Ice Fishing with Arto and Tuula Linnas

Arto Linnas at Home
Today I was privileged to spend a day at home with the Linnas family. After a good Finnish lunch featuring fish soup made of Made, a local lake fish, we bundled up and marched out onto the ice of the lake on whose shore their house lot sits. The fish traps and under-ice nets had to be checked, so we all accompanied Westies Willy and Poppi out to the fishing area, about .6 Km from home across the ice.

The nets and traps yielded some 15 fish, seven of them large enough to keep.

One was a Pike, who became the first course of our dinner, followed by wonderful moose steaks from Arto's frozen stock of meat from last fall's hunting.

I took a couple of shots to show that at mid-day, the sun was only a few degrees above the southern horizon, then a few more to show the beauty of the sunset, along about mid-afternoon.
Sun near its Zenith, and setting shortly thereafter

After fishing, Tuula "sat sauna" to warm up, while Arto cleaned the fish and I sat with him in the kitchen. When Tuula came back up to the house, Arto and I went to the wood-fired sauna building and scalded a bit as we drank the traditional beer-with-sauna, and talked of The Winter War, Finnish industry, and many other subjects. Arto then turned chef, and prepared a first-class dinner, at which we were joined by their 32 year-old engineer son and his engineer girlfriend. All in all, it was a fine day. Tomorrow, I head back to Romania!

More about Varkaus

I'll open today's posting with a few shots of the stately evergreen trees of Finland, to which I referred last night. These are on the Savonia University campus.























Here is my host, Professor Tuula Linnas, who arranged with Fulbright-Finland my invitation to Varkaus for this week.

I have, since posting yesterday, learned that there is a small downhill skiing facility in Varkaus. It is not a mountain, but it is a high-enough hill to allow one to learn the fundamentals of downhill skiing. Tuula drove me today to see the city's remarkable Museum of Mechanical Music, and on the way back to the apartment on the Savonia U. campus, she pointed out the lighted ski runs.

The Museum of Mechanical Music is run by an expatriot German named Jurgen Kempf, who is my age, and who moved to Finland some 25 years ago. He has since then made a career of finding, fixing, researching and displaying music boxes, player pianos, and all manner of pre- phonograph music machines for dance halls, and for the drawing rooms of the wealthy of Europe and America in the 19th and Early 20th Centuries. He even has examples of Wurlitzer Juke Boxes of the 1950s that play 78 RPM records. Jurgen, his Finnish wife, and I will be dining together tomorrow night, so I will tell you more about him later on. For now, enjoy the pictures of the amazing machines he has restored to working order.

Impressions of Finland

Varkaus, Finland

It is white with fresh snow here, clinging to the shapely evergreens, and very beautiful. The terrain in Finland (at least in this part) is flat, forested, and mostly rural. It is a totally modern country, heavily industrialized and very prosperous. Finns are technically savvy, and have a high work ethic. My hostess Prof. Tuula Linnas tells me that in several recent years, Finland has led the world's nations in export value per capita. Hence, Savonia University of Applied Sciences is much in demand as a place for future engineers from around the world to train, and in one of my lectures yesterday 13 countries and all the populated continents save Australia and South America were represented among the students and faculty members present.

Finland this week is not nearly as cold as is New Hampshire: -1 C. today in Varkaus, versus -8 C in Plymouth. Of course, that can change quickly in both places. But the -20 F. temperatures in Plymouth of one week ago would be -29 C, and I don't think weather that cold has occurred here this winter, in spite of the fact that Varkaus is almost 19 degrees of Latitude north of Plymouth.

They tell me that the North Atlantic Current brings remnants of the Gulf Stream's heat to the West Coast of Northern Europe, explaining its climate, milder than New England's. Still, I see how it is that Europeans are more concerned about climate change than the Americans. To be 19 degrees of latitude north of NH and this much warmer is surprising. I brought longjohns to Finland, just in case, and find myself wearing not even my topcoat.

While they are friendly-enough folk, culturally the Finns seem a bit reserved at first meeting, again reminiscent of New Hampshire natives. I may have surprised Professor Tuula Linnas with a bear hug at the airport Monday night. But I was tired, extremely glad to meet her after a month of pleasant e-mail exchanges, and culturally still in my Romanian mindset. (Tuula, who has been to Romania, expressed gratitude that I did not go for the kisses on both cheeks.)

