Self Sabatoge

So.

Well today was, of course, my second “interview” since we’ve come back from Palestine. I should mention that I haven’t done any cold calling at all. I figured it would be hard to convince someone they needed to hire me if I was leaving shortly thereafter.

So I’ve simply been looking at the “help wanted” ads on various internet sites. As I’ve said before there hasn’t been much out there. What we have run across is a million miles away and difficult to accept when we have but one car.

Perhaps we should purchase a second car?

Like a Volkswagen EOS?

That’s it.

In order to make it easier for me to take a job we’ll buy a new car. Like a Volkswagen EOS.

So the “interview” was at 3:30 pm at a Wal-Mart about 20 miles from our home.

The morning started with me driving Swell to her work and then heading home to pass the time until 3:30 rolled around. I left home at about 2:10 pm as I had never been to this Wal-Mart – or for that matter any Wal-Mart in the Atlanta area – ever.

Pam-Pam gave me good directions and I didn’t get lost, although upon arriving at my destination I realized if left to my own devices I would have gone a more direct way. I was there nonetheless.

And I was early.

A mere 55 minutes early.

I lucked out and this Wal-Mart was part of a newish looking strip mall. It contained many stores and restaurants so I decided I would get a quick bite to eat to pass the time.

And eat I did.

Eventually it began to creep closer to my “interview” time so I left the restaurant headed back to the car to dump my sunglasses and get my CV. I had emailed my CV to this woman earlier but I figured I should bring a copy just in case.

I arrived at the Wal-Mart Optical at 3:20 pm. I figured it is better to be early than late. So early I was.

I spoke with the optician a bit. I indicated I had a meeting with the optometrist (I had no idea how to pronounce her last name so I referred to her as the optometrist). The kind optician informed me that I had, in fact, beat the optometrist to the store.

I was there. She was not.

The optician wanted to know if I was being interviewed for location X or location Y.

Me: Ummmm…. dunno?<

The optician than asked me if I had any experience in the optical field.

Me Ummmm… I’m an optometrist?

Optician: Ohhh! Well Dr. ABC isn’t here so if you want to walk around we can…ummm… page you!

Me: Ummmm… I’m ok just hanging out here. Unless I’m making you uncomfortable?

Why I would want to wander around Wal-Mart prior to an interview is beyond me. But the offer was made and I declined.

Eventually someone came into the store to be helped. So I was left on my own. I sat and played with my phone. It was so fun.

I was a little peeved that I arrived before the interviewer. Turns out that Mondays are her day off and she had to come in for me.

I don’t know about you but if I had someone I needed to interview I would plan to be there at least 30 minutes early to ensure I was there on time and that I was mentally and physically prepared for the interview.

I’m not sure at what time she arrived but I don’t think she was too late, perhaps on time. I didn’t really note the time though.

She takes me to her office. Why office and not office? Well because it was a gigantic desk “hidden” around a slight corner. It was visible to anyone who walked toward the exam rooms and was bigger than any desk I’ve ever seen in my life.

Wide? Check!

Tall? Check!

Long? Check!

It turns out that this Wal-Mart Optical is on the small side and the leasing Doctor needed an office. Rather than making a small office in one of the exam lanes she chose to instead make the waiting room her office and move the waiting room chairs into a decent sized hallway. I don’t know what she intends to do when she’s busy and she has confidential paper work strewn across her desk for the whole world to see but that’s not my concern I suppose.

Let me step back from this tale to tell you dark optometric secrets.

The first secret is that there is a vast over supply of optometrists in the United States. Too many optometrists produced each year. The rumoured creation of three new schools in the next three years will only make this oversupply worse.

The second secret is that the practice of optometry is not all that difficult. While it is true that there is a lot of theory and knowledge behind the practice of optometry for the vast majority of patients optometry is not all that difficult.

The third secret is that optometry has its roots in retail. That is, optometry’s past was one of sales. Many would argue that current optometry is also one of sales. In the past(?) optometric eye exams were very cheap or free and the optometrist made up for the low cost eye exam via a large markup on the frames and lenses. As optometry developed as a profession optometric education advanced and optometrists moved from solely determining eye glass/contact lens prescriptions to the detection of ocular disease to the treatment of ocular disease. As all of this occurred very little changed in the cost of an eye exam. Exam costs were low but profits from the sale of spectacles were still high.

MBA's around North America looked at optometry and saw the profit in selling glasses and decided that they wanted a piece. Wal-Mart, Costco, Target, Lenscrafters America<’s Best, Binyon’s, VisionWorks, etc. started to sell glasses. They also decided that it would be good to have an optometrist nearby to perform eye exams and “capture” the patients’ eyeglass sales. In most cases the optometrists do not work for the store, rather they rent the exam space near/in the store for a very low price and churn out prescriptions in the hope that a good number of patients buy glasses from the nearby store. It is cheaper for the optometrist than starting a private practice and requires very little business acumen to be “successful”.

One of the big problems with optometrists who do this type of optometry is that the exam prices are still artificially low but they do not get any profit from the sale of glasses so they need to do volume to make any money. Lots of patients = quick exams = decent pay. Good/slower exams = few patients = low pay. The stores have no problem with quick exams. In fact they prefer them. Even though the optometrists are supposed to be independent the stores often dictate hours, number of patients to be seen (ALL WALK INS) and the type of exams that should be done. Prescriptions are far more important than medical care. So optometrists in these situations often use very little of their education and just crank out prescriptions and refer everything else out.

So here I was at my Wal-Mart interview – not really being interviewed by Wal-Mart but being interviewed by a Doctor working in Wal-Mart and leasing space from Wal-Mart.

Upon seeing the interviewing optometrist I knew I was in trouble.

She was young enough to be my daughter (graduated last year). She wasn’t terribly dressed up – I guess because it was her day off – and she was young (did I say that already?).

Anyhoo… she took me to her office and took my CV (good thing I brought it I guess.)

As she peruses my CV she basically says: “So, ummm…., tell me about… ummm… your experience?”

Ok. The last interview wasn’t really an interview but you want me to tell you about my experience? Five years of experience. Probably about 12-15 different jobs?

So I did. I started at the beginning and ended at the end. Not much to say. I graduated. I worked as an optometrist. I went to Emory. I went to Palestine. Now I’m looking for a job.

It bothered me just walking into Wal-Mart. It bothered me that I was there before her. It bothered me that she was so young. It bothered me that her “office” was out in the open. So when she asked why I got my MPH I told her. I told her that I thought that optometry was not a useful degree when it came to making a difference in the world (on a global community level) and that I thought the type of eye care missions that optometrists go on are stupid and a waste of time (not in those words).

I knew that a lot of optometrists – especially young ones – have been on these types of trips so it didn’t surprise me when she was slightly offended by that. She then proceeded to justify her Jamaica experiences as better than normal optometric missions although they were the same. I told her to keep her eyes out for the article that I helped write (she obviously didn’t read my CV) and that I had another one that should be coming out soon.

I’ll admit I was trying to show her up. I didn’t really want the job and I was being a smart-aleck. She then asked me if I had any questions for her.

Let’s review. The interview was:
1. Tell me about your experience.
2. Do you have any questions for me?

She asked so I asked.

Are you looking for an employee or an independent contractor?

“Ummmm… I’m open to both what were you thinking?”

Me “Well, legally I would be an employee so paying me as such is probably safer for both of us. How many days are you looking for? What are you paying? Etc. etc.”

The answer to the pay question was awesome! She said: “What were you thinking?”

Smart-Aleck “Do you know what the going rate in Atlanta is?”

Her “Sure, what do you think it is?”

Smart-Aleck “It is $XXX - $XYX”

Her with a look of shock: “$XXX sounds about right but if you are going to be an employee I have to pay your taxes (OK, obviously an exaggeration as she would pay employment taxes) so it’s not really $XXX I would pay you $XXX – XX = $YXX but really that is the same as $XXX.”

No it isn’t. I know the XXX is confusing so let me give you an example. If I said that the going rate in Atlanta is $50 per day she would say why yes it is but I have to pay your taxes so I’ll pay you $40 because the other $10 would be your taxes.

WHAT?

I just smiled.

She then showed me her exam equipment.

One last story because it will really show you how much I shot myself in the foot being a smart-aleck.

She showed me a machine that takes pictures of the back of people’s eyes and transmits that image to John’s Hopkins University where Ophthalmologists look at the pictures and then transmit a report back to the optometrists.

