Culture

Photo: Grumbler %-| / Gonçalo Valverde

on Flickr, http://goo.gl/HM0ku

Obviously, Bucharest is full of culture. Opera houses, the Athenaeum, countless museums and older buildings dotted amongst the modern and communist style. There is a reason this city is called the “Little Paris,” though some have inform me the title does not apply anymore. I don’t know, I have never been to Paris and don’t have a great desire to head that way anytime soon. I am of the opinion Paris is a place you go when you’re seriously in a relationship, bringing two lives together in an intertwined way and both desire to travel. Bucharest is not a city most people I know would want to come to, especially in the middle of winter, for the winter. But I like it.

I enjoy meandering through the city on a weekend, taking in the carefully hidden beauty of the 19th Century and stumbling into communist era blocks full of dreary gray. Most people don’t care for these structures. I can understand the constant reminder of what life was, but there is an odd beauty to the soviet/communist style of architecture. It was not for beauty but for speed. It provided homes to many people the only way a system of pure “equality” can! But it gives off a sense of power and determination that strikes me today. These blocks could shutter the soul into an abyss of blackness to anyone trying to stand-up-right in a system that sought dominance. They are a physical representation of repression and egotistical desire to impose will over a state. Sensing these feelings, there is something remarkable about this style of architecture; the system has collapsed, there is nothing to dominate over, and yet they linger as giants in the sky, still echoing their power. They do not have the allure and surprise beauty of the older buildings, which make a wanderer stop in amazement when stumbling upon them. They just are there, slowly decaying, providing home to people.

I spent two days seeing shows: a movie, an experimental opera and a symphony. The movie was Black Swan; a powerful rendition showing the depravity of a soul sinking further into madness. This movie captured my enjoyment between the musical score, I’m told all from Swan Lake, the underlying story and the disturbing interactions between a mother and a grown child. It hit all the strange points I enjoy from classic horror movies without being horror. I should also say the movie was seen in an independent theater, playing the same movie for a week. This was a new first experience and quite a fulfilling one. I cannot remember the last time I saw a movie so full weeks after it had been released. Bucharest has several small theaters and I hope all of them maintain this type of power. Seeing a movie surrounded by other is a completely different experience then seeing a movie in a theater that is half full or even empty. There you say, “Why did I bother paying the money,” but here there is a social interaction, a sense that this is how a movie needs to be viewed. Could I say it seems like a throwback to an earlier time when movies were a community event? Of course, but this last note is only understood for me through books and stories of ole.

The experimental opera was something completely different. First, I have never seen an opera before and dare say still haven’t. I would say the show was an experimental ballet and was very good and enjoyable. It was Alice in Tara Minciunilor, a student production. I’m not sure what was going on through most of the show, but the dancing and costumes, holding a twist of 19th Century upper class, did make it fun. The music brought my foot a tapping and my head a bobbing. Opera, no it was not. There was almost no speaking, which I am sure is a basic requirement of opera, though I could be wrong. It’s been known to happen before. But then again rule number two says “If I’m ever wrong, see rule number 1: I’m never wrong.” But it was a completely enjoyable way to spend an hour with friends and hear good music. The feelings are best described by the five year old who kept doing a jig during the show and when the opportunity arose was in the middle of the floor when the show ended. This kid’s over enthusiasm sums up how the viewers felt: good times, good music, and a need to move.

The symphony, the Athenaeum, Mozart, Chopin and De Falla, an energetic conductor and a pianist: the sights that drive a movement. First, the Athenaeum is intriguing; I have never seen a concert hall that sits above the main floor. Thankfully, pillars and arches are strong and withstand weight well. Second, the concert hall is intimate to what I usually see; I like it. The smallness brings everything together and gets rid of the idea of bad seats. Here every seat is a good seat to experience the show.

