I am feverish. My throat is scratchy. I have the sniffles. I want to go to bed, but am at the office. I am taking a 3:30 - 5:00 rest break during an international conference on accounting issues, "3rd Audit and Accounting Convergence 2008 Annual Conference," which is sponsored by our Faculty at UBB, and organized by my partner in teaching management accounting next term, Prof. Dr. MUTIU Alexandra. So I want to attend. At 5:00 I will go to Room 218 to hear the paper of Mr. Aurel Brudan, a young Romanian now doing a Ph.D. at the University of Melbourne in Australia. His paper is titled: "From Management Accounting to Strategy Execution and Systems Thinking: the Balanced Scorecard revolution and new research agenda." Believe it or not, that subject parallels my main research direction of some twenty years back, so I gave him some of my old articles, and now want to hear where he is on corporate performance measurments. Alexandra came up with some cold medicine for me when I begged off of attending tonight's dinner with the conference. I guess with that and this break, I'll survive until 7:00.
Class met at 8:10 this morning. We talked about quality management. It was an intriguing class. I asked the students to define quality (a la Pirsig), then asked them to give me "some words that mean quality to you." The words I got from them were RELIABILITY, LONG-LASTING, SAFE, and ENDURANCE. I asked for more, and got no responses. So I said, what about high-performing, stylish, high-tech, etc? I was a bit taken aback by their answers. Those words all apply to a horse-drawn hay wagon! (I am not sure the students were pleased when I pointed that out.)
Tomorrow is Day 2 of this conference, featuring a CPA Research Development Workshop. I hope I feel better in the morning.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Shirley's Suggestion
Shirley, my beloved wife of thirty-five years, and I were chatting on Skype a few minutes ago. She pointed out that I have occasionally "revised and extended" some blog posts, even adding photos, and not warned faithful readers of the fact. So, at Shirl's suggestion, please note that last Sunday's post on Moldavia was extended quite a bit after its initial posting, so you may want to review it.
Henceforth, I shall try to let readers know whenever I do more than corrective editing.
As I have an early class tomorrow, then an accounting conference featuring visitors from New York, off I go now to prepare for class, and then to catch some ZZZZs.
Henceforth, I shall try to let readers know whenever I do more than corrective editing.
As I have an early class tomorrow, then an accounting conference featuring visitors from New York, off I go now to prepare for class, and then to catch some ZZZZs.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Thrill of the Trip
When I was in my third year at Amherst College in 1964, I chose Fine Arts as my major field. Why? Truth be told, it was the last department in which I could major and still graduate with the Class of 1965. I had previously tried both Physics and Pre-Med, and in both cases discovered that I really didn't want to work that hard. So, I fell back on an old love from high school, technical drawing, and majored in Art with a concentration in architectural history and design. I graduated having taken the first course in almost every science taught at Amherst, plus a bit of Latin, Spanish, and Classics, along with the minimum requirements for an art degree. Today, I am satisfied with that checkered record.
How did fine arts lead to a career in manufacturing, and a second career as a business professor? That is too long a story for this time and place. But, as I have told my students, one never knows when his schooling will become relevant, though, in time, most of it will, often in ways that thrill us. An example is in Sunday's Moldavia post. My fascination with the depicted outcropping of shale and slate, both formations standing nearly on edge, but with contrasting shear planes, and my recognition of the differing ages and types (sedementary and metamorphic rock) was a result of my having taken Geology 101 at Amherst.
At Putna we spent on Saturday over an hour walking the grounds and going through the museum. When we came out of the museum, my arthritic right hip was aching, and I was hungry. Alexandru asked, "Do you want to go into the church?" I said, "I do not feel compelled... Well, okay, if you'd like to." I came that close to missing my meeting with Mihai Moroşan ("Moroshan").
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Moroşan at work in Putna Monastery
When I saw Moroşan at work, I walked to his scaffold, and stood watching for at least five minutes. Then, he turned to me, and our grey beards produced immediate rapport. I introduced myself, mentioning that I was a visiting professor in Cluj, from a small university in New Hampshire. He asked in perfect English, "Hampshire? U.K?" I replied, "No, NEW Hampshire, USA."
Mr. Moroșan said, "USA! I have worked in Los Angeles and San Diego. I love San Diego."
We talked for at least the next twenty minutes. Mihai speaks Romanian, Greek, English, German, French, and Arabic, and "gets by" in Italian and Spanish. He has two sons living in Cyprus, where he owns a second home. They, too, are fresco artists, and are helping to paint a church on that island, under Mihai's direction. Moroşan had two students/apprentices working with him at Putna, as well, painting the borders of his frescoed saints' faces. It appeared that he alone was doing the faces. It was dark in the church. I asked if I might take his picture, and he consented, so long as I not use a flash. The image above was digitally brightened. Here is the original.
Mihai Moroşan is my latest friend in Romania. I hope to see him again, and to accept his invitation to bring Shirley to his home to meet his wife and family. I hope to hear more of his stories, for those that he told in our brief time together were spellbinding. (As the time he faced a firing squad in Syria, accused of being a spy. He credits his knowledge of Arabic with his very life.)
In closing, I offer thanks to the late Professor Charles Morgan of Amherst College, in whose History of Art course I first learned of the fresco, and of the rich tradition of such illuminated walls in and on Eastern Orthodox churches. Little did I expect ever to be present during their creation.
How did fine arts lead to a career in manufacturing, and a second career as a business professor? That is too long a story for this time and place. But, as I have told my students, one never knows when his schooling will become relevant, though, in time, most of it will, often in ways that thrill us. An example is in Sunday's Moldavia post. My fascination with the depicted outcropping of shale and slate, both formations standing nearly on edge, but with contrasting shear planes, and my recognition of the differing ages and types (sedementary and metamorphic rock) was a result of my having taken Geology 101 at Amherst.
At Putna we spent on Saturday over an hour walking the grounds and going through the museum. When we came out of the museum, my arthritic right hip was aching, and I was hungry. Alexandru asked, "Do you want to go into the church?" I said, "I do not feel compelled... Well, okay, if you'd like to." I came that close to missing my meeting with Mihai Moroşan ("Moroshan").
Moroşan at work in Putna Monastery
When I saw Moroşan at work, I walked to his scaffold, and stood watching for at least five minutes. Then, he turned to me, and our grey beards produced immediate rapport. I introduced myself, mentioning that I was a visiting professor in Cluj, from a small university in New Hampshire. He asked in perfect English, "Hampshire? U.K?" I replied, "No, NEW Hampshire, USA."
Mr. Moroșan said, "USA! I have worked in Los Angeles and San Diego. I love San Diego."
We talked for at least the next twenty minutes. Mihai speaks Romanian, Greek, English, German, French, and Arabic, and "gets by" in Italian and Spanish. He has two sons living in Cyprus, where he owns a second home. They, too, are fresco artists, and are helping to paint a church on that island, under Mihai's direction. Moroşan had two students/apprentices working with him at Putna, as well, painting the borders of his frescoed saints' faces. It appeared that he alone was doing the faces. It was dark in the church. I asked if I might take his picture, and he consented, so long as I not use a flash. The image above was digitally brightened. Here is the original.
Mihai Moroşan is my latest friend in Romania. I hope to see him again, and to accept his invitation to bring Shirley to his home to meet his wife and family. I hope to hear more of his stories, for those that he told in our brief time together were spellbinding. (As the time he faced a firing squad in Syria, accused of being a spy. He credits his knowledge of Arabic with his very life.)
In closing, I offer thanks to the late Professor Charles Morgan of Amherst College, in whose History of Art course I first learned of the fresco, and of the rich tradition of such illuminated walls in and on Eastern Orthodox churches. Little did I expect ever to be present during their creation.
[For Search Purposes: Morosan]
Monday, October 27, 2008
A Fine Footnote pentru Putna
Today the following remarks arrived in my e-mail from a distinguished colleague here at UBB. I shall allow the colleague to remain anonymous.
"PS. Stephen the Great was a great warrior (his sword, now in a Istambul (!!!!!!) museum, given by Pope...aaaa...is inscripted "Athleta Christi" - Athlet of Christ" feared by the Turks, Tatars & all sorts of non-believers, but everybody in these lands knows even after centuries that he was also "The womanizer of the epoch". He had at least as many children spread all across Moldavia, as the many churches he founded. When they decided to sanctify him, lots of protests, typical local story...I really enjoyed your Moldavian story!"
Kudos today to Carmen Tagsorean, for after about 3-1/2 hours' waiting in a hot crowded room of frustrated, angry citizens, we succeeded in paying RON 146 for 30 days' health insurance that I do not need. Now we can apply for a Permis de Sedere, so I won't be deported before my teaching year ends.
"PS. Stephen the Great was a great warrior (his sword, now in a Istambul (!!!!!!) museum, given by Pope...aaaa...is inscripted "Athleta Christi" - Athlet of Christ" feared by the Turks, Tatars & all sorts of non-believers, but everybody in these lands knows even after centuries that he was also "The womanizer of the epoch". He had at least as many children spread all across Moldavia, as the many churches he founded. When they decided to sanctify him, lots of protests, typical local story...I really enjoyed your Moldavian story!"
Kudos today to Carmen Tagsorean, for after about 3-1/2 hours' waiting in a hot crowded room of frustrated, angry citizens, we succeeded in paying RON 146 for 30 days' health insurance that I do not need. Now we can apply for a Permis de Sedere, so I won't be deported before my teaching year ends.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Klaus, Alexandru, Dora and Duncan Do Moldavia
St. Stefan, King Stefan, Stefan cel Mare (Steven the Great)
24 October, 2008
The fog was thick in the Northern Carpathians this chilly Friday afternoon, as we climbed above Vatra Dornei into cloud cover at above 1000 m altitude. The road left much to be desired, being a European Highway in designation (E576) only, and still very much under construction. In a curvy section of mud and gravel we come to a stop light. Stopped ahead of us are a tractor-trailer and a straight truck. There is room, so we pull Klaus up alongside, and wait for green. Clearly, this is a construction zone. Yet no traffic comes from the other direction as we wait. When the light turns green, we take the lead down the one-lane newly-laid roadbed stretching around the mountain in a leftward arc. We have gone hardly 100 meters when the oncoming traffic comes into view, a mighty line of lorries and lighter vehicles, making haste directly at us. Hmm. Get right and stop. About all we could do. There ensued a marvelous dance of derring-do, as some cars climbed the bank to the closed lane and sped away, others inched past the oncomers, who in wide trucks risked the deep mud at our far left to pass us without scraping, and Klaus took every opportunity to scoot through to safety and get past the ill-timed second light at the eastward end of the mud. Thus the least of our weekend road-war stories.
