Swell says: Best Post Yet!

Thanks for all the well wishes Re: our Ikea installation.

I wish, oh, how I wish I could say that your well wishes made everything go smoothly. I wish I could sit here and write that the Ikea installers came, quickly set up the cabinets and counter, installed the sink turned on the water and we were good to go. I wish I could.

But I can’t.

The Ikea installers did come. They arrived at the house at 6:30 pm after a full day of jobs and left at 8:30 pm with one job remaining. Those guys work hard. I find it amazing that many of the jobs people pay them to do are simple bookshelves, entertainment units. Those things are easy to put together. Anyone with half a brain… oh, that explains it. Never mind.

Two guys came to put everything together. They were wonderful. They worked hard and fast. They were respectful. They questioned if they wanted us to clarify a where or what.

Our nightmare came true when they said that they weren’t allowed to actually hook the sink up. I figured as much when we were purchasing it. They cut the hole for the sink so I figured we could fake our way through the installation of the drain and the faucet.

We couldn’t.

I sit here writing this as a “plumber” is finalizing the installation of the sink. Swell is debating with them whether we should go back and re-purchase the part that I broke (I THOUGHT it said to do it in the instructions!) or if they should just pull a Romanian and patch it together with hay, tape, horse dung, and years of acceptance of half-assed work. Swell is strongly encouraging replacing the part. The “plumber” and her dad couldn’t care less. If it works even halfway its fine by their Romanian standards.

What will probably happen is that the “plumber” will finish and then Swell and I will go get the part and replace it. He’s already done what we needed him to do. What we needed him to do was not due to my error(s) rather it is because this house was built by half-drunk grade school children who couldn’t put a pipe into the wall straight. Because the pipe that is to drain the sink is almost parallel to the wall I couldn’t get the dang pipe from the sink to go into the pipe in the wall. The end that Ikea included was to big to reach the drain pipe at the gross angle and go around the hot water/gas pipes that are beautifully running along the kitchen wall.

He did what I thought needed to be done and brought a little extension. The extension goes into the angled pipe in the wall but extends beyond the other pipes beautifully running along the wall. Easy enough but I thought it better to consult a “professional”.

Why do I keep referring to this guy with words in quotes? Because I have no idea what his qualifications are.
We found him through an ad in the local paper. You may recall that I mentioned at one point that we were looking for a part to fix the oven with. We were never able to find said part and I didn’t really want to mess around with a gas oven anyway so we scoured the newspaper for someone who fixed ovens. He came and fixed said oven and mentioned upon seeing the disgusting sink/counter that we had that he could fix that as well. He also laughed and said he could lower the hood for the stove.

We called him again this morning to come and do this work. He is now lowering the hood.

Well, I didn’t call. Neither did Swell. Swell’s mum called him. At 6:30 this morning, much to Swell’s alarm.

I don’t get a good feeling from this guy. He wanted to park at Cora and have us go and drive to get him to bring him to the house – he’s too good to drive through the potholes and dogs. We said no and he ended up driving here.

One of the first things he said upon arrival is that he got a speeding ticket on the way here. As if he expects to be reimbursed or paid a little extra for that. Whose fault is that exactly? We don’t care if you take an extra 15 minutes to get here. I truly don’t care if you got a speeding ticket. That’s not what you tell your customers as far as I’m concerned. (He was later dropped off at the metro station so either he lied about driving completely or his car was impounded?)

Swell’s mum loves him, however, so I’ll keep my opinion to myself. Not that we know anyone else that can fix these things if I did say something.

Well that’s a little Ikea update. I’ll post before and after pictures later today.

Now onto the bigger news.

Well it’s not really news it is a dilemma.

Well it’s not so much a dilemma as it is a quandary.

Before we left Nablus we were asked how much money it would take to have us return. I said double. They said, “No” before my “double” finished passing my lips.

We were then asked in private by the dean what our absolute minimum was.

I’m stupid.

I’ll admit it. I’m the first to admit it.

I am a bad negotiator.

I’m not a practical person.

I could live in a hovel and be happy.

I hate money and would rather be paid in Jelly Bellies and Dr. Pepper.

I was feeling very guilty when asked this by the dean.

So I said we need what we were paid this year + X as a minimum.

Our mortgage payment just increased by almost double.

We were stupid. I’ll admit it.

I’m a bad financial planner.

We always think we’re going to do something in the future but our plans always change. When we bought our place it was our plan to only live there for two years. At the most. So we…

I already said I know I’m stupid.

…so we’ve been paying interest only. Our two year interest only arrangement is up. Now we’re paying principal and interest. Big jump in payments at the same time as a big pay cut is not the best of things.

I know I’m stupid.

But I didn’t think of this change in payments at the time I told them we needed this year + X as a minimum.

All of these things have now ganged up and are beating us senseless.

The guilt led us to consider returning. The guilt also put me in a bad negotiating position. I said what I said. And a few days ago emailed the school and said that they had a week to offer us something or we would begin looking for new jobs.

They of course offered my this year + X minimum. Had they offered this before we left we would have taken it instantly. As we get further and further away from our time there it becomes more difficult to talk ourselves back into thinking it is in anyway a good idea.

We are torn for many reasons. If we go back we would absolutely need to be paid starting July 1. There is no way that we can survive without being paid this summer. There is also no way we could get temporary jobs that would let us work 6 weeks and pay enough to survive.

They have not yet told us if they would actually be willing to pay us to work this summer. We could not be there this summer even if they are paying us for two very important reasons. I’m not really supposed to be out of the USA for long periods of continuous time due to my residency status. Secondly we will not miss our family trip scheduled for mid August. If paid this summer we would actually be working. Preparing lectures, etc. If they don’t pay us to do these things this summer it would be impossible to keep up with the workload once in Nablus.

So if we go our schedule would be to arrive home in Atlanta on July 5th. Do our taxes, meet with people about refinancing our debt, at least Swell would have to fly to Portland to get some notes/books that are in storage at her parents and, of course prepare lectures. Swell was instantly against the idea of going. After a few hours she screamed out in great joy and began to cry. Between sobs she could be heard saying, “If we get paid for July and August we could do our work at Panera, beside the pool, at Little Azzios, in our home, it would be such a great summer! OH! If we go back we can for sure have Christmas off. WAIT we would have 6 WEEKS OFF at Christmas!” And she then wanted to go. Now? Back and forth.

If we were to go, after our summer of fun, we would be there for about 4 months. Home for the 6 week Christmas break and then back for about 4 months. In May, after the final final exam was given we would leave and never look back. In our minds we would have accomplished enough to prepare people to take over what we were doing. All they would be missing is experience. I have always said that my job, as a public health worker, should be to make myself unnecessary. We would become unnecessary with joy.

The opportunity continues to be good for my resume and is fun to me. Besides all the cool kids are working for no money under difficult circumstances with no prestige or chance for advancement.

If we don’t go we could make money. Hand over fist money. So much money we could burn money as fuel. Rather than burn money, though, I would stash my money away to fix my long neglected bus.

Rebuild the engine.

Reupholster the seats.

Fix the rusted spots.

Paint it red and white like my first moose-destroyed one.

I would drive that thing everyday for the rest of my life. The smell. The purr of the tiny little engine. The unbearable summer heat. Going up hills in first, worrying that it might not make it. Swell by my side. Grow my gnarly beard out again (you should have seen me last week) and be the hippie that I’ve always been on the inside.

So that’s my reason for not going. If I don’t go I can fix my bus sooner than if we do go.

Swell’s reasons are stupid.

Safety.

Starting a family.

Having to be cooped up for four months.

The civil war brewing in Palesine.

Having to get by Israeli security.

Being away from family.

Delaying the inevitable “need to start our lives someday”.

You know silly, petty things.

So we’ll send an email asking exactly what they expect of us and whether or not they will pay us for July and all of August. Furthermore, we’ll have to inform them that prior commitments will make it so that we can’t start teaching until the second week of classes. We’ll see.

Advice?

As you know this is being written on Word prior to being uploaded so I often write some and then leave. A lot happened during the writing of this blog.

Swell convinced her Dad and the “plumber” that it would be best if we went to get the part I broke (I said I thought I was following the directions!). Swell’s Dad also decided that it is time to buy a new shower. He goes a tad crazy in Romania. My armchair psychology is that he likes to impress people by how well he has done by providing for them. Fine by me. So we (Swell, the sick one, Swell’s Dad, the “plumber” and I) jumped in the car and drove to Cora. We quickly went into the hardware store portion of the Cora mall and looked at showers. No normal showers to be found. They all came with chairs and massage jets and radios and women that wash you and rain nozzles and remote controls. (One of those things is not true… you guess which one.)

They were more expensive than the “plumber” was expecting (but really not that much… I think… I’ve never bought a shower before) so Swell’s Dad and the “plumber” hopped back in the car and headed to other stores to scope out showers.

Swell, the sick one and I looked for a taxi to take us to Ikea. We asked five or six drivers who were sitting around reading papers, talking on phones, smoking waiting in the parking lot. All of them of course began to fight for this rather large fare. They debated who should get to take these people and earn their money and respect. Who would be the one lucky enough to have a big fare rather than the piddley little fares the others would be left with.

Ha! I tricked you. Remember we’re in Bucharest, Romania. Every single driver refused our fare. They chose to continue to sit and do nothing rather than earn an easy 30 lei fare. We were shocked over our lack of shock. To be expected.