The Helsinki Finns, other Finns and Northern Europeans and many Russians have summer homes in the small towns around the many lakes in this part of Finland. There are numerous spa towns, and in the winter one can ski (also in the summer, in underground ski-domes). The skiing, of course, is Nordic, for mountains for downhill skiing are lacking here. In fact, one point in Finland is over 1300 m above sea level (in NH, we'd call it "a four-thousand footer"), but that cold mountain is up in Lapland, above the Arctic Circle. Where most Finns live, the country is flat, but dotted with a reported 60,000 lakes. Eat your heart out, Minnesota.

In Finland

I rose at 03:45 this morning, and decided to have a good breakfast before my three-flight, two-layover (Budapest for over 5 hours, Helsinki for 2.5) trip to Varkaus. On this journey I "logged time" in two new craft: a SAAB 2000 an ATR 42-500, both really nice twin-engined turboprops with six-bladed props. The latter is high-winged, like a Fokker Friendship (or a big Mitsubshi MU-2). The Saab is a long, sleek critter with great speed. The seven-hour drive to Budapest became a 40 minute trip. Both had impressive acceleration down the runway, a benefit of powerful engines driving an aggressive set of propellors through cold winter air, and both climbed out like the proverbial homesick angels.

Arriving after dark in Varkaus, I have yet to get pictures of Nordic scenes or Finnish folks for you. I'll try to do so as the week progresses.

Professor Tuula Linnas of Savonia University met me at the Varkaus airport, a wonderful small-city facility with a building to walk to across the ramp after going down the plane's airstairs. I love it.

Tuula has shown me to an on-campus apartment which is much bigger in square meters than our Cluj flat, but I'd guess about the same "in the cube." It has two bedrooms and a sauna. Then Tuula was kind enough to take me to a homey Italian restaurant for dinner. We leave at 8:30 tomorrow morning to drive up to Kuopio, where I will deliver my first two lectures for Fulbright-FI, and Savonia's students.

So, before the soothing heat leaves my body, I am off to sleep.

And The The Beat Goes On

Friday I gave my exams. You will recall that the students get to choose between two administrations of each. Five students showed up in Labor Management and three in Operations Management. The students all passed the exams.

One Fulbright-Finland lecture on Global Business is now in the can. Two are in progress. It will be a busy weekend of research and lecture-writing, because I fly out at 06:30 Monday for Budapest/Helsinki/Varkaus.

So, I am taking a noon break today to have lunch at McDonald's with a special student, Raluca Teodora of Bistriţa, whom I got to know well when we traveled with her friend Alexandru to Moldavia in October (see picture, taken by Alex as I was about to dissect a much- needed orange outside of the monastery at Suchevita). Dora needs to talk, and I need lunch. She has yet to take the exams, so I am unsure whether the talk will be academic or personal, but it will provide a welcome break.

My son the writer!

I cannot top Jesse McDougall's Obama Inauguration tale. His long-suffering girlfriend is named Caroline (Cally) Wheeler. Cally is a trooper, an athlete, a fine artist, and a wonderful lassie, if ever there were one.

Click Here for Jesse's first-hand account of Inauguration Day in Washington, D.C.

A New Day Dawns in D.C.

It is Inauguration Day in America. I am feeling the excitement.

I have just invited Mircea Maniu, fellow Fulbrighter, good friend and UBB colleague to join me at the apartment to watch the swearing-in ceremony. Here is his invitation:

Dear Mircea:

The Inaugural show starts at 10:00 AM EST, 5:00 PM here. The swearing-in is scheduled for noon, or 7:00 PM Cluj time.

If you would like to view the event with your resident American friend and experience an atypical evening and a typical supper at the McDougall Apartment, come at about 6:00, and I'll feed you Ciorba de Linte, Salată de Varză, şi Carnaţi Afumaţi cu vin roşu sau alb, sau bere blond. The service will be far from elegant, but the food will be plentiful. If you want to contribute, you may bring ice cream for dessert.