I was aghast! There is no need for such an instrument in an optometrist’s office (she is one of 11 test Wal-Mart offices in the US to have one) so I said: “Let me be cynical for a moment. Do you not think using this instrument is going to put you out of business?” “In Canada opticians (who attend technical school after high school) are being used to do computer based eye exams (determine prescriptions) which are then signed by an ophthalmologist who is in a remote location. With this instrument they can now conduct a complete eye exam. Find a prescription, send the health check to a remote ophthalmologist and there is no need for an optometrist.”

Her response is that patients always come back to find out what the report said. This is terrible. The optometrist can diagnose the problem and determine a plan of action. If the problem requires surgery they are sent to an ophthalmologist. If not, they can be treated/followed by the optometrist. So now she is working in Wal-Mart, thereby demeaning our profession. Seeing a million people a day and telling them that the remote ophthalmologist says everything is ok. She is a technician.

She will be replaced within the next 15 years by low level technicians who are paid next to nothing by the optical store.

Good bye optometry. Hopefully I can get out before it gets real bad. I doubt she’ll offer me the job but I was sure to tell her that I have more experience than anyone else she is interviewing (new grads.) We’ll see.

I really don’t care to be honest with you.

I should mention that she loves her “job” and has been given (is going to lease) two more Wal-Marts in the next few months. This is the new way to make money in Optometry. Take advantage of the over supply of Optometrists by paying employee optometrists very little. Sign multiple leases with a commercial overlord thereby creating volume over multiple locations. The leasing doctor becomes wealthy off the work of employee optometrists.

Good for her, I suppose.

Not the life for me.

But I’ll do anything for a year.

An Optometric Interview

Potential Employee Hi, I'm Potential Employee and I'm here to meet with Potential Employer.
Office Worker OK, just one minute.
Potential Employer Hi Potential Employee!. I'm Potential Employer. It is wonderful to meet you. Thanks so much for coming to the interview.
Potential Employee No proble....
Potential Employer Lets look around at the office. Here's the front. Here's the middle. Here's the back. I've built this practice from the ground up. I'm very happy with the way the practice runs. We've got a great group of folks working here. Our patients love us. We enjoy providing all potential optometric and optical services to our patients.
Potential Employee That's grea....
Potential Employer I graduated from Optometry school in 1984 and have practiced in this state since then. We've been in this location for 10 years and have really grown a lot. I'm married have 4 kids... they keep me real busy. I love them though. We have a lot of fun together. Just like the staff. We're a big family here at work. We enjoy each other's company and work hard and play hard. My spouse doesn't work in the office but they sure work around the office keeping the technology/decorating/magazines/plants in good working order. My kids are aged 12, 10, 8, and 6. Oh, my the six year old has been sick lately.
Potential Employee Oh N....
Potential Employer She's fine but keeps me up late. I'm so tired. Between the kids, the practice, my hobbies. It's real tough. So when do you want to start?

That my friends is how difficult an optometry interview is. Trust me I'm not exaggerating. I've been through a lot of them. Today's was similar. I think the reason I was interviewed and basically hired was because I won the fax race. My CV was the first over the fax machine so I was the first called. I showed up and wasn't drooling Too much so I was hired.

Its only for a day a week for now but hopefully it will grow into more (although it isn't even starting until we come back from Florida... I think). Its close by and is a "private" practice so theoretically it is better than what I've been doing for the past 5 years. The owner/optometrist seems real nice and they have more equipment than I'm used to so thats good.

I have another "interview" on Monday for a Wal-Mart (YUCK! Blech! etc. - you should know that we don't shop at Wal-Mart at all. For any reason. Ever.) but its nearish by and part-time. So we'll see. Its only for a year at the most (shhh... that's a secret) so I can handle it. Our biggest concern is transportation. We share a car and WILL NOT buy another one so we need to work opposite days or commute. We'll see how it turns out.

Wanna see something that costs $2500? Look here. Family - you better pay us back!

Our first weeks at home

Swell is well loved.

Me?

Not so much.

Swell was basically told that she has her old job back (at least 4/5ths of her old job) when she returns from Florida.

Me?

Not so much.

Not that I'd want my old job back. My old job was hideous.

Terrible.

Awful.

The worst job.

THE WORST JOB.

Well, maybe not the worst job, but a bad job nonetheless.

I've been looking for work but there hasn't been much advertised. I signed up with a company that offers fill-in services in the metro-Atlanta area. Not much out there and that which was offered is a million miles away. I took one job through that but its only for one day.

And not until August 1st.

I do have a meeting with an OD tomorrow. She has a part-time job very close to our house availableish. She has a couple of days per week for the rest of the summer and says it should become a 30 hour/week job in the fall. We'll see.

While Swell's been working I've been doing a lot of nothing.

A lot.

Of nothing.

Swell and I have had the last 5 days off together. We did our taxes.

Kaching! ... In four weeks.

We also came to the somewhat startling realization that we require somewhere between 8 and 36 hours of continuing education by December 31.

I realize that the spread between 8 and 36 is large and we should know how much CE we need but we have yet to be told.

In Georgia we require 36 hours of CE every two years. So our two years is up on December 31st. We think we have 28 hours done already but may be told that it doesn't count.

In June of 2006 we spent four days in Seattle and received a certificate for 28 hours of CE (necessary to maintain our Washington licenses), however, the fine folks in Washington didn't clear the CE through the organization that determines the acceptability of CE throughout the US. (If this organization OKs the education all state boards recognize the hours). So we now need to ensure that those 28 hours can be applied toward our 36.

Hopefully they will be.

As it stands now we need to obtain at least 8 hours of CE before December 31. So we have a few choices.

Florida at the end of October.

Or Las Vegas at the beginning of October.

They actually would end up being about the same cost.

I plan on going to the conference that is being held in Florida next year as I'll hope to be interviewing for a fellowship at that time (it won't be in Florida next year but it is the same conference).

So we're leaning toward Las Vegas because we're game for a good time and by early October we'll hate our jobs again and be eager to leave and have a good time.

Make sense?

Now how do we pay for it?

To Jay Baker and family

Our hearts are with you. She is in a far better place.

Thanks JL

"Dog River home of the world's biggest, dirty ho(e)."

One last jab from Romania

Remember when I talked about my computer being broken? Remember when I said I thought it was the AC adapter ? Remember when I talked about how we were unable to find an AC adapter in the whole of Bucharest? Remember when I allowed myself to be convinced by a couple of very nice Romanian guys that it was NOT the AC adapter? Remember when I sent my computer in for warranty repairs? Remember when they shipped it back working very well with only a new AC adapter?

Oh. You might not remember the last one. It just happened. Doh!

It is nice to have my computer back though. It is a good sized laptop unlike Swell's. Her computer is tiny and dainty - like her. My computer is large and heavy - like me. My screen looks like a big screen TV compared to her Ipod sized screen. 17 inches! The warranty guys basically said that if the AC adapter breaks again and I raise a big enough stink I get a new computer. Here's hoping.

So our wonderful friend April wrote in her blog a little while ago about the run around she was getting from her health insurance company. The title of the blog was "Blessed and Angry" as she was, rightfully, angry with the insurance company but blessed because she has access to health insurance.

We have yet to see Michael Moore's movie Sicko but I really want to. It may have to wait until it is out on DVD. I know that many who read this would be mortified that we enjoy Michael Moore movies but we do. As I've said before my political leanings are far more left than most.

What do the two preceding paragraphs have to do with us? Well I have not had medical insurance of any kind in 5 years. Swell is now, also without medical insurance. She had it from her work before we moved and then we would have received any care we needed in Palestine for free.

Now that we're back we need to find insurance for her for sure and for me if we can afford it. That's the big thing.

If we can afford it.

Medical insurance is tremendously expensive and when you are doing a family plan it basically covers nothing. Most of the insurances that we can afford now - i.e. are less than $600 a month - are high deductible insurances. $5000-$10,000 a year. We don't mind high deductible insurances. We're mostly worried about catastrophe. Cancer, car accident, pregnancy...

...wait. Oh. That's right pregnancy is not covered by any of these plans. Not a dime. Not even if you exceed your deductible.