Now going to a symphony with me is accepting nap time may come. Napping is not a sign of disrespect or boredom, and can be done without snoring or disturbing others. It shows the complete relaxation that the music has achieved. My life is a constant go, mentally and physically. In the last decade I have worked positions that had me on my feet for almost 12 hours moving around, teaching and conversing with students, then only to spend another 5 to 6 hours of grading and going for a nightly walk. To fully relax is a pleasantness that does not often happen, but a good symphony does it. Further, resting the eyes brings in a visual effect that I would not grasp without. The colors the Marriage of Figaro can produce are wonderful and the images a piano solo can muster a delightful added bonus to the whole experience. It appears also that Bucharest has produced in me a movement that I had forgot about. Years of listening to music as a child and perhaps being a little hyper-active led me to imagine being a conductor. I was sitting at home last night listening to classic rock and I found my arms swinging to the music with my hands directing an imaginary band. Some people may be a little ashamed to say that, but anything that returns me, even momentarily, to the days of my childhood, is something worth seeing more. Thank you Bucharest for having the Athenaeum and fantastic symphonies; childhood here I come!

Education

My work in Romania is to help set up educational presentations and occasionally be the presenter.  The purpose is to provide English outreach to average Romanian high school students; provide them an opportunity to listen to a native English speaker and encourage them to have an open dialogue.  It benefits me, giving a limited, firsthand experience into the Romanian educational system.  It benefits the students, giving them confidence in their language abilities (by speaking to a stranger) and providing a way for them to gather knowledge on American lifestyle and educational system.

I have presented on two different topics for high schools: the high school life of American students and volunteerism.  The first touched on many aspects that students find interesting because it provides them the opportunity to compare their own high school experience with that of an average American student.  The second’s purpose is to reintroduce the concept of volunteering to Romanian students and challenge them to lend a hand.  Having been involved in the development and delivery of both presentations, I learned many interesting points from these students.

 Students seemed shocked by the amount of activities and sports available to U.S. students.  In the U.S., student participation helps run the school, establishing social events like prom, homecoming and pep rallies.  Students regularly attend sporting events, displaying school spirit.  This pride grows with victory at the regional, state and national levels.  Connected to sports, extra-curricular activities are boundless.  These activities encourage positive ways for students to grow and discover themselves and keep out of trouble.  An effective school in the U.S. integrates traditional education with spirit, extra-curricular activities and encourages students to come together, work together and support each other.  This is why cutting school budgets is always a concern in the U.S. -- the first things to be cut often are the activities that provide students the opportunities of self discovery. Undermining a part threatens the whole philosophy of these schools.

This is not to say that all American high schools are perfect or run like this, but their goals seek this style of education.  The Romanian students gave the impression that school spirit didn’t exist.  (Though I venture to guess it does in the top high schools.)  Some sports were played (basketball or football) and some activities existed (usually theater or drama club) but generally students hung out after school.  Teachers later commented it was common for their students to smoke and drink.  This was easily confirmed walking out of one school where four students sat by the door smoking.  (This is not to imply that all students smoke and drink, but that it is the general impression passed forward by teachers and some students.)  How different our two nations view smoking and drinking.  Here in Romania, and I have seen this first hand, it appears no one particularly cares who buys beer or cigarettes.  It reminds me of stories my father told growing up in 1950s America; a period when laws were lenient on drinking and were nonexistent on smoking.  But a larger use of extra-curricular activities could help curb these bad habits.  Do all kids in debate club refrain from smoking? Absolutely not.  However, most students involved in other activities don’t. If more schools gave the opportunities to students to participate in different activities, to talk with like minded people and diversify their social circles, then at least the students would be given a fuller understanding of the world and its expectations of them.

I was also surprised by the disinterest of the students with their general classes (though many seemed to point to one or two classes they particularly enjoyed).  Now, no matter where you go there will always be students who don’t want to be in school, Romanian, American, that’s normal.  But these students spoke of how memorization is the key to graduation; not the practical use of information, just knowing it.  This seems a throwback to the days of communism.  What good is knowing information if you can not apply it?  This question is asked by many teachers.  Need a formula? Either use it a lot so it’s memorized or look it up when needed.  But can you actually use the formula to build something?  The Romanian students seemed fascinated by this concept, as did their teachers.  The students seemed very interested in critical thinking skills and I could see in some of their eyes that they wished for that opportunity; to learn, not to be lectured.  I imagine that the education system has gone through some great changes since the end of communism.  Newer teachers must be taking different approaches to education, but it takes a long time for a complete change to occur.