We pondered our next step. I suggested we head out of the parking lot to the road and try to flag a taxi down. That is what we did. He reluctantly agreed to drive us and drive us he did.

We did the Ikea thing.

1) Eat
2) Show the sick one all the model rooms
3) Eat
4) Buy extra things we didn’t come for (thanks to Swell stealing money from her parents!)
5) Wait in line for the part I broke (I said I thought I was following the directions exactly right!)
6) Call 7 Taxi companies and stop 1 real taxi driver and have them all refuse to come and get us. Do I smell? Yes, but that’s because I couldn’t’ have a shower yet tonight. I didn’t smell then.

Swell was furious. I heard Swell say her Mum would help us find the bus as she was on the phone with her Mum. Swell wouldn’t follow me as I walked toward where I thought the bus stop was. Swell said her parents were going to come get us. I said, “That’s stupid. By the time they get here and drive us back we could have taken the two hour bus ride. You SAID your Mum would help us get to the bus so let’s do that.” She said, “I never said such a thing. I said I THINK my Mum can help us get to the bus.”

The word think (which was NOT said) led to a tiny disagreement between Swell and I. Both of us were very upset by the turn of events with the lack of taxis to take us home so it was a silly disagreement but a disagreement none the less.

You might have noticed that I’ve been in a piss-poor mood the past few weeks. A lot of it has to do with just not getting the “vacation” we had hoped for. We had hoped to just go and do things during the day with whoever wanted to and then hang out at home during the night. With the two homes thing that has become more difficult as not everyone is here at all times and in fact there is often times when no one is here. Other reasons I won’t go into but suffice it to say that Dr. Phil (you know the obese everyone-needs-to-go-on-a-diet-but-me quack on TV that got his start from the arrogant, new-agey, I’m richer than you but I offer nothing to the world but mindless entertainment for stay-at-home Mums woman) could do a years worth of stories on the 7 people here (myself included) and still have enough left over for a prime-time special. So getting into these crappy situations which are funny 3 hours later is getting old.

Anyway Swell’s folks were on their way to get us and we crossed over the Ikea parking lot to a “mall” a lot like Cora but called Carrefour. We wandered and waited and sat and watched half-naked people all the while stewing about the taxi situation and the fact that Swell’s parents had to drive across Bucharest in rush hour traffic to come and get us.

Eventually they arrived.

On our way home we saw the Arc de Triumph (no we didn’t take a wrong turn in Germany. Romania has one too.) and learned that the “plumber” not only lowered the hood to the stove but he flipped the upside down cabinet and hung them not with regular screws but with the included brackets. We also learned that Swell’s Dad was able to buy a shower. It was on sale. It was not a normal shower but does indeed come with the chair and the massage jets. No rain faucet, no women to wash you, no radio and no remote control but the other two things are good enough, I suppose. As Swell’s Dad reviewed the good deal he got with me, Swell flipped over her Brico store flyer (the very first store we went to before splitting up with the “plumber” and Swell’s Dad) to find a similar shower but with the rain faucet, the radio and the women at a lower price. Don’t tell him that though. He won’t want to hear it.

Tomorrow the shower arrives as well as the plumber. In the meantime the current bathtub sits precariously on a mound of concrete that probably should have given way a year ago. Thus, I stink. I’ll have a nice shower with a massage tomorrow, thank you very much. (Except I have the feeling that the water pressure in this house won’t support much of a massage. Oh well.)

It took about 3 hours to drive home. It shouldn’t have. We took some wrong turns, which would have been ok but the wrong turns were turns into parking lot traffic. Stand still traffic + five people in a Dacia Logan + 35 degree weather = a sweaty mess. A long drive sure but it was fun. We saw parts of Bucharest we’ll never see again. We talked, we laughed, we enjoyed the time. As we rounded the corner on the pothole filled street that leads to home I could call the day good. Not great but good. It wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t great it was just good.

As this thought crossed my mind a smile came to my face. Just then the car lights fell on a dog. In the middle of the road. He paused looked me square in the eyes, crapped in the road and ran off moments before the car reached him.

I turned to Swell, Swell turned to me as the others in the car screamed, “EWWWW!” we simply said in unison, “I $%$#$% hate it here.”

Mediocre update at best

Wow. Two updates in two days. Y’all should count your blessings.

First corrections/amendments to the previous post.

1) As Mauigirl correctly pointed out I exaggerated my last meeting with the good Dr. slightly. (You have met Dr. Pepper haven’t you?) I wrongly indicated that the last time I had a Dr. Pepper was 5 months ago. This time I didn’t exaggerate for dramatic effect. Simply, I exaggerated because I’m stupid and don’t count so gooder.

I didn’t tell the story of my last date with the Pepper for reasons of brevity. Our Romania updates have been written as a single Word document and are copy/pasted as blog updates. As I write this, sitting behind a closed door to avoid interaction with Swell’s family and drinking a Dr. Pepper, I am on page 42 of the document. The word count up to and including this word right here is 14,031.

14,000 words over 42 pages tell our Romania story thus far. If I see a place for brevity I seldom take it – as was kindly pointed out this morning when I got my paper back from the fine folks at the Journal Optometry. At least they didn’t reject me outright. One reviewer is on board given some revisions in language/style/excessive use of words. The other reviewer not so much. As someone emailed me this morning – some people just don’t get it. I’ll revise, revise, revise when we get home. I had hoped to do it while in Romania but…you know… the whole my computer is broken kind of puts a damper on accessing my copious notes and ideas.

Anyway I sat and debated with myself if I should include a side story about Dr. Pepper when I indicated that I found the sweet-nectar-that-I-should-avoid-at-all-costs-lest-I-be-gifted-with-diabetes. I weighed the pros and the cons. I looked at my page and word count. The side story was axed.

I then calculated that February was 5 months prior to June. I know, I know a child wouldn’t make such a careless mistake. What can I say? Look at where I got my education. If they let my sister teach in the public school system back home you can guess the quality (or lack thereof) of the teaching (if someone buys a dog larger than they are, literally taller than they are, they can’t be all that smart. I know I’m not the only one that thinks this. Short people need to get short dogs. If you’re a short person and you get a large dog it makes you look SHORTER! Fat people shouldn’t wear horizontal stripes, short people shouldn’t get giant dogs. It’s a rule.).

Given my public education I’m lucky I can construct a sentence. (I can, I just choose not to when on the world wide waste of time.)

Complicated math?

Forget it. Not going to happen.

So here is the Dr. Pepper side story. Gilda flew from Maui, Hawaii to visit us in Nablus Palestine. In a very small amount of luggage she was able to bring about a million things for Swell. A French press, coffee(?), clothes, a bag, jewelry, mugs. I am sure there is much, much more. It seemed that Gilda’s bags were those new top-of-the-line bottomless bags people are raving about here in Europe – they’ll be in America in 2 years, you know, like fashion trends.

Weightless, bottomless bags – the best thing to happen to travel in…like… forever.

She even brought gifts for the staff in the Faculty of Optometry. As Swell was receiving gift after gift I started to feel left out. So sad. Nothing for poor ol’ me. I feigned happiness for Swell. Deep down a bitter resentment was building and as I fought to control my rage Gilda pulled out a bottle – yes a bottle, not a can – of Dr. Pepper for ME!

I exclaimed, “My precious!” and immediately put it in the freezer. A couple of hours later I consumed that drink like the obese heathen that I am.

That day was not five months ago. It was four months ago and it is a day I will never forget. The day Gilda became not just Swell’s friend but my friend as well.

I humbly apologize for misleading you, the fair reader of this agonizing, self-aggrandizing, overly wordy, overtly preachy blog.


2) Don’t lie, you forgot this was a list didn’t you?

I have absolutely no idea if the previous post was number 100 or 98. When we signed in to update it said we had 99 previous posts. Swell said we should commemorate that momentous occasion with a special post.

I responded (nicely!), that I spent a good number of hours (yes it takes me hours) writing the post and I wasn’t going to change it for nuthin’.

We compromised and titled the post 100th Post. Someone proceeded to do some more complicated math.

Math who really needs it?

Adding up the posts along the side of our blog you come up with a different number than 100. Which is right? Dunno. Ummmm… don’t really care. So we claim this as our 101st post whether it is or not.

We’ll accept gifts of congratulations at our Atlanta home.

3) Some of the following post took place during the previous post.

I’ll let you in on a secret.
It’s a good one.

Our posts are not exact replications of history.

Shhhh… don’t tell anyone! Please.

You see, I take some artistic liberties with the recollection of our lives. In some places time stops. In other places time speeds up. Sometimes I even make up what Swell says! Don’t hate me. I do it for you.

I’ll explain further for those who are shocked.

Take the previous post for example. I didn’t really keep score. I made it up.

Everything I write about is trueish.

One more example for clarification. Swell didn’t really turn to me and say, “We lost.” She didn’t even know we were keeping score…because we weren’t. She actually turned to me, upon seeing the girl doing her business in the front of the building – with the girl's parents very nearby, obviously not caring – “I $%$#@# hate it here” and then Swell threw up in her own mouth.

But just a little.

Why do I tell you this secret? Because some of this post might not jive perfectly, from a perspective of time, with the previous post. Just know that everything written thus far and forever into eternity happened but may not be in the order I’m recalling it.

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Have you ever heard of a store called Ikea? If you haven’t please go to ikea.com find your nearest Ikea and drive there. Once there eat the meatballs and leave. The only thing worth doing at Ikea is eating the food.

