Home again!
Dear Everyone,
Oooooooooh ! How wonderful to be home. I thought I’d never get there, what with the Air France pilot strike (don’t get me started on that…), delays…but finally, we touched down in Otopeni and I could but well up and have a good sob as I clambered down the steps to the awaiting navette bound for the main terminal. It was clement, a nice breeze, blue sky, the sunshine at rendezvous…the language I love but cannot do anything with except massacre it enveloped me – how I love to hear it. Oh, bref, divin!
Radu was there, ever punctual. Off he galloped with my ‘chariot’ overwhelmed with case, backpack and laptop (which turned out to be an utter waste of time as I couldn’t use it). The usual purchasing of the ‘jeton’ to break free of the carpark, the navigation necessary to avoid prangs with the over-zealous taxi drivers…how glad I was on Radu’s arm so as I could ignore the ‘you want taxi, madame’ offers. Taxi drivers in hordes always bring out the fearfulness in me though I don’t know why. The majority are harmless in Bucharest and even the ones dying to rip you off will back down once you tell them they’ve been rumbled and you’d like them to drive you straight to the police station please…Quite honestly, I think they find it fun, the challenge of it ‘to be caught or not caught, that is the question’ kind of fun. Anyway, I was with Radu, so no need to go off on a tangent!
Traffic as always in Bucharest. Infernal. Two hours to get from the airport to Aura’s at Cotroceni. Did I mind? Certainly not. I was so utterly thrilled to be home, so sent by the sad and neglected houses I love so much, the crumbling facades, the characters and personalities oozing from every brick… the old dacias miraculously getting from A to B, the maidanezii, the market places full of large ladies with basmas, Turkish kebab shops on every corner…the statues and memorials I know so well. It’s my city, my home. How I’d missed it. My throat caught every time I looked up at a roof and saw cherubs, gargoyles, sculpturing of any kind, beaming large windows whether clean or filthy, lovely old balconies of wrought iron in varying stages of decay. A howl of horror – that rotten, hideous white termopan on a house of neo-Romanesc style. Horror!!! Outrage!!! Oh…joy to be back and admire the gorgeous wooden doors that open onto courtyards taking you by surprise, the piles of cabbages in the road, in preparation for gastronomic clients and their Christmas sarmale…dear, dear city…I have missed you terribly!
Aura looked marvellous, as always. Even in pyjamas and half asleep (three quarters même) she looks fabulous. She had prepared her garsonier for me – and boy, what a job she’d done! I felt like royalty. Chrysanthemums of all hues going up the stairs to my separate and private front door. In the bathroom, all I needed (why did I bother with luggage?!): bath robe, pantoufles, shampoos, shower gels, conditioners, hair-dryer, thick fluffy towels…. And in the bedroom (a nice hard sofa bed with very warm and snuggly duvet that felt like sinking into a hug with a friendly goose) she’d thought of everything too: bowl of fruit, water in a beautiful traditional pitcher and mug to match, air freshener, radio for the mornings, scatter cushions, a clothes rail and place for jumpers etc…really, if I’d been in a hotel I couldn’t have been more spoilt – and it wouldn’t have had the ambiance, for Aura, Aylin, Murat, Perdita and Pisu (the cats) lived just downstairs. I was totally free to come and go as I pleased, knowing Aura was there for a natter when we had the time and we weren’t too sleepy. We managed a few candle burning nights and what a pleasure it was to be together with her again. Okay, I only left two months ago, but it feels like eons…And 8 days really wasn’t enough time. I’m sorry to any of you I neglected, particularly Andra…just so much to do in so little time.
The first day, I was in a bit of a daze. I was back. It felt unreal. There I was, so miserable in Paris simply because it’s not my place. The energy is wrong. I’m a round peg in a square hole. What can I say? Paris doesn’t suit me. It never did really, but I never realised until I found a place that so absolutely did. So, anyway, I spent Wednesday in a fog. So delighted to be back, so thrilled to feel the weight of Paris life lift from my shoulders…and yet know full well I would have to say goodbye to the city in the country of my heart all over again in 8 days time. I spent the afternoon and evening with Aura – a wonderful evening, catching up, putting the world to rights, great food, delicious Murfatlar…finally to bed around 3h…poor Aura had a very early start and felt like death warmed up all day long til she could get home and have a nap.