I am disgusted that living in the United States of America we need to beg a multi-million dollar company to take on our lives and be kind enough to allow us to access health care. If we pay for health care out of pocket we pay 2-3 times as much as the insurance company. If we do buy health insurance they will only cover a small portion of potential "illnesses". Yet, the right wing conservatives here in the US claim that this is the greatest system of healthcare in the world. The pundits cry, "People have to wait for care in Canada and are dying in the streets because they have to wait so long". Not entirely true of course but at this point I'd wait for care because as it stands now if I get sick we lose everything.

When Swell realized that pregnancy wouldn't be covered by the types of insurance we can buy Canada moved up the list of desired places to settle and we're not even gonna have kids anytime soon.

Last post about our 6 months away

I’ll admit that when it comes to traveling I’m a little difficult. I hate the thought of being late for a flight or having to rush through an airport so I always want to be there very early. I will further admit that when it comes to going through security I am a little difficult. Nothing, and by nothing I mean nothing but crowds and getting my haircut, bothers me more than going through airport security.

I don’t mind the x-rays and the wanding and the taking shoes off and the taking computers out and the taking belts off and the liquids and the so and and so forth. I am always worried that I am holding the line up. I hate the thought that my taking three minutes to get through security might be 2 and a half minutes too long. I don’t care if the people in front of me have no clue and have to go back and forth for 10 minutes before clearing security but I always feel like I’m taking far too long even if I only take 2 minutes. It’s a personal flaw.

It bothers me a lot.

A lot.

Anyway we were at the airport about three hours early (perfect timing according to me). The taxi dude left, we had all of our luggage loaded onto two carts and we entered the madhouse of OTP.

I’ve traveled a bit. More than most but not as much as others. I’ve never encountered an airport setup like they have in Bucharest.

Well maybe Edmonton when you fly to the US but it isn’t as bad as this was.

When we entered the airport we hit a wall of humanity. People on every seat (not that there were many seats but the seats were full). People standing in all the aisles. People sitting on the planters. People everywhere.

There are a limited number of ticketing counters at OTP. They are not permanently assigned to any airline, rather they assign them on a next flight basis.

If there are 10 flights between 2 and 3 the flights between 3 and 4 have to wait until the counters clear from the 2 and 3 flights before they can check in for their flight.

As I said we were three hours early, there was no place to sit and the latest flights on the board (i.e. flights with a counter to go to) were 2 and a half hours before our flight. So we sat.

On a planter.

And we sat.

And we waited.
Eventually (a couple of hours after our arrival) our flight had a counter. We hesitantly approached the counter as the sea of humanity had moved to form a scrum directly in front of the British Airways counter. No semblance of a line. Just a big group of people.

Romanians are allergic to lines. Its, as I’ve said before, whoever has the sharpest elbows gets served first. Swell decided to break out her elbows and they are sharp.

Swell is, how should I say this… thin.

And, therefore, sharp.

She elbowed us to the front of the line and we were quickly helped with every airline passengers worst nightmare: “You probably noticed that the flight is delayed an hour and a half.”

Gosh darn.

Swell Well that gives us time to eat!

Our luggage was all over weight (but equally so. That should count for something. I eyeballed equal weighing of the luggage! Go me!) but they took it none-the-less.

We went through security. And I was as stressed out as usual, but we survived and made it to our gate.

Dinner time.

Romania doesn’t like us.

Hates us.

Wants us to never return. So it charged us $5 (US) for a can of coke. FIVE DOLLARS Add on top of that two sandwiches and we had to re-mortgage our house.

Ridiculous.

While Swell shopped (and by shopped I mean walked around looking at stuff) I was lucky enough to get to sit by a German braggart. He picked the wrong guy to brag to. I really don’t hold you in high regard if you bought land in Romania at a ridiculously low price shortly after the revolution and now have since made millions economically raping the people of Romania.

Good for you.

Jerk.
Flight was fine.

Quite short.

We landed at London Heathrow but our flight to Atlanta departed from Gatwick.

This required an airport transfer.

I think I wrote about our airport transfer on our way to Palestine. It was terrible. We were forced to wait in a freezing cold foyer in a line that was then ignored as the back of line got on the bus, and thereby filling it, prior to the front of the line (read us). So we had to wait a couple buses before getting on the old, decrepit bus for our transfer from Gatwick to Heathrow.

We were not looking forward to this transfer.

We were now thousands of kilometers from Romania.

The sun started to shine on us again.

We found the place to wait for the coach. It was warm.

We bought our tickets.

We got a discount because we flew in on British Airways.

We were instructed where to go and wait.

Organized unlike the chaos from the previous transfer.

Swell was thirsty so she went to get some drinks.

She found me a Dr. Pepper.

We got to the bus stop and saw a beautiful coach. Brand new. Next to it was a bus going to Gatwick but departing earlier than our ticket was for. The driver of our bus mentioned that we could just get on the other bus. We did.

It was empty. Comfortable. Beautiful.

At the front of the bus was a giant TV that was hooked to a camera on the front of the bus.

We were so happy.

Swell found a very expensive hotel for us to stay at the Gatwick airport as we had 12ish hours before our ATL departure.

It was such a nice hotel and, although expensive, was far cheaper than the rack rate listed on the wall at the front desk.

We were a bit perturbed when we found that we received a smoking room. We checked it out and it wasn’t too bad, it was actually ok and we were too tired to argue about it.

A quick dinner (don’t ask… o.k. our wallets could only afford McDonalds) and then it was off to bed.

Our checkout and flight the next day were fine. Our only problem was that we were severely warned that British Airways would not accept overweight luggage after September 1. Lucky us. They took our overweight luggage.

We were soon in Atlanta.

After we switched seats in the airplane because Swell’s was broken.

The seat I switched to had a broken TV. Jerks.

The guy sitting next to us thought he was a VIP. Took up his seat and half of mine. And he was not very big. Just important.

He tried to buy a bunch (I mean thousands off British Pounds) worth of duty free on the plane but his credit card was rejected. Insert roll eyes here.

I watched a movie (300) and then for the second movie Swell sat in the working TV seat. Just after the movie started my TV started working.

Just before the movie ended…


… the TV broke again. Dagnabit.

We arrived in Atlanta and so did all of our luggage. Thankgoodness.

Arriving in ATL from an international flight is a bit crazy. You land.

You go through security.

You collect your luggage.

You go through customs.

You recheck your luggage!?

You catch a train to baggage claim.

You collect your luggage again.

I don’t ask questions I just do as I’m told. And we were told to bypass the line to recheck our luggage. So I did despite the stares and the dirty looks. Don’t care. I’m an important person apparently.

We got our luggage again and walked over to the MARTA station (light rail transit).

The machine that gave tickets wouldn’t read my card – or more likely, I couldn’t figure out how to use the machine – so we headed over to the cashier where we were fortunate enough to have to wait 10 minutes (not an exaggeration) for her to finish her conversation with the guy in front of us.

No the conversation was not about MARTA or any other type of transportation.

It was just a conversation.

The airport is the end of the line so we were easily able to get a seat with plenty of room for our luggage.

Unfortunately to get home requires us to transfer trains.

It was rush hour.

That was not fun.

We squeezed into a corner with four suitcases and two backpacks. And we fought our way out of the train at our stop.

A short walk through the newly (and after a year and a half finally) finished train station and down the street and we were home.

Home sweet home.

The end of a long journey.

They say home is where the heart is. I don’t believe that as my home is not Swell but this is the next best thing. We are comfortable here. We are happy to be back in our home. We slept like babies in our bed that night.

&*()(*&
Not very happy about walking into a store today that sold the kind of clothes I would like to wear if I were rich and being greeted with a: “How you doing today Sir.”

I blame Swell. If I didn’t have to get my haircut I wouldn’t be a sir. My shoulder length hair, although it made me look older, made me feel/seem younger.

It’s her fault.

Sir.

As if.

*&*&

For your amusement. Our posts about our time in Romania/trip home take up 85 pages (there are some page breaks though) in Word and are made up of 30,492 words.

I married a genetic freak

So Swell is swollen. Two days back at work and she's got a big foot. She went to the HAE study center and is being treated with an "experimental" treatment. "Experimental" only because the FDA won't approve drugs (or slight modifications of drugs) that have been used in other countries for quite some time.

So what did I, the loving, supportive husband, do while Swell was forced to stay at the study center for 5 hours?

I went and saw Transformers. Great movie. Now I'm eating a tomato filled sandwich that Swell would never let me eat if she was here. I'll pay for it later (my mouth is already tingling - I'm allergic for those who don't know) but it tastes so yummy.