No need to actually visit the store unless:
i) You have the patience of a saint
ii) You thrive on disappointment
iii) You like crowds of slow moving people prone to
a) touch you
b) cut in front of you
c) give you the stink eye for looking at an item that they are interested in

The idea of Ikea is fantastic. Cheapish furniture that looks okish and lasts a longish time. The reality of Ikea is that it is the seventh circle of hell with goodish food.

Did you know that they pump some type of low level anesthetic through the air vents in Ikea? It acts to decrease your memory of the bad experience you had at Ikea. It leads people to remember Ikea as a pleasant experience. This is a fraud perpetrated on the people of the world unlucky enough to have an Ikea nearby. It must be stopped. I write this, our experience in the Ikea in Bucharest, as a warning to those who are considering returning. I was able to overcome the mind numbing anesthetic floating through the air vents and survived the attempt on my life to bring you people the truth.

Ikea is not a gift from God. It is Sweden’s attempt to take over the world. They will leave populations battered and bruised from building furniture with inappropriate tools. They will leave men and women flailing on the ground trying to figure out if their arrangement of four nearly identical pieces of wood matches the crudely drawn instructional diagram because they know if it doesn’t their TV stand will collapse crushing small children and animals.

Once the population is properly incapacitated the Swedes will waltz in and take control of the government. No one will stop them. Instead they will welcome the promise of a new flat-packed and efficient government.

I won’t bore you with a recounting of Swell and my experiences with Ikea, they were properly documented on our old blog. If you are new readers suffice it to say that we drove the three hours from Vancouver, WA to Seattle to go to Ikea more than once. Further we rented a u-haul to take Swell’s parents Ikea goods from Vancouver, WA to Washougal, WA because Ikea wouldn’t deliver there. Further we had some very interesting experiences with Ikea in Atlanta that included blood, anger, rain, wrong items. I have, in my short life, put together three homes worth of Ikea goods. I hung curtains designed by a drunk Swede whose sole purpose in life was to get me to contemplate suicide. I had the pills in hand…

Ikea opened in Bucharest in late March. We had planned to visit since we heard of its opening. I knew I made a mistake the minute we walked through the door.

The idea was so good. Ikea. We would go in, enjoy our time. Look at the stuff, maybe buy a thing or two.

We went the day after we visited Swell’s G-Pa. I think. I thought that that was the day her Dad was supposed to arrive but we had planned on going to Ikea before he arrived so there must have been a day between our G-Pa visit and his planned arrival. But if that is the case today should be tomorrow.

No matter. Swell, her Ma, her G-ma and I headed to Ikea. Ma and G-ma wanted to take public transportation. The fools. They had gone to Ikea by themselves before we arrived. It takes two hours to get there on public transportation and two hours to get back.

We took a taxi. After the long walk past the half finished houses, potholes, and killer dogs.

The taxi ride was uneventful aside from Swell’s continued embarrassment at her Mother’s need to tell taxi driver’s her life story.

We arrived at Ikea had some lunch (Swell and I shared some meatballs and they were good, the potatoes were even better here than in the US). Good times. Good times.

It was then time to go shopping. We really weren’t here to browse. We had a need. We were here for cabinets and a sink for the kitchen. We made our way relatively quickly to the kitchen area.

The day soon fell apart.

Swell saw an industrial looking sink and counter set that would serve the family well. Easy to clean, plentiful storage, inexpensiveish. As is all too common at Ikea they were out of stock of said sink/counter.

That wasn’t the bad part.

The bad part was figuring out how one buys a sink and counter at Ikea. You’d think you could just go up to a worker and say, “Worker, I would like to purchase a very simple sink and cabinets. Will you please sell me these things?”

It should be that easy. We thought, having had all our memories of past Ikea trips numbed in our minds, that it would be that easy.

Foolishly we approached a worker and tried the preceding line on them.

Her response, “Go to those computers over there and plan out what you want and then you’ll be done.”

Swell, “Ok. Thank you… wait. What?”

The worker lady takes Swell by the hand leads her to the computer and says, “Here.” And leaves.

Swell looks at me. I look at her. I say, “Let’s go home.”

She perseveres and sets out to solve the theory of relativity on these Ikea computers.

What are the room dimensions?

Dunno. We only measured one wall.

Make it up. Ok.

What next? It says to place the door where it belongs.

Ok.

Ummmm… why is the door as big as the entire room?

Dunno.

Skip the door.

Ok. What next?

Dunno.

WHAT NEXT?

DUNNO.

That wasn’t very helpful.

How do we buy a dang counter and sink?

Dunno.

Eventually I had a brainstorm. I figured out how to pick from a variety of cabinets. You pick the size, the layout and the finish. You pick the type of sink you want, the faucet and the handles. You then enter it on the computer in some unknown way and it prints an order sheet, which you then take to the counter to pay for.

We never did figure out how to use the computer. We had the worker type it in. They weren’t happy to do it.

It sounds easy when I type it out here. In reality it involved much head scratching. Some angry words. The overwhelming desire to just up and leave Ikea. Questioning Swell’s G-Ma as to what she wants. The answer every time was whatever is cheapest. She had no desire to input on colour, size, types of cabinets or anything.

It was annoying.

The experience and G-ma’s answers.

Let me go back a little. We worked at the computer. Got no where.

We looked at the cabinets on display. I found some signs. We looked at papers. After that process I decided we should just write down names, numbers, styles, etc. of what we wanted and then head down to the pick-up area of Ikea.

If you’ve never been to Ikea the general idea is that you’re supposed to help yourself to the items. You go to a designated area as indicated by the tag on the display item. Find your box, kill yourself heaving said box onto a moving cart and then go and find your next item. You then drive home and find out that you picked half dark wood colours and half light wood colours for the same item… wait is that just us?

Anyway our cabinets that we decided on did not have a designated area to pick them up. It said to see an associate. Now whenever we’ve done that before we just went down to the warehouse and spoke to someone there. So we went with our list and found a guy to help us.

He promptly sent us back upstairs to the sink department where they were to help us.

Just as we asked them to when we first arrived. In the kitchen area a worker dude asked if he could help Swell. She said, “Yes.”

He said, “Ok that lady will help you.”

The lady then said. “Then why did you ask if you could help her?”

Swell then waited to be helped. And waited some more.

Eventually the items were entered the list was printed and I found a mistake.

Items re-entered, list printed and off to pay we went.

Along the way to the cash register we noted another item that Swell’s Mum wanted to buy. Having lost Swell’s mum and Grandma in the crowd we phoned and asked if she still wanted it. The answer, “Yes.”

We went. Paid. And were instructed to go to another area and “wait for our number to be called”.

We stood for a while waiting for our mysterious number to be called. I don’t know why we stood waiting. We didn’t have a number nor was there an appropriate place to pick a number from.

We waited none-the-less. Eventually I asked Swell to go find someone to ask. They directed us to a line where they took our piece of paper, scanned it and said, “15 minutes”.

We found a bench, had a seat and waited. We waited. And then for good measure we waited some more. I found the waiting alarming. Not only were we waiting but I wasn’t hearing any numbers or names being called. Eventually I convinced Swell to investigate.

Remember I’m not being mean having my wife go forth and investigate. I would do it but I’m an imbecile and barely know one language let alone Romanian. She does the investigating here even though she hates it. She hates talking to customer service people on the phone (as do I), she hates asking workers what we should be doing (as do I), she hates not just doing everything right without needing help (as do I). In English speaking countries I do the asking because I’m the man and don’t want the little lady to be uncomfortable. In other countries where the people are bigger, meaner, and a little stinkier she does it. Not my fault she knows Romanian, some Spanish and some Italian. Not my fault that many of those people are bigger, meaner and slightly stinkier than their American counterparts. It’s just the way it is. Deal with it.

Anyway she finds out that our stuff was waiting for us. They did whisper-call our names. We didn’t hear it because we weren’t standing a foot away from them.

Next we need to arrange delivery and installation. Normally I build and install all Ikea fixings. This time, however, I passed. I was not prepared to cut out a hole in the countertop for the sink. If it came pre-cut sure I’d do it. If it came with a stencil, I’d probably do it. If it comes with a tape measure, a pencil, and a hearty good-luck. No way, no how.

We waited and waited and waited in the seemingly non-moving delivery and installation line.

Eventually we worked up the arrangements. We would take most things home in the Taxi they would (and did) deliver some items the next day and installation would take place the following Thursday. Easy breezy.

Worker lady “Pay me please.”
Swell “Credit.”
Worker lady “Our machine is broken.”
Swell “I’ll pay over there then.”
Worker lady “That’s a different department. You’ll have to pay cash.”
Swell “I don’t have enough cash.”
Worker lady Shrug.
Swell Calls Mother frantically asking her to hurry to the checkout with some extra cash

That was taken care of. Swell may have said some choice words to the lady about Romania, and stupid, and perhaps something about the woman’s mother and a horse but I’m not entirely sure.

Swell’s mother had rushed out of the store to rescue her daughter so she still wanted to do some browsing. I had a cart full of stuff and couldn’t re-enter the store. I bravely volunteered to wait on the exit side of the registers in return for a hot-dog and a drink.

(I skipped a story about the “orange pop” in the restaurant looking a lot like dark cola but still tasting somewhat orangey. It was an unpleasant mixing of the senses. It was basically orange Pepsi - and not on purpose. Someone somewhere put nozzle x where nozzle y was supposed to be... on both pop machines.)