Remember the fog? Soon it played an ominous part. After that muddy stretch the road climbed, paved but now narrow and not yet improved to European Road standards. Higher and higher into the clouds it climbed, from which fell a steady drizzle. Now visibility was really poor, though it was mid-morning. The defroster was blasting the windshield to ward off interior condensation, but still each hairpin turn presented a new challenge, for its radius was indeterminable until one was deep into the bend.
We swing a right round an ascendng switchback. The road straightens, and we start to accelerate a bit. From out the fog looms a lane-wide unlit yellow barrier, not 30 meters ahead, across our entire lane. Klaus veers left, executing with sure-footed wet traction an instantaneous lane change into the only available lane, as a washout appears to his right, into which we would have plunged, off a cliff, had he not been so nimble. But before he can gloat, Klaus is braking hard, being slammed into reverse, and going back past the barrier and into his prior lane, as a full sized Semi (TIR, in Romanian jargon) is coming right down the hill from out of the fog. The truck driver is also braking hard, but cannot fully stop before he passes. Klaus moves back out with cautious speed, and clears the short one-lane stretch above the washout before another denizen of the deep fog should appear.
Vatra-Dornei
Lunch pizza came next in Vatra-Dornei, after which Klaus found his way to the magnificently frescoed 16th Century Moldavian monastery at Vatra Moldovi, where his passengers all said prayers of thanks for our morning's deliverance. There was no doubt that day in the Pilgrim mind that God was with us, for we had barely ridden fifteen kilometers toward our second monastery of the afternoon when an oncoming tour bus swang a wide and rapid right turn toward us, only to have his driver's side door(!) swing wide open, and just miss clobbering Klaus's brand new windshield. This time Klaus sashayed to the right, again deftly missing a damaging mishap.
Another beautiful monastery at Suceviţa, and more grateful prayers from the faithful pilgrims.
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| Biserica Suceviţa |
down near the railroad tracks, was fine for the price. We slept like rocks.
25 October, 2008
For Saturday we had planned only our first stop, the famous, large, and architecturally diverse monastery at Putna. To get there we had to drive back to the west for a bit, just south of the Ukraine border. Once there we found no exterior frescoes, but a fine church and many outbuildings that varied at each compass point in roof design, tower design, staircase layout, and exterior trim. It was, for this old student of architecture, a wonderful study both in 15th Century design, and in what clearly came after, in several stages. Built under the aegis of Stefan the Great, a sainted Moldavian king famous both for defendng Moldavia from a succession of invaders and for building a major religious installation after each of his victories, this monastery houses a beautifully kept museum with an awe-inspiring collection of artifacts from St. Stefan's age.
The Museum at Putna
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Raluca Teodora (Dora) and Alexandru (Alex) at The Monastery at Putna : |
From Putna, our targeted destination for the night was the culturally and academically famous city of Iasi ("Yahsh"), close to the eastern border of Romania, where the Prut River and a huge lake of some 30 KM in length separate Romania's Modavian Region from the Republic of Moldova.
There were good roads from Putna down through Suceava and on to Iasi. Or, as the detailed map Alex had brought showed, there was a small road that traced the border, just above the Prut. It would take us to the very Northeastern reaches of Romania, past the long lake, then join with a more substantial road to Iasi. Picture us in the white zone at the upper-right of the map at http://www.turism.ro/harta.php. For some 50 Km Klaus ate dirt. It was a fairly level plain, and the road was not bad as dirt roads through farm country go. Twice the bottom scraped a bit, as Klaus braved the crowned center rather than the more potholed sides. But we maintained a 50 Km/Hr average, and I was told by Alexandru that NO ONE in Romania had EVER driven so fast on such a road. "Don't let the suspension get to the bottom of the holes, and it is a smoother ride," I told him, based on years of driving such roads in New Hampshire.
So, we took the scenic route, and made it down close to Iasi as the sun set. The last twenty KM were on pavement, but as in Maramures two weeks back, it was evening in farm country, and the road was full of cows going home to be milked, and hay wagons heading home for the night. Our final close call of the trip was when both passengers said "Look Out!" as I barely missed hitting an unlit horsecart full of cornstalks randomly piled on it, which in the dark of dusk was completely invisible to me until almost too late. Again, Klaus' handling saved the day, as we cleared the cart by a safe margin.
We found another low rent hostel in downtown Iasi, and had a good dinner at Mama Mia's.
During the night, we learned why the rent was so low. Next door was a night club, and their music played constantly until 6 A.M.
Sunday, 26 October 2008
The ride home was about 450 KM, as our route took us through the Keys of Bicaz, a National Park in a canyon zone in the Carpathian Mountains that rivals some of America's famous canyon parks in the narrowness of its passes, the steepness of its climbs, and in its beauty. I will close this posting with a few more pictures of the ride home from Iasi.
At home in Cluj at last, we shared a pot of peppery bean soup at the apartment, traded thanks for a remarkable adventure, and went our ways in road-tested friendship.
1. The Keys of Bicaz (Cheile Bicazului)
2. A Textured Outcropping of Shale and Slate
3. Metamorphic slate and sedementary shale, both steeply tilted, but note different shear planes.
4. The Keys of Bicaz (2)
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Eastward Ho!
Today was a good day. My class taught me a new wrinkle on an old case. I love when that happens. Thanks, Flaviu! Then I reworked my own spreadsheet on another old case, and distributed it so that my students can show me where my mistakes are. Great classes teach their teachers.
Tomorrow at Oh-Dark-Thirty (5:55) I'm meeting two of my students for a weekend trip to the northeastern frontier of Romania, a region known as Moldavia. Even as the Balkan country which calls itself the Republic of Macedonia is not the Macedonia of Philip II and Alexander the Great (i.e., the northernmost province of Greece), so the country that calls itself Moldova is not that part of Romania called Moldavia, though in both cases, the peoples of the similarly-named areas no doubt share some cultural and ancestral ties. The territory of Moldavia, however, is one of the three major regions of Romania, first united with Transylvania and Wallachia in 1600 by the Wallachian Prince Mihai Viteazul (Michael the Brave). Mihai, whose statue and name bless my Romanian home square, was assassinated six months later by order of an Austrian general whom he had considered his ally, and the Romanian union he had founded immediately disintegrated. Yet, to this day Mihai is a hero of Romanian history, and his (frescoed) image was featured in the Ortodox cathedral in Alba Julia, as well as in my square in Cluj.
So, off we go on another weekend trek. I promise this time not to lose my computer.
Tomorrow at Oh-Dark-Thirty (5:55) I'm meeting two of my students for a weekend trip to the northeastern frontier of Romania, a region known as Moldavia. Even as the Balkan country which calls itself the Republic of Macedonia is not the Macedonia of Philip II and Alexander the Great (i.e., the northernmost province of Greece), so the country that calls itself Moldova is not that part of Romania called Moldavia, though in both cases, the peoples of the similarly-named areas no doubt share some cultural and ancestral ties. The territory of Moldavia, however, is one of the three major regions of Romania, first united with Transylvania and Wallachia in 1600 by the Wallachian Prince Mihai Viteazul (Michael the Brave). Mihai, whose statue and name bless my Romanian home square, was assassinated six months later by order of an Austrian general whom he had considered his ally, and the Romanian union he had founded immediately disintegrated. Yet, to this day Mihai is a hero of Romanian history, and his (frescoed) image was featured in the Ortodox cathedral in Alba Julia, as well as in my square in Cluj.
So, off we go on another weekend trek. I promise this time not to lose my computer.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Rodrigo's Pics (from Sunday's INFER Tour)
Last Sunday was 19 October, the day that a bunch us INFER Workshop participants accepted the invitation of Babes-Bolyai University to go sightseeing toward the city of Alba Julia, Transylvania, about 100 Km south of Cluj. Chief cameraman on our tour was Rodrigo Zeidon of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, who took all the pictures you see here. I will attempt to identify them correctly for you.This first picture was taken just below the Hotel Belvedere in Cluj-Napoca, Showing how charming is my new city when viewed from the hill. It reminds me a bit of some views of California cities from their neighboring mountains.
The next shot was taken at the RÂMEŢI (Ruh-mesht) Monastery in the isolated village of that name some 20 Km north of Alba Julia. I plan to take family there when they come to Romania, as there is a hillside guest house just up the road, and this country is spectacular. The next few photos show other views in the monastery.
Here we all are.
As we were preparing to leave RÂMEŢI, a sizeable group of the local faithful came out of the main church at the monastery, sipping wine from cups and eating bread and fruit. We learned that it had been a memorial service for a man who had recently passed away, and to feed those who came to the service with the symbolic body and blood of Christ, plus local fruits, is their custom. We were offered some food, and a number of us accepted, as it was way past lunch time.
We remounted our University vans and rode to Alba Julia, where we enjoyed an excellent lunch, then visited the Orthodox church that you see here.
Your humble reporter then caught a ride back to Cluj along with the Rodriguez family from Barcelona, who had a plane to catch. I went along, as I had work to do, and our driver Mihai had an old MZ that he had offered to show me.
Our hostess, Monica Ioana Pop Silaghi, organizer of the entire event, gets final billing, standing with her guardian at the next site visited (a fortress?), and that I missed seeing.
And before we went into the Cathedral, these blokes went up, up and away, in their beautiful balloon.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Little Ado
I had a quietly productive day. Bought a Brita, and plan on ceasing the schlepping of twenty-pound jugs of apa plata up to the apartment. Found bay leaf (dafin). Still looking for thyme and chili powder. Worked on the course plans for my two courses, and on interuniversity cooperation with Monica Pop Silaghi. I received an e-mailed invitation from Marius Milos, one of the INFER participants from the University of Timisoara, to participate in a conference in Resita on November 21. But, I'd have only until October 27 to prepare a paper, and I shall be in Kansas City on the conference date. Hence, I replied with an apologetic, "Cannot make it, but thanks."