Maybe I'll try to write the rest of our post now too. But her time is almost up and I should probably go and get her.

Long Overdue

Clarification – some of you mentioned confusion regarding the paper that has been accepted. I’ve submitted two papers. One written as part of a group, the second on my own.

The one on my own has been returned and requires a lot of revision. I’ll revise it as soon as I get my computer back from the shop. The day after Swell and I arrived in Atlanta we headed to the store from whence I purchased my computer. Since it was under warranty they took it and sent if off for repairs. I hope to get it back in a few weeks.

The one written as part of a group was accepted by a different Journal than my paper and was accepted, surprisingly and uncommonly, without revision. I am listed as the second of five authors. This is important as you need to be one of the first three authors (generally) to receive credit for a paper. The paper should be published in the next few months.

Our trip home

To say we were excited on the day of our departure from Romania is an understatement. Every day in Romania our excitement grew. Our home, our things, our bed, our life called louder and louder every day. By the time July 4th rolled around we were bouncing off the walls in anticipation for our departure.

With our anticipated departure we began also to once again enjoy Romania. We spent more time with Swell’s cousin and his two oldest kids, as well as her Grandpa. Swell’s cousin took us around some of downtown Bucharest. We went to a very large and quite beautiful park. We enjoyed that time. We were even beginning to think that we might miss Romania.

Our departure day would soon make me wish that we never visited in the first place.

I’ll freely admit that some of the problems on this departure day were our fault. And when I say our I mean Swell’s.

On the evening of July 3rd we finished packing. Upon lifting the suitcases I broke the sad, sad news to Swell that we needed to start sacrificing things. All our toiletries no matter how full or empty were left behind. Books were left behind. Some clothing and a few small but heavy electric devices. I ‘spose we can get them back next year.

Swell also tried to arrange a taxi to take us to the airport for the next afternoon.

Here is the only part of the disaster that is our fault. During our many travels in Romania we met a taxi driver who drove a station wagon. He gave us his card.

We lost his card.

So we phoned a number that I had read off of a station wagon taxi earlier that day.

The dispatcher (by the way Taxi dispatchers in Romania have a very easy job. They only need to say 1) Hold and 2) No) gave us hope that we would easily have a ride by indicating that we should phone first thing in the morning to arrange for a pick up.

We were specifically requesting that the company send a large car, preferably a station wagon because we had A LOT of stuff.

Our packing finished we went to sleep for the last time in Romania this year. We woke up quite early to phone the taxi folks. Our plan was to leave at 11ish to give us plenty of time at the airport – just in case we needed to repack.

Swell phoned the same taxi company she had phoned the night before. The dispatcher (a different one than the night before) said: “We don’t have station wagons” and “We only accept phone calls 15 minutes before you want pick up” and CLICK. That’s right. She hung up on Swell.

Let me be clear. The preceding three things were said/done during three different phone calls.

Swell phoned the first time and the woman said that there were no station wagons. Swell was a little confused so later she phoned again (you’ll see why in a few minutes) and the woman upon hearing her question hung up on her. The third phone call was basically saying that they don’t have station wagons and they don’t “pre-book”.

Now I want you to recall where we got the phone number for this company. Think back. I told you earlier.

I read the phone number when we were on the maxi-taxi the day before (we were taking the Sick one out one last time) off of a STATION WAGON!

After the first “we don’t have station wagons” response from the dispatcher we became slightly concerned. We began to phone other taxi companies.

No. No. No. No. and so on and so forth.

Nobody was willing to come and get us from Pantelimon (aka Hell). Nobody. In between phone calls to other companies Swell would try the first company again. They hung up once upon hearing her question – remembering her from before. And insisted they don’t have station wagon taxis.

With overwhelming disgust and anger we were resigned to take the maxi-taxi to the Cora where there are always taxi’s sitting around doing nothing.

We left our luggage at the house thinking we would grab a taxi and go home and then to the airport.
We headed on to the dirt, pothole filled streets. We walked past the unfinished houses and the rabid dogs. Eventually we got on the overfull maxi-taxi and headed toward Cora.

I’ll admit I was angry. I was disgusted. My anger and disgust grew 100 fold when while looking out the window of the maxi-taxi I saw an empty taxi driving down the street. It was a taxi from the first taxi company. The company that said they don’t have station wagons. The company that we phoned at least 4 times.

This empty taxi was a beautiful yellow proudly proclaiming TAXI LEONNE on it’s side. It had the same phone number we had been calling painted on it. It was (and I trust still is) a station wagon.

Romania would not let us leave without getting a few more jabs in.

We ended up at Cora and saw the usual 5 or 6 taxis sitting in the parking lot. The first guy we asked had a trunk full of junk so couldn’t take us. The rest were either too lazy or too “conny” to take us. Some insisted that we would need to take two taxis to fit all of our stuff and ourselves in. We didn’t fall for it.

We left the parking lot with even greater anger and disgust beginning to be concerned that we would be stuck in Romania forever.

Our plan was to hail a taxi down on the street and hope for the best. My concern was that these little Dacia Logan taxis would not be big enough for all of our stuff. WE HAD A LOT OF STUFF.

Long story short eventually a guy stopped and asked if we were looking for a taxi. We explained the situation got in the car and he took us to the home. We said our quick good byes while we was able to expertly squeeze our stuff into his tiny car.

Off we went.

Now I didn’t hear the conversation between Swell and the Taxi dude so I just watched the meter.

Upon arrival at the airport the meter read slightly over 50 Lei.

I was feeling generous in spirit because this guy got us to the airport on time and with all of our stuff. I figured I’d give him 100 Lei.

Swell said: “No give him 120 Lei.”

We did.

He said: “That’s not enough. Give me 150 Lei.”

I was dumbfounded. Speechless. Aghast. Disappointed. Angry. But so ready to leave.

We gave him 3 times what the meter said just to be done with Romania.

Only to walk into the dumbest airport in the world.

Only in Romania.

Sorry

So the promised post has yet to happen. Its been a quick moving week. With getting our car insurance started again, getting our cell phones started again, groceries, unpacking, laundry and so on and so forth (including 6 large bags of clothes to Goodwill) there hasn't been much time to sit down and write. I'll do it, I promise, but not today.

Suffice it to say we're doing well. Swell has work on Friday. I've applied for malpractice insurance (which I let lapse while we were away) so that I can start working ASAP.

We made a mistake with our city taxes which ended up with them being paid twice. We're (I'm) calling around trying to get a refund. We just got 6 months of mail from Swell's parents (it's not as much as I thought it would be!) as we were forwarding it to them while we were away. Surprised that my W-2 from my main job wasn't in there. Figured out after some concern that they probably just mailed it to one of the stores here in Atlanta. They did. Went and picked it up so with that and all our other tax documents we should be able to do our taxes next week. Hopefully we'll get a refund. We need a refund. If we owe...Mum, Dad we're moving in.

Deep Sheet

1. Rent the movie Children of Men
2. Go to the bonus features menu
3. Watch the documentary "The Possibility of Hope"
4. Consider putting a gun to your head
5. Decide that having children does not sound like a nice idea

Real post...tomorrow?

Oh I got this in the email the other day. Y'all might not care but it is big and exciting news for me.

"04-Jul-2007

Dear Dr. In Charge of Writing the Group Paper I was Part of:

It is a pleasure to accept your manuscript entitled "The Rationale for
Shifting from a Volunteer Clinical Approach to a Public Health Approach in
Addressing Refractive Errors" in its current form for publication in
Clinical and Experimental Optometry. You will recieve proofs in due course.

Sincerely,
yadda yadda

Finished!

178 days
3 continents
7 countries
14 flights
1 beautiful, amazing woman by my side

We have crossed the finish line. I write this from our couch in our condo using our free internet basking in our air conditioning.

Truly an amazing race experience.

Let's blow this popsicle stand

We're outta here. We're leaving tomorrow afternoon and I have used up every last minute of our internet time so if you emailed me, messaged me, sent me nude photos, enticed me with the promise of millions of dollars to act as your middleman, or promised me bigger breasts it will have to wait.

Can't wait to have a clothes dryer.
Can't wait to be able to just up and leave with our own car.
Can't wait to sleep in our own bed.
Can't wait to have an exercise room.