Romanian lines are not really lines at all. They are free-for-alls. Whoever can push their way to the helper first wins. We were battered and bruised by a guy behind us, who ended up in front of us and were outflanked by a family who ignored the line completely and just went to the cashier. I literally threw my hands in the air while Swell yelled obscenities about Romania and inconsiderate, smelly heathens. Eventually I received my hot dog and my lidless cup. I waited for the women to finish and we headed home.

For reasons of brevity I’ll end here. I am leaving out the story of my “building” the microwave stand that was purchased from Ikea. I’m not going to tell you that the screwdrivers that Swell’s family have here were all the wrong size. I’m also not going to tell you that the closest one to the right size was used as a chisel at some point and was, therefore, a very poor screwdriver.

Furthermore you will be left in the dark about the lack of pre-drilled holes for the stand’s wheels and thus the requirement for me to screw screws into wood without a drill, with a very poor screwdriver. I’m also going to leave out the fact that my hands remain bruised to this day. That story is just too long for me to tell.

I will say that we will eagerly await the Ikea installers tomorrow and look forward to a nice new sink. With water that will still be brown. And will fluctuate dramatically in temperature. And will still have an odour that one just can’t place one’s finger on. One can safely assume, however, that the odour belongs somewhere between the sewage and decomposing flesh families with some burnt hair thrown in for good measure.

Thirsty?

One Hundredth Post!

So we spent three days and two nights in “La Tara” (the country). I’m not going to say much about our time there, rather I’ll finally let Swell have a say in something. I’ll leave her to talk about out time at the main Copoiu home.

I’ll let her tell you about the bugs. The outhouse. The uncomfortable bed. The poison ivy. The dirt. The pigs. The goats. I’ll even let her tell you about the food. The stores. The people. I’ll let her tell you how much she loved it there. I’ll let her tell you how much I didn’t care.

Animals and farms? Meh.

If she doesn’t write that post soon bug her until she does. She is the best to write about our time there.

I’ve been rereading our previous Romania posts.

The three leading up to this one.

If you watch the fourth season of the Family Guy on DVD and listen to the commentaries they talk about how for a few episodes Quagmire became a charactiture of himself. They say they took him too far from the reality that is Quagmire. He went so far from who he was that the fans didn’t like it. I became worried that I may have done that with our characterization of Bucharest.

So I conducted a test.

Swell and I went out for a day on our own.

I kept score.

Us versus Bucharest.

The day started out as most days do for us in Romania. We got up when the oppressive heat and city noises drove us from our bed. Not too early, not too late. On this day the house was filled with activity. Swell’s Mum and her mum were preparing for a day we did not envy. They were going to go to many government offices to try to increase the sick one’s pension. The sick one and Tatia were out in the country.

Let me break from the action of the game to discuss the Romanian Pension. I don’t know much about it but what I do know is astounding.

It seems to me, an outsider, that almost everyone here is eligible for government subsidies/funding of some sort. The Copoiu family have only government income to support their lavish lifestyle.

Everyone on government pensions works very hard to find ways to increase said pension. They’ll go from government office to government office pleading their case.

“During communism I worked the night shift. I am, therefore, entitled to more money.”

“I hurt my back at work and (have found doctor’s willing to lie and say) I can no longer work. I need more money and I deserve it from you, the government.”

I have no idea how the government of Romania can pay out as much pension as they do. It seems that people see the government as a source of funding rather than a government. I should research the percentage of people on government funding and what percent of GDP the government gives out in pensions.

I would bet it is a lot.

Anyway a couple of years ago the government made some changes to the pension system that will allow the Sick one to get more money. It actually might be that the Enabler gets more money for being her caretaker but someone will get more money.

The two women had the goal of getting more money starting that day. Swell and I laughed at them and wished them luck. We laughed because we knew. We knew that it would take them a month of hard work to get one small thing done. We have been here long enough to know that a Romanian task takes forever to accomplish. The workers don’t want to help you. The transportation is a nightmare and the bureaucracy is… well… a bureaucracy.

Swell and I, while those two women were sweating and running, would go to downtown Bucharest and enjoy the shops, the fountain lined streets, Romanian food, and the People’s Palace.

We were excited for a day on our own just enjoying our “vacation”.

We got ready and wound our way past the half finished houses, the potholes and the yappy dogs. Today we would walk past the first street, where the maxi-taxi stops. We would walk about 2 kilometers to the busy street where we could catch a real taxi! We were living large on our date day.

We had a pleasant walk. Talking about what we would do this day. Talking about our time in Romania, our time in Palestine, just enjoying being together.

I’ll break this narrative again. Swell and I have a problem. We like being just us far too much. We like people Swell likes people but we more often than not we would prefer just to hang out together. Palestine was like a utopia of just hanging out together. We worked together. We lived together. We did a lot of nothing together. We were together at least 21 hours a day. Only apart during classes. It will be very hard to go back to only seeing each other after a long day at work. We were spoiled.

We made it to the busy street, quickly flagged a taxi and we were on our way. It was a short trip costing about 15 lei (1.4 lei/km, about $6 US in total). We looked around, talked some more. Eventually we arrived and Swell decided that she needed to eat.

We were in this same area a few days prior looking for an AC adaptor for my computer. During our long walk that day we came across a restaurant that seemed to serve Romanian fare.

We headed in that direction.

A kilometer and a half later we found the restaurant and were quickly seated.

Turns out that it wasn’t really traditional Romanian food but they had cabbage rolls and other food that sounded good.

We ordered cabbage rolls as an appetizer and Swell ordered the fish special and I had boring old chicken.

The food, especially the cabbage rolls (which came with mamaliga), was very good. We think the server charged us too little but she was hard to find so we paid what they asked for and took off faster than greased lightening.

Us 1
Bucharest 0

We took our time wandering back to where we were dropped off by the taxi (right in front of a “mall”). We stopped in a number of shops – mostly clothing. We looked. We bought nothing. Too expensive and we don’t really have any room in our luggage. We got to the mall and looked at some of the small shops inside the mall. At the very first store Swell saw something that nearly made her cry.

When we first got to Nablus the house was lacking some essentials. Clean/nice cups and mugs were near the top of that list. We were taken to Israel to go shopping and Swell saw a set of mugs that she loved. They are stacking mugs and when stacked they form a large animal. The ones in Israel formed a cute cow. There are also other, smaller cows on each of the cups. She picked up the box to buy them and saw that there was a picture of the same type of mugs with sheep on them. Alas they only had the cow ones. She purchased them and enjoys them to this day.

This first tiny shop had the sheep version of those mugs. Swell was thrilled. We bought them – paid a lot more than we did in Israel but bought them none-the-less.

Us 2
Bucharest 0

What a fantastic day this was turning out to be.
It was getting late and we wanted to see the People’s Palace so we decided to walk over there. We walked along the main street where one could see fountains, trees along the middle and sides of the street and the Palace straight ahead.

The palace is a monstrosity. Huge.

The trees were Linden trees, which Swell loves. They bring back memories of her childhood and on this day they were very fragrant. It was a beautiful walk and we enjoyed it.

Us 3
Bucharest 0

We got to the end of the street and were faced with a dilemma. We had to cross a street and we weren’t really sure how. It is a busy street.

Very busy.

It was a wide street.

Very wide.

We looked left. We looked right. A ha! A crosswalk way down there.

We headed that way.

As we were walking along the sidewalk we noticed that there were many parked cars on the sidewalk. Actually…there were many parked and moving cars. The moving cars didn’t much care that we were walking along the sidewalk. The sidewalk was quite narrow when you realize that it was being used as a parking lot, a road, and a sidewalk.

The moving cars were moving fast… very, very fast through this very narrow thoroughfare. At one point we were pinned between a building, a parked car and a moving car barely escaping with our toes unsquished.

This part of our walk was no fun. It was hot. It was fume-y. It was dangerous. It was unpleasant.

Us 3
Bucharest 1

We made it to the crosswalk. Crossed the street with little difficulty and found ourselves at the edge of the People’s Palace. We saw people walking in and out of a gate. We saw police and security.

Swell asked the Police man if this was the entrance for tourists. He politely said no and pointed us around the corner.

Did I mention how big the People’s Palace is? Around the corner sure, but more than that it was at the next corner down. A long ways away.

We walked all the while looking at the signs. Looking at the building. I was very much looking forward to finally seeing this Palace and all of its history. This is my third time in Romania and I have yet to do any sight seeing. This was going to be the icing on our already large cake of a day.

We finally arrived at what we thought was the tourist entrance. Noted some more police and Swell asked them if we were truly at the tourist entrance.

The policeman gave her a quizzical look.

Swell “Is this the entrance for tourists? Can we go this way?”
Policeman “You can’t be here today. There is a summit today and the palace is closed to the public until Monday!”

We were astonished. Not that there was a summit. Not that we were not allowed to visit. We were astonished that the first policeman didn’t say a word of this “summit”. Rather he directed us to the entrance knowing full well that we couldn’t enter the building this day. It wasn’t a short walk either. Jerk.

Us 3
Bucharest 2

I, trying my hardest to be upbeat, told Swell that I didn’t mind. It was neat just looking at the outside of the building. I mentioned how big it was and it didn’t seem that big when one drives past it in a car. She told me a little bit about what she remembered from a tour she took years ago.

I suggested that since we’d already walked halfway around we might as well keep going in the same direction and just walk around the entire perimeter of the building.