Monday, October 20, 2008
Campus Linkages in the Offing?
Our weekend-long economic conference was organized at the UBB end by Dr. Monica Ioana POP Silaghi, a colleague at ECON whose service responsibilites include the forging and maintenance of international academic linkages. As our meeting came to its close, Dr. Pop approached me about the possibility of formal cooperative efforts between UBB's Economics Faculty and Plymouth State University in the United States. Today, I wrote our PSU provost and Business Department chairman to open the discussions.
Apart from some reading for this week's classes and a bit of shopping, that letter is all I accomplished today. Mostly, I rested my arithritic right hip, which was aching from yesterday's walking. (Getting old ain't for sissies. Time to treat myself as well as I do my machines, and repair a broken part before the whole deteriorates.)
Oh, and a Happy 30th Birthday to our son Jesse Stewart McDougall, Web Editor for Chelsea Green Publishing in White River Junction, Vermont, U.S.A.
Apart from some reading for this week's classes and a bit of shopping, that letter is all I accomplished today. Mostly, I rested my arithritic right hip, which was aching from yesterday's walking. (Getting old ain't for sissies. Time to treat myself as well as I do my machines, and repair a broken part before the whole deteriorates.)
Oh, and a Happy 30th Birthday to our son Jesse Stewart McDougall, Web Editor for Chelsea Green Publishing in White River Junction, Vermont, U.S.A.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
MZ and Economics
The one I found doesn't look nearly this good. It is covered with dust, and has not run in four years. These MZ 250s were made in East Germany during the Communist era. It is a two-stroke single, with a four-speed transmission and an Earles Fork. I do not know yet whether it is for sale. What do you think, boys?I located this old gem on the INFER conference's Sunday junket to a beautiful monastery and to the historic city of Alba Julia, about three hours south of Cluj-Napoca. I got to chatting with our driver, Mihai, who mentioned that he had a 1962 MZ that had been his father's. I told him I would love to see it, and he took me home to look at it after the trip. It is missing the huge front fender, and has instead a "sportier" smaller one. I do not know if that came with it, or was a replacement (the photos are of a 1960 model found at http://www.mobile.de).
As it turned out, I spent the whole weekend with my new INFER friends from the disciplines of econometrics and empirical research in economics. I learned quite a lot about the themes of the conference, which were "Globalization, Integration and Transition." There is a lot happening in the EU these days, and Romania is in the thick of its integration and transition into the mainstream of the European economy. A lot of uncertainty was expressed over the impact of the current credit crunch on the ability of Romania to sustain its 7 -9% annual growth rate in GDP, which it has achieved for the past five years. Of course, such uncertainty is worldwide today. More specifically, I learned that construction has accounted for some 30% of GDP in Romania in recent years, most of which is of office buildings, malls and private homes, rather than public works and infrastructure projects. There is a very low overall unemployment rate, and wages have been rising at 25% per year. Clearly the country will soon begin building major highways, which will change its look and feel forever.
Come soon, clan McDougall, come now. This country is too beautiful to miss, and too energetic to stay that way.
Friday, October 17, 2008
INFER What You Will.
I attended this afternoon and evening the opening session of a workshop organized at our Faculty of Economics by the International Network for Economic Research (INFER). It was attended by economists and PhD candidates from Romania, Portugal, the UK, among other countries, and was conducted entirely in English. I enjoyed the presentations of papers by three presenters, and the discussions that followed. I look forward to participating again tomorrow.
Among the highlights of the afternoon was my chance to meet Prof. PhD Paul Şerban Agachi, President of the Academic Council of UBB. Dr. Agachi is a chemical engineer who spent some years working for Chevron in the United States. He told me that he also had worked in Iraq, where he spent time both under Saddam Hussein, and after Saddam was deposed. It was interesting to hear his opinion that Iraq under Saddam had been a total disaster, that it was courageous of the United States to put him out, and that if we Americans were now to leave Iraq precipitously, it would quickly revert to chaos.
Dr. Agachi is also a fellow Road Warrior. Before leaving the U.S. he bought an old Ford camper in California, made an 11,000 mile tour of the country, and then sold it in New York.
Among the highlights of the afternoon was my chance to meet Prof. PhD Paul Şerban Agachi, President of the Academic Council of UBB. Dr. Agachi is a chemical engineer who spent some years working for Chevron in the United States. He told me that he also had worked in Iraq, where he spent time both under Saddam Hussein, and after Saddam was deposed. It was interesting to hear his opinion that Iraq under Saddam had been a total disaster, that it was courageous of the United States to put him out, and that if we Americans were now to leave Iraq precipitously, it would quickly revert to chaos.
Dr. Agachi is also a fellow Road Warrior. Before leaving the U.S. he bought an old Ford camper in California, made an 11,000 mile tour of the country, and then sold it in New York.
Where Civilization Begins?
An aside on recent Romanian history:
As I have mentioned previously, the Faculty of Economics at UBB has world-class johns. In fact, whether in roadside gas stations, three-star hotels, people's homes, or cheap pensiune, I have found the plumbing in Romania to be modern, generally clean, and well-functioning. There is not always a lot of water pressure, and paper towels are scarce, but the toilets always flush, and I have yet to encounter two footstands next to a hole, as I once found in a restaurant restroom in Italy.
As we waited for dinner and sipped merlot Wednesday night, Mircea explained that my happy observation on the sanitary facilities was no accident. He reported that after the 1989 Revolution, Romania discovered the toilets of the Free World, and became embarrassed as a nation by the primitive state of its plumbing. A slogan was created, leading to a national campaign to modernize: "Civilization Begins With Toilets!"
"Bravo, Romania!" for your perception, and for your response!
As I have mentioned previously, the Faculty of Economics at UBB has world-class johns. In fact, whether in roadside gas stations, three-star hotels, people's homes, or cheap pensiune, I have found the plumbing in Romania to be modern, generally clean, and well-functioning. There is not always a lot of water pressure, and paper towels are scarce, but the toilets always flush, and I have yet to encounter two footstands next to a hole, as I once found in a restaurant restroom in Italy.
As we waited for dinner and sipped merlot Wednesday night, Mircea explained that my happy observation on the sanitary facilities was no accident. He reported that after the 1989 Revolution, Romania discovered the toilets of the Free World, and became embarrassed as a nation by the primitive state of its plumbing. A slogan was created, leading to a national campaign to modernize: "Civilization Begins With Toilets!"
"Bravo, Romania!" for your perception, and for your response!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Fluorescent Thursday
Is there a gremlin in this apartment? When I returned home yesterday, I again found the locks needed only one turn to open, while, as faithful readers know, I was instructed by Florin Moldovan to give them two turns, and have faithfully obeyed. No new appliances yesterday, so who had been here?
Later, I was just leaving the bedroom when I saw the bathroom light go out. I paused. It came back on, and then flashed off and on again. Whew, just a dying fluorescent tube.
This morning I rose, dressed, and headed for the bus stop at 7:30, 40 minutes before my first class. I waited for the "Walk" light to turn green at our busy intersection, then crossed in the southbound direction, and stood waiting to cross eastbound. "Will the bus get me there on time?" I wondered. Thinking a taxi might be more prudent, I patted my pocket, and discovered no wallet. This time I suspected no gremlin, knowing that it was merely a sequel to the computer story, "The Return of the Absent-Minded Professor."
I reversed course, waited again to cross back to our side of the Piata, and then climbed back up to our top-floor apartment. Now starting to sweat, I took my wallet from yesterday's leather coat, and departed once again for the office. It was now 7:40. Taxi, or bus? I chose bus, knowing I could call Melinda to start the class if I were to be a few minutes late, and wanting to find out if I could make it to the Faculty of Economics on the east side of town by bus in 30 minutes. As I approached the bus stop, I saw two #25 busses depart in my direction. Those were my rides. But the public transportation here is excellent, and I knew another bus, #24, would also get me where I was going, albeit by a somewhat slower route. Along came #24, and I boarded, arriving at the FSEGA (Faculty of Economics and Business Administration) stop at 8:03. I walked calmly into class precisely on time, noting the faithful presence of Teodora, Alexandru and Andrei, three students who have attended classes punctually. The remainde straggled in over the next ten minutes or so.
The day's lecture/seminar session went well. Again, about half the registered students showed up, and participated actively.
I returned home in my usual post-teaching state of emotional exhaustion, stripped, donned fatigues (jeans and a t-shirt, because it was a warm day), removed the dying fluorescent tube, and went searching for a bec (bulb) and new starter. After striking out at the downtown mall called "Central," I showed the bulb to a road repair worker outside the mall building. He perceived immediately my need, and guided me, in Romanian, to a small and obscure hardware store just off the Piata Mihai Viteazul, kitty-corner from our building. Neat little find, that store. I had not noticed it before, but have a hunch I'll be needing to go back there before the next eight months are over.
So, tonight I will bathe in the light, whereas this morning I showered by flashlight. And I have no morning commitments, so a good night's sleep should follow my soothing bath.
This weekend I will be staying in Cluj, resting Klaus (as I have dubbed my BMW), and attending some sessions of an international Globalization, Integration and Economic (Something... Cooperation?) Conference at our Faculty.
Also this weekend, I hope to meet up with Kerry Glamsch, the playwright and Fulbright Scholar based in Craiova. Kerry will be in Cluj for an Experimental Theatre Festival to be held here for the coming week. I hope to find time to enjoy at least one of the experimental productions. (Kerry is keeping a wonderful blog of his Romanian Fulbright and Thespian adventures at http://glamschinromania.blogspot.com/.)
Later, I was just leaving the bedroom when I saw the bathroom light go out. I paused. It came back on, and then flashed off and on again. Whew, just a dying fluorescent tube.
This morning I rose, dressed, and headed for the bus stop at 7:30, 40 minutes before my first class. I waited for the "Walk" light to turn green at our busy intersection, then crossed in the southbound direction, and stood waiting to cross eastbound. "Will the bus get me there on time?" I wondered. Thinking a taxi might be more prudent, I patted my pocket, and discovered no wallet. This time I suspected no gremlin, knowing that it was merely a sequel to the computer story, "The Return of the Absent-Minded Professor."
