It's not all block housing.
The first post of 2013 is retrospective. A couple of friends asked me recently, “Why Eastern Europe? What is it about these places that take you there?” And while I have a lot of reasons, the big and unexpected spark to these last five years of traveling, living, and working in Eastern Europe and Central Asia was a haphazard trip to Romania in October of 2007. At the time, I was living and working in Linz, Austria as an English language assistant. This trip to Romania was my first time into Eastern Europe proper. The sights, sounds, and smells were different, challenging, and exciting. At the time, I thought Romania was unique to Europe; however, as I traveled deeper into post-Soviet Europe, I realized that my experiences in Romania were indicative of post-Communist society generally. Below is an edited down version of that fortuitous trip to Romania from a blog I kept during that year in Linz. Enjoy, and Happy New Year.
beau·ty - [byoo-tee] – noun.
1. The quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations, a meaningful design or pattern, or something else.
When given a free week in Europe there are many options one can make. It is a real "can't lose" situation. Austria is surrounded by Italy, Germany, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland, amongst other phenomenal historic and natural gifts that dot the European continent. I, in my infinite brilliance, chose none of these, successfully putting myself into the skinny piece of pie on this graph. Last week, I spent seven days traveling through Romania. It was a trip to a country that has been broken politically and economically from years of Soviet and nationalist neglect (Romania boasts the world's ugliest city). I didn’t know what to expect.
A friend of mine used to teach in Romania in a city called Cluj. We were discussing a trip into the Balkans (Serbia, Montenegro, Croatia, or Albania) when he recommended visiting his old home and surrounding areas. Thinking I had myself a tour guide and translator, I jumped at the opportunity. Once checking that Romania and the FAA saw eye-to-eye on words like "safe" and "functional", I booked my ticket on a discount Slovakian airline and hoped for the best. As the best is all you can really hope for.
We arrived in Timisoara, Romania to heavy fog and barren farmland. Timisoara was the city that sparked the 1989 Revolution that ended Communism in Romania. Even though the President at the time was not in the country to be deposed and murdered when things started (he later was), it didn't stop the students from being prepared for his arrival. I found that this story was indicative of Romanian hospitality: they will keep the light on for you—as long as electricity isn't being rationed that week.
We exited the one room terminal to be greeted by bats. Yes, this is Romania days before Halloween. Yes, on the bus ride into town we saw wolves. Yes, the hotel had lost my reservation and down payment. I think some would call this series of events “ominous”; I was entranced.
We retired to our rooms to prepare for the 4:30 AM wake-up call. But first, I needed TV in a language I don't understand. Most people, when they attempt to acculturate to a foreign land will look to the news or local broadcasting. I felt the Scooby Doo was a more apt way to wade into Romanian culture. There is something about a stoner and his dog reasoning with ghouls that lets me know "They (the Romanians, not Scooby) are just like us."
The next morning, we were on our way to Cluj—five hours north by train. This was our first real glimpse of Romania. The countryside was lined with telephone poles like crucifixes on the road to Rome—crooked and old with knotted cables drawing from them. Garbage was strewn across the landscape, in rivers, and lakes. However, it was strangely enchanting. So enchanting that the five hours flew by and we found ourselves in Cluj.
To see more of the country, we decided to rent a car, because, obviously, that’s a good idea for a bunch of 22 year-olds. Out of us four, there was only one with an EU driver’s license and he was from Wales. Not a lot of people know much about Wales or Romania for that matter. But, here are two fun facts: 1. People in Wales drive on the left side of the road; 2. People in Romania do not. He gently sideswiped two cars before we even left the block. Good start.
To describe the roads of Romania is tough, so let's just say if you were to walk down the street, any street, you would unmercifully break your mother's back. On top of the dilapidated streets, Romania has a conspicuous lack of traffic lights and road signs, but they do however have an abundant number of impromptu round-a-bouts. (The round-a-bouts are oddly poetic once you begin to understand the bureaucracy that holds the state in bondage.) If it were just the poor infrastructure, things would have been OK. Add in the spice of Romanian drivers and you have a hearty impending traffic wreck.
Romanians were justifiably excited at the end of Communism, because, amongst other things, they were able to travel without restraint. Capitalism gave them the vehicles and the unprecedented freedom they desired. It did not, however, give them an instructional booklet to go with this newly fueled wanderlust. For example, even when your eight-wheeler blows its two back right tires, you keep on truckin' just like the guy in front of us did for the first few miles of our trip. To compound the situation, our brave Welsh driver had a temper hotter than the Indo-European beats hailing from the radio.
Once we finally got into the countryside, we found that the back roads of Romania are worse than the city's. The hostility that previous governments held for roads and infrastructure has left them more mud than pavement. These were roads where cars, horse carts, cows, peasants, and orthodox priests all shared the same lane. All of this only added to the experience of the countryside. The colors were deep into fall's transition. The backdrop was partially forested rolling hills that, through the haze of industry, shine with all of Romania's glory. We ultimately ended up in a small Hungarian village (before WWI, Transylvania was a part of Hungary) that we were later told did not exist. Come to find out, in Romania more often than not you will be told that lesser known towns merely do not exist. I suppose that is easier than accurate cartography.
After a enlightening and slapstick tumbling through Romania, we were finally on city bus #26 back to the airport. The trusty #26 had brought my friend and I into town nearly the same time seven days earlier. As I watched the countryside drift by, I reminisced about our misadventures as if they were over. They were not. The bus came to a halt at a Soviet style apartment complex, which is not an airport. In what little Romanian I knew, I asked where the airport was. The driver motioned beyond the building. It's to our left. Asking a few more meandering individuals where the airport was we found ourselves in a barren field with stray dogs, for in Romania stray dogs punctuate the country. We were now walking on a muddy trail through low-lying brush and cows. Two miles later we were at the airport. Next to that airport is a bus station. A bus station for the #26.