Buzz the buzzer, and I'll come let you onto the floor. If I don't come right away, call my cell. (I haven't had a visitor arrive here yet, so I do not know if the buzzer works.)

I would really like to share this event with you. Please RSVP when you receive this invitation.

Duncan

I am hoping that Mircea will accept.

The World comes to Cluj

This morning I spent on the computer, working in Blackboard at Plymouth State University, where I have stored banks of test questions that may help Melinda and me put together a good final examination in Operations Management. Once that was complete, I walked North on Horea Street to the Faculty of Letters, and took Klaus (Or did he take me?) to the Polus Center, and Carrefour, the famous French "hipermarket". I did a bit of shopping, finding some gorgeous ground beef for my spaghetti sauce.
On the walk back to Piaţa M.V., I heard a loud- speaker blasting an angry voice as I approached the final corner. As I turned the corner, I saw that the world had arrived in Cluj. A crowd of perhaps 150, many dressed in traditional Arab clothing, were holding a war protest rally in the square. They were speaking in English, Romanian and Arabic, and the television cameras were rolling. Clever media move. Just yesterday CNN had a promo on for an upcoming special asking if wars today are won and lost in the media.

Of course, from the viewpoint of people in Gaza, these folks have a lot to protest. Sadly, so do the innocent Israelis on the receiving end of random unguided missiles from Gaza for the past ten-or-so years. I can only applaud the Cluj police, who were there to keep order, and clearly also to protect the right of free speech in Romania. I snapped a picture, then headed back upstairs to resume work on exams. As I reached the second floor (third floor in America), I got my camera out and snapped some pictures of the animals, both my pigeon neighbors, and Pooh and Tigger, as seen on my human neighbor's towel.
Thank God for a simple life, and for spaghetti tonight!

The End of the Beginning

It is almost time to write my mid-course report to the Council for International Exchange of Scholars (C.I.E.S.), who manage the Senior Fulbright Program. And this week has been the last week of classes in my first term at Babeş-Bolyai University. Hence, I am in a reflective mood. What have I learned? What have I accomplished? What have I still to do, to ensure that my Fulbright Year is all that it might be? I'll let you know when I find words that are not soaked in sentiment or trite.

Jesse McDougall Goes for the Dunk (Winter 2008)
I have just Skyped Shirl. She reports that it is -20 Degrees F. in New Hampshire at 2:00 A.M. That is -29 Degrees Celsius. Welcome to a typical New England winter. No wonder the French pioneer Acadians re-migrated from the Maine Coast to New Orleans and became the Cajuns.

Want some proof? Plymouth State has a famous meteorology program. Here is their web report on Friday, 17 January, 2009 (http://vortex.plymouth.edu/):

Conditions at Plymouth State University

-17.2°F
Wind Chill: -17.1°F
Humidity: 71%
Dewpoint: -23.8°F
Wind: SW at 1.0 mph
Sunrise/Sunset: 7:17am/4:36pm
Current Conditions at 6:02am

Loading Weather Information...

Today I plan to learn how to use the Banca Transilvania's Internet banking system. I got the necessary PINs from the bank on Monday, but the "login" link on their website seems broken, as it doesn't take me to anyplace where I can enter those codes. And I will be chasing my January Fulbright grant payment, which has reportedly been sent to my New Hampshire bank (where the balance is fast approaching zero), but has yet to show up in my account. I am still hopeful that they got the routing and account numbers right, but am starting to get antsy about that.

The UBB tasks that remain are to write one more exam, to meet with Prof. Alexandra Mutiu and prepare a spring term syllabus for Management Accounting, to meet with the professor in charge of American Studies at the Faculty of European Studies and learn the ropes of teaching my spring course there on the American Economy, to meet with the Office of International Cooperation regarding the planning of a joint program between UBB and Plymouth State University, to deliver two exams in each of my two "fall term" courses, just completed, grade those exams, then compute the students' semester grades, and turn them in to the administration.

My PSU tasks are to prepare a budget for the ACBSP Annual Conference next summer in San Antonio, and to continue working with my department chair Trent Boggess as his liaison person on the proposed joint program with UBB.

Of course, I also have to prepare to teach in Finland, and at the end of next week go there to do so.