I reversed course, waited again to cross back to our side of the Piata, and then climbed back up to our top-floor apartment. Now starting to sweat, I took my wallet from yesterday's leather coat, and departed once again for the office. It was now 7:40. Taxi, or bus? I chose bus, knowing I could call Melinda to start the class if I were to be a few minutes late, and wanting to find out if I could make it to the Faculty of Economics on the east side of town by bus in 30 minutes. As I approached the bus stop, I saw two #25 busses depart in my direction. Those were my rides. But the public transportation here is excellent, and I knew another bus, #24, would also get me where I was going, albeit by a somewhat slower route. Along came #24, and I boarded, arriving at the FSEGA (Faculty of Economics and Business Administration) stop at 8:03. I walked calmly into class precisely on time, noting the faithful presence of Teodora, Alexandru and Andrei, three students who have attended classes punctually. The remainde straggled in over the next ten minutes or so.
The day's lecture/seminar session went well. Again, about half the registered students showed up, and participated actively.
I returned home in my usual post-teaching state of emotional exhaustion, stripped, donned fatigues (jeans and a t-shirt, because it was a warm day), removed the dying fluorescent tube, and went searching for a bec (bulb) and new starter. After striking out at the downtown mall called "Central," I showed the bulb to a road repair worker outside the mall building. He perceived immediately my need, and guided me, in Romanian, to a small and obscure hardware store just off the Piata Mihai Viteazul, kitty-corner from our building. Neat little find, that store. I had not noticed it before, but have a hunch I'll be needing to go back there before the next eight months are over.
So, tonight I will bathe in the light, whereas this morning I showered by flashlight. And I have no morning commitments, so a good night's sleep should follow my soothing bath.
This weekend I will be staying in Cluj, resting Klaus (as I have dubbed my BMW), and attending some sessions of an international Globalization, Integration and Economic (Something... Cooperation?) Conference at our Faculty.
Also this weekend, I hope to meet up with Kerry Glamsch, the playwright and Fulbright Scholar based in Craiova. Kerry will be in Cluj for an Experimental Theatre Festival to be held here for the coming week. I hope to find time to enjoy at least one of the experimental productions. (Kerry is keeping a wonderful blog of his Romanian Fulbright and Thespian adventures at http://glamschinromania.blogspot.com/.)
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Half-told Tales
Maramures was great. But come and have your own experiences. I will post a few more photos for you, then continue my journal, for a daily memory dump and a good night's sleep thereafter are the psychological purposes of this quasi-literary exercise.
Today's class was fun. I teased a student for missing the marking pen I tossed for him to use in printing his name card, saying that Romanians could best catch things with their feet, whereas American kids all knew baseball or softball, and catching was second nature for them. When he threw it back, I caught it in mid-air as I launched myself off the desk on which I had been sitting, and landed on my feet, some five feet below, for the desk is on a low stage. The crowd greeted my circus stunt with a round of applause.
Thereafter, the students really got into the case study, and we had the most intense and focused discussion yet, and the students applauded again at the end of the class.
Wow. That doesn't happen every day.
I really like my students. They are bright, and most seemed prepared for the case, and willing to take a risk and state their personal views in class. I hope they hang in there, because this is not easy material we are studying.
After school, TA Melinda came to pick up some assignments for the next class, so we went to the mall for lunch, then picked up my car at the GIAROM Parbrize (windshield) Centru. I then returned to the office for my Wednesday office hours, and to prepare my course syllabus for Labor Management. I then drove the car to its weekday lot, and walked to the apartment to get some rest.
I washed some beans, started to make a pinto bean soup, then went into the bedroom and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt.
Finally comfortable and relaxed, I was catching up on e-mails as the soup simmered when Mircea called. He was back in town after a weekend conference in Budapest, and available for our long-awaited chance to have dinner, and get to know each other better. We agreed to meet in 15 minutes at the Club Roland Garros, a riverfront basement bar and grill directly across from our apartment. I pulled on jeans and a leather jacket, and went down to the restaurant. The food was quite good, and the company was better. Mircea is a revered professor of economics at UBB, and deservedly so. He told me a great deal about the history of Romania, Hungary and Austria, not to mention Italy, Russia and Azerbaijan. I hope to spend many more hours in his company, perhaps on a shared trip to Northern Greece, which we would both like to visit while I am here.
Maremuresh Sunday, 12 October 2008
So, here are some more pictures taken at The Happy Cemetery in Sapanta, and at the Carpathian mountain restaurant where I ate dinner between Oradea and Cluj late Sunday evening.
The grave markers tell quite a bit about the people buried there, and the Trumpet Violin is a Gypsy instrument apparently indigenous to that region of Transylvania between Oradea and Cluj. The man playing it is from the Basque community in Spain's Pyrenees Mountains. He was not the actual player that I had heard, but rather had been coaching a woman musician (his wife, perhaps) inside the restaurant, as she learned the instrument. The sound was remarkable. Hard to ignore, that is for sure. With them was a young British woman with a 9-month old baby girl. This latter woman told me that they were on a three-day "whistle-stop" in Romania, and had come specifically to find the village where the trumpet-violins were made, and buy one. I asked whether the term "whistle-stop" was a British railroad expression, as I had heard it before from my father, the son of an American railroad man. She then said she didn't know for sure, but maybe she had learned it from her American mother, who was from the Northwest (Oregon or Washington). I should remember these folks' names, but the shock of discovering my computer missing later that evening seems to have driven them from my memory.
Photos:
The Happy Cemetery in Sapanta, Maramures, 12 October, 2008
Traditional Sunday Dress
The Unusual Grave Markers
A modern miner.
She was only three years old!
The Trumpet Violin
Today's class was fun. I teased a student for missing the marking pen I tossed for him to use in printing his name card, saying that Romanians could best catch things with their feet, whereas American kids all knew baseball or softball, and catching was second nature for them. When he threw it back, I caught it in mid-air as I launched myself off the desk on which I had been sitting, and landed on my feet, some five feet below, for the desk is on a low stage. The crowd greeted my circus stunt with a round of applause.
Thereafter, the students really got into the case study, and we had the most intense and focused discussion yet, and the students applauded again at the end of the class.
Wow. That doesn't happen every day.
I really like my students. They are bright, and most seemed prepared for the case, and willing to take a risk and state their personal views in class. I hope they hang in there, because this is not easy material we are studying.
After school, TA Melinda came to pick up some assignments for the next class, so we went to the mall for lunch, then picked up my car at the GIAROM Parbrize (windshield) Centru. I then returned to the office for my Wednesday office hours, and to prepare my course syllabus for Labor Management. I then drove the car to its weekday lot, and walked to the apartment to get some rest.
I washed some beans, started to make a pinto bean soup, then went into the bedroom and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt.
Finally comfortable and relaxed, I was catching up on e-mails as the soup simmered when Mircea called. He was back in town after a weekend conference in Budapest, and available for our long-awaited chance to have dinner, and get to know each other better. We agreed to meet in 15 minutes at the Club Roland Garros, a riverfront basement bar and grill directly across from our apartment. I pulled on jeans and a leather jacket, and went down to the restaurant. The food was quite good, and the company was better. Mircea is a revered professor of economics at UBB, and deservedly so. He told me a great deal about the history of Romania, Hungary and Austria, not to mention Italy, Russia and Azerbaijan. I hope to spend many more hours in his company, perhaps on a shared trip to Northern Greece, which we would both like to visit while I am here.
Maremuresh Sunday, 12 October 2008
So, here are some more pictures taken at The Happy Cemetery in Sapanta, and at the Carpathian mountain restaurant where I ate dinner between Oradea and Cluj late Sunday evening.
The grave markers tell quite a bit about the people buried there, and the Trumpet Violin is a Gypsy instrument apparently indigenous to that region of Transylvania between Oradea and Cluj. The man playing it is from the Basque community in Spain's Pyrenees Mountains. He was not the actual player that I had heard, but rather had been coaching a woman musician (his wife, perhaps) inside the restaurant, as she learned the instrument. The sound was remarkable. Hard to ignore, that is for sure. With them was a young British woman with a 9-month old baby girl. This latter woman told me that they were on a three-day "whistle-stop" in Romania, and had come specifically to find the village where the trumpet-violins were made, and buy one. I asked whether the term "whistle-stop" was a British railroad expression, as I had heard it before from my father, the son of an American railroad man. She then said she didn't know for sure, but maybe she had learned it from her American mother, who was from the Northwest (Oregon or Washington). I should remember these folks' names, but the shock of discovering my computer missing later that evening seems to have driven them from my memory.
Photos:
The Happy Cemetery in Sapanta, Maramures, 12 October, 2008
Traditional Sunday Dress
The Unusual Grave Markers
A modern miner.
She was only three years old!
The Trumpet Violin
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Back at the Desk
13 October 2008
Having arrived home exhausted after midnight Sunday night, I had discovered that I'd left my computer at a restaurant whose name I could not recall in the town of Negresti-Oas ["Neh-GRESHT-Wash"] near the Hungarian border, up in County Satu Mare.
Monday, still tired from a long weekend's driving and a fitful night's sleep, I rose about 6:00 AM, in time to go to my office to see if I could find that Sunday lunch-stop on Google prior to my scheduled 8:15 meeting with Carmen Tagsorean at the Romanian Health Insurance Office. At my office I printed out the most likely telephone numbers of places in Negresti-Oas, but waited to call until they would likely be open. Then I got on a bus to go downtown to meet Carmen.
Carmen was her sympathetic and understanding self, and told me that I may as well buy a new computer, and restore what I could off my back-up flash drive, for my computer was surely history. In her job, I fear, she has heard many such stories, and the endings have never been good. She tried the numbers I had, but was unable to get through.
At the government's insurance office, I learned what is meant by Romanian bureaucracy. I was about twenty minutes late, due to traffic, getting to the office, so I arrived five minutes after it opened. We were handed a slip with "Nr. 24" on it. An hour later they were serving Nr. 3, and Carmen learned that this first office was merely a check-in station, after which we had to go stand in more lines in order to pay 150 lei for a one-month government insurance policy so that I could apply for a permit to stay a year, even though I already am covered by two health insurance policies, and all they were really doing was collecting a tax. So, why make people spend a whole day to pay a tax? Jobs! Government jobs! "Slow down, don't move too fast, gotta make the morning last." (Apologies to Simon and Garfunkel.) Carmen had another meeting at 10:00, and I had a missing computer, so we decided to part, and try again another day. Carmen volunteered to keep trying the phone numbers.