One topic in both kinds of presentations I gave was volunteering.  Seems many Romanian students do not spend much time, if any, volunteering.  Though how much of that is a reaction to the forced “volunteering” their elders and parents had to undergo from Ceaușescu?  However, there were several students who had done some volunteering.  They spoke highly of their experiences and would do it again.  It is not a lost cause here, just one that needs extra support.

Students here are interested in the concept of volunteering.  Questions of, “Why do it?” to, “Where can I volunteer to work with animals?” to, “Would they take me with no experience?”  The topic quickly brought many students into the conversation and after one visit students stayed after the presentation and continued to ask questions.  Volunteering may be very American but the concept is not owned by or even purely American.  Prior to the dark communist days Romania had a large spirit of giving and volunteering.  Even today, in the year of European Volunteering, Romanians rank in the top ten of European states that volunteer.  Older Romanians have spoken to me about how this is not a Romanian idea or even understood by the youth of today.  I say, give them the information, remind them of the importance of doing it, provide them the resources and assistance to find a good place to volunteer and push them to make a difference.  Do that and the spirit will come, slow at first but strong in the end.  Grassroots campaigns take time to reach a level of maturity but with support, patience and gentle reminders, they do work!

There are many points I could continue to talk about but some general observations should be made.  First, for average high schools these students spoke English excellently.  At a technical school I was warned the language ability was not so strong, but these students showed great control of a foreign language and even grasped its humor.  A feat I have never accomplished!  Second, the students are interested during these presentations, actively participating, asking questions, following up on points they want more info on. Overall, the students here show great intelligence.  I hope that with the right opportunities they will proceed down a road that makes them happy and allows them a little jingle in their pocket.

A Philosophical Amble?

Photo: Camino Filosofico by Lorenzo Maddalena
@ http://goo.gl/hxKAD

My departure from the U.S. to Romania has left me slightly out of kilter.  As a student of history, I recognize the importance to understand the events of the past as well as the players in those events.  But myself and others in the U.S. still are confused about what happened and how life was during the communist period of Nicolae Ceaușescu.

I should begin with why I was confused.  I thought Romania a Slavic state and a former Soviet satellite; a buffer for the protection of Mother Russia.  With these assumptions, it seemed natural that Russian would have been an imposed second language and that Russification would be imposed, too.  Further, these assumptions conjured up forced repression with horrible periods lacking necessities; periods of no toilet paper, no bread, no basic items of survival; a run-down, poor state with little life left in it, prior to the revolution.  These false impressions existed because of my own experiences in former Soviet states, but also because of the lack of information that is conveyed between different states of the former Soviet buffer zone.  In essence, Romania was lumped into the Warsaw Pact states in my mind and no teacher ever pointed out the total falsity of such absurdities.  It was always understood Yugoslavia resisted Stalin, but Romania seems continuously the object of misinformation.  Even telling people today I live in Bucharest, a look of fear appears on their faces.  “Isn’t it dangerous?”  “Don’t they lack basic amenities for living?”  “Why there?”  “What do they have to offer?”

Befriending and working with Romanians who are open and honest about their experiences has shown me how grossly misinformed I was.  Now it is clear to me that Romania is not a Slavic state and it seems fair to say one of the good things Ceaușescu did was ensure the departure of Soviet troops from its soil.  I discovered Romania, to a degree, was open to the idea of Western influences and not shackled to the Comintern.  With my basic assumptions completely blown out of the water, why would I think other thoughts held any validity?  Questions led to realizations: Ceaușescu worked to foster ties with both the U.S. and Soviet Russia, recognized both Israel and the PLO, befriended China (whose only other ally was Albania), condemned the Soviet squashing of the Prague Spring, stopped participation in the Warsaw Pact, and borrowed billions of dollars from Western partners to create infrastructure to develop the nation.  Cheery and cheeky or purposely devilish to take advantage of Western hopes and fears?: Ceaușescu played a game that dangled hope for the West and provided grave suffering and tears for his people.