Our neighbours better not have password protected their wi-fi.
Our house better be still standing.
Optometry better be an easy profession as we haven't done an eye exam in 6 months.
Our air conditioning better still be working.

We'll try to get in touch from London - it will be extra fun to fly through there these days!

See ya' wouldn't want to be ya'.

Happy " " Day X 3

Happy

Day

Happy

Day

Happy

Day

Hope

Sometimes, and these times are the most special of times, you find yourself in constant despair. You find yourself surrounded by heartache and sadness. You find the weight of a deep depression pressing on your soul. But while you are in despair, when you are surrounded by heartache and sadness and when you feel the weight of depression you see – off in the distant distance – a pinpoint of light.

A light that is unmistakable. A light that is beautiful. A light that is awe-inspiring. As the tears well, as the dark clouds of despair lift you recognize the unmistakable light as hope.

A hope for the future. A hope that things can change. A hope that there will one day be a group of people who recognize that 1 does in fact equal 1. A people who have the intelligence to change decades of tradition because tradition does not put food on the table. A people who can usher a country – a nation – into the 21st century.

Today, after being in constant despair, surrounded by heartache and sadness with depression pressing on our souls for the past 4 weeks we caught a fleeting glimpse of that light of hope.

It came in the strangest of places. It came from, to everyone else, the most unlikely of families. It came in a country home complete with no plumbing, an external kitchen and a small two bedroom house.

It came from a family of 5 (very soon to be 6) who appeared to many to have done all the wrong things. This family is of course Swell’s cousin’s.

Let me tell you the history of Swell’s cousin prior to describing the beautiful light of hope.

This history lesson was, by the time I heard it, 6th hand information. It has been translated from Greek and Aramaic to Romanian prior to being passed onto me in the King’s English. So forgive any confusion, oversight, or blatant falsehoods.

Swell’s Dad’s Grandparents had three daughters, one of whom was, of course his mother. Swell’s Dad’s Grandma had a sister who lived in the big city – Bucharest. Some type of tragedy struck the sister and her only daughter (child?) died.

Swell’s Dad’s Grandma being the lovely lady she was (?) offered one of her daughters as a surrogate for her sister’s lost daughter. This lucky daughter moved from the country to the city and flourished. Eventually this double daughter grew up, married and popped out two sons. The eldest son is Swell’s Uncle and the youngest son is, of course, her father.

Swell’s Uncle grew, and grew and grew (he’s huge!) and eventually met (married?) a woman and they had a son – Swell’s cousin. Uncle left this woman and met (married?) another woman with whom he fled to the USA. They had a daughter (who a young Swell told about her father’s other wife and son back in Romania. Oops, family secret out of the bag. “Sorry Uncle I thought she knew!”)

Uncle kinda ignored his son and ex-wife (as evidenced by his daughter’s not knowing about them). Further tragedy struck cousin when his Mum passed away while he was still relatively young. I don’t know the rest of the story but I do know that he grew up, married and now has three (soon to be four kids).

His father is still quite the winner. Now I’ll admit I have never met Swell’s uncle nor have I met his wife or daughter. They didn’t attend our wedding and they live in Florida and some eastern state. I do know that Uncle is an airline pilot and apparently makes much dough. Wife is, unfortunately, ill with breast cancer (hopefully, was ill but I’m really not sure). Daughter is an aeronautical engineer working on things that will destroy mankind. (I get the vague impression that her engineering degree is much more impressive than Swell’s two degrees in the eyes of some family members.) Anyway onto Uncle’s winning ways. Today I saw a picture that made me want to hop on a plane, fly to Florida, find where Uncle lives, ring his doorbell and then ring his doorbell.

As far as I know Uncle has never given his son anything. Nada. Zilch. Zip. You get the idea.

If I am wrong and Uncle has given his son something it hasn’t been much or often. I had the feeling, as did Swell, that Uncle never even wrote his son. How wrong we were.

Today I had the privilege of seeing a picture of Uncle’s daughter, sent to his son. In this picture daughter was standing next to her college graduation gift. The gift was, of course, a brand new Jeep. Value ~$30,000.

Son said today, “I’d take one of the tires.”

Anyway back to our day.

We started our day by heading to Grandpa’s house, where we would meet cousin. I’ll admit we got off to a late start. I’ll admit it’s my fault. I’ll further admit that Swell and I should never have gotten married. I’m lazy. She’s a sleeper.

I would prefer nothing more than being able to sit at home doing a lot of nothing. Swell’s perfect day would be to sleep in, eat a quick breakfast followed by a long nap. Together we make the perfect let’s-do-nothing duo.

So we got off to a late start. We walked our long walk. Half finished houses, potholes, dogs, you know how it goes.

It was the long walk today – a couple of kilometers to catch a taxi to Grandpa’s.

We visited G-Pa and his woman for a bit but had to leave relatively quickly in order to catch the 11 o’clock bus to Cousin’s town. We were there long enough for me to be offered a nap.

Yes, a nap.

It wasn’t the last offer of a nap I’d have today.

By noon we were at his town near his house. Briefly, his town is better than Swell’s Grandparent’s country home, which automatically makes it better than their city home. Nothing special but it is quaint. No, or few, potholes. Finished houses. Fewer dogs.

And the dogs they did have were cute. No mangy, bloody, snarling dogs here. That was just on the way to the taxi this morning. My goodness, that dog looked awful. Swell was aghast when I declared that the dog would be dead in a week.

It honestly looked like death warmed over. You could see it’s bones, tendons and muscles. Nas-tea.

So we were here to visit cousin and see his family. His eldest daughter loves Swell. I mean loves her like she was a genie in a bottle. I have no idea why she loves her so much.

I mean I love her because she’s hot.

I don’t think she’s hot to an 8 year old girl though.

Swell didn’t see much of this family before a few years ago but this girl gets so excited to see her. Hugs her all the time. Loves to talk to her. It’s cute.

Swell has had the tendency to send them gifts but that is a recent thing. This girl loved her before the gifts.

This is the nicest family I’ve met while here. Smart. Loving. Caring. Easy to talk to. And by talk I, of course, mean stare, blink and nod to.

So here in this country home we sat for 6 hours just visiting. Cousin was telling Swell how he sat down with a paper and pen and calculated the cost of keeping chickens. He calculated that it costs 60 cents (?) every ten days to feed one chicken. He then determined how much a chicken needed to eat in its lifetime, how many eggs it produced and how much meat they could obtain from it. His conclusion?

Screw chickens it’s cheaper to buy it in the store. They still have some but not a farm full of chickens. He figured the same about pigs.

He grows vegetables. Every inch of his land is being used to grow something. Most of it seems to be tomatoes. He has three greenhouses. All filled with vegetables (as well as outdoor crops). Last year he had a lot of vegetables growing as well but no way to do anything with them. This year he has found a way to have someone sell them for him (or he sells them to a middleman?). His planting of different species of tomatoes allowed him to be two months ahead of other tomato growers. He spent a week making sure that he had the proper EU documentation to sell tomatoes.

He admits that he can’t live off of the tomato profit with such a small farm but it is something and he enjoys it.

He enjoys the country life. He moved away from the city (much to the extended family’s chagrin) because he didn’t want his kids to grow up in the city. He said today that he likes it just being him with his family.

They all seem content. He is using logic to determine how to farm and what to farm. He uses special soil to help his vegetables grow. He has a pump to irrigate. He sprays insecticide (and wears a mask while doing it!). He also works 2 24 hour shifts at a local chicken farm and collects his government pension (remember everyone is entitled!).

They aren’t rich but they seem content. The girls are bright. The eldest at the top of her class, the younger daughter still in kindergarten. They even cover their water bucket! Now ideally they would have a container that they couldn’t dip their hands into (as it stands now water from the well into a bucket. Cover the bucket. Get water out by uncovering and dipping a cup into water). But at least they cover it. (Ideal water bucket. Small top covered. Spigot to get water out. If you don’t use a spigot if someone dips a dirty hand/cup into the water they’ve contaminated it for everyone.)

How is this a sign of hope? We’ve heard over and over again how many mistakes cousin has made – really all stemming from his desire to leave the city and make a go of country life. But when we visit, when we see, we see a family that struggles but that is working hard to make the best of what they’ve been give. We see a man who has overcome a terrible childhood to raise a family in love. A man who still visits his Grandfather. A man who wants nothing more than to protect and provide for his family.