At twelve-thirty, Carmen called to tell me that she had learned that the numbers in the Internet led to some office other than a restaurant, or to a fax tone, and that the one restaurant she had reached had closed in September, and thus couldn't be where we had eaten on 11 October. I thanked her for trying, and told her I would drive back to Negresti Oas in blind hope. She wished me luck, and told me to be careful.
Meanwhile, Carmen the Waitress at the Regal Restaurant in Negresti-Oas had not even opened my computer case. She had run after us on Sunday with the case, but we had already driven off. So, she had put the heavy black case behind the bar, and waited.
I had decided to drive back (four hours, each way) to Negresti-Oas in the hope that the computer would be still at the restaurant. Before leaving, I stopped at the office of Super Sleuth Mihaela Lutas to tell her what I was up to. Applying her Romanian wisdom and keen power of command over events, she quickly made the critical discovery. One of the numbers rang to another business in the same complex as that at which we had eaten, and from them she learned that the number on the Internet is wrong, and was given the correct phone number. Two minutes later, Mihaela was chatting with Carmen the Waitress, and being assured that my trip would not be in vain. (When she heard of this outcome, Carmen Tagsorean echoed the sentiment of Michelle Obama: "That is wonderful! For the first time I am proud of my countrymen!")
So, after a scant five hours' sleep and a full morning, I went home from the office, loaded an overnight bag with a change of underwear, my insulin, etc., and busted my way back to County Satu Mare. Of course, the drive was beautiful, and thanks to Mihaela and Carmen the Waitress, I was calm, and could enjoy the trip.
I arrived at 6:30, just after dusk, at the Regal Restaurant (Nancy Sherman and I had remembered it as "Royal"). Carmen saw me enter, and immediately turned her back and walked to the bar, retrieved my computer case, and brought it to me. I thanked her in Romanian, in English, in French, in German, in Spanish, in Italian, and in a sincere smile. She understood, and smiled back. I then asked if they were open for dinner. I sat and ordered their highest-priced dinner. It was huge, and contained, among a medley of delicious pork dishes, two egg-shaped croquettes looking crisp and appetizing in light-brown breading, apparently deep-fried. I asked if their soft and quite bland whitish stuffing was eggplant, and learned that it was the first dish made from pig's brains that I had ever eaten.
After dinner, I ordered a coffee to go, bringing my solo tab to 51 Lei, a very expensive meal, indeed, for one person who was not ordering liquor or wine in a country restaurant in Romania. I put exact change into the leather folder that Carmen the Waitress had used to deliver the tab, added a 100 Lei note as a tip, said "Multumesc! Buna sera, Carmen!" and skidaddled before Carmen could open the folder. I hope she was pleased.
I had planned to stop for the night. The BMW's low beams are aimed a bit too low, and after dark the occasional horsecart was coming into view too late for my comfort. So, following my GPS, which routed me down by way of Baia Mare (I had driven up through Satu Mare), I drove only about an hour, found a pensione (motor hotel) at a gas station-restaurant complex, and took a clean room with a shower for 55 Lei ($22). (My Scottish blood prefers such rates when I am doing my Road Warrior thing.)
Freed now from more driving this night, I went down to the restaurant for a pahar cu vin rosu si sec. The waitress and I got into a tough negotiation when she opened a bottle, poured me a glass, then told me that they only sell wine in full bottles, and that I owed her 40 Lei. We worked out a compromise, and I began chatting with Hungarian trucker Tibor Safrany. Tibor's first wife (of only a few months, thirty years ago) was American, though he professed to know very little English, though he speaks many European languages, having driven all over the continent hauling freight. But communication occurred, and we got along fine. After I described my travels of the past few weeks in Romania, he asked how many months I had been here. When I told him, "Three weeks," he said, "You also are the driver!" We have exchanged e-mail addresses, and I hope he comes to see us in New Hampshire. He is a really fine fellow.
Arising again before dawn, I made it back to Cluj after giving a 60-something man a lift to the doctor in Dej, and an 18 year-old car wash attendent a 40-Km lift into Cluj. (Don't worry, folks, I am quite careful about to whom I offer rides.)
Oh, and about that Maramures weekend... stay tuned, I may yet get to it.
Having arrived home exhausted after midnight Sunday night, I had discovered that I'd left my computer at a restaurant whose name I could not recall in the town of Negresti-Oas ["Neh-GRESHT-Wash"] near the Hungarian border, up in County Satu Mare.
Monday, still tired from a long weekend's driving and a fitful night's sleep, I rose about 6:00 AM, in time to go to my office to see if I could find that Sunday lunch-stop on Google prior to my scheduled 8:15 meeting with Carmen Tagsorean at the Romanian Health Insurance Office. At my office I printed out the most likely telephone numbers of places in Negresti-Oas, but waited to call until they would likely be open. Then I got on a bus to go downtown to meet Carmen.
Carmen was her sympathetic and understanding self, and told me that I may as well buy a new computer, and restore what I could off my back-up flash drive, for my computer was surely history. In her job, I fear, she has heard many such stories, and the endings have never been good. She tried the numbers I had, but was unable to get through.
At the government's insurance office, I learned what is meant by Romanian bureaucracy. I was about twenty minutes late, due to traffic, getting to the office, so I arrived five minutes after it opened. We were handed a slip with "Nr. 24" on it. An hour later they were serving Nr. 3, and Carmen learned that this first office was merely a check-in station, after which we had to go stand in more lines in order to pay 150 lei for a one-month government insurance policy so that I could apply for a permit to stay a year, even though I already am covered by two health insurance policies, and all they were really doing was collecting a tax. So, why make people spend a whole day to pay a tax? Jobs! Government jobs! "Slow down, don't move too fast, gotta make the morning last." (Apologies to Simon and Garfunkel.) Carmen had another meeting at 10:00, and I had a missing computer, so we decided to part, and try again another day. Carmen volunteered to keep trying the phone numbers.
At twelve-thirty, Carmen called to tell me that she had learned that the numbers in the Internet led to some office other than a restaurant, or to a fax tone, and that the one restaurant she had reached had closed in September, and thus couldn't be where we had eaten on 11 October. I thanked her for trying, and told her I would drive back to Negresti Oas in blind hope. She wished me luck, and told me to be careful.
Meanwhile, Carmen the Waitress at the Regal Restaurant in Negresti-Oas had not even opened my computer case. She had run after us on Sunday with the case, but we had already driven off. So, she had put the heavy black case behind the bar, and waited.
I had decided to drive back (four hours, each way) to Negresti-Oas in the hope that the computer would be still at the restaurant. Before leaving, I stopped at the office of Super Sleuth Mihaela Lutas to tell her what I was up to. Applying her Romanian wisdom and keen power of command over events, she quickly made the critical discovery. One of the numbers rang to another business in the same complex as that at which we had eaten, and from them she learned that the number on the Internet is wrong, and was given the correct phone number. Two minutes later, Mihaela was chatting with Carmen the Waitress, and being assured that my trip would not be in vain. (When she heard of this outcome, Carmen Tagsorean echoed the sentiment of Michelle Obama: "That is wonderful! For the first time I am proud of my countrymen!")
So, after a scant five hours' sleep and a full morning, I went home from the office, loaded an overnight bag with a change of underwear, my insulin, etc., and busted my way back to County Satu Mare. Of course, the drive was beautiful, and thanks to Mihaela and Carmen the Waitress, I was calm, and could enjoy the trip.
I arrived at 6:30, just after dusk, at the Regal Restaurant (Nancy Sherman and I had remembered it as "Royal"). Carmen saw me enter, and immediately turned her back and walked to the bar, retrieved my computer case, and brought it to me. I thanked her in Romanian, in English, in French, in German, in Spanish, in Italian, and in a sincere smile. She understood, and smiled back. I then asked if they were open for dinner. I sat and ordered their highest-priced dinner. It was huge, and contained, among a medley of delicious pork dishes, two egg-shaped croquettes looking crisp and appetizing in light-brown breading, apparently deep-fried. I asked if their soft and quite bland whitish stuffing was eggplant, and learned that it was the first dish made from pig's brains that I had ever eaten.
After dinner, I ordered a coffee to go, bringing my solo tab to 51 Lei, a very expensive meal, indeed, for one person who was not ordering liquor or wine in a country restaurant in Romania. I put exact change into the leather folder that Carmen the Waitress had used to deliver the tab, added a 100 Lei note as a tip, said "Multumesc! Buna sera, Carmen!" and skidaddled before Carmen could open the folder. I hope she was pleased.
I had planned to stop for the night. The BMW's low beams are aimed a bit too low, and after dark the occasional horsecart was coming into view too late for my comfort. So, following my GPS, which routed me down by way of Baia Mare (I had driven up through Satu Mare), I drove only about an hour, found a pensione (motor hotel) at a gas station-restaurant complex, and took a clean room with a shower for 55 Lei ($22). (My Scottish blood prefers such rates when I am doing my Road Warrior thing.)
Freed now from more driving this night, I went down to the restaurant for a pahar cu vin rosu si sec. The waitress and I got into a tough negotiation when she opened a bottle, poured me a glass, then told me that they only sell wine in full bottles, and that I owed her 40 Lei. We worked out a compromise, and I began chatting with Hungarian trucker Tibor Safrany. Tibor's first wife (of only a few months, thirty years ago) was American, though he professed to know very little English, though he speaks many European languages, having driven all over the continent hauling freight. But communication occurred, and we got along fine. After I described my travels of the past few weeks in Romania, he asked how many months I had been here. When I told him, "Three weeks," he said, "You also are the driver!" We have exchanged e-mail addresses, and I hope he comes to see us in New Hampshire. He is a really fine fellow.
Arising again before dawn, I made it back to Cluj after giving a 60-something man a lift to the doctor in Dej, and an 18 year-old car wash attendent a 40-Km lift into Cluj. (Don't worry, folks, I am quite careful about to whom I offer rides.)