Half a block later…the sidewalk ended. We turned around and went the same way we came.

Us 3
Bucharest 3

Swell really dislikes walking the same way back to a place as she walked away from that place. So when we made it back to the crosswalk we decided to take the street to the left rather than returning to the street on the right.

It was not as pleasant of a walk as the tree lined street to the right but it had some old buildings and we weren’t terribly upset that we picked that street.

We walked. We walked and we walked. We knew we were going in the right direction and it was a nice day. As we were talking I glance to my left. I stopped. I stood mouth a gape pointing. I was barely able to mutter, “Swell look.”

Swell looked. She to saw what I was seeing. A tear welled up in her eye. Across the street was a place we were told didn’t exist. Across the street was the potential for the best day ever. Across the street was a nirvana. Across the street, one street over from the opulent boulevard with fountains and Linden trees looking up at the People’s Palace was hope. Hope in an area of the city that once housed only despair. Hope and joy in an area of the city that was built to honour the ego of one man. Across the street in front of our very own eyes was…

…An Apple computer store.

We rubbed our eyes thinking this was but a dream. The image never faded. It was really there.

We crossed the street, entered the store and explained our internet predicament. They assured us that it wasn’t a predicament at all and that we should return with the computer (which I had with me!) and the modem (which I left at home – boo.) and that they would have it up and running in about half an hour.

We were ecstatic.

Us 4
Bucharest 3

We left the store with such joy. We left with great hope that we hadn’t wasted our money on the modem. We left with great hope that in a few days time we would be able to have our modem working.

We continued on our way. Chatting. Walking. Enjoying our day.

400 m later as we were talking I glanced to my right. I stopped. I stood mouth a gape pointing. I was barely able to mutter, “Swell look.”

Swell looked and said, “A bloc!? Who cares. Look to the left and the right and back and forth there are blocs everywhere.”

I replied, “My dearest Swell do you not realize whose bloc this is? This is where your Grandpa lives!”

We knew he lived somewhere near the People’s Palace but didn’t know exactly where. We had inadvertently stumbled across his bloc.

Swell quickly called her mother who was out sweating getting very little accomplished while running around Bucharest. She asked her Mum what number her grandpa’s (Swell’s Dad’s dad) apartment was. 66 was the response.


Swell assured me that it would be fine to just drop in on her Grandpa and his “woman”. We were told that G-pa and his woman were married at some point, both are widows, but didn’t know that until late in our trip last year.

We took the tiny elevator to the 10th floor. First door we saw was 78. We walked to the right. 77, 76, 75…78.

Wait. What?

76 looked right to me.

It turned that 76 was the right door.

It was fine that we dropped by. They were happy to see us. Swell was only asked twice by her G-Pa who she was. A touch of Alzheimers I’d say.

Swell mostly visited with Grandpa’s woman who apparently has many a story to tell and is extremely intelligent – she was a journalist in her younger days and “not one of those women with just breasts and legs”, referring to today’s women journalists.

I tried my hardest not to fall asleep. It was hot up in there. So hot that Swell’s egg-shaped G-Pa was shirtless.

Breasts not guns.

We had a nice visit, which lasted a couple of hours. We left with the promise to return soon.

Best day ever.

Us 5
Bucharest 3

We were getting hungry again so we decided to find another place to eat. As we were approaching the mall we veered right and found a little Italian place. We had a great meal. Enjoyed the ambiance. Swell had a cappuccino at the end of the meal. We were having deep discussions about… believe it or not… Optometric vision camps.

The bane of our existence. It was at that moment that Swell did two things, i) she made a good point comparing the inadequacies of optometric vision camps to taking care of the street-dogs here – I won’t go into that analogy but it was very good, ii) she came up with a new name for our blog Over Cola and Cappuccinos. We will change the name of the blog when our adventure here ends. We often have great discussions over cola and cappuccinos. It is very appropriate.

Us 6
Bucharest 3

Best day ever.

It was getting late. Time to go home. Swell approached a taxi driver and he agreed to take us home. We got in.

As we were talking about our day Swell leaned over to me and asked, “Why does his meter say 7.99 lei/km?

I responded, “Dunno. Maybe it isn’t right. Let’s watch it.”

A very short while later we realized that the fare was nearing 15 lei and we had not gone very far at all. Swell asked the dude what was up.

He explained that his taxi company charges 1.4 Lei to come into the city but 7.99 Lei to leave. Doing some quick math we realize that it would cost about $50 US to get home at this rate.

”Let us out!”

He pulled over. Took our money – as much as it cost to get from home all the way to the mall earlier that morning – and he left.

Us 6
Bucharest 4

We surveyed the land. Hmmm… we really had no idea where we were.

Hmmmm… we didn’t really see any nearby taxis.

We started walking. We saw a taxi coming. We tried to flag it down. We got the finger wave of rejection.

Another taxi. More rejection.

There is a taxi over there! People are getting out of it. Let’s go ask!

Taxi driver “Sorry I just got home for the day.”

Rejection followed by rejection followed by taxi after taxi full of passengers.

Us 6
Bucharest 5

And so we walked. And we walked. And we walked.


And we walked.

The only taxis we saw were full. Our cell phone was near dead so we couldn’t phone anyone lest an emergency arise and we had killed our phone.

And we walked.

We ended up walking probably around 6 kilometers.

Us 6
Bucharest 6

By this time we recognized where we were and realized that a maxi-taxi stop would be coming soon. We stopped for some water and headed for the maxi-taxi stop.

We waited 5 minutes or so and saw the maxi-taxi approaching. It ended up stopping at a red light.

While at that red light a different maxi-taxi turned right onto the street we were waiting on.

It stopped to let some people off and other people on.

At the same time a Tram stopped letting people off. Many of those people saw the maxi-taxi stopped in front of us and ran to get on it.

While all of this action was taking place the light holding our maxi-taxi up turned green. To our left was an intersection. Can’t go there.

To our right was a sidewalk separated from the road by a waist high metal bar.
Can’t go there.

Our maxi-taxi drove right on by. Didn’t even glance our way. Well, I can’t say that for certain. I couldn’t see the maxi-taxi drive by. It was blocked by the other one.

Us 6
Bucharest 7

At least we weren’t the only ones left stranded. The maxi-taxi missed 3 or 4 others as well.

We waited about 10 minutes for the next maxi-taxi.

Our feet were sore. Our legs were sore. We were tired. We were getting cranky. We were dirty. We felt ripped off by the taxi driver. We were angry at the maxi-taxi for driving by us.

The last thing we needed was a packed maxi-taxi full of inconsiderate Romanians.

Best day ever?

Nope, the maxi-taxi came.

It was full.

In the front half.

All of the seats were taken. Those standing chose to stand in the front half of the maxi-taxi.

They wouldn’t move.

My butt was getting slapped repeatedly by the automatic door (this maxi-taxi was a bit bigger than most – more like a bus) as I had to stand on the second from top step.

Eventually Swell shoved her way through toward the back. I followed soon after hitting people with my bag, shoving them to the side. They didn’t even flinch.

Us 6
Bucharest 8

We lost. We had high points this day. We started strong. We failed miserably in the end though. We walked at least 6 km after being taken by a conman taxi driver. We ended our day with a crowded maxi-taxi and the long walk of shame from the maxi-taxi stop to home.

We were so close.

I’ll change the rules. We’ll just call this half-time. We’ll continue this game another day. We’ll continue it the day Swell’s Dad comes. That day we’ll have a rental car. It will make all the difference. We’ll have an advantage over this God-forsaken city.

He wass supposed to leave late our time the same day and arrive the next day early-afternoon.

He flies standby as an airline employee… you can see where this is going.

Day 1 – No seats
Day 2 – No seats
Day 3 – No seats
Day 4 – He makes it!

That night we went to Cora to buy a few things. Swell’s Dad needed some Romanian fixings.

Over the next 24 hours we would play the second half of our game.

I scored major points against Bucharest this day. My five month fast would end this day.



Us 7
Bucharest 8

This is an impossible thing to find outside of North America. I have never seen it anywhere else. See my face? I’m happy. Soooo happy.

The next day, today, we were going to visit Swell’s Dad’s dad. We were going to go back to the Apple store and see if we could get the computer up and running on the internet.

First Swell’s Dad would buy a microwave for G-pa.

Off to the store. Perfect Microwave.

On sale.

Ring it up.

Nope.

The price on the giant sign on top of the stack of microwaves under the giant red PROMOTION sign is wrong. It’s actually 100 lei more and we can’t charge the sale price. Sorry. Can’t help you anymore than saying tough luck, nobody told us it wasn’t on sale.

Us 7
Bucharest 9

That microwave was not purchased. He found one at a different store, along with some microwave safe plates, a fan, and a small amount of food.

We DROVE to his bloc. Went up. I was anxious to get this computer thing looked at.

We told G-pa we’d be right back and left to go to the Apple store. We arrived at 2:05 pm to a sign that said they were closed between 2:00pm and 3:00pm.

Us 7
Bucharest 10

Just my luck.

Swell needed a coffee so we walked to a shop nearby and had drinks and a snack. We watched people walk by and had a laugh at the expense of many of them.

It was fun. At 3 o’clock we walked back to the Apple store with apprehension and excitement.

Soon we would know the truth.

We walked into the store. We were directed to the back. A guy said he would help us immediately. He promptly went to the back room closed the glass door through which we watched him for the next 15 minutes.