Thursday. What did I do Thursday? Thank heavens I write everything down or I’d never remember anything. I met Brigitte at 11h30, in front of the Howard Johnson on Dorobantilor/Dacia in order to hand over all the bills and stuff paid at the treetop, give the keys back etc. Nice to see her again. She’s a sweety is Brigitte, a member of the 21st December Association (she introduced me to Carmen, my Duchess and Romulus, the Libertatea journalist), swears blind that the revolution really WAS a revolution because so many died. Yes, but…. Enfin, bon. We gate-crashed the French Institute giving Lucia the biggest fright of her life as she hadn’t been expecting me to appear until I’d called first. Ha! I love surprises!Rather an emotional reunion
olu which would have been far more-so if Brigitte hadn’t been there. Chatter, chatter, chatter for the next few hours then Lucia realised it was almost the end of the week and she had to get the pay ready for the teachers. Not wanting to hold up such an important matter and knowing full well how it feels to get paid late, off we went to leave her in peace. We went to Icoanei Park as I suddenly realised I was hungry. It was 16h and lunch had passed by completely non-imperçu. The Garden Café at Icoanei has long since been one of my favourite haunts, and on this chilly day of ‘soare cu dinti’, we were the only idiots to sit at an outdoor table, warmed by the pale afternoon sun to the point where we could remove scarves and hats to lift white faces to sunrays. It was a lovely afternoon. Brigitte didn’t feel much like business, I reckoned, as she shoved all the papers I gave her into a carrier bag and that was that. We chatted about common friends, what was going on in bucharest (Dali exhib at Dalles for one thing)…we parted an hour later. I rushed off down to Dalles to catch the exhibition.
I love Dalles. It’s such a wonderful antiquarian bookshop including very decently priced second hand oeuvres…and an exhibition room next door where one can often fall upon some really good shows. This wasn’t one of them though, I’m sorry to say. http://www.ziare.com/O_lucrare_a_lui_Salvador_Dali__expusa_la_Bucuresti-489285.html
I was rather disappointed, imagining that I’d be blown away by earth-shattering, soul-disturbing secret drawings recently discovered, painted by the revered master of brilliance and a certain degree of pottiness. No such luck. I walked in, hung around a while, felt my back twang once, twice…nuff said. Went and had a coffee at the Intercontinental. A good place to hang around until 19h, read, people watch, steal a copy of Sapte Seri and wait for Nely.
My little Nely appeared bang on time bundled up in a furcoat and looking like a wee bear descended from the mountains. It had got very cold indeed. The play Nely had chosen to take me to was ‘Cinci femei de tranziţie’ by Rodica Popescu Bitănescu who also played the leading role. 5 women at Rodica’s birthday party. Catching up. And oof. Out come home truths, painful ones. Very like any girls night when there’s too much wine and palinka flowing. It was like most Roumanian plays I’ve seen. Funny with a sad and melancholic under current, quite easy to miss I guess if you don’t know the people, its country and history. We laughed a good heap and standing ovation was a very merited end to an excellent performance. I personally didn’t see the two hours go by. True, I was concentrating so hard it’s a mercy I don’t have to get on an ironing board to have my wrinkles ironed out (that’s why I buy Clinique). But tempus a fugit also because it was such a joy to watch. I was carried along. How I love Roumanian theatre. Any theatre really, but there’s something special about the Roumanian. Perhaps it is this melancholic undertone that just so utterly seduces me, making me want to snatch it up and nurse it along with everything else – the whole country in its entirety, in fact.
I left Nely at the bus stop, promising to spend the day with her Monday, after my weekend in Brasov. I still hadn’t decided at that point whether I’d return Sunday night or Monday. Lidia didn’t mind. ‘Whatever’s best for you’ she sms’d helpfully. I would decide at the CFR office on the spot, for in my fog of love for my surroundings, swoonings and wiping eyes with the joy and emotions of a prodigal son, decision making was a challenge.