We see a man who is beyond smart and making his own way rather than following traditions.

We visited. Swell shared pictures of our past year. They shared some of their pictures. We ate the best potatoes in the world. I was offered a nap.

Amazing potatoes.

We gave gifts (very few) and cousin wisely warned (before we even arrived) his family that there would be no gifts this year because we have been away from home for so long.

It was a great day. I see a hopeful future for Romania if more families can be like cousin’s. They care about their neighbours. They work hard. They are happy to be together and share their lives with their “American” relatives.

We left very content.

Swell and I soon caught a bus back into Bucharest. We talked about what we had seen and what a good day it was.

Our trip back to Pantelimon would be a bit different today. This bus would drop us off at a metro (subway) station and we would take the subway all the way back to the outskirts of Pantelimon where we would catch a maxi-taxi to take us closer to home.

Let me preface this next part by saying that I have nothing, and I mean nothing, against fat chicks, after all I am one myself.

We took the bus to the subway station. Bought our tickets and found our platform with no problem. We then battled the stares for a while before the train came.

Upon boarding the train we were confronted with a return to reality. Why, oh why do Romanians not look in the mirror before leaving home? Ladies, if you are even just slightly overweight tight clothes with a short top allows others to see rolls coming over the waist of whatever you’re wearing on bottom. In this case it was a short, short skirt with a short, low – oh so low – cut shirt. She was with her boyfriend. They smooched. A lot. To my right was another low, low cut shirt with her boyfriend. They smooched. A lot.

Straight in front. Short shirt. Seats were full. Short-shirt girl was forced to reach up to hold on to the safety bar.

I looked at Swell’s knee. For what seemed an eternity.

We took the train from the first stop to the last stop. We quickly found the maxi-taxi stop and patiently let four maxi-taxis go by all the while refusing to get on them. Those that did get on them were literally (and I am not exaggerating) hanging out the doors.

I’ll admit I gave up first. I said, “You know what Swell. Forget it. This is stupid we are back in stupid Pantelimon with half naked chicks. Look at her. See she just proves my point. And overflowing maxi-taxi’s. Look at that one. That kid is dangling out the window just to breathe. I’m walking.”

Swell reluctantly agreed and we walked about 5 km home. Along the way Swell decided that she would buy some baking to take home with us. She went into the store and stood patiently waiting to be helped. The workers (there were two) were starting their closing procedures even though they had 30 minutes before they were to close. She stood there and stood there. All of a sudden a man walks in the store says, “Hey wazzup?” and they respond “What can we do for you?”

Swell left the store in a huff and bought nothing. Its not like they didn’t see her. They did. They looked right at her. Welcome back to Pantelimon.

So we continued our way home. Wondering why the stench is always so stenchy in these here parts. We kept looking at the mangy, snarling dogs. We dodged potholes. We crossed a street.

Young punk in his beautiful white Dacia station wagon decided that he didn’t care if we were crossing he was going to drive whether we liked it or not. He drove very close to us and when he was right in front of us… he stopped. This is a big street. In fact it is an intersection where four or five streets meet. No lights. No signs. Just a big parking lot looking piece of pavement.

I’m not proud of what I did next but as Swell said there is some type of force field around Pantelimon trying to keep us out. Trying to keep us angry.

I just walked right into his car. Not in his car but into his car. I bumped into it and scraped along side it. Boy did that make them angry. Boy did I not really care.

It’s a Dacia after all.

So the hope that we felt was soon overshadowed by the hideousness of Bucharest/Pantelimon. By the overwhelming sadness that we feel that Swell’s grandparents live here. The sense that we get that they were ripped off on the sale of their old bloc and the purchase of their new “house”. It was overshadowed by the lack of friendliness in this place. The lack of clothing in this place. The lack of community in this community.

Swell’s Mum to a taxi driver 3 weeks ago “You seem familiar with Pantelimon do you live here?”
Taxi driver with a look of shock on his face “Hell no!”

So you’ve heard me yell and complain about Bucharest.

A lot.

You’re probably sick of it. You’re probably just saying, “Leave then. Don’t come back.”

Well that is good advice. It is what we should do but truth be told we’ll be back for a fourth year in a row next July/August.

That trip will be different. I think we’ve decided we won’t stay at the Pantelimon house. We’ll spring for a hotel. I’ll drive a rental car.

More importantly for 2 or 3 weeks we’ll finally be tourists of Romania. We’ll take the train to different towns. We’ll see castles and monasteries. We’ll see mountains and lakes. We may even see Hungary. We’ll forsake family visits for a few weeks to have a family vacation. My sister and my “sister” are supposed to come. If they don’t? We’ll do it anyway.

Why? Because despite our complaints. Despite our terrible vacation. Despite the unfriendly people. Depsite the traffic and the dirt. Despite the noise and the blocs. Despite Bucharest and Pantelimon. Despite the dogs and the whores.

We love Romania.

Observations

Random observations about Romania from an outsider


1) So if you recall I talked a little about the difficulty Romanian’s are facing with their new currency.

A quick review. In the past things cost thousands of Lei. The government decided that 10,000.00 Lei (written here as 10.000,00 – what’s up with that?) would become the new 1 Ron. So last year when we were here you could pay for your purchases with a 10,000 Lei bill or a 1 Ron bill. This year the old Lei are completely gone. Most price tags are written in new Lei (Ron). A few are written with both.

All cash registers display Ron. The cashier’s more often than not say the total is X old Lei. Now here is where it becomes very interesting. I was just told this by Swell the other day. I didn’t know it because I don’t understand Romanian, although I am trying to learn a little and I can say some numbers. An example is the best way to introduce how stupid Romanians are.

So here it is:

Price tag: 10 Ron. Obviously, to you and I, this item can be purchased with a 10 Ron note. (or two 5’s, ten 1’s, etc.)

If I were to give the Romanians a break I could accept that this could also be equivalent to 100,000 (100 thousand) old Lei. It isn’t right to say one hundred thousand anymore but it’s only been a year. I’ll be generous.

So you walk up to the cash register expecting to hear the cashier say it is 10 Ron (let’s ignore the 15-20% sales tax for now) but won’t be surprised to hear her say, “This costs 100,000 Lei”.

Reality

You I’d like to purchase your wares, half naked worker lady.
Worker ladyYour total cost will be 100 Lei
You Great….wait….Whaaaat?

Review:
Price tag=10
Old Lei=100,000
Price quoted=100

Can you figure out the logic?

Tricked you. There is no logic, just Romanian pseudo-logic.

Here we go. Before the currency conversion the Romanians became lazy in their quoting/talking/describing prices/money. They took it upon themselves to drop the thousand. So if something cost 10,000 old Lei they would say it costs 10. The purchaser would then hand the cashier a 10,000 Lei note.

If you think about this they dropped 3 zeros from their notes.

Well, the government when developing the new Lei decided to drop four zeros. 10,000 (which was called 10 by the population) became 1.

So Romanians, who are unable to adapt to change, have 3 systems of currency in their minds at all times. They see all prices in the new Ron, refer to everything in the old Lei (add four zeros) but if it happens to be 999 thousand or less they then drop 3 zeros and refer to it without the “thousands”.

Confused?

Me=Yes
Them= most definitely

Swell has taken to taunting cashiers. They will ring up our items (really only groceries as we haven’t bought anything else while here). The total will be displayed. The cashier will then perform mental gymnastics to convert it to old Lei and then make the secondary conversion by dropping the thousands. She will then ask Swell for this amount of money. Swell will say, “I don’t understand old Lei. How many new Lei is it?”

Response 9 times out of 10?

*blink, blink, blank/vacant stare.

Idiots. 1=1 1 does not equal 10,000 and it definitely does not equal 10.

2) The news here is like a religion. A religion I can believe.

Every day the news comes on 3 or 4 times. Every time the news comes on everyone must stop what they are doing and watch it. With my limited knowledge of Romanian I can only look at the purty pictures. It is very apparent to me that the stories change very, very little between the morning, noon, early evening, late evening news. Same purty pictures. Same titles, same everything. Nonetheless the news is watched. Every time. At an ear shattering volume. No words are to be said. You are quiet during the news. The news is important.