However, the picture does not stay rosy, as you well know.  The famines that came in the 1980s and violent revolution that overthrew a dictator, who had robbed a country of its light and joy, these were the final events of a dying regime.  I have read a book, The Land of Green Plums, by Herta Müller; a quasi-autobiographical account of life under a dictator.  One particular line stood out, “Our heads may have left home, but our feet are standing in a different village.   No cities can grow in a dictatorship, because everything stays small when it’s being watched.”1 How true this statement seems; Romania was deprived of infrastructure and locked into a medieval style of life that perpetuates into the 21st Century.  This essence of standing still still rings true today in the world, however Romania is free and no longer watched!  The fear and anguish that must have existed at that time is unimaginable to outsiders.  Trust no one, for Captain Pjele watches.2  The use of a single hair to ensure a letter undisturbed does not survive the scrutiny of an all-watching state.3  The dream of returning home no longer matters because no one is left waiting there anyway.4  Constant supervision drains the life and joys from people.  An unchanging government will slowly sink into eternal paranoia and back-track on all plausibly good intentions it may once have had.  And such a corrupt system will alter the acceptability of ethical rights, producing horrid atrocities to survive, to constant petty theft to fit in.5 Corruption from the top creates an illness in the society that takes decades to remove.  Can the corrupted lead in a new system?  Or do they continue the plague?

But today, as twenty years ago, I see hope, hope to challenge these dictatorial regimes and bring change forward.  The problem with change is as much as it is desired its outcome is never assured.  How many people here look back on the Ceaușescu days and wish for their return?  “When we don’t speak…we become unbearable, and when we do, we make fools of ourselves.”6  Change is similar.  The promise of something better is hard-pressed to live up to expectations in a quick and timely fashion.  Moving forward is difficult and challenging, but not moving at all is paddling in place.  My assumptions of Romania have all been proven wrong and I am happy to know more of the truth.  I imagine Romanians, those that lived the change, must see the revolutions occurring in the Middle East and think back to the days of their own -- the hope and the promise, maybe a realization that change has come, and though not as quickly as hoped, or as planned, that it came from the people, and it shall be continued by the people.  Let your experiences and history stand as an example of how to move forward and seek a better life; a better working life, a better living life, a better political life.

A Visit to Floreasca Emergency Clinic

How do you know when you’re sick?  When you’re tired every day, sleep non-stop and wake up feeling horrible. Recently, I wished for NyQuil, a disgustingly neon green medicine that solves all flu-type medical problems by putting the user into a coma for twelve hours at a time.  It is the equivalent of legalized whisky for the flu.  Instead I got Cold Rex, ibuprofen, and tea.   My symptoms went up and down, fever one day, sore throat the next, return of the fever.  I raised the white flag and accepted the fact I needed to go to a hospital for medical advice.  This is not something that I do lightly.  In all the years living in the States, I only went to the hospital once and that was to update my tetanus shot, due to cutting myself with a rusty blade.  The body is designed to defend against most colds, but this one was already being tricky by making me think I was well and then knocking me down again.

I got myself bundled up, checked my insurance papers, grabbed some money and headed for a taxi.  I went to the Bucharest Emergency Clinic.  On arrival I discovered that checking in was easy; the man claimed to speak no English, but did a fine job of asking for identification and date of birth (actually, I nicknamed him grumpy because he held a sourpuss face and seemed fairly unhappy dealing with sick people).  Then he sent me to wait to see a doctor.  My first real observation: chairs are for healthy people who bring sick people to the Emergency Clinic, but sick people wait in a line to see a doctor.  No resting while trying to get better.  Then, as time passed, a lot of time passed, I discovered that the wait took about as long as waiting in a U.S. ER room, at least from my previous experience.  So I waited, slowly undressing from my multiple layers to avoid cooking.  After a good two hours I finally saw the doctor.  He seemed to be a young man, maybe 27 to 30, who spoke good English.  The visit involved a routine checkup: listen to the heart, listen to the lungs with deep breaths, feel the stomach, check the throat, temperature check, and blood pressure.  I was told I would need an X-Ray and blood would be drawn.  A nurse came, took my blood, and then gave me back the vial.  She directed me to go to the laboratory and then to radiology.