Aylin tried to get my laptop to accept wireless. It wouldn’t. It was stalwartly anti- the whole idea. So, like the diamond she is, she lent me her mini computer. A really small thing. Wow. Every time I pressed one button, three letters got typed and heaven knows how many times I lost an email to Nicole. Even three consecutively at one point, until finally I gave up altogether and used it only for skype. Its so infuriating when you write a nice long mail of news and gossip..then bling. It vanishes. Where?! How does it happen? I guess there must be a black hole of kidnapped emails somewhere. I searched everywhere and had zero leads. Result. Chat and skype only. Thank heavens for that, though, as a week without visits to Hamden would have been impossible to bear!
Friday was str. Telenovelo day. What fun! My Tantza was on form following a ‘difficult’ cataract operation which lead to her being bedridden for a week (?? Don’t ask…). So warm, loving, envelopping. In the kitchen as usual, and very
determined to teach me how to make placinta cu mere (apple cake). I filmed her as she carried out her very serious masterclass. First placinta cu branza (which of course I had to taste as I went along) and then the apple cake. Step by step method and the protocol of procedure in Tantza’s kitchen. How I love her! Bless her. As she cooked, she talked. She soon forgot about the video camera and, spurred on by the question ‘where did you learn to cook, my Tantza?’ she told her life story. I can’t tell it to you here because its her story, but I can give you a very brief synopsis of things I know she wouldn’t mind me divulging. She was born in Piatra Neamt, loved living there very much, went to a good school, had a good education and got a very impressive job as expert in hydraulics (Tantza????!!! Yes, Tantza, indeed). She was sent to Bucharest where she worked for thirty odd years, had her two daughters with Mr Viagra, lived the marriage that you either know or you don’t (if not, see http://sarahinroumania.canalblog.com or I’m afraid I can’t tell you!), ended up losing her lovely house and living in her small quarters in str. A. Philippide… cooking is her escape. Kneading dough, she’s young again, full of dreams, ideas and life still has promise…my Tantza. Her kitchen is her way out, her therapy session, her freedom.
I paid a visit to Nicu who was looking very well indeed considering the year he has had. He’s working once more apparently, mostly with the radio but has made a few appearances on Pro-TV with Mandita. She appeared at Tantza’s a while later, having heard from Nicu that I had arrived, looking as she always does. Her ankle is no longer giving her gyp, and she seems well. We all had coffee together upstairs. Good to see Nicu sober and steady.
I had a very late lunch with Ruth next in the cave. How pretty it looks. She has a table in there, something I never did, so she can have little lunches and teas. Her oven and stove work and the dodgy loo seat and rebellious shower head have been changed too. I’m not sure how long Ruth will remain at my cave, but for the moment she’s happy there surrounded by the soap opera that amused me for so many months.
Leaving Ruth, I dashed off to CFR and booked my train for Brasov…returning Monday. Early. From Gara de Nord, direct to Nely’s.
That evening, I’d arranged a dinner at my very favourite restaurant, the Ateneul Bistro. A very
stupid rule has come to pass. You cannot book for more than 6 people. If you want more seats you have to go to their new restaurant somewhere near Unirii. Well, I wanted to book for 8.
‘So, I’ll book once for six and then a second table for two and we’ll push the two together. How’s that?’
The waitress took an instant dislike to me. As it happened, Nely didn’t come in the end as MM wasn’t well, so we were seven. As we’re all very slim and lovely girls, we all squeezed around the offending table for 6. How wonderful to have dear friends altogether at the same time: Laura, Catalina, Flori, Oana, Aura and Dana. Aura and Flori renewed their links as they’ve met a few times before. It was a first for Catalina who didn’t know anyone, but she got along with Oana and Laura. It was a fun and daft evening, mostly about men, big rabbits, psychology, club 18-30 holidays and other such silliness. Exactly perfect for a Friday night. Nely would have loved it. I missed her.