They have a lot of international stories – what is going on with the weather in the US? Crazy. They have a lot of “Romania is a hard place to live” stories. It seems to me, an outsider, that it is a little excessive. Nobody can believe that we’ve seen worse living conditions, harder places to live. I’ll admit Romania is not a land of opportunity (in fact right this minute on the news they have a story about how Romania is the least urbanized country in the EU – with people actually leaving cities (no opportunity, high living expenses) to move to the country (to eek out a meager live-off-the-land existence) but it seems to me that to dwell on the difficulties does little good.

Romanians must start to seek change, to come up with solutions rather than wallowing in the “woe is us” mentality. But the laziness…

So why can I believe in this news-religion? Well the clergy (the news anchors) of course. Professional? Not a chance. This is ROMANIA!

Can I get shirts cut to the navel? Yes!
Tight clothes? Yes!
Crazy hair? Yes!
Shirts with writing on them? Yes! (Don’t see fashion, be fashion !?)

Irresistible news anchors!

And that’s just the men. *drool

3) In the city house we get three television channels. One of those channels shows a lot of American movies with Romanian subtitles.

Could they find any worse movies? I’m not talking bad like Dukes of Hazard bad, I’m talking bad like you’ve never heard of these movies, ever bad. I think a lot of them are Hallmark movies. They are for the most part terrible but I watch them anyway. I’ve grown to love these crappy movies. Not much else to do.

Do you know how many ways a child can disappoint their parents? Do you know how many ways a family can be torn apart only to come together stronger than ever? Do you know how many young girls are coerced to drop out of school become a stripper which leads to prostitution which leads to abuse which leads to death but whose mother will solve the crime despite the police not caring?

Me either but if one watches movies in Romania one is led to believe that every second girl drops out of high school because she is either: i) pregnant ii) a stripper iii)a drug addict or iv) in a cult. Those remaining only succeed because: i) they have awe inspiring perseverance, ii) a selfless social worker/teacher/homeless person helps them turn their life around, iii) the birth of their rape-conceived child changes their outlook on life forever or iv) the death of a parent illuminates the path to enlightenment.

If its not one of these movies it is an “action” movie worse than any Steven Segal movie you’ve ever seen. In fact, these action movies make you long for a Steven Segal movie marathon. Just horrendous.

Rabbit Trail
I lost 15 minutes of my life the second or third day Swell’s dad was here. 15 minutes that I’ll never get back. 15 minutes that would have been better spent stabbing my eyes out with a wooden spoon.

I cannot describe how grateful I am that it was merely 15 minutes. We were saved from further torture by the return of other family members.

Swell’s Dad was desperate to watch the run away hit – Borat.

He insisted we watch it with him.

I have never been so insulted/ashamed/embarrassed/angry/disgusted by a movie in my life and that was just the first 15 minutes. For the rest of his time here we ensured we had excuses to not watch the rest of the movie.

Swell’s Dad Let’s watch Borat
Swell and I We have to….clean the outhouse/do the dishes/paint the house/jump off a bridge.

Luckily he got the hint and watched the rest on his own. Ha!

To continue this side trip – the beginning part of the movie was filmed in rural Romania where they were told it was a documentary to show the world their poverty. They are currently suing the makers of the movie and I hope they win every cent that the movie grossed. I hope that “Borat” then takes his own life in the most painful fashion one can imagine. Perhaps every impoverished person in the world should have a chance to poke him in the eye before he falls into a tub of flesh eating insects. A disgusting movie that if you liked… well…. let’s just leave it alone.

4) If you thought it was bad being a person in Romania thank God you aren’t an animal.

There is a “horse” that lives on a nearby street. We see it every now and again hopping down the road looking for food. By the looks of the horse it isn’t able to find food all that often. The scrawniest, most miserable looking thing I have ever had the displeasure to lay eyes on. It looks to be on death’s door.

I’m considering opening the door and pushing it through.

It hops because the beautiful, caring owners take to tying its front legs together with a very short piece of cloth. It walks normally on its back legs and kind of hops with its front legs. It is dirty. Malnourished and pretty much like every other animal we’ve seen in our time here. Perhaps I’m an idealist but I’d think that if you treat your animals well that they would work better for you.

On the news there was a story about a horse whose owners beat it to death with shovels and other blunt instruments. Why? Well because it was unable to pull the overloaded cart that they wanted it to. The cart weighed several tonnes.

Well anyway, Swell and I saw this horse a few times. We felt bad for it. We felt worse for it when we drove by it one day. Driving by it allowed us to see the horse from a different perspective.

From below.

It was fixed.

Apparently by a mentally challenged 3 year old.

Who apparently used a dull knife.

My retinas have never seen such misery.

Only in Romania.

5) Curent. No not current. Koo-rent. The bane of all Romanian’s existence. It explains every illness imaginable. You sneeze – curent! You have a cold – curent! You get leukemia - damn curent.

Curent is quite simply a draft. There can be a howling wind outside that is ripping off shingles. You are free to go outside as the wind is NOT curent. If a window is slightly open and a small, pleasant breeze is coming through said window and you have the misfortune to be sitting near this window you have surely invited Death himself to visit you.

I cannot tell you how many times we have heard that curent is the cause of our small illnesses/sneezes/coughs/severed fingers.

It is all the curent’s fault.

Riding in Maxi-Taxis people will reach over you from five people away to close the tiny window, which is providing the only air circulation in a bus full of hot, stinky people on a 40 degree day.

The curent was out to get them.

They would rather sit in a sweltering bus then invite the hand of death, which is surely accompanying the breeze.

Bacteria? Viruses? Poor sanitation?

Nope. Curent. Thankyouverymuch.

6) There is a lot of opportunity to do public health work here.

Seat belts. Helmets. Sanitation. Safe drinking water. Nutrition. Prevention of childhood illness.

A kid died in Romania the other day. Two months old. The water got him. Mum made him tea (TEA!?) with well water and some creepy crawly in the water killed him.

Ladies I leave you with this sound advice. At least NINE MONTHS of exclusive breast feeding especially if you live in an area with poor water quality.

That’s it for now. We’re getting ready to watch the second half of Sole Survivor! An action/adventure/science fiction movie about a plane crash where everyone reportedly died. A husban/father to two of the victims is being drawn into a conspiracy by a woman who clams to have survived the crash but is being hunted down by a government group. When we left off last time someone told him that they saw his daughter (alive) AFTER the plane crash.

I’ve waited a week for the conclusion. It’s gonna be good times.

If you're looking for a cheery post - go elsewhere.

So here we are. We are exactly one week away from the first leg of our return flight home. A home we haven’t seen in 6 months. We left Atlanta on January 9th and will set foot in our home sometime in the early evening on the 5th of July.

We haven’t been gone as long as a lot of people but we’ve been gone long enough. We dream of our home, our stuff. Sitting on our couch. Sitting on our deck. It will be nice to be home. We are a little worried about the dust that will surely be covering every inch of our place. A little worried about our car (signed up for AAA the other day so that we can have them come and boost our car). I’m a little worried about finding work. Swell already has a few days a week from the week after we get home until the day we leave for Florida. She will be going back as a fill-in person to her previous job. Easy work. Good pay and she doesn’t hate-hate it. I’ve been looking but haven’t been all that successful.

The truth is people like her a lot more than me. I’ll be lucky if McDonald’s hires me.

The big (or more likely not-so big news) prior to an update about our going ons here in Romania - we are NOT returning to Palestine.

I emailed our concerns about the previous offer and heard nothing back for a week. Swell was really leaning to not going back so the lack of response made her lean even more toward not returning. I then sent an email indicating that we had made our final decision and that we would not return. The next day I finally heard back from the dean who indicated that she was very confused by our two emails. That the first needed to be answered by the administration but she felt that the second cancelled that need. (I thought I was pretty clear?) She then indicated that it had been a busy week for her and that she was unable to respond to our email earlier because she was just so busy.

Our decision was thus justified. We cannot go to a place where we have no administrative support. I just don’t understand what they are thinking. They never looked in on what we were doing while we were there. They never met with us. We rarely saw anyone that was to be there long term. I really doubt that they will make it through the next semester without a foreigner coming in to do what they wanted us to do. You cannot have one person teach classes for an entire optometry school – especially when she will be there only three days per week.

We thought they would be jumping to address our concerns, to ensure that we would return, rather we got more of the same – inaction, and no answers. I know it is a tough situation there. We are not unaware, but they fail to see our difficulties. Lying to get in and out of the country. Lack of money. Lack of direction and support. I could go on but it becomes repetitive and boring. Stuff you don’t really want to hear about.