Now here I noticed some differences between the two health systems.  First, in the U.S., you do not get to carry around your blood sample.  They take blood, it goes to the lab and then you get the results; you never touch it; too much potential for a crazy to use it as a biological weapon.  Really, who knows what’s in your blood, and what’s in one’s insane, sick state of mind, waiting for three hours to see a doctor.   Here I was given a vial of blood, wrapped in medical instruction; a potential lethal weapon, placed in my hands. Very thrilling.

The second difference, Romanians, and maybe Europeans (I don’t know), seem to use longer words.  I was sent to the laboratory, which in my none-clear-headed mind at first translated to lavatory.  Why do I need the bathroom with a vial of blood?  Does this seem clean and correct?  I quickly corrected this mental mishap when I was given the vial (oh! laboratory).  In the States it’s the lab; short, sweet and direct.  I was also sent to radiology, where in the States it would have been “get an X-Ray.”

So I bounded to the laboratory, not the lavatory, and dropped off my tiny biological weapon and up to radiology I went.  Now the X-Ray room took me by surprise.   The door was a giant sliding door that had a solid steel handle.  It reminded me of a giant walk-in freezer door.  I thought it had a very cool and retro feeling.  A little like becoming part of an experiment led maybe by Dr. Moreau; of course, it was just an X-Ray machine.  All and all, it was quick, painless and very much like any X-Ray.  Twenty minutes later, I went to pick up my blood analysis, but was told my doctor already had it.  Then I found my doctor who told me I needed my blood work.  He sent me back to the laboratory with a nurse for support; it turns out the lab doctor gave my blood work to someone, but no worries, a new one could be printed up in seconds.  I traded a potential biological weapon to have my blood work lost and no real concern over it.  I must say, it really didn’t seem to bother me and the lack of concern from him and the nurse gave me a sense of confidence of not to worry, it isn’t that important.  In the States, a lost lab report could be reason to yell, scream, call management and talk about an invasion of privacy and possibly threaten to sue.  Here, a simple, “I’ll print you a new one,” seems good.

So I went back to my doctor, who informed me that I had a minor infection and wrote a prescription.  I asked if I paid him or the grumpy fellow at the front and he said, “No.”  I was very confused, no payment, surely, even in a socialized healthcare system, where most of the people seem ok to stand for hours on end, there must be a payment.  I had my insurance card ready, I paid for insurance and wanted to put it to use, and I had money, and he tells me no payment needed.  After a few more questions, all getting at the same point, I thanked him and left the hospital, knowing my salvation to health was merely a few blocks away.

Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, I began to take my medicine.  One giant horse-sized pill for the infection, one tiny little pill, size of a dot, for the sore throat and a tablet of 10mg of vitamin C.  Now my friend first warned me not to take the vitamin C, but then said it looked like a chewy.  I figured I can do a chewy.  I popped that chewy in my mouth and bit down.  Next thing I know Mount Eyjafjallajökull is exploding in my mouth and I’m doing everything not to spew orange foam across the table, the floor and my friend.  This went on for what seemed like five minutes, but probably no more than one.  It was, needless to say, a discovery to learn the vitamin C tablets are meant to be dropped in water and dissolved.  Another lesson learned.