I didn’t bother to go to sleep that night. Got home around 1h, and skyped with Nicole til 3h. Up at 5h to be at the station and take my train at 8h. Adventure. Of course. There has to be one. In my usual morning brainlessness, I took the wrong train line and ended up in some out of the way place miles from anywhere…didn’t notice as I was humming along to Ioana Radu on my MP3 and reading. Finally, looked up and thought ‘hey, this isn’t right’ and realised I was jetting off to some part of Bucharest as yet undiscovered. Panic. Rushed from the metrou. Too late to retrace steps as had had to wait 14 minutes for a metrou to go the wrong way in the first place. Out into an unknown road. Taxi? Anywhere? Kind of reminded me of my first ever visit to Bucharest and in urgent need of a taxi, but…nimic! Ten minutes and by this time, I was sure I was going to miss the train. My backpack was feeling like it was full of concrete slabs. I was going to melt with heat…I was sweltering. And then loe and behold, as always happens to me in this dearly beloved country of mine, rescue was at hand. A taxi pulled up, elderly gentleman with a porkpie hat and yellow braces. ‘Unde mergeti, doamna?’ where are you going? he asked. I didn’t even ask if he was free. I just piled into his taxi which smelled of tobacco, and pleaded he get me to Gara de Nord pdq. He did. Round corners on two wheels, hooting and honking to clear the road in front of him and warn unsuspecting drivers that a lunatic was coming through. He got me there indeed he did, the man’s a super hero, and I found myself in the train with 3 minutes to spare…I’d bought a first class seat for a change and was so glad for it as my lungs were exploding from the rushing and panic of a potentially missed train! I collapsed into my slightly larger and more spacious seat, relatively secluded from the rest of humanity, and promptly fell asleep, waking up at Comarnic to torrential rain and then…from Campina onwards…SNOW! ‘First snow’ sms’d Lidia, who’d ordered it especially for me, of course!
But not just any old snow…oh no! This was seeeeeeerious stuff! As we approached Sinaia, it was coming down in sheets to the extent that I could hardly see out the window. I’ve only ever seen snow like that in Roumania. It’s so pretty. The world becomes a winter wonderland, silent, peaceful…really beautiful. One can forget what human beings do to each other, how we are destroying our marvellous planet and what complete morons we are.
The closer we got to Brasov, the deeper the snow became. I looked mournfully at my stupid Paris boots. What had I been thinking of bringing them with me? In fact, I did have a bit of a fight with myself when packing in Paris. I picked up my boots I’d bought in Bucharest in January and wondered whether to take them, then decided that no…there wouldn’t be snow. What an error of judgement. Climbing down from the train I stepped straight into a snowdrift. Boots instantly soaked, feet instantly iceblocks! Oh well! I found Manny, or rather, he found me. Skidding and sliding to their lovely house in central Brasov (how lovely to be back – my second home) we saw a load of cars in ditches, roads closed…of course, it’s never snowed in Brasov before!! On the news later, we witnessed the dreadful state of the roads all across Roumania. I’ve never understood this. It snows gard in winter every single year. Has done since time began, and it’s an enigma to me why the necessaries are not carried out at the end of autumn to avoid appalling accidents, people sailing off mountain sides, tourists lost in the mountains, power failures and other such consequences of bad weather. Every single year when the snow begins people are literally surprised, like it’s never happened before. And every year since I’ve been visiting Roumania I’m left stunned that the country comes to a standstill!
Brasov was transformed to fairyland. How beautiful it is normally without snow. In winter, it becomes a paradise of sparkling, twinkling lovliness.
I had a marvellous weekend with my Lidia and Manny, as always. They are such wonderful and beloved friends, so warm, kind and funny. Of course I met their new dog Tatou, a little snoutzer puppy who’s in fact rather large with legs too long and paws to big for her little body. She’s quite gorgeous and adores her dad, Manny. She lay in his arms like a baby and he was quite sent too. I’m not sure which one was the happiest cuddled up there on the sofa!