Oh, and about that Maramures weekend... stay tuned, I may yet get to it.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Back to the North
Having driven for 14 hours on Sunday, your weary traveler returned to Cluj after midnight to find that he had left his laptop at the lunch stop in Negresti-Oas, Satu Mare. The week's plans must await its recovery, as must your full report of our adventure to the North.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Pics before Breakfast
Autumn Leaves
Oxcart
Sleepy and Cozy
Maramures School of modern architecture
?
The Wooden Monastery (Ca. 1993)
Talus, not Erratic
Inn at Pass into Maramures
The Family Sherman-Hayes
Maria, her husband, and granddaughter Denisa (Mara)
Denisa's proud papa, Ioan, with Evan Sherman-Hayes
Horse resting. People picking.
Peek-a-Boo!
Oxcart
Sleepy and Cozy
Maramures School of modern architecture
?The Wooden Monastery (Ca. 1993)
Talus, not Erratic
Inn at Pass into Maramures
The Family Sherman-Hayes
Maria, her husband, and granddaughter Denisa (Mara)
Denisa's proud papa, Ioan, with Evan Sherman-Hayes
Horse resting. People picking.
Peek-a-Boo!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Maramures Saturday
We had a good day. We took a lot of pictures. We met some fine people. Maramures is living up to its billing, though there was no grape festival in Ocna Sugatag. Wonderful mountain roads. Oxcarts. Real people harvesting hay by hand. We are all pooped tonight, so editing of images and posting of details must wait until I return to Cluj.
Maramures Friday
Friday 10 October:
After a busy morning of finding the Insurance office closed, going to the bank to deposit the last of my assorted-currecncy cash reserves, going to the Parbriz replacement shop to order a new windshield for the BMW and going to the office to have coffee with my dean, I met the 1:36 train from Oradea, and Evan, Nancy and Pat. My luggage was still at the apartment, so I was happy when Nancy asked if we could stop there before heading north. She had an urgent e-mail to send. So, we drove to the P-ta M. V., and booted my machine.
Finally hitting the trail after 4:00, we drove up a pretty standard "under construction" Romanian two-laner for some 70 Km, following big trucks and being passed by 90 MPH madmen in Audis. Pat had spotted an alternate route to Baia Mare through Targu Lapus, so we turned off the main road, and found Maramures. The trucks and traffic had all but disappeared, and traditional farmhouses and tiny villages had appeared. In each village, the school and church were clearly the best-kept buildings. And there were cows. And sheep. And dogs, men and women all over the road, heading home from the pastures in the gathering dusk. We slowed down. One cow swerved to the side of the road, directly into our path. The horn blast changed her mind for her, but not before a look of shock came over her owner's face. It was a near-miss.
As the sun was just disappearing, our GPS guiding us to Baia Mare said, "Take next slight left." The road with the painted white stripe went straight ahead. The road to the left looked small. Was it a shortcut? I had driven on ahead, when the GPS said, "Recalculating route." Pat said, "I think we were supposed to take that left." So, we went back, and turned sharp right, onto the GPS-designated road.
Seven KM later we were on a mountaintop northwest of Targu Lapus. We had been on dirt switchbacks in deep woods for twenty minutes when we came to a fairly sustantial farm, right at the peak of the road. (I want to buy that farm.) By now it was pitch black night, save for a half-moon. A man (the owner?) appeared in the road. We stopped, and communicated, though not easily, that we wanted to go to Baia Mare. He told us to go back where we'd come from, which was not an idea any of us relished, but he made it clear that continuing ahead would not get us to Baia Mare. So we turned around, put the transmission into first gear, and trailed-throttle all the way back down to the white stripe.
From there it was a straight shot to The Euro Hotel, a three-star hotel in Baia Mare. The dinner was fine, and the room quite nice. Pat and I are in one room, Evan and his Mom in another, and we are off on Saturday to see more of Maramures.
After a busy morning of finding the Insurance office closed, going to the bank to deposit the last of my assorted-currecncy cash reserves, going to the Parbriz replacement shop to order a new windshield for the BMW and going to the office to have coffee with my dean, I met the 1:36 train from Oradea, and Evan, Nancy and Pat. My luggage was still at the apartment, so I was happy when Nancy asked if we could stop there before heading north. She had an urgent e-mail to send. So, we drove to the P-ta M. V., and booted my machine.
Finally hitting the trail after 4:00, we drove up a pretty standard "under construction" Romanian two-laner for some 70 Km, following big trucks and being passed by 90 MPH madmen in Audis. Pat had spotted an alternate route to Baia Mare through Targu Lapus, so we turned off the main road, and found Maramures. The trucks and traffic had all but disappeared, and traditional farmhouses and tiny villages had appeared. In each village, the school and church were clearly the best-kept buildings. And there were cows. And sheep. And dogs, men and women all over the road, heading home from the pastures in the gathering dusk. We slowed down. One cow swerved to the side of the road, directly into our path. The horn blast changed her mind for her, but not before a look of shock came over her owner's face. It was a near-miss.
As the sun was just disappearing, our GPS guiding us to Baia Mare said, "Take next slight left." The road with the painted white stripe went straight ahead. The road to the left looked small. Was it a shortcut? I had driven on ahead, when the GPS said, "Recalculating route." Pat said, "I think we were supposed to take that left." So, we went back, and turned sharp right, onto the GPS-designated road.
Seven KM later we were on a mountaintop northwest of Targu Lapus. We had been on dirt switchbacks in deep woods for twenty minutes when we came to a fairly sustantial farm, right at the peak of the road. (I want to buy that farm.) By now it was pitch black night, save for a half-moon. A man (the owner?) appeared in the road. We stopped, and communicated, though not easily, that we wanted to go to Baia Mare. He told us to go back where we'd come from, which was not an idea any of us relished, but he made it clear that continuing ahead would not get us to Baia Mare. So we turned around, put the transmission into first gear, and trailed-throttle all the way back down to the white stripe.
From there it was a straight shot to The Euro Hotel, a three-star hotel in Baia Mare. The dinner was fine, and the room quite nice. Pat and I are in one room, Evan and his Mom in another, and we are off on Saturday to see more of Maramures.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Romania's Scotland
To see a new Bentley in a gravel parking lot yesterday, next to beat-up Dacias and tiny Daewoos, was a gas. Some folks here are doing very well, indeed.
It is autumn. It is cold in the mornings. Traffic is heavy, and gas is costly, so I have been using taxis (and rides with new friends) for my commute. But today, I bought a month's bus pass for $14.00 worth of Lei. That beats the $5 to $6 per day that the taxi was costing me to get to the office and back.
The BMW 520I is a gem, and it is for weekend tours, not commuting in Cluj. Tomorrow I am driving to Maramures with Nancy, Pat and Evan, the Fulbrighters from Oradea (via Peoria).
A cabbie yesterday asked if I needed a nice Romanian woman to keep me warm until my wife comes over. I said "No, thanks." He said, "Why not?" I replied, "Never mind," and he said, "Good answer."
After an active and intense class today with about half the students present (which appears to be normal, according to my colleagues), I learned how to surf the net from George (see "Retraction" below), retracted yesterday's rant, and went home for lunch.
The bus dropped me in Piata Unirii (Union Square) and I walked down to Piata M. Viteazul. On the way is my local McDonald's, so I decided to find out if a noontime Big Mac is as tasty as the one I had for breakfast the other day. I ordered, received my meal, was asked for 13.50 Lei, and offered a 10-Euro note (worth 37 Lei) in payment, for I was, I thought, down to 7 Lei in my portofel (wallet). Girl One "looked at me funny," then called her compatriot Girl Two for help. "No Euros, only Lei," Girl Two told me. I offered to accept change in Lei. Nope. The Euros were not good there (as they had been at McD's in Hungary). I said, "Okay, throw it all away," and walked out.
Across the street is an office of Banca Transilvania, one of three on the square. (There must be fifty in town.) There I withdrew 300 Lei for the weekend, changed my 35 Euros into another 129.5 Lei, changed my last 1200 Hungarian Forint into 13 Lei, and found my stashed 200 Lei that had been in my wallet the whole time. (That makes two "Whoops!" moments at the same McDonald's in one week. I wonder what will happen when I meet Carmen there at 7:50 tomorrow, before our next bureaucratic tasks.)
I walked back to McDonald's and ordered the same meal from the same Girl One, who smiled. I paid in Lei, and ate. Not bad, but perhaps not quite as tasty as that breakfast Big Mac.
Since the downtown market is right behind McDonald's, I went in to buy some salt, carrots and maybe some dried beans that weren't white beans. (I still am seeking dried peas and lentils.) I couldn't find the salt, and while hunting the shelves, I saw a young black man with his shopping cart. As I might have done at Hannaford's in Plymouth, I casually said, "How ya doin'?" "Great," he replied, "You?"
There aren't a lot of black faces in Romania. Ken Ujah is a Nigerian in his last year of medical school in Cluj. He has lived for some time in London, England. He speaks fluent Romanian, English, and four African languages. We hit it off instantly. He found me the salt, then took me to the farmer's market to find really fresh carrots, and dried beans. I scored small pinto beans and more faciole (fagiole in Italian, the white beans I have been using in my soups, and that the Italians use in pasta fagiole). Ken and I exchanged phone numbers. We are planning to have a beer together soon.
Walking home across the P-ta. M. Viteazul, I was curious to see that a group of happy, young student-types in blue t-shirts had roped off the steps leading up to the mounted statue of Michael the Brave, first to unify Romania. They had a large camera aimed at the statue. There was a girl to the side with a metalized cloth reflector, the type used to light movie scenes shot outdoors. One of the girls stopped me, and asked if I knew the movie, "Casablanca." "Of course," I told her. "Will you play the last scene for us," she asked. "I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," I told her. "Exactly," she replied. "What do you mean?" I asked, reading "Julius Mall" on her t-shirt. That logo was on all their t-shirts. "We are students, and are doing a project, taping a commercial for the new (something, I didn't catch what) that will open soon in Cluj. We need to find different people to play the last scene of Casablanca in front of the statue."
Needless to say, Cluj may soon see me in a commercial, and I now have a coupon for two seats at the grand opening of Cluj's new Metroplex Cinema. (But, my newest friend is named Ken, not Louie.)