I didn’t honestly know what had happened by the time we returned to the Linz train station. I found beauty in the breakdown of Romania, our trip, and my own mental state. I'd be hard pressed to point to any one thing that I found so enchanting about Romania, but there was that something else that gave me intense pleasure and deep satisfaction to the mind.
1. The quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations, a meaningful design or pattern, or something else.
When given a free week in Europe there are many options one can make. It is a real "can't lose" situation. Austria is surrounded by Italy, Germany, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland, amongst other phenomenal historic and natural gifts that dot the European continent. I, in my infinite brilliance, chose none of these, successfully putting myself into the skinny piece of pie on this graph. Last week, I spent seven days traveling through Romania. It was a trip to a country that has been broken politically and economically from years of Soviet and nationalist neglect (Romania boasts the world's ugliest city). I didn’t know what to expect.
A friend of mine used to teach in Romania in a city called Cluj. We were discussing a trip into the Balkans (Serbia, Montenegro, Croatia, or Albania) when he recommended visiting his old home and surrounding areas. Thinking I had myself a tour guide and translator, I jumped at the opportunity. Once checking that Romania and the FAA saw eye-to-eye on words like "safe" and "functional", I booked my ticket on a discount Slovakian airline and hoped for the best. As the best is all you can really hope for.
We arrived in Timisoara, Romania to heavy fog and barren farmland. Timisoara was the city that sparked the 1989 Revolution that ended Communism in Romania. Even though the President at the time was not in the country to be deposed and murdered when things started (he later was), it didn't stop the students from being prepared for his arrival. I found that this story was indicative of Romanian hospitality: they will keep the light on for you—as long as electricity isn't being rationed that week.
We exited the one room terminal to be greeted by bats. Yes, this is Romania days before Halloween. Yes, on the bus ride into town we saw wolves. Yes, the hotel had lost my reservation and down payment. I think some would call this series of events “ominous”; I was entranced.
We retired to our rooms to prepare for the 4:30 AM wake-up call. But first, I needed TV in a language I don't understand. Most people, when they attempt to acculturate to a foreign land will look to the news or local broadcasting. I felt the Scooby Doo was a more apt way to wade into Romanian culture. There is something about a stoner and his dog reasoning with ghouls that lets me know "They (the Romanians, not Scooby) are just like us."
The next morning, we were on our way to Cluj—five hours north by train. This was our first real glimpse of Romania. The countryside was lined with telephone poles like crucifixes on the road to Rome—crooked and old with knotted cables drawing from them. Garbage was strewn across the landscape, in rivers, and lakes. However, it was strangely enchanting. So enchanting that the five hours flew by and we found ourselves in Cluj.
To see more of the country, we decided to rent a car, because, obviously, that’s a good idea for a bunch of 22 year-olds. Out of us four, there was only one with an EU driver’s license and he was from Wales. Not a lot of people know much about Wales or Romania for that matter. But, here are two fun facts: 1. People in Wales drive on the left side of the road; 2. People in Romania do not. He gently sideswiped two cars before we even left the block. Good start.
To describe the roads of Romania is tough, so let's just say if you were to walk down the street, any street, you would unmercifully break your mother's back. On top of the dilapidated streets, Romania has a conspicuous lack of traffic lights and road signs, but they do however have an abundant number of impromptu round-a-bouts. (The round-a-bouts are oddly poetic once you begin to understand the bureaucracy that holds the state in bondage.) If it were just the poor infrastructure, things would have been OK. Add in the spice of Romanian drivers and you have a hearty impending traffic wreck.
Romanians were justifiably excited at the end of Communism, because, amongst other things, they were able to travel without restraint. Capitalism gave them the vehicles and the unprecedented freedom they desired. It did not, however, give them an instructional booklet to go with this newly fueled wanderlust. For example, even when your eight-wheeler blows its two back right tires, you keep on truckin' just like the guy in front of us did for the first few miles of our trip. To compound the situation, our brave Welsh driver had a temper hotter than the Indo-European beats hailing from the radio.
Once we finally got into the countryside, we found that the back roads of Romania are worse than the city's. The hostility that previous governments held for roads and infrastructure has left them more mud than pavement. These were roads where cars, horse carts, cows, peasants, and orthodox priests all shared the same lane. All of this only added to the experience of the countryside. The colors were deep into fall's transition. The backdrop was partially forested rolling hills that, through the haze of industry, shine with all of Romania's glory. We ultimately ended up in a small Hungarian village (before WWI, Transylvania was a part of Hungary) that we were later told did not exist. Come to find out, in Romania more often than not you will be told that lesser known towns merely do not exist. I suppose that is easier than accurate cartography.
After a enlightening and slapstick tumbling through Romania, we were finally on city bus #26 back to the airport. The trusty #26 had brought my friend and I into town nearly the same time seven days earlier. As I watched the countryside drift by, I reminisced about our misadventures as if they were over. They were not. The bus came to a halt at a Soviet style apartment complex, which is not an airport. In what little Romanian I knew, I asked where the airport was. The driver motioned beyond the building. It's to our left. Asking a few more meandering individuals where the airport was we found ourselves in a barren field with stray dogs, for in Romania stray dogs punctuate the country. We were now walking on a muddy trail through low-lying brush and cows. Two miles later we were at the airport. Next to that airport is a bus station. A bus station for the #26.
I didn’t honestly know what had happened by the time we returned to the Linz train station. I found beauty in the breakdown of Romania, our trip, and my own mental state. I'd be hard pressed to point to any one thing that I found so enchanting about Romania, but there was that something else that gave me intense pleasure and deep satisfaction to the mind.