All of which makes me wonder what Barack Obama's "To Do List" looks like. I have it easy, I guess.

Early to Bed

Good night, noapte buna, sweet dreams, und gute Nacht. Today was a busy one, but I have no real stories to tell of a routine workday, and I am planning an early morning at the faculty, prior to my last class of the term. Shirl, I will try now to Skype you, but in case I don't catch you online: I love you.
-Duncan

On Work and Family

Got an exam drafted today. TA Melinda took the GMAT today in Bucharest, and did well, based on the instant feedback that ETS provides when the exam is taken online. TA Monica has drafted her seminar-related portion of the Labor Management final. These two Teaching Assistants have been wonderful to work with this term.

Got some difficult news today, on the family front. My niece Maria (40) in Massachusetts has been diagnosed with MS. We are somewhat experienced with that disease, as my stepmother is a 30-year MS survivor, a very brave woman who has proven it can be done. Also, my wife Shirley's sister, Maria's mom, is a nurse practitioner, and the medical resources in Massachusetts are very good. So, we are hopeful that Maria's future problems can be minimized, and that she can live a long and happy life. But, I wish I were able to give her a hug of encouragement today.

Maria, if you happen to see today's blog post, Uncle Duncan wants you to know that he loves you. Hang in there, girl!

Winter in Oradea

After a good antipasto, pizza and conversation with Kate and Nancy last night at the Casa Corsarul (Corsair Restaurant), today I learned a whole lot more about the city of Oradea than I had on my several previous passes through. All but one of those were at night, and on all I was consumed with the cares of a traveler bound for Budapest or for Cluj, rather than being a proper visitor to Oradea. So, today I spent some good time out walking the center of the city with life-loving Fulbrighter Nancy Sherman as my guide.

Oradea is a Romanian city on the Hungarian border. Like Cluj, it is multicultural. It seemed every time I spoke up, a Romanian overheard and spoke to us in English, and several were middle-aged adults. This is a cosmopolitan place.

As for the pictures, Oradea's Piaţa Unirii (Union Square) was the main shooting location, followed by some shots taken on the drive back east to Cluj.

Hotel Vulturul Negru ****. (Black Eagle Hotel) (Three pics, as well as four stars.)













































The statue of Mihai Viteazul, of which one seems to be in every Romanian city. But only this one has Nancy Sherman at his feet!






















City Hall.

















The Church of the Moon. The yellow circle is synchronized with the Moon's phases. The moon was full last night, I guess. It was too cloudy to tell.


















A church across the square as seen from the courtyard at the Church of the Moon. (Double- click the image to see the full-sized picture.)
















And Nancy's favorite building on the Piaţa Unirii, which she dubbed "the pink one."



















Then, as I drove eastward in the mid-afternoon, the sun came out and provided some great light on buildings and landscapes alike.


A stork's nest means your house will be blessed with good fortune.
















A lovely village church, in the valley just west of the Carpathians,













and the "Vegas" Restaurant, where our bus stopped on the ride from Budapest a week back. I ate there again. A late lunch of ciorba ţaraneşca cu carne de porc şi pâine, şi Cola Zero .

Gypsy Encounter

Yesterday was Saturday. Nancy Sherman, connected to Yahoo, popped up on my screen as available to chat. I invited her to do so, but got no response. A bit later, Skype rang, and it was she. “How are you doing today?” and “How’s your hip?” were among the questions exchanged as we brought each other up-to-date. I knew that Nancy’s husband Pat and son Evan had returned to the U.S. after Christmas, so that Evan could take his final semester of Eighth Grade with his class in Peoria, and so that Pat could get back to work at Illinois State University in Bloomington. Nancy reported that she had a dinner planned with Kate Palmo, who is roughly my age, a Peace Corps volunteer, also working in Oradea. Nancy invited me to join in. That explains why, after lunch, I found myself stopping for a hitch-hiker in a village on E60/Ro 1, about midway between Cluj and Oradea.