That evening, Radu, Lucia and Corina came for dinner. The usual full table, impossible to get through
it, wonderful ambiance, Radu bursting forth on his favourite subject, politics. Manny being hilariously funny, Corina and I constructively criticising the whole EFL world of teaching and publishing. She’s off to Israel in April…I confessed to being insanely jealous. Israel has been a dream for years and years. Every time I get the chance to go, something sabotages by plans. So, I guess its not to be for now. Corina will go, takes masses of pix and tell me all about it. We shall go altogether to Istanbul in the spring to see Miruna. They will drive, I will fly and we’ll meet there. Hurrah!
The next day, Sunday, was my Re-Birthday! How sweet! A relatively late breakfast, a skulk in front of Realitatea (more on that in a bit) and then off we went to Prato for my birthday lunch, a culinarily paradisiac affair. My tastebuds did somersaults, my eyes must have spun. I know I went pink. Delicately cooked lamb, marinaded in heavens knows what mouthwatering blend of flavours. Roast
potatoes baked in rosemary and garlic. A yorkshire pudding superbly done. Italian bread with parmesan. Such food should be illegal. Its almost too good to be true. And such a lovely setting. The Prato is a beautifully architectured restaurant and I’m not just saying that beacsue Manny was the architect! But, I have a certain affection for it, because I watched it grow from dust to one of the best restaurants I’ve ever been to. The waiters all flock around Manny like he’s some kind of guru. He goes off to the kitchen to talk to the chefs on a quest for new ideas in his own alimentary engineering experiments. He is a fabulous cook. Lidia too. Her vinete, zacusaca and ciorba are excellent.
We talked so much, Lidia and I. Two months apart and yet so much missed. And we watched a lot of TV because the news on Roumanian television is quite amazing. In fact, it’s not really news. It’s more like pure scandal-mongering. Very little on international happenings because home news is so fascinatingly unbelievable. For example, the case of Elena Turcu, the judge arrested for driving under the influence. Here’s the tale. She was driving, pretty tanked, stopped by the police and refused to get out of the car. So, they gave her a helping hand to the hospital for a blood test in order to ascertain how truly trolleyed she was. Turns out she was really quite trashed, but at the tribunal she was found not guily. NOT GUILTY!! How can you be found not guilty when a blood tests says you’re totally plastered and well over the limit?! And the cherry on the cake was that, apart from the judgement being given by her own colleagues, she decided to accuse the police wo arrested her of manhandling. So now THEY are the guilty party, the upholders of the law, not this drunken judge who profited from her power and position. Dispicable. At he time we laughed a lot about how the law is so upside down, how money can get you anything…we were amused by it. Now in retrospection I’m actually not amused at all. It’s incredible that such corruption exists. I wonder what will happen to the poor policemen who acted correctly, removing her from a public place to the hospital for an alco-test. They surely will not be supported by their superiors against a judge. They will not be congratulated for doing their job admirably. ‘Idiots! They arrested a judge!’ will be the whispered accusation.
This Sunday, Roumanians go to vote for their ministers. Not the Prime Minister or the President, but the ministers of this, that and the other. So many people I spoke to didn’t want to vote. One friend of mine said of course she would vote. But she would write an expletive on her voting paper, right across it….because that’s what she thinks this vote is….an expletive. There is noone to vote for. They are all as stupid as each other. She is a PNL voter, but the PNL candidate is an imbecile. So, what should she do? Vote her usual PNL to remain loyal to the liberal cause, vote somewhere else where the candidate has a neurone or two, or not vote at all? She and many other friends of mine are furious. Furious that this vote should symbolise a change, and yet they know that it will not. They are angry that we in the ‘west’ encourage them to have hope, that it’ll be okay, that there is a future, that this state of affairs cannot last forever. And yet…and yet? It most certainly can. It can last and last and last. What’s the solution? Most of my friends say there isn’t one. Just to leave the country of my heart and settle elsewhere for all that will be left in Roumania in the end will be bears, gypsies and mafia… Well, as long as people need English to leave I’ll always have work in bucharest! But that’s not really the point is it? The point is that things are not improving. Corruption remains as it always has. The poor get poorer, the rich, well…lets not go into that or we could be here all night, and the middle class pays for everyone and everything else, squeezed to the point where it will eventually vanish, either because it has dropped to the level of poverty, or that everyone in this category has fled to greener pastures. Leaders of the country of my heart!!! What the hell are you doing???? I am very afraid that the only decent guy in government, the Prime Minister, Tariceanu, is shortly for the chop. He’s the only intelligent person they have, the only one who truly cares about Roumania and its future. I can’t bear to think he’ll perhaps be gone. He wsould be an excellent President. He is internationally appreciated and a linguist to boot – at least more than Basescu… well, we shall wait until Sunday night for the results. If Orban is still minister of transport you can call me Doris for the next 6 months…it will be as ridiculous. A country full of intelligent, caring, bright people and only ONE of them in government….