Us 7
Bucharest 11

Meeting? Lazy? Who knows, who cares because…

HE FIXED IT! I post this from our home in Pantelimon. That is worth four points right there! We’ll call it a tie.

Us 11
Bucharest 11

We left the store for the short walk back to Grandpa’s. We were so happy. Excited by the new internet possibilities. Happy that we didn’t waste our money. Happy that we fought Bucharest and came out with a tie. It’s not that bad! We can survive this.

As we were walking up to G-Pa’s bloc’s front door talking I glance to my right. I stopped. I stood mouth a gape pointing. I was barely able to mutter, “Swell look.”

She looks. She turns to me and says, “Sheepie we just lost.”

We hung our heads and walked away trying with all our might to try and erase the image of a little girl squatting on the front lawn having what appeared to be a very satisfying bowel movement from our minds.

We lost that one as well.

Twofer

A two for one post. I was able to finish two posts (it's not instantaneous people) and I don't know when I'll have internet access again.

Swell's Dad is to arrive tomorrow. Swell and I took the sick one to the mall (long story you'll hear one day). where they just happen to have free wi-fi.

Well here they are!

<><><><><><>


A new day broke.

On this day we had one lone goal. It was the same goal that Swell has had every time she has visited Romania. The same goal, true, but each year it has a slight variation.

We were going shopping.

The family needed something.

Like last year’s microwave.

It was taken out of the box earlier in Swell’s mum’s visit. It was taken off of its shiny perch soon after our departure last year for two reasons: i) Nobody lives in this house and ii) Nobody knows how to use it.

Clueless.

Not an idea.

Last year also saw the purchase of a coffee maker. It sits collecting dust for the same two reasons as the boxing of the microwave.

Another large purchase last year was the purchasing of a hood for the stove. It sits unused because the thieving relative is an idiot. He put it so far above the stove that I, the tallest person here, have to stand on my tip-toes to reach the switch. More on his idiotic ways later.

Stay tuned.

Your blood will boil.

“This year will be different”, Swell swore. “We will get something they will use. A new fridge!”

Their current fridge is Swell’s old fridge. They moved to the US in ’87 and it wasn’t new then, so needless to say it is old. It is loud and it is the size of one of my shoes. You can fit a box of milk, a pot of soup, 6 eggs and an onion in it. Anything else needs to be eaten immediately or frozen.

The shoe-fridge also has a handy attached freezer. Just after it is defrosted you can fit half a tub of ice cream in it. The rest of the time you need a hammer and a chisel just to open the door.

A new fridge it is.

I trusted Swell when she told me they knew how to use a fridge.

Swell lies.

I’m not completely stupid. I can understand Romanian when it is accompanied by wild hand gestures. I soon found her, the sick one, and the enabler in the kitchen having a here-is-how-to-use-a-fridge lesson.

Or at least that’s what I think they were doing.

I was, I am, still a little hesitant to see the need when NOBODY LIVES AT THIS HOUSE. But who am I to question the needs of a poor family with two homes who cry about how hard it is to have two homes, yet do nothing to rid themselves of one of the homes. More on that fight later.

So off we went.

Down the dirt road, past the unfinished houses, dodging snarling dogs all the while smelling the stench that is Pantelimon/Bucharest.

To McDonald’s we go! Where ketchup is “Sos” and you have to pay for the privilege.

We like taking the sick one out because of the life she has had.

Abused?

Still, if you ask me. (but nobody does).

Here is the Sick one’s story to the best of my knowledge.

Youngest of two daughters. Just turned 50 a couple of weeks ago.

Diagnosed with schizophrenia and like most schizophrenics doesn’t much care for her medicine.

My guess is that she has the mental capacity of a 9 or 10 year old. Easily amused. Easily angered.

Has been hospitalized a lot. I think hospitalization here, especially for the mentally ill, is a fate worse than death. I would sooner have my limbs chewed off by rabid gophers than spend one night in a mental facility in Romania.

She ran away numerous times when younger. Came back from those times with lasting “gifts” - like syphilis.

Has no teeth. I’m not talking has no teeth like a Vancouver, Washington meth-head has no teeth, or a Bethlehem, Georgia hillbilly, has no teeth. I’m saying she has no teeth. Not one. Zero.

Had false teeth but according to her, “someone stole them.”

I wouldn’t doubt it.

We like to take her places and do stuff for her. Swell and the sick one played with balloons and the sick one squealed with excitement. Giggling like a child. Because somebody took the time to do something for her. Because somebody took the time to play with her.

Section describing my perceived treatment of the sick one edited out by request

I do believe that she is more difficult when we are not around. We are told this and I believe it. I believe that we get her on her best behaviour and even then it is difficult.

I have no right to judge how she is treated after seeing only 4 weeks out of her 50 years of interaction with the family. I can only try to treat her with compassion and respect and hope that good things befall her when we leave.

She was eating at her table one night. I sat with her. She proceeded to tell me that she has been by herself from the day she was born. She went on to talk to me about how one of her boyfriends beat her. She likes to talk. Nobody likes to listen.

I have no choice but to listen, as I don’t understand a word she says. Swell later translates for me.

A hard life is made harder for everyone by her situation. Her threats of violence to all those around her don’t put her in good stead with the neighbours although I’m not sure she has ever acted on the threats. She is a big woman with a chilling voice at times. I’d be scared too… if I understood her.

Buttons are pushed in this family like in all families. The problem is when you push the sick one’s buttons one too many times…she falls apart. She can go from being near normal to a muttering ball of nerves in seconds. Buttons are pushed none-the-less.

McDonald’s will be a treat for her. She gets to go out only when we are here. For that matter none of them get to go out when we’re not here.

They can’t afford to.

Not even close.

Three adults living on about $400 a month.

Happy meals for Swell and the sick one. Other eats for the rest of us. And then its time to go shopping.

Right next to the McDonald’s was a Domo electronics store. Up the stairs and the perfect fridge stares us in the face.

On sale, larger than a shoe, and with a good sized freezer on the bottom. Swell likes it but we look around at other fridges for an hour anyway. Soon we decide that it meets the needs of the family and the enabler, while taking a closer look, starts to cry. Her first new fridge. She’s 76.

Free delivery was arranged for the day after the next.

Score.

After the fridge the sick one quickly loses steam. Her shoes hurt her feet. The shoes she was told to change into because her shoe choice was deemed inappropriate.

Swell didn’t want her to go home just because of a bad shoe choice forced upon her so off to find some flip-flops we go.

Flip-flops found. Flip-flops bought. Sick one still wants to go home.

So we put her on the maxi-taxi and home she goes.

She’s smart. She knows shoes and a meal were probably the only treats for the day so she has nothing to lose by going home and can smoke and rest in peace if she is home by herself.

We spend the rest of the afternoon looking for a part to fix the oven with, buying vegetables, and just wasting the day away.

We were also keeping our eyes peeled for an internet café, you know, just in case. We didn’t see one.

After walking at least 8 or 9 kilometers it was time to head home.

The next day would bring Swell great joy…

…and great anger.

Simultaneously.

A sight to behold.

As has become apparent to you, my fair reader, the Copoiu family have two homes. One rural home which to an outsider seems to be their preferred home and their city, or convenient, home.

All winter they lived in their country home as their city home had not been set up with a system of heat.

The heating system in the country home leaves a lot to be desired but it was preferable to the no-heat city home.

The city home was a choice of convenience.

Swell’s mum spent a few months looking on the internet at real estate throughout Romania a couple of years ago. Mamia and Tatia had no real desire to live anywhere but the greater Bucharest area or here in Danesti (the country home). Prices of homes in and around Bucharest are staggering.

Hundreds of thousands of Euros are being demanded for regular old blocs in the downtown area. New condos are being built and are going for a million Euros. Being not-rich a lot of areas were out of the question.

A lot of extended family live in Pantelimon so it was an attractive choice. In fact, Mamia and Tatia had lived in Pantelimon before. They moved to the country to care for Mamia’s mum while she was sick. She died, they never left. Their home in Pantelimon was sold at some point and now they were back in the same community looking for a new home.

A home was found that was within the price that could be afforded from the sale of the old bloc and Swell’s parents throwing in a couple of bones.

Mamia went to look at it. She was allowed by the seller to see the outside. She was not permitted to tour the home, although the seller was kind enough to let her peek at the inside through the windows.

She bought it.

Oops.

For the past two years Swell’s parents have sunk good money after good money into this home to get it to a livable standard.

Much of the work is being done by the thieving relative. The idiot. The house despite all the money put into it is still in rough shape. The best things to happen to it have been done by people other than the relative.

The windows were replaced – they had to be and are excellent but the kitchen is abysmal. Cabinets hung by the thieving relative are upside down and barely on the wall. The sink that was installed was hammered onto the falling apart counter to make it fit, thereby leaving a dented sink on a decrepit counter. The old fridge was put on the left side of the door with the plug on the right side of the door thereby requiring an electric cord to span the door to the kitchen. (Upon seeing the new fridge he exclaimed how unnecessarily big it was and how we put it in the wrong spot – next to the plug in the wall.)

Every single door in the house is a garbage door. Found in a dump somewhere I am sure. Every single one has windows on it. Every door.

Even the bathroom door.

Ceiling to floor windows.

The shower-tub in the bathroom, aside from falling apart, requires a pick-axe and a climbing partner to get into it. It is really just that high. I, a good foot taller than Mamia and Tatia, have nearly killed myself countless times getting in and out of said shower.