The man was one of the Roma, known to Romanians as "Gypsies". He spoke incessantly in an unintelligible language, and was carrying a blue cloth shopping bag stuffed full of unidentifiable stuff. Though he spoke rapidly and strangely, he made it clear first that he wanted me to take him to a hospital in a town somewhere ahead, that he needed money (the sign for which, the rubbing together of the thumb and first two fingers, is seemingly universal), and that he wanted me to buy something that sounded like “pita” from his bag. We were entering the uphill switchbacks of one of the mountain ranges along this route. I was trying to drive, and trying to ignore this man’s constant poking at my right shoulder, to make me look at him as I heard his endless pleading.

After a few miles, I tried Spanish. He seemed to know some Spanish, and asked if I had niños. I told him I had six kids. He replied “Yo, cinco.” Now he asked me to give him something for his kids, whose mother, he said, had died in a machine (which I took to mean a car wreck, as a car in Romania is a “maşina,” ), and pulled up his shirt to show me a nasty scar that looked very much like a healed gunshot wound, though maybe it was his scar from that car accident. I was damned if I was going to part with the 200 Lei that I had withdrawn that morning, and needed for the trip, so I just stalled and kept talking with the man. Then he spotted the two little boxes of Belgian chocolates that I had in the console, bought as little gifts for Nancy and Kate. “Chocolata por mi niños?" he begged. I picked them up and handed them to him. “Okay,” I said, “Por sus niños”. He immediately began crossing himself, and praising Jesus, though I hardly think he was nominating me for sainthood.

I soon realized I had made a mistake. Now that he knew I could be talked into giving in to his pleas, they became even more intense. We were descending westward, and I really had to pay attention to the road. I decided to let Klaus help me out of my pickle. I sped up. I took the curves like a Romanian in a new Audi. (Anyone here in Romania will know what that means.) The Gypsy shut up. As we reached the next village (a mining town with no blue “H” signs in sight), my “friend” started pointing to the side of the road, saying “Aqui, aqui!” I stopped to let him out. Then I said, “Momento.” I reached into my bag in the back seat and gave him my sack of three beautiful apples and a large orange, acquired that morning at the farmer’s market at Piaţa Mihai Viteazul. “Por sus niños,” I said.

To his credit, the man stole nothing from me, and offered no threats. I think I’d met a professional beggar. But, if there was any truth to the man’s story, I couldn’t just give the kids candy, could I?

The a-word.

My slightly younger brother Walter the Historian has for years used "hip-lock" as his pregame excuse, lest I might beat him at golf (which I do, rarely). The other day I received an e-mail from my slightly older brother George the Puerto Rican, reading, in part,

"Boku empathy readily extended. Hereabouts, euphemism is the name of the game: we attribute joint pain to "exercise-induced inflammation," "years of wear and tear" or "that 1998 meniscus episode"; the "a-word" is verboten!"

Well, brothers, call it what you will, it has been giving me fits this week. As I have reported, Romanian life is all about walking. Even as a car owner, I walk over a half mile to the bus downtown, or to the parking lot at the UBB Faculty of Letters, morning and night. And each day includes at least another mile's hiking around the halls at the Faculty of Economics, or around the piaţa or mall to shop for food, and whatever else is on the list. My tired old right hip, in which I had a cortisone shot only a few weeks ago, hurt so badly on the evening walk home from the parking lot on the last two class-days that I found myself looking for a place to sit and rest it. But there are no benches along the streets in Cluj, so I gritted my teeth and pulled a Johnnie Walker (i.e., I kept on walking).

I had trouble even walking just six city blocks. And that was after popping ibuprofen.

So, I took Friday off to rest my hip. I did not leave the apartment.

This morning I arose early and walked across to the open market, the hardware store, McDonald's, the bank, and on the way back to Napolact, the local dairy store. I was wearing my New Balance athletic shoes. I had taken no ibuprofen for over 24 hours, yet felt no pain. As the old Nike ad said, "It must be the shoes." The day's rest clearly helped, but it has to be the shoes, which were not here last fall, came back with me after Christmas, had not been on my feet during the week's two days of pain, and seem to reduce greatly the shock each step has been delivering to my right hip joint.

So, dear friends in Romania, if I appear at a formal dinner in a business suit and sneakers, please forgive the footwear. They are "orthopedic." And brother George, euphemisms be damned! It is Arthritis.