The return to Bucharest was rapid and snow bathed. I filmed from the train window. The Bucegi were awe-inspiring. I kept gasping as the girl in the seat next to me asked where I was from and what was it that impressed me so much. I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish,; couldn’t find the words and played back the film I had made. ‘That!’ I told her. She nodded and said yes, it was a lovely country. Would be even better if it were unpopulated. A common phrase one hears so often.
At Gara de Nord, I made my way to the metro and took the line to Nely’s. How wonderful to hug her and see her again. She’s so very dear and missed, as are so many of my friends in Bucharest. She had clearly been preparing my arrival for quite some time as the table was full of delicious salads, all beautifully presented. My vinete was scooped into green
peppers and she had made faces on them with olives and red pepper strips. So cute! And nothing too heavy which I so appreciated. Her husband served me a vodka, then the wine appeared. Mmm! So good. After lunch, Nely and I rushed to her laptop in her bedroom to join Nicole. I hadn’t seen 
her since Wednesday and how I missed her beloved face. There she was on skype. The three of us stayed there chatting for what seemed like ages. Time flew by as it always does when one doesn't want it to and before I knew it I had to go and meet some ex-student friends at a restaurant near Pta Universitatei. No time for metro. Ten minutes to get there. I hugged Nely goodbye very regretfully. I’m back to goodbyes again – my reason for my year sabbatical was to stop using that word…now I’ve returned to it again and each one is pressure around my heart.
I found the restaurant and there they all were, my students of yesteryear. Come back, they begged. Come back and teach us! How lovely! I will, I will, I’m working on it! If the economic crises doesn’t sabotage my plans I’ll be there before next year is out. But I have to wait and see what the recession will bring. They argued that whatever happened, teachers of English were needed, especially native speakers…yes, I know, but where will I live. If I didn’t have the cats, there’d be no problem. But I will have four fat mamoubears with me and I will recuperate my Rosie too. They were all convinced I’d find something. I know it too. I’m meant to be there, but I’d like some security, all the same, to know that all’s well and I have a flat waiting for me! So good to see them all, so lovely of them to arrange that evening. How I have missed them. I was very touched. At least now I know I have a minimum of 16 private students for my return!
The next day, Tuesday. A busy one. Very. The morning was spent not far from Obor on a personal quest, and at 14h30, I was at Eugenia’s for coffee. Lovely to see her. She was well, though a little stressed with work issues. We were so glad to see each other once again. She had spent the last few days in Baia Mare and was understandably relieved to be back, in Bucharest where it was a bit warmer. Maramures was as much under snow as the Bucegi and the rest of southern Transylvania. I dread to think of that treacherous road between Sighet and Baia Mare.
From Eugenia’s to meet Brigitte on strada Polona for an evening with Mathilda and Jeta. What a wonderful pair. Mathilda, over eighty and member of the Roumanian academy, professor of letters and Jeta, her younger sister, a sculptress. Their brother, Toma Caragiu, was a famous actor killed tragically in the earthquake of 1977. What a waste of talent and life, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xsFxEF-gv0 in Roumanian. What a genius.
Dinner with my Bears at 20h. An Italian restaurant in str. Uruguay. Lovely restaurant and wonderful to see my dear Bears. They were well, though tired, and still absolutely unable to understand why on earth I wanted to leave gorgeous, cultured Paris for Bucharest. Well, I can’t explain anymore for I am out of words. I left them with difficulty outside Aura’s. In my eight days, I only saw George once, Lucia twice at her office and once for our dinner together. There wasn’t enough time. Eight days just wasn’t sufficient to get everything done. It was somewhat frustrating. But George was right; It was almost as though I hadn’t left. We carried on as if the last two months hadn’t existed, that I’d been in Bucharest all this time and I’d only seen them the week before.
