No, how?"
He gestures to the sleeping man, and says "This man. This man is bullfighter."
"Really??"
The sleeping man, with all the drama that a movie director would infuse into the scene, raises his hat, revealing eyes that could blow Antonio Banderas out of the water, says in a deep grovely voice "I AM BULLFIGHTER."
Seconds later he was sleeping again, and I was trying desperately not to laugh.
I met one group of men after flagging down the bus on the way to Bran Castle. Five men from Spain. Five Spanish men, in all their glory. Four of them were really friendly and talkative, and we chatted about traveling and life for most of the journey. The fifth Spainard was a really big guy, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, hat pulled down over his eyes and sleeping. He was dressed (as they all were) like a typical Spainard.
One of the men leaned in and said (in the most amazing Spanish accent) "You know bullfight?" I kinda giggled and said "What?"
"You know what I mean when I say bullfight?"
"Yes."
"You come to Spain and I show you bullfight."
"Um, okay?"
"You know how I show you bullfight?"
"No, how?"
He gestures to the sleeping man, and says "This man. This man is bullfighter."
"Really??"
The sleeping man, with all the drama that a movie director would infuse into the scene, raises his hat, revealing eyes that could blow Antonio Banderas out of the water, says in a deep grovely voice "I AM BULLFIGHTER."
Seconds later he was sleeping again, and I was trying desperately not to laugh.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Delicate
Every once in a while, the delicate and fragile nature of life strikes me.
During part of my time in Chicago, I had the adventure/pleasure of living with seven other people in one apartment. We shared a five bedroom, three bathroom apartment in a great location in Hyde Park, and it was certainly a journey. I was touched in many ways by each of my roommates, and walked away from the experience with friends I consider dear.
One of my roommates was a man named K~ who was, in the best of ways, an incredible amount of fun. He taught me about letting go and putting stress away and having fun. We had a great semester of talking sports and watching television and learning how to consume drink.
K~ was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. He had surgery that evening. Apparently things are looking good (it was not cancerous, etc...) but still ridiculously frightening.
How precious, and precarious, our place on this earth is. Sometimes I just need a reminder to live every moment with the aim of finding grace and creating love and making peace.
During part of my time in Chicago, I had the adventure/pleasure of living with seven other people in one apartment. We shared a five bedroom, three bathroom apartment in a great location in Hyde Park, and it was certainly a journey. I was touched in many ways by each of my roommates, and walked away from the experience with friends I consider dear.
One of my roommates was a man named K~ who was, in the best of ways, an incredible amount of fun. He taught me about letting go and putting stress away and having fun. We had a great semester of talking sports and watching television and learning how to consume drink.
K~ was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. He had surgery that evening. Apparently things are looking good (it was not cancerous, etc...) but still ridiculously frightening.
How precious, and precarious, our place on this earth is. Sometimes I just need a reminder to live every moment with the aim of finding grace and creating love and making peace.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Connection
I often am able to look back on a season in my life and notice growth in one capacity or another. It is usually after the period has ended, and improvement reveals itself by rising out of the mundane where it was concieved and developed, and where it hibernated until I turned my head to glance back. And I am constantly surprised by the existence of this thing that dwelled in my spirit and grew in my heart and lodged itself in my head. I turn forward and continue onward through the next season.
This season, something changed. In this time of uncertainity and decision and dreaming, I can feel the growth. I felt it nestle down deep inside of me, coursing through my body, becoming part of my unconscious thought until it burst through fully formed into my life.
This season has been about the beauty and intimacy of connection. I have written before about my incredible friendships and support system- but those were things I knew about before. I am talking about the fresh knowledge of humanity and the beautiful recognition of another's soul. I have recently had the chance to connect with a variety of people in a wide range of ways. I found myself revealing little bits of my spirit, not to the other person per se, but to the collective knowledge we shared by the very virtue of being human.
I like this kind of growth. And I like knowing about it now.
This season, something changed. In this time of uncertainity and decision and dreaming, I can feel the growth. I felt it nestle down deep inside of me, coursing through my body, becoming part of my unconscious thought until it burst through fully formed into my life.
This season has been about the beauty and intimacy of connection. I have written before about my incredible friendships and support system- but those were things I knew about before. I am talking about the fresh knowledge of humanity and the beautiful recognition of another's soul. I have recently had the chance to connect with a variety of people in a wide range of ways. I found myself revealing little bits of my spirit, not to the other person per se, but to the collective knowledge we shared by the very virtue of being human.
I like this kind of growth. And I like knowing about it now.
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