It has now been three days and I am feeling much better and looking forward to a successful weekend coming up in a few days.  The lessons I learned here are: Romanian clinics won’t take my money, the doctors are professional and good at their job (even if they do seem young), I get to carry my own blood (remember biological weapon), only semi-healthy people should go to the doctor’s office because you are not allowed to sit down and everyone I spoke to was friendly, helpful and nice (patients and staff a like – minus grumpy).  I also learned not to eat water soluble vitamin C pills unless you want volcanic frost coming out of all the holes in your head!

The Beginning

Buna ziua. I have now been living in Bucharest for the last six weeks and plan to be here for another five. I am, as you so easily guessed, an American in Bucharest. The purpose of this blog is to lay down my thoughts of this travel experience, and hopefully many of you will find it interesting. I say this because I have traveled a lot in my time, and have always been fascinated by what other cultures say about the U.S., its government and its people. To be honest, it wasn’t always nice, but it was always fascinating. So now, I shall do the same, live my life in Bucharest and be honest about the things I do, people I meet, and experiences I have. For you, as well as for me, I shall provide the good, the bad and the ugly (though, there has not been any ugly yet). In honesty, the only ugly moments I have had has been dealing with my bank back in the States. It claims to be the world’s local bank, yet somehow they can’t seem to get their cards to work in Bucharest ATMs; so much for local neighbors.

Perhaps the first thing I should talk about is how pleasant and kind Romanians seem. I arrived in Bucharest, back on January 6, and had no place to live. My family back home, my friends, and my soon to be co-workers all expressed concern about a lack of living space. My plan was simple: I would rent a hostel bed for four nights (running only a few euro a night), search out the newspapers and Internet ads, set up appointments to see flats, and rent one (hopefully near where I’d spend most of my time). However, this did not occur. After talking to the owner of the hostel for an hour (Christian), he told me that he, too, was looking for a new place to live (seems his former French roommates decided they couldn’t handle the winter in Romania). Christian told me to come back in an hour and he’d have more time to show me where to look. Needless to say, I went wandering for a few hours and returned to be invited to rent one of the rooms he had to offer. After a quick look at the place, I decided, “Hey, why not. Its clean, he seems like an honest person, and the price is right for the neighborhood.” Also, he told me I could use the mobile phone the hostel owned as long as I was in Bucharest. So, after only being in Romania for approximately six hours, I had stumbled onto a flat, a flat mate and a phone. Some people seem to think this a little crazy, but it has been five weeks and the living arrangements are fantastic. Christian has pointed out different things to do in the city and has made several suggestions of where I should go outside of the city. It was a large gift of generosity, and good luck, to meet someone looking for help at the same time. It is merely one example of the niceness and kindness that Romanians have shown me.

But if deciding to live with a Romania, after knowing them only a few hours, seems crazy, I have met many other people who have shown to be excellent people. I met Anca; she works with HIV/AIDS victims in Romania; helping to ensure they receive medicine and fair treatment from the law. There is Marushka, who invited several people over for a party and a celebration, though barely knowing most of them. She went to Australia, deciding to be brave and venture out into the world and wished to celebrate. There is the little shopkeeper near to my flat. I’ll say she did not seem to like me at all when I first showed up; I spoke no Romanian and required the price to be written down to figure out how much money to give her. Now though, having taken a few language classes (which I should mention is definitely Latin based, but you already knew that and I speak it worse than a two-year-old), she smiles at me with my little attempt at conversation. “Buna Seara; multsumesc; la revedere” and being able to slightly understand the prices when she says them to me. Are there bad people, you ask? So far…no. There are annoying situations (taxis that don’t meter when you sit down or the occasional prostitute who won’t go away) and odd sights (seeing grumpy old people becoming children for a second sliding on ice), but overall people have been helpful and willing to lend a little hand. Using broken Romanian, I have been able to get directions and not be hated. In Moscow, using correct written Russian at a train station led to a yelling match between the ticket lady and the gentleman behind me. He won and I got a ticket, but there were no nice words for him to say about her as a Russian and a person. I have not seen that here and hopefully I won’t.

So there you have it, blog one done. Keep in touch and let me know if you have any questions, see if I can answer them.