Just another typical day in Romania. (No wonder I sleep so soundly over here.)
Tomorrow the Sherman-Hayes family arrives, and we head North to Maramures. Mircea Maniu tells me that Maramures was one part of Romania that was never conquered by the Romans, and that you can tell the difference in the people and their traditions. Romania's Scotland?! I cannot wait to see Maramures.
It is autumn. It is cold in the mornings. Traffic is heavy, and gas is costly, so I have been using taxis (and rides with new friends) for my commute. But today, I bought a month's bus pass for $14.00 worth of Lei. That beats the $5 to $6 per day that the taxi was costing me to get to the office and back.
The BMW 520I is a gem, and it is for weekend tours, not commuting in Cluj. Tomorrow I am driving to Maramures with Nancy, Pat and Evan, the Fulbrighters from Oradea (via Peoria).
A cabbie yesterday asked if I needed a nice Romanian woman to keep me warm until my wife comes over. I said "No, thanks." He said, "Why not?" I replied, "Never mind," and he said, "Good answer."
After an active and intense class today with about half the students present (which appears to be normal, according to my colleagues), I learned how to surf the net from George (see "Retraction" below), retracted yesterday's rant, and went home for lunch.
The bus dropped me in Piata Unirii (Union Square) and I walked down to Piata M. Viteazul. On the way is my local McDonald's, so I decided to find out if a noontime Big Mac is as tasty as the one I had for breakfast the other day. I ordered, received my meal, was asked for 13.50 Lei, and offered a 10-Euro note (worth 37 Lei) in payment, for I was, I thought, down to 7 Lei in my portofel (wallet). Girl One "looked at me funny," then called her compatriot Girl Two for help. "No Euros, only Lei," Girl Two told me. I offered to accept change in Lei. Nope. The Euros were not good there (as they had been at McD's in Hungary). I said, "Okay, throw it all away," and walked out.
Across the street is an office of Banca Transilvania, one of three on the square. (There must be fifty in town.) There I withdrew 300 Lei for the weekend, changed my 35 Euros into another 129.5 Lei, changed my last 1200 Hungarian Forint into 13 Lei, and found my stashed 200 Lei that had been in my wallet the whole time. (That makes two "Whoops!" moments at the same McDonald's in one week. I wonder what will happen when I meet Carmen there at 7:50 tomorrow, before our next bureaucratic tasks.)
I walked back to McDonald's and ordered the same meal from the same Girl One, who smiled. I paid in Lei, and ate. Not bad, but perhaps not quite as tasty as that breakfast Big Mac.
Since the downtown market is right behind McDonald's, I went in to buy some salt, carrots and maybe some dried beans that weren't white beans. (I still am seeking dried peas and lentils.) I couldn't find the salt, and while hunting the shelves, I saw a young black man with his shopping cart. As I might have done at Hannaford's in Plymouth, I casually said, "How ya doin'?" "Great," he replied, "You?"
There aren't a lot of black faces in Romania. Ken Ujah is a Nigerian in his last year of medical school in Cluj. He has lived for some time in London, England. He speaks fluent Romanian, English, and four African languages. We hit it off instantly. He found me the salt, then took me to the farmer's market to find really fresh carrots, and dried beans. I scored small pinto beans and more faciole (fagiole in Italian, the white beans I have been using in my soups, and that the Italians use in pasta fagiole). Ken and I exchanged phone numbers. We are planning to have a beer together soon.
Walking home across the P-ta. M. Viteazul, I was curious to see that a group of happy, young student-types in blue t-shirts had roped off the steps leading up to the mounted statue of Michael the Brave, first to unify Romania. They had a large camera aimed at the statue. There was a girl to the side with a metalized cloth reflector, the type used to light movie scenes shot outdoors. One of the girls stopped me, and asked if I knew the movie, "Casablanca." "Of course," I told her. "Will you play the last scene for us," she asked. "I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," I told her. "Exactly," she replied. "What do you mean?" I asked, reading "Julius Mall" on her t-shirt. That logo was on all their t-shirts. "We are students, and are doing a project, taping a commercial for the new (something, I didn't catch what) that will open soon in Cluj. We need to find different people to play the last scene of Casablanca in front of the statue."
Needless to say, Cluj may soon see me in a commercial, and I now have a coupon for two seats at the grand opening of Cluj's new Metroplex Cinema. (But, my newest friend is named Ken, not Louie.)
Just another typical day in Romania. (No wonder I sleep so soundly over here.)
Tomorrow the Sherman-Hayes family arrives, and we head North to Maramures. Mircea Maniu tells me that Maramures was one part of Romania that was never conquered by the Romans, and that you can tell the difference in the people and their traditions. Romania's Scotland?! I cannot wait to see Maramures.
First Retraction
For the past 18 hours this spot held a rant entitled "Communist Internet," in which your humble blogger related his recent frustrations in attempting to use the Internet from his office at UBB.
Today, your humble blogger has learned from George Chis, another of the System Engineers here at the Econ Faculty, how surfing is done at the office.
I now realize that only pornographic sites are truly blocked, and that most sites can be browsed for 60 minutes a day, after which an open link to them may be established by e-mailing their URLs to George or Vasile. Therefore, I have deleted the rant, and I apologize to the University for having published it, albeit briefly.
(Students who may read this, please take note. When in the wrong, accept responsibility, correct the problem, apologize, and move on.)
Today, your humble blogger has learned from George Chis, another of the System Engineers here at the Econ Faculty, how surfing is done at the office.
I now realize that only pornographic sites are truly blocked, and that most sites can be browsed for 60 minutes a day, after which an open link to them may be established by e-mailing their URLs to George or Vasile. Therefore, I have deleted the rant, and I apologize to the University for having published it, albeit briefly.
(Students who may read this, please take note. When in the wrong, accept responsibility, correct the problem, apologize, and move on.)
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Bureaucracy can be fun.
Tonight's will be a short post, for I teach in the morning, and need to read and think tonight.
Today I met with Carmen Tagsorean at the University's Center for International Cooperation (or a department whose name is close to that) to begin the process of applying for a Permis de Sedere, meaning the right to stay in Cluj for the next nine months. The process involves a medical clearance (not the sort of extensive examination that Fulbright required before we left the states) from a local clinic, a local medical insurance policy (no matter what coverage one already has), a trip to the Passport Office to register for the Permit, plus the filling out of several forms in just such a manner. Fortunately, Mihai Moroiu of the Romanian Fulbright Commission had given us plenty of warning about this process, so I was not at all upset to learn the specifics.
In fact, Ms. Tagsorean, who speaks excellent English (and French, and some Spanish and Italian) made the visit just plain fun. She is an amateur student of the United States, and was open in expressing her views about illegal immigration, the upcoming Presidential election, and so on. She said she knows more about America than she does about Romania, and I cannot naysay that. Moreover, I learned new things about UBB, Romanian, and Cluj from her, as she provided me with a UBB information package in English, a book on the Romanian language, and went over a map of Cluj with me (an easy city to get lost in..., but not for long, because all roads end up taking you back to Piata Mihai Viteazul). So, bureaucracy can be fun, if the right people are there to guide you through it, and do so with good humor. If ever a Romanian deserved a chance to visit the USA, Carmen does. (Mihai, are you listening?)
From Carmen's office, I walked to the "Policlinic" of the University, housed in a decrepit old structure that makes our apartment building look well-kept. It took knocking on every door (Dermatology, Gynecology, Ophthalmology, etc.) to find, finally, the right one. There I met a kindly doctor who spoke some English, and who asked if I had any health problems. I told him that I was diabetic. He asked, "Insulin dependent?" I said, "Yes, but it is well-controlled." He signed the form, and told me to forget the 20 Lei fee, because I was a teacher. What a good guy!
Later, back on campus, I prepared more assignments for my classes, and had a late lunch at the cafeteria. The food was pretty good, but it is a single-queue service line, so everyone stands for a long time to be served. PSU's Prospect Hall could teach them a lot about how to serve food to hungry students.
Now, I shall prepare to knock them out with tomorrow's case study! Peace and prosperity to all!
Today I met with Carmen Tagsorean at the University's Center for International Cooperation (or a department whose name is close to that) to begin the process of applying for a Permis de Sedere, meaning the right to stay in Cluj for the next nine months. The process involves a medical clearance (not the sort of extensive examination that Fulbright required before we left the states) from a local clinic, a local medical insurance policy (no matter what coverage one already has), a trip to the Passport Office to register for the Permit, plus the filling out of several forms in just such a manner. Fortunately, Mihai Moroiu of the Romanian Fulbright Commission had given us plenty of warning about this process, so I was not at all upset to learn the specifics.
In fact, Ms. Tagsorean, who speaks excellent English (and French, and some Spanish and Italian) made the visit just plain fun. She is an amateur student of the United States, and was open in expressing her views about illegal immigration, the upcoming Presidential election, and so on. She said she knows more about America than she does about Romania, and I cannot naysay that. Moreover, I learned new things about UBB, Romanian, and Cluj from her, as she provided me with a UBB information package in English, a book on the Romanian language, and went over a map of Cluj with me (an easy city to get lost in..., but not for long, because all roads end up taking you back to Piata Mihai Viteazul). So, bureaucracy can be fun, if the right people are there to guide you through it, and do so with good humor. If ever a Romanian deserved a chance to visit the USA, Carmen does. (Mihai, are you listening?)
From Carmen's office, I walked to the "Policlinic" of the University, housed in a decrepit old structure that makes our apartment building look well-kept. It took knocking on every door (Dermatology, Gynecology, Ophthalmology, etc.) to find, finally, the right one. There I met a kindly doctor who spoke some English, and who asked if I had any health problems. I told him that I was diabetic. He asked, "Insulin dependent?" I said, "Yes, but it is well-controlled." He signed the form, and told me to forget the 20 Lei fee, because I was a teacher. What a good guy!
Later, back on campus, I prepared more assignments for my classes, and had a late lunch at the cafeteria. The food was pretty good, but it is a single-queue service line, so everyone stands for a long time to be served. PSU's Prospect Hall could teach them a lot about how to serve food to hungry students.
Now, I shall prepare to knock them out with tomorrow's case study! Peace and prosperity to all!