Once in the shower the nozzle is navel height. No higher.

Enjoyable shower in T-minus 4 weeks! Can’t wait.

The floors in the whole house leak. If I knew anything about anything I could explain it better. The floors just get wet. Sweaty floors = damp house = wrecked things on the floor if not properly held a loft.

Swell’s Mum got here about 2 weeks before we did. During that time she stood over the thieving relative as she paid a lot of money to have him finally insulate the house, which required the putting up of Styrofoam insulation followed by the building and painting of a new external wall.

He hired other help. He smoked and drank while they worked. He then asked them how much they wanted Swell’s mum to pay them.

She had already paid him.

I think she refused to pay them – and rightfully so, they were subcontractors to be paid by the contractor, although she did feed them throughout the two weeks.

The also insulated the attic. If you go up into the attic and look on the bottom part of the attic all you can see is daylight. The floor of the attic does not meet the slope of the roof. I’m no builder but somehow I think that’s going to be an area that will loose heat in the winter.

I was having a shower one morning and just as I was rinsing my hair the water got cold.

I went to the hot water tank, and noted a blinking red light. Being the ingenious guy that I am I figured something was wrong. Doing what I always do in such a situation I turned the water tank off.

And then turned it back on.

The light turned green.

I fixed it!

For about 30 seconds.

Back to red.

Hmmmm… must dig deeper.

Turned out the stove had no gas. Must be a gas problem. Out to the street to see if the gas valve was off or on.

Off.

Turn it back on. No problem works like a charm.

Until the next day.

Next day the gas company came and took the counter saying, “It’s broken I’ll be back in 30 minutes with a new one.”

2 hours later we walk to the gas company to find out thieving relative is more than a shoddy builder taking money and doing half of what is promised he is also a thief.

Nobody has paid the gas company…ever. The gas company has been going to the house for months but nobody has been home – they were, remember, in the country. They saw that the counter was there but it hasn’t been moving. They figured the gas was turned off permanently.

Three North-Americans arrive so the gas usage skyrockets. The gas company turned the gas off.

I turned it back on.

The next day they sent their guy to retrieve the counter to permanently turn off the gas as we were stealing it. He lied to avoid confrontation and said he was taking it to fix it.

Turns out that the thieving relative jerry-rigged his way into the gas line and has been taking money with some regularity to “pay the gas company”, and the electric company (who we also found out we were stealing from), and… only God knows who else.

He is building a house in Pantelimon.

Apparently with Swell’s parent’s money and by ripping elderly people off.

His key to their house was apprehended yesterday. No more showers for him.

Oh, he doesn’t have a shower at his home yet so he would just go to their house when no one was home to have a shower. An all around good guy. Nothing screams winner like a person who will take advantage of elderly people.

Onto the fight.

This has been a fight for the past two years. Swell’s mum wants the best for her parents. Her belief is that the best for her parents is to get them closer to shops, doctors, and the city – the Pantelimon home.

Swell wants what is best for her grandparents. Her belief is that what is best for her grandparents is to let them do whatever they want. She firmly believes that at least some of the three (if you include Aunt) would choose to live in the country if given a choice with no repercussions. She beliefs that a better use of money would be to fix up the country home if her grandparents/aunt prefer to live there.

As it stands now they have the two homes. They have pigs, goats, chickens and land to tend to in the country. They have our stuff, their new fridge, the microwave and other things in their city home. They will not leave either place unattended.

Someone has to be at one or the other at all times. Absent for no more than a few hours at a time.

When we arrived in Romania Swell’s Grandpa was here in the country and her aunt and Grandma were in the city. The day after our purchase of the fridge was switcheroo day. Mamia would take the three hour bus ride to go the 80 km to the country home and her Tatia would do the opposite trip the next day.

Swell went crazy. I’ve seen it before. It’s not pretty.

She’s tired. It has been an emotionally draining last month or so. She was not fond of the idea of having one grandparent absent from her visit at all times.

They don’t trust anyone enough to have them watch the country home for them. They need to care for the fields and the animals.

Swell understands this but was still not thrilled with the thought of one grandparent being MIA for the whole trip. In addition she was angered that she was losing an entire grandparent day as there would be no grandparent at all this day (and it would turn out the next day as well).

The only thing that kept Swell from really losing it was the thought of one thing.

One small thing.

And that small thing would be what we would do with this day.

Swell, her mum, the sick one and I all got on the Maxi-Taxi, took it to the end of the line, hopped in a real taxi and took it to a high end shopping mall.

Swell’s five month fast would end today. She was delirious. She was thrilled…but still angry that there was no grandparent by her side to enjoy it as well.

Soon all was right with the world, albeit, temporarily.





We spent the rest of the day hanging out at the mall and watching the girls hang out at the mall. We fed the sick one some Pizza Hut.

Let me break this narrative for a moment. Swell and I really want some Romanian food, cabbage rolls, grilled pork, bread, potatoes, etc. but we feel it more important to give the sick one the American experience.

It is highly unlikely that she will ever be able to come to the US although she used to speak of it a lot. So we made a big deal of how the mall (the first mall she’s been to), Starbucks, and Pizza Hut were just like being in the US. I think she appreciated it.

At Pizza Hut we got an appetizer sampler and a pizza for all four of us to share. Of course the appetizer came first. We gave the sick one some of each thing. Really as close to a quarter of everything without breaking out a scale.

She became quite agitated. Immediately trying to get more from the serving platter. She was reprimanded to finish what she already had, etc. She began to sulk.

When questioned she was very disappointed that she was getting such a small amount of food and stated she would still be hungry.

She, of course, was confused and thought the appetizer sampler was our entire meal.

It was cute.

Soon it was time again to go home. We bought very little (one shirt for me of all people – you’ll see why we bought it when I put a picture of it up) which was a good lesson for the sick one. She expects to receive every time we go out because she really has no concept of our and Swell’s parent’s level of wealth. She thinks that just by living in the US that one is so wealthy that they can get anything and everything they want.

Swell had tried on a dress or two but didn’t buy them because they were too expensive for what they were. She took that as an opportunity to tell the sick one that we can’t buy everything we like because we don’t have a lot of money and that sometimes we just go to the stores to look.

We took a taxi back to the beginning of the maxi-taxi route and got on what would be one of our last maxi-taxi rides ever.

The maxi-taxi is not entirely unpleasant when it isn’t really full. On this trip it was full.

By now you know that the women don’t wear a lot of clothes here when it is hot. The men are even worse. They either take their shirts completely off or roll the bottom up to just below their nipples, thereby, exposing their stomachs. (Jill help me out here. What was that society? The society against shirtless men? We should start it up again.)

Now I’ll be blunt. Romanian men are not the healthiest men in the world.

They eat a lot. They drink a lot.

This leads their stomachs to extrude over their pant’s waist.

One particular man squished onto the maxi-taxi with his stomach not only extruding over his pants but extruding into my personal space as well.

Swell fell in love with me all over again. Thanking God she married someone with the sense to keep their shirt on. At the same time she became slightly flustered wondering, as our stop approached, how she would get off the maxi-taxi without actually touching this man’s sweaty, hairy stomach. Just then he turned to us and said something (as translated by Swell) about America (he heard us speaking English) and asking what I thought of Romania.

As we hit the next Buick-sized pothole Swell and I watched his belly “jiggle like a bowl full of jelly” and as he leaned over took Swells hand to kiss it he said, “Romania isn’t very civilized is it?”

Indeed.


For a reason I was not told Swell’s Grandpa decided not to come to the city on the day that he was expected. He would come the next day instead.

Once again (still?) Swell was furious. She hates the fact that her Grandparents have two homes and split their time between them. She absolutely hates the house in Pantelimon, cannot stand Bucharest and would rather spend one day in the country with her family than 50 days in the city.

If the family would choose to fully move into the city I think she would eventually get over the loss of the country home. But given the fact that at any given moment at least one family member is in the country she would prefer to be there with all of them.

The home in the country is one Swell remembers fondly. She spent many summer days terrorizing the community while visiting her great Grandma and various other relatives.

The various other relatives are still excited to see her every summer and show off their livestock and crops with great pride all the while lamenting how difficult their life is here.

Difficult?

I’d say. They are 80 years old after all.

So today was fridge day and fridge day only! The fridge would be delivered sometime today. We were told to expect a phone call about an hour before the fridge was to arrive. In the meantime we had big plans to do nothing.

And nothing is what we did.

Noon rolled around.

2 pm rolled around.

4 pm.

I don’t think the fridge is coming today. We should phone the store. Who knows the number to the store? Anyone?

6 pm.

8 pm.

9pm. They phone. They’ll be here at 10 pm.

I’ll skip the long story of deliveryman anger and just say that the fridge was delivered and placed in the proper spot and we hate Bucharest.


Our fridge purchase came with a warranty. One had to go back to the store to get the warranty information signed AFTER the fridge was delivered. So off to the electronics store we went. On this day we chose to leave the sick one behind with Grandpa who arrived early that morning. We set out to get the warranty signed and to find an internet café.

Warranty was no problem.

We’re still looking for an internet café.

Have I told you that Bucharest is the worst city on the face of the planet?

Pantelimon, being the ghetto that it is, has no internet cafés. We thought if we took the maxi-taxi further into the city that we might come across one. Driving along in the maxi-taxi we scanned the streets. Nothing.