Yoked

I returned to Cluj facing an awful lot of work to do before the start of the spring semester, including teaching my final four classes of the fall term, grading a stack of Labor Management papers, preparing and grading four final examinations (two in each course, as students must be given a choice of examination dates, and can make up failures from day one on the second date. Far be it from me to allow that second exam to be a repeat of the first!) Then I have to prepare three lectures for delivery during my week in Finland, prepare syllabi for my two spring courses, liaise with the International Cooperation Office regarding the UBB/PSU partnership, and with Professor A. Mutiu, with whom I shall be team-teaching Management Accounting next term, and probably more work that doesn't come to mind just now.

But yesterday I graded the Labor Management papers, and today I returned them, and gave my final lecture in that class. So I have pretty much gotten over the trip back, and have again put on the yoke. One step at a time, all the fields will get plowed.

Why My Bus Was Late

"Everything happens for the best in this best of all possible worlds." [Pangloss, in Candide by Voltaire.]

The midnight bus from Budapest made two mandatory rest stops. At the first, we had ridden for about two hours, but were still 95 Km northwest of the Romanian border. The bus pulled into an all night gas station and convenience store, and the driver announced that we had ten minutes to spend there. When I returned to the bus with water and a bag of popcorn, the fellow behind me was awake. We rolled on, and I did a Cookie Monster on the popcorn, then proceeded to chat a bit with the young woman across the aisle, who had already spoken to me in excellent English. The fellow behind me chimed in, so I turned to my right, and we chatted through the gap between my somewhat reclined seatback and the upright one at my right.

Our conversation started with introductions, establishing that I am an American business teacher, and that he is a Romanian writer, Eugen Uricariu. Upon learning I was a business professor, Eugen expressed his opinion that the present economic crisis is "unreal," the result of a conspiracy among those who can benefit from the massive bailouts that are occurring around the developed world. I asked his age, learned he was 62, and I asked what sort of writing he did. He told me he had written a number of books, most of them novels, but some non-fiction. I asked again his name. "Eugen Uricariu," he said. To check, I replied, "Is that U-R-I-C-A-R-I-U?" "Exactly!" Eugen seemed surprised. "It is easy to spell in Romanian, once you get the pronounciation right," I said. I think that was how we established rapport.

From there to the second rest stop at "Vegas" Restaurant (sic) atop the Western Carpathian pass on the highway from Oradea to Cluj, Eugen and I discussed the world and other things, includiing the American election (Eugen has a daughter living in California), the situations in Gaza and between India and Pakistan, Obama's Challenge, both the book and the fact, our shared hope for Obama's success, Eugen's fears for the global implications of his Presidency's possible failure, the etymology of the words "ciorba" and "ambassador," and about as many other subjects as there were minutes in the three or four hours that we rode together while both awake.

Eugen has led a marvelous life. He is a world class traveler, even if he does ride the midnight bus from Budapest to Cluj-Napoca.

I also learned that Eugen and his wife have both taught at UBB. At one point he mentioned that he has an old friend still on our faculty, a fellow "who used to mess around in politics" named Mircea Maniu. That is a name my readers will recall, for Mircea was my first Romanian Fulbrighter contact, and he and I have become good friends. It was Mircea Maniu who drove me to the Autogara in December at the outset of my holiday trip home to New Hampshire.

As all of this was going on, Dna Uricariu (Mrs. Uricariu) rested (or slept) quietly across the aisle from Eugen. When we reached their town just west of Cluj, I was introduced to her, and Eugen and I parted new acquaintances, perhaps to become new friends. Eugen, if you see this blog post, please contact me. I would like to learn more of your travels to Easter Island, and to God knows what other corners of our world.

Back in Country, Welcoming 2009

After a brief but very nice stop at my inlaws' home in Westborough, Massachusetts, Shirl drove me on New Year's Night to Logan Airport in Boston, where I caught the late flight to Amsterdam on Northwest Airlines (aka KLM, Delta, etc.). It was a good flight, though 100% full, thanks to an extended delay or cancellation by Air France of their flight to Paris. A full 757 lives up to its nickname, "cattle car," heavy and smelly, but effective in providing transportation for live mammals.