That night I was ill. It must have been due to a week of over-eating and nerves of having to leave once more. I spent most of the night in the bathroom wondering why I was such a total pig. Well, because food is part of Roumanian hospitality and it's impossible to refuse. Even if you eat slowly, you still get more put on your plate. If you say no, your refusal is met with near horror! My tummy just couldn’t take anymore and exploded – and I don’t mean metaphorically, unfortunately. It really did! The result was the cancellation of lunch with Aura and Oana the next day and the morning snuggled in my duvet til I braved it afara to meet Nely at Unirii for a brief tete à tete. As she disappeared into the bowels of the metro, I couldn’t help it. I just bawled. Another goodbye, this one, a very hard one to cope with as Nely has become my Tanti Angelique and leaving her behind hurt terribly.
I popped in to see Lucia at her office having walked up Magheru en route, visited Cartaresti to buy some bits and pieces, ran around Noi, into Nottara just for a nose and then to the French Institute. It’s such a lovely building. I should ask Lucia for a bit of a history on it, but when I see her we’re busy talking about other things. Like how she can access my Picassa from her useless computer sat on her desk!
17h, I found Oana and her Gaby at Piata Dorobantilor…how lovely to see them once more and how
sad to leave them. We sat and exchanged the news we couldn’t the Friday before. They are both fine, the dogs and cats too. Plenty of changes going on, which just goes to show that despite elections, drunken judges, snow and other such goings-on, life goes on.
Getting back to Aura’s was a problem. It had become bitterly cold. No taxi driver wanted to brave the hell of the traffic jams all the way to Cotroceni. The buses weren’t moving. I walked to Pta Romana against the wind and took the metro, changing at Unirii. Got back eventually to dinner with Aura and Murat. A light dinner! Thank you, my Aura! What a friend I have in her. An evening of tarots and profound analysis followed dinner. I miss her terribly. Did so before I’d even got on the plane. The BBC gave me one decent thing at least! Without it I’d never have taught Aylin and subsequently met Aura, a dear friend with a huge heart and profound sense of loyalty, honesty, goodness and truth.
I couldn’t believe my time ‘at home’ was at an end. Already. And yet so many things left undone. That’ll mean another trip. In March, hopefully. Not before as I really can’t take more holiday before then. We shall have to see what happens with work, where I shall be teaching in January if it’s indeed still with Smart, which I would prefer. 2009 seems to be rather an enigma. I don’t know what I’ll be doing, where I shall be living, what my career move will be…it’s a surprise as much for you as for me. I leave myself in the hands of destiny and continue to believe in The Secret! If you want something enough, believe in it, don’t deviate and you shall have it.
I took my plane yesterday after a lovely breakfast with Aura and Jeny. The traffic was appalling due to preparations for the national holiday on Monday. Roads were closed but no other routes proposed. We sat there for 2h, Gabi and I, with his daughter Marina in the back. I hoped I’d miss the flight, but nope…we made it in time. I sat in the massively overpriced airport café, tears plopping into my coffee and making my kitkat soggy. As the plane took off, I cried harder into my scarf. Why, oh why must I live away from the place I most want to be?
Good to be back on http://sarahinromania.canalblog.com ! The next post will be in March, all being well.
Now back in Paris to find that Marie Jo has recuperated a further 3000 euros for the creche!! Wonderful! Bravo! Clo is back from her humanitarian trip to Africa and wants to get together to talk about it. Cinema, shiatsu and dinner with Francine tomorrow evening. Rutzi Sunday. Tickets received for the Verdi Requiem on 5th December with Miruna, and skype every night with my dears in Hamden. Everything back to normal, except it isn’t. My heart remains in Bucharest. I'm 'déracinée' and it feels horrid.
Love to you all and a happy weekend,
Love, Sarah
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