I will say that I am disappointed to an extent. Most of the disappointment stems from ego. I hate doing what people expect.

When stating to people that we were considering going back I heard, “No, don’t go back. You already did it and you don’t need to go back. It’s stupid.” I know it’s a silly thing but I just don’t like people thinking they’ve got what I should or should not do figured out. Just because you think it’s a bad idea or a waste of time does not mean that I think the same way or that you are correct. In fact, odds are you are incorrect.

I also really liked being able to say that we were teaching in Palestine. It does impress some people – no, it really does. Now I have to go back to saying, “I’m just an optometrist”.

I’ll stop with those two silly reasons for my disappointment. I know we shouldn’t go back but I can still be disappointed. It’s my right!

So in a week we’ll be back in Atlanta and we’ll take 6-12 months to figure our lives out. Then we’ll move somewhere. Hopefully Alberta or Washington but we have to go where the jobs are.

I started a post a long time ago. I only wrote a page or so. The past two weeks have been very difficult/disappointing/sad.

Not difficult in a way that is funny 20 minutes later. Just plain difficult. Probably the worst two back-to-back weeks I’ve ever had.

Ever.

Reasons are plentiful but I won’t go into them here. Suffice it to say that the use of a car did not save us from Bucharest but rather teamed up with Bucharest to beat us to a quivering pulp of anger, despair, and sadness.

Here is the short post I wrote a week or so ago.

I swear I don’t make this stuff up. I’ve been accessing the internet while standing in the middle of the street. I’ll admit it isn’t a terribly busy street, but it is a street nonetheless.

Why do I have to risk my life to access the internet? Well for the simple fact that we’re in the country again… and I’m bored.

So bored.

The first time I visited Romania was three years ago. It was the spring before the fall that Swell and I moved to Atlanta and I started public health school. Upon our arrival in Romania we were whisked off by a crazy French priest to meet up with some French Canadian Optometry students. We spent the next week doing a disservice to the population of Romania by conducting poor quality eye exams and giving poor quality spectacles to the population of Tergoviste.

Eventually we made our way to visit Swell’s family here in Donesti. We stayed about a week in the country that year. Last year we spent a little less time. This year I could have done without even coming out here… at all.

It kind of loses its charm after awhile.

I’ve said it before but let me review what life in the country is like.

Outhouse.

No running water. We bring bottled water (although the first time we were here we were a little unprepared. We thought we would buy water here in the village. They only had carbonated water, which I cannot drink. It just tastes bitter to me. I lived on Orange “Tutti Futti” (Not as good as it sounds). This time we have plenty of bottled water.)

Flies everywhere. The door is always open and the magic keep-the-flies-out sheet spanning the door doesn’t really seem to work.

Old, old furniture held together with hopes and dreams.

Dirt everywhere.

A smell that is indescribable but probably a mixture of mothballs, old people, dirt, and farm.

To get to the kitchen (with three stoves and no working oven) you need to exit the front door, turn to your left walk 5 meters and enter through another door.

Now just so you know I’m not put off by the rustic nature of living out here. I’m not opposed to roughing it. Backpacking, camping, being sweaty and stinky are fine by me. It’s just that Swell’s grandparents have been unable to keep up with the demands of being rural folk (or, and this is just between us, have absolutely no idea how to be farmers). Things are falling apart all over the place. The animals are cared for but not in a manner that is probably conducive to their best development. It’s not so much a farm as an agricultural disaster.

The animals live in the people area (or do the people live in the animal area?) Manure of different sizes and types can be found in the people area. The goats snuck into the house more than once while we were visiting last time (the goats have since been put under the care of the goat-herder. He takes them to far off fields and enjoys some quality time with a herd of goats… for ever?)

Standing water everywhere. The just pull the water from the well and leave it in open containers. The dogs, cats, chickens, etc drink out of said containers and then the people folk wash their hands, drink(?), and use this water. As someone who has studied public health and has an ounce (just barely but I do have an ounce) of common sense and half an ounce (on a good day) of intelligence I am aghast, disgusted, dismayed, sickened – you get the idea – by the way they live here.

By the way, sleeping with fleas is not the good time I was promised.

There isn’t much to do around here either. It is far too hot to go for walks around the village. Swell should really spend her time visiting relatives – Grandparents, Aunt, various other relatives that fill the village. I’m not really that useful in visiting, as I don’t understand what is being said so I mostly just sit around here.

Normally I would have a book to read but not so much this time. I’ll sleep. I’ll play videogames. Write. But all in all it’s pretty boring.

Not much else going on. Shower was installed at the city house and is okish.

end of past post

We did do a couple of touristy things this weekend. We drove with Swell’s parents to another city (Brasov) where Swell’s dad has a cousin. We visited their family and then went with them to a couple of castles on Sunday. On Monday we took our time driving back to Bucharest and saw the outside of another castle and did a couple of other things.

Nothing exciting happened on this trip. I learned some stuff that I didn’t want to learn. Saw some stuff I didn’t want to see. Heard some stuff I didn’t want to hear.

This morning we were up at 3 am (after staying awake until midnight or so watching an amazing storm. We were just hit with the edge of it but the images on TV are pretty crazy. It killed one and injured 100. Weather here has been crazy. Worst summer in 50 years is what they are saying. No rain. 40 degree (Celsius) weather! People are selling their pigs (because they don’t have anything to feed them) and are getting paid what they would normally receive for a chicken.) We were up at 3 am because Swell’s parents were off to the airport to go home. For reasons I do not entirely understand we went with them to drop off the rental car and then came home in a taxi.

Don’t ask. Don’t tell.

Works for the military. Works for me.

We got home by 7. Swell visited with her g-parents who left at 8 to run some errands. We went back to bed and got up when g-parents returned. We spent a few hours trying to organize a truckload of sundries that Swell’s Mum bought the folks here. I counted 25 1 kg bags of sugar.

Dude. I don’t think we use a bag of sugar a year. I think they’ll be good for a while on sugar. We also cut down the 100s of plates they had in the cupboards by picking the microwavable ones and storing the rest. It looks better but they sure have a lot of stuff here.

Depressing post I know. It is time to go home.

We will visit Swell’s dad’s Dad on Friday and then visit her cousin after that. Until Tuesday we’ll just hang out in Bucharest and try to fit our stuff in our bags. We will also do some stuff with the sick one.

Sorry no funny today. I haven’t been in a funny mood for sometime now. Dang. I need to go home.

Thousands of words

Don't feel like writing. So I won't.

Family

Me and G-Pa in his bedroom (which is also the kitchen) in the country.



G-Ma and G-Pa with their chickens


G-Ma with Sheepie Jr.


G-Pa with Sheepie Jr.


G-Ma and G-Pa with expertly grilled hot dogs. American eats in rural Romania.


The sick one with a Mocha - that she loved.


Grandpa (Swell's Dad's Dad) with Sheepie Jr.


Swell's Dad doing what he loves most - eating grilled meat.


G-Ma and G-Pa at Starbucks


Swell's Mum and Dad at the Nut. (Where's Sheepie?)


Swell's G-Ma's Brother picking cherries


Tourism

People's Palace


Arc de Triumph


Monument for martyrs of the revolution


A nut on a stick - the monument for the 1989 revolution. Not sure why they made the monument look like a walnut on a stick.


Animals

Sheepie Jr. with Swell's Grandparent's lil' goats


Swell's Grandparent's lil' chickies


Country neighbour with his lil' bunnies


Uncomfortable looking cow on the street near the CITY HOUSE


Swell's relative's lil' chickies


Swell's relative's lil' goats. Their mama and sibling died, soo sad.


Goats again. Swell loved these goats even more than she loved her G-parent's goats


The City Home

Old Kitchen note stove's hood


Note handles on the upper shelves - unit hung upside down


Old sink



New Ikea sink with new shelf and lowered hood


New fridge


Pantelimon street after a rainstorm. And this is one of the better streets. And yes we had to walk through it





Food

Picture of All the cheese. Swell should have married Wallace.


I knew that the food Swell loves is crap.


Us

I'm a pirate. Aaaargh.


Swell with her loverly goats


Swell holding neighbours loverly bunny


Barefoot and...


Swell and Sheepie Jr. at Ikea


Ummmm...like I said Pantelimon is stinky... especially after rainstorms. You can watch the water shooting out of the sewers.


Our family. US. Romania. Canada.