My seatmates were San and Apse, a young Indian couple. After a chat, we all got a few good hours' sleep on the flight, and arrived only a bit late into Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam. That was a good thing, for my Malev flight to Budapest was scheduled for departure only 50 minutes after my scheduled landing. As I finally deplaned from the aft fifth of the cattle car, I had only 30 minutes to make the transfer. But Schiphol is a very fine transfer airport, and provides a special "early departure" line at Passport Control for people in my situation. I arrived at my gate on time, having walked from E concourse to the far end of C. Malev was just deplaning its incoming passengers, so we (there were a few others from my plane headed for Budapest) had plenty of time, as it turned out. Waiting with us was the U.S. Fencing team, on their way to Budapest for a bout. I must remember to Google "U.S. Fencing" and see how they did there.

So, at 2:30 PM on January 2 I was in Ferighy airport, Budapest, only to discover that my checked bag had not made the transfer at Amsterdam, and would be arriving later in the afternoon. I got the airline to agree to forward it to Cluj, and, as my bus to Cluj-Napoca, Romania was not scheduled to leave until 11:30, decided to forget the $25 fare I had already paid, and see if I could find an alternative way of making the 7-hour trip home, so that it wouldn't cost me 16 hours.

Perhaps Hertz had a Cluj car that needed to get home. Hertz couldn't have been more friendly in informing me that I could rent a car one-way to Cluj for a mere 595 Euros, provided I returned it on the 3rd. That's over $800. I didn't feel the time saving justified that, especially since I would have had to do the work.

Malev, the Hungarian Airline had a flight that evening, a fifty-minute ride, for about $350. No, thanks. I resigned myself to the wait. There was a plus to this outcome; I was able to retrieve my checked bag at 5:00.

On one of the terminal's uncomfortable, wobbly, and chilly steel benches, I waited. During the wait I made two fine discoveries: some really good Hungarian goulash soup at the snack joint, and Bonnie. Bonnie is a 50-ish Bulgarian woman who was returning home from her recent job helping with the children of relatives in suburban New York, to get a divorce from her husband of 24 years. Her next flight wasn't until midday on the 3rd, so she had over twice as long a wait as I on that godawful bench. So we talked, to kill the time. She was a very nice person, though a bit sad, and clearly strained by the difficulties she was going through.

Bonnie is a cook for and caregiver to her relative's two small children. I told her of my love of cooking, and we proceeded to discuss ciorbas and bean soups and borscht. Thanks, Bonnie, for the variety, for after making ciorba de fasole on my first night home yesterday, today I went to the market, bought more ingredients, and made myself a cabbage soup with onions and broccoli, flavored with smoked pork and spices. Both were excellent, and of both I have goodly leftovers for the week to come. I gave Bonnie my business card, and hope that she contacts me, for I consider her a friend.

At 11:15 PM I went to curbside, for I was not sure where the Orangeways bus would be stopping, and I surely did not want to miss it. It was cold and windy. I was glad I had on longjohns under my jeans. But 11:30 came and went. Three other Cluj (Kolosvar, to them in Hungarian) passengers were waiting with me, so I was confident that I was at the right place. Then 11:45 went. At midnight, a NEMETH TRAVEL bus roared past us, and stopped at Terminal 2B, about 100 meters to my right. On its side was written "Cluj-Napoca, Romania," in clear script. I hardly hesitated. "A bird in the hand," I said to myself. I headed immediately toward that bus, reaching it just as the driver was about to close the luggage compartment. I asked if he had seats available. "Do you have a reservation?" "No." "Okay, I can take your to Cluj." We talked currencies, and settled on $30 US. I paid. Theo loaded my bags.

As I boarded, I saw the Orangeways coach arrive at the other stop. No matter. I was committed. I sat toward the rear, on the right hand side of the bus, just ahead of a man who appeared to be asleep, and just behind another sleeping figure. The Orangeways bus rolled by, and left the airport, headed, as I knew, to Cluj via Debrecen, somewhat out-of-the-way, but by divided highway for the first 100-or-so Km.

When we departed, our driver took the direct route that I had driven in Klaus on September 18th, as I first approached Romania and my first night in-country, at Oradea, in the Hotel Iris. I felt I was in familiar territory, and quickly fell asleep. After a few hours, the man behind me awoke, and our encounter deserves a second posting, all it own.