Monday, October 6, 2008
24/7+35
McDonald's is across the square from home, and when I awoke at 5:30 this morning, I decided to leave the kitchen clean and eat my breakfast there. It would be my first visit to this McDonald's store.
Mrs. Moldovan was going to be here this afternoon to accept delivery of a new refrigerator and microwave oven for the apartment, so last night I swept up a bit and mopped the kitchen floor. I knew McDonald's would be open, as I had seen a big "(24/7)" oval sign on their facade. So I rose, dressed for work (and for walking in the rain) in a shirt and tie, khakis, and my rubber-soled boat shoes and leather jacket. In the black of night blinded by the flashing of a godawful electronic Sony billboard, I walked through the rain across the rough cobblestones of Piata Mihai Viteazul, past my waiting car at its weekend spot near the square, and across a big roundabout to McDonald's. It was almost 6:00 A.M. I tried the door. Locked. Lighted inside, but locked. Another early bird arrived, and expressed his ire. What does 24/7 mean?
I drove on into the office, making it there in about ten minutes through the nearly-empty streets. I read Wednesday's Labor Management case study, organized an assignment for the following week, then tried to call my TA, to arrange for her to make copies for the students. No cell phone. Hence, no way of knowing her number, which was stored in its memory. Had I known it, or had I noted it down, I could have used my new desk phone. Damn! Home I went. For without a cell phone over here, one feels cut off from the world.
As I still hadn't eaten, and had taken my morning medications an hour before, I drove home through rain and worsening traffic, feeling pretty lousy. I decided to try again at Mickey D's. This time it was open, but there was only one breakfast item displayed, and the entire lunch menu was otherwise available, even at 7:30 AM. So, I had the only thing there was, a "Breakfast Menu," which consisted of a ham and cheese melt between circles of french toast. Small, but tasty. And the coffee was very good. Unsatisfied, I went back to the counter, and ordered a Big Mac, which was by far the best I have ever had. It came close to looking like its picture! I asked the manager about the 24/7 sign. He said, "The window is always open for business." Silly me. Of course.
Having retrieved my phone from the apartment, I beat my way back to the Faculty of Economics through the peak of rush hour. This time the drive took about 50 minutes. Back in the office about 9:00, I contiinued my preparations for classes, and called Melinda to discuss the needed copies. At 10:00 I went to Julius Mall, where I had been told on Friday night that I could open an account on Monday. Greeted by the same lassie named Mihaela (a common name here), that I had seen Friday, I sat down and filled out the forms for accounts in Lei, Euros and US$, all for an initiation fee of 3 Lei (about $1.25). Why three accounts? Because if you don't have an account in the currency you deposit, you get hit with an exchange charge at once. That is a bit contrary to the concept of banking one's money to preserve it.
During the process I found out that young Mihaela's good English had benefitted from a summer's work in Maryland, and one in Wisconsin. She was quite nostalgic, and said she loved it in America. (Of course, if ever she returns, she has an invitation to visit New Hampshire.) She is at least the third youngster I have met in the past two weeks who has been to America on these summer work programs, clearly another good idea of the U.S. government.
I could have probably survived the year without a Romanian bank account, but the Fulbright Commission requires us to have one. The living stipends from the Romanian government are paid in Lei, and are only available as direct deposits to Romanian banks.
After my banking, I debated... back to the office, or is it time to do some necessary shopping? Since I had already had a pretty productive morning, I decided to go to the other end of the mall to Auchon, the Hipermarket, and buy some milk for my ovas (oatmeal) and some Piper Negru (black pepper) to ad zest to my soups. Next thing I knew, I was 140 Lei poorer, and was carting about twenty Kg of groceries to the car. I bought pasta and sauce. I bought twelve beers, lest a friend come over. (Florin Moldovan prefers beer to wine.) I bought bread, and sausages and canned vegetables and way too much else. I think I must have been getting hungry for lunch.
The car was parked under the store. The cart had to go down an escalator. Coolest of designs! The escalator was a ramp, not a stairway. A slidewalk, like those in airports, but tilted. The rear wheels of the cart are designed to jam in the grooves on the ramp, so it won't roll until the "comb" at the bottom pushes them out of the grooves. Down my cart and I went, in perfect control.
So I load the groceries, and now face my next problem. Once in my neighborhood, should I park illegally across from the apartment, schlep the heavy bags upstairs, then run back down and take the car to its weekday parking spot at the Faculty of Letters, or shall I drive straght to that parking spot, then carry 40+ pounds of groceries about one Km home, in two bags with handles, in a light rain, hoping the handles and my heartpump don't break on the way?
Readers may guess which path I chose.
When I arrived home, at precisely 1:00 PM, I found the doors locked but one turn, rather than the double-turn that Florin had insisted I use. Someone had been there! Yes. A delivery crew had been there. For in the kitchen were our new appliances! They are not yet functional, as Florin has asked me to wait for Victoria to be here to decide how to place the refrigerator. She will come Wednesday.
I e-mailed my bank account information to the Fulbright Commission, added a can of spinach to my last night's bean-and-tomato sausage soup, caught up on my e-mail correspondence, and shot my insulin.
It has been good Monday. Moreover, today is Shirley's and my 35th Wedding Anniversary. We have agreed to go for 35 more. That makes it a perfect Monday.
Mrs. Moldovan was going to be here this afternoon to accept delivery of a new refrigerator and microwave oven for the apartment, so last night I swept up a bit and mopped the kitchen floor. I knew McDonald's would be open, as I had seen a big "(24/7)" oval sign on their facade. So I rose, dressed for work (and for walking in the rain) in a shirt and tie, khakis, and my rubber-soled boat shoes and leather jacket. In the black of night blinded by the flashing of a godawful electronic Sony billboard, I walked through the rain across the rough cobblestones of Piata Mihai Viteazul, past my waiting car at its weekend spot near the square, and across a big roundabout to McDonald's. It was almost 6:00 A.M. I tried the door. Locked. Lighted inside, but locked. Another early bird arrived, and expressed his ire. What does 24/7 mean?
I drove on into the office, making it there in about ten minutes through the nearly-empty streets. I read Wednesday's Labor Management case study, organized an assignment for the following week, then tried to call my TA, to arrange for her to make copies for the students. No cell phone. Hence, no way of knowing her number, which was stored in its memory. Had I known it, or had I noted it down, I could have used my new desk phone. Damn! Home I went. For without a cell phone over here, one feels cut off from the world.
As I still hadn't eaten, and had taken my morning medications an hour before, I drove home through rain and worsening traffic, feeling pretty lousy. I decided to try again at Mickey D's. This time it was open, but there was only one breakfast item displayed, and the entire lunch menu was otherwise available, even at 7:30 AM. So, I had the only thing there was, a "Breakfast Menu," which consisted of a ham and cheese melt between circles of french toast. Small, but tasty. And the coffee was very good. Unsatisfied, I went back to the counter, and ordered a Big Mac, which was by far the best I have ever had. It came close to looking like its picture! I asked the manager about the 24/7 sign. He said, "The window is always open for business." Silly me. Of course.
Having retrieved my phone from the apartment, I beat my way back to the Faculty of Economics through the peak of rush hour. This time the drive took about 50 minutes. Back in the office about 9:00, I contiinued my preparations for classes, and called Melinda to discuss the needed copies. At 10:00 I went to Julius Mall, where I had been told on Friday night that I could open an account on Monday. Greeted by the same lassie named Mihaela (a common name here), that I had seen Friday, I sat down and filled out the forms for accounts in Lei, Euros and US$, all for an initiation fee of 3 Lei (about $1.25). Why three accounts? Because if you don't have an account in the currency you deposit, you get hit with an exchange charge at once. That is a bit contrary to the concept of banking one's money to preserve it.
During the process I found out that young Mihaela's good English had benefitted from a summer's work in Maryland, and one in Wisconsin. She was quite nostalgic, and said she loved it in America. (Of course, if ever she returns, she has an invitation to visit New Hampshire.) She is at least the third youngster I have met in the past two weeks who has been to America on these summer work programs, clearly another good idea of the U.S. government.
I could have probably survived the year without a Romanian bank account, but the Fulbright Commission requires us to have one. The living stipends from the Romanian government are paid in Lei, and are only available as direct deposits to Romanian banks.
After my banking, I debated... back to the office, or is it time to do some necessary shopping? Since I had already had a pretty productive morning, I decided to go to the other end of the mall to Auchon, the Hipermarket, and buy some milk for my ovas (oatmeal) and some Piper Negru (black pepper) to ad zest to my soups. Next thing I knew, I was 140 Lei poorer, and was carting about twenty Kg of groceries to the car. I bought pasta and sauce. I bought twelve beers, lest a friend come over. (Florin Moldovan prefers beer to wine.) I bought bread, and sausages and canned vegetables and way too much else. I think I must have been getting hungry for lunch.
The car was parked under the store. The cart had to go down an escalator. Coolest of designs! The escalator was a ramp, not a stairway. A slidewalk, like those in airports, but tilted. The rear wheels of the cart are designed to jam in the grooves on the ramp, so it won't roll until the "comb" at the bottom pushes them out of the grooves. Down my cart and I went, in perfect control.
So I load the groceries, and now face my next problem. Once in my neighborhood, should I park illegally across from the apartment, schlep the heavy bags upstairs, then run back down and take the car to its weekday parking spot at the Faculty of Letters, or shall I drive straght to that parking spot, then carry 40+ pounds of groceries about one Km home, in two bags with handles, in a light rain, hoping the handles and my heartpump don't break on the way?
Readers may guess which path I chose.
When I arrived home, at precisely 1:00 PM, I found the doors locked but one turn, rather than the double-turn that Florin had insisted I use. Someone had been there! Yes. A delivery crew had been there. For in the kitchen were our new appliances! They are not yet functional, as Florin has asked me to wait for Victoria to be here to decide how to place the refrigerator. She will come Wednesday.
I e-mailed my bank account information to the Fulbright Commission, added a can of spinach to my last night's bean-and-tomato sausage soup, caught up on my e-mail correspondence, and shot my insulin.
It has been good Monday. Moreover, today is Shirley's and my 35th Wedding Anniversary. We have agreed to go for 35 more. That makes it a perfect Monday.
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