We got off the maxi-taxi and wandered and wandered.

Swell’s mum, much to our embarrassment, would periodically yell out, “Unde Internet Cafea?”

Which roughly translates, “Where, oh where is the internet coffee?”

She insisted on asking for internet coffee.

Even after Swell yelled at her.

Swell yells a lot.

Especially at her parents.

Not angry yells. They just communicate via yelling. I figure it’s because they’re from Bucharest. They don’t know any better.

Nobody could guide us to internet coffee. Or an internet café for that matter. Pedestrians had no idea. Store workers had no idea and so we wandered.

And wandered.

And wandered.

We never found an internet café but at some point someone exclaimed, “Internet!” After examining the sign it seemed that this particular business sold external modems that could access the internet via cell phone channels. I.e. it was a phone company that sold external modems that could access the internet through their cell towers. Swell went in and chatted up the worker dude. She claims she was simply asking questions, however, eyelashes were batted and hair was tossed. As phone numbers were exchanged I became anxious. She still insists that it was just business, although she now claims she needs some alone time on Friday night and will be going into Bucharest on her own.

He explained that you purchased the modem and then purchased credit to use it. There was no monthly charge and you could use it as much or as little as you wanted. No contracts. No credit check. Pay as you go.

He was adamant that the modem would work with PCs or Macs.

Adamant.

You see we are a divided family. I detest Macs. I have no idea how to use them. I see no great advantage for what I use a computer for. Internet. Word Processing. Pictures. That’s it.

My PC is fine. No matter what the smug Mac bastards say.

Nicole bought a Mac laptop and then bought it again after the first was stolen. I hate it. She likes it just fine. It is small and dainty. It is 1/4 the weight of my laptop and it serves her well. Or so she thought.

As you know my laptop bit the dust the last few weeks we were in Palestine. The computer won’t recognize that the AC adaptor is plugged into it. The little green light on the AC adaptor comes on but the battery doesn’t charge on the laptop and it will only run off battery power. I fiddled with the AC adaptor and if I held the cord just right the computer would briefly show that it was plugged in.

“AC adaptor must be broken. I’ll just get a new one from Best Buy. They’ll mail it to Swell’s Dad he’ll mail it to us.”

Nope. They need to receive the broken one first.

Ok. No matter. If I really need one I can get one in Bucharest. Or so I thought.

We decide that since we are miles and miles away from the Pantelimon house and we still have not located an internet café that we should just buy this modem because we can access the internet from wherever we are. We can re-use it when we come back in the future and we’re independently wealthy so why not?

$100 later we have a modem and some internet credits. Homeward bound. Let’s get this thing working! We’ve only wasted one day looking for internet. We’re leaps and bounds better than most things we try to accomplish.

Aside: Nothing works right the first time Swell and I try to do it. It always takes 2 or 3 times longer than the experts say it should. It is always more difficult than it needs to be. Take our barstools at home, oh sweet home, for example. It took a trip to three different Targets in order to find four of them.

Our fridge. The deliverymen scratched the monkey out of our wood floor and the fridge was broken to boot.

Our wedding invitations. Swell thought it would be “nice”, “cute”, “memorable” to make them ourselves. I found it “not-nice”, “a pain in my butt”, and “memorable for all the wrong reasons.” We had to delay our wedding five years just to finish them. You know how many times we went to the paper store? Did you know they run out of certain kinds of paper? Did you know that it is nearly impossible to photocopy onto vellum?

I could go on with the examples but I’m making myself mad just thinking about them. Everything we do is harder than it should be. If we ever have kids I’m sure we’ll have septuplets. What a kick in the pants that would be.

Getting my passport. Oh, how could I forget that. Never mind.

Give me the wrong forms, reject my picture, and take your sweet time doing it. Jackasses.

I think you can see where this is going.

We get home. I load the disc onto Swell’s computer. I follow the instructions. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.

Not working. Can’t get past the third instruction. I fiddle. I banjo. I washboard. Still can’t get past the third direction.

The salesman, who Swell refers to as “Vlad the perfect” had to give us a special CD with the Mac drivers on it. I turn on my computer – 12% battery power remaining, yo – insert the regular included CD and copy the drivers onto a memory stick.

Insert memory stick into the Mac. Can’t read it. Doesn’t even recognize that I inserted a flash drive. Bah. Worked yesterday.

We had noticed a sister external magic modem store closer to the house on our way back on the maxi-taxi. We decide to go over there the next day to see if they could help us or at least just give us the drivers again.

We arrive. Bim-bos.

You don’t need to…

Oh. My. Goodness.

Getting my Georgia driver’s license. That is a good story of how difficult our lives are. Who knew that getting a driver’s license would require a trip to the social security office and a week’s vacation?

Anyway, you don’t need to be entirely, shall we say, smart to get a job in Romania. The two girls at this branch office knew nothing. I will say that Swell’s mum didn’t help the situation by distracting them with the thoughts of a rich American dentist on the prowl for a Romanian wife (Gilda?). I didn’t know that as a dental assistant you were supposed to assist your dentist in finding a spouse. At least she didn’t have a picture…

…like she did last year.

Anyway they knew nothing. Accomplished nothing more than saying you best go to the store you were at yesterday. Couldn’t even properly phone the other store.

Of course. We always have to make extra trips when trying to accomplish something.

The guy who helped us the day before gave us the drivers again and Swell and he tried to get the modem up and working.

He was adamant that it would work on a Mac. As long as it was a Mac OS X operating system version something or another.

Swell’s met all of the requirements.

They didn’t get it working.

Before going home we decided we might as well buy an AC adaptor for my computer because it would be easy to get the modem to work on my computer and the company also had a support number for PCs.

Let the great Romanian AC adaptor hunt begin.

We wandered.

And wondered.

And asked.

No one had an AC adaptor. In fact hardly anyone in the multitude of stores that we went into would even speak to us. Swell would go up the worker and ask the question and they would just stare past her and shake their head no.

With each store Swell got angrier and angrier. Between battling the half-naked Romanians on the street and the beyond rude Romanian workers in the stores she was about to snap.

I’ve seen her snap before. It isn’t pretty. I don’t recommend being around when it happens.

We headed to the street of electronics – as described by the dude (aka sexy salesman) at the store we purchased the modem from. If they didn’t have the cord we were looking for nobody would. He said.

Nobody had it. We did find one guy in the strangest of stores, a lot more than the 50 m his sign stated off the main street, who tested my AC adapter sans computer (as I only brought the AC adaptor) and he basically said it was working fine. Uh oh.

We gave up for the day, got on the maxi-taxi and headed home. I played around on Swell’s computer some more and basically figured out why it didn’t work and that it would be difficult to get it to work without having access to the internet.

The next day we were up and determined to solve the great computer problem. Well, Swell and I were resigned to having little to no access for the next month. Swell’s mother had renewed vigour. She would find internet coffee and a way to access the internet at home or she would die trying. She spoke with Swell’s dad on the phone and they devised a plan. Downtown Bucharest here we come!

The sick one joined us this day. We had done so much walking the previous two days that my legs were actually sore. Mile after mile logged with no success. No internet coffee. No functioning modem. Nothing.

The great AC adaptor hunt redux!

This day I not only carried myself but I carried both computers. Mine and the mac. We would access the internet this day or Bucharest would suffer our wrath.

The four of us wandered street after street asking person after person if they had an AC adaptor if they knew anyone who did. Salespeople ignored us. Scorned us. Scoffed at us.

It was a sight to behold. It was as if we were lepers. As if my nose was about to fall off my face and land in their ciorba.

Mile after mile. Store after store.

Finally we were on the right track. Two stores IN A ROW said they had sold out of them… yesterday. I was a doubting Thomas believing instead that they were full of it and were feeding us a line. Swell’s Mum on-the-other-hand was ecstatic. She envisioned a coming victory.

Miles later we came across a store with two very helpful young men. Romanians by birth, civilized people by choice. They didn’t have an adaptor but they jerry-rigged a way to test my computer.

Of course the news was not good. They declared that it was, in fact, not the AC adaptor, rather it was my computer. Insert curse word of your choice.

They also pointed us in the direction of a free wireless hot-spot. That is how our first Romania update was posted. Email was quickly checked and then we decided it was time for lunch.

Swell’s Mum fancies herself a Bucharester? Bucharestian? She was certain that there was a restaurant nearby that had a nice patio.

Miles later we settled on an Italian place with no patio. The sick one had her first taste of lasagna and declared it buna.

Then the long walk started back to a park overlooking the People’s Palace. I was a tad grumpy having learned that my computer was broken, and having realized we wasted money on a modem, and having carried two computers all day while literally walking miles.

The day should just end. Eventually it did. Thank God.

The next day was a boring day. We shopped for groceries and prepared for our trip to the country. We found a taxi dude willing to drive us there and prepared ourselves mentally for life in the country…

Where they have internet more readily accessible than in Bucharest – the city where kids go to school 3 hours a day, where retail employees make Atlanta workers look like the best in the world, and internet is harder to find than a Kit Kat at fat camp.

A No-Update Update

We're in the middle of nowhere Romania on dial up. Don't expect a real update until Thursday when we're back in Burcharest.

I'm a little sick. Swell doesn't care.

If you want to phone us feel free. I think we get free incoming calls but it will cost you.

You must find the country code for Romania as I don't have it in front of me.

So you dial

(Your countries exit code 0 in North America?)+ (Romania Country Code 4?) + 0720468474