Prof. Karla

Cool!

I've been invited to do a guest lecture at the local university. The professor, a Belgian, got my name from a friend of a friend. She's presently teaching a section on la francophonie and is now focusing on Canada. She wants me to come and do presentation on French speakers in Canada, answer some questions, etc etc. I'm psyched!

Gabori

While at the clinic this morning, I saw a group of Roma in the lobby. I had no idea what they were doing standing in the stairwell. They wore head kerchiefs and full skirts. There was a man on the other side of the door in a flat-brimmed hat. They exchanged some words, a woman handed him something (money? A scrap of paper?) through the window, and then he opened the door and let them in.

The waiting room was half-full of Roma. There were a few men dressed in dark clothes with the strange hats. The women wore colourful full skirts, shirts with collars, a cardigan on top and several fringed scarves around their waists. They also had their hair completely covered by floral kerchiefs. After a while, the men left and the women kept pacing the length of the room. I was quite facinated.

I asked my coworker later on what was going on. She said that they were Gabori, or Hungarian Roma. They're known as the most traditional Roma and will not marry Romanians. Historically, they were seen as the most trustworthy Roma and when Roma were used as slaves, the Gabori were allowed to have real jobs. Nowadays, they mainly work in the carpet and eavesdrough trades.

Doctor

I went through another right of passage: dealing with foreign doctors.

I had to do it in France when I had "la bronchite" (some pulmonary infection that left me up all night coughing and my neighbour pounding on her wall in an effort to get me to shut up). It was a painless experience, and I hoped this one would be no different.

I'll try to make this as non-graphic as possible for the male (and female) readers.

I needed to see a specialist. Cristi's girlfriend is studying medicine and she gave me the name of her doctor who works at a women-only health clinic. She told me that she was very nice, professional and spoke English. Perfect.

Luckily, she was able to take me last Thursday on short notice. The clinic was called Bega. I stupidly assumed that it was at the Bega mall (forgetting that everything in Timisoara is called "Bega", kind of like "Evangeline" in eastern Canada). After walking around the building two or three times, I decided to just get a taxi to the right address.

So I got to the clinic (which was far, far away from the shopping centre) and nervously walked in. No receptionist, no sign up sheet, no office hours, nothing. I had no idea what to do. Some man came over to say something to me. I gave him a nervous smile and said I didn't speak Romanian. Then he decided to start yelling at me. Ok, I'm trying to see a doctor, I don't need to be yelled at. I felt a few tears in my eyes. Then a young doctor came over and asked what the trouble was. I explained that I spoke English and I was trying to see a doctor. I gave him my doctor's business card and he called her cell phone. She came right away.

She brought me upstairs and asked if I needed to use the washroom. She said it was the only one available. Since this was a woman's health clinic, I assumed that it would be painted in peaches and pinks with nice flower prints.

Wrong.

This was the room where they did sperm collection for artificial insemination. The walls were plastered almost to the ceiling with graphic pornography. Do you know how hard it is to use the bathroom when you have limpid-eyed peroxide blonds showing you their asses staring at you?

Anyways, fast forward to today. I'm not sick or dying and I only have a simple infection. Relief, except for the cruel, inhumane Eastern European treatment I have to subject myself to for the next fourteen days.

Missionaries 1, Karla 0

I was casually walking along Piata Victoriei last night, minding my own business. I had one thing on my mind: The Incredibles. I didn't want to miss any of the movie.

Two girls stopped my. I saw immediately that they were Mormons. "Buna seara", they said. "Hi!" I said back.

"How did you know we spoke English?"
"Only Mormon missionaries dress like that and wear name tags"
"Oh! Where are you from?"
"Canada"
"Would you like us to tell you a bit about our church?"
"No thank you"

I told them no less than four times that I wasn't interested. They asked if I'd like to know about their church, their religion, the path that Jesus set for them and his plans for me. I told them politely every time "I am a very strong non-believer. Nothing you say will change my mind". They asked for my phone number, and I told them once again that I was an atheist and would not be converting to Mormonism.

Then they pulled out the loneliness card. "Are you lonely here?" "No, not really. It was hard at first, but I've made friends and I enjoy my life here" "Oh. Well, here's our church brochure!".

I finally gave them my phone number, mainly so I could get out of there and get to the movie. Yet another reason to go to Turkey.

A side street, all light-up 

Catholic church and the moon 

The Catholic church and the moon 

Alba Iulia street, all light up for the holidays 

More cathedral goodness 

Happy 2005! 

The cathedral at twilight 

Timisoara is the first European city to have electric lights. 

Cabbages at the market 

The Serbian church in my neighbourhood (reminds me of the Taj Mahal) 

Elections

Ok, I hate politics. I took one poli sci class at university and somehow managed to graduate with a BA in International Relations.

Romania had the first round of presidential and legislative elections yesterday.

I had two reasons to ignore this election:
a) I hate politics
b) I don't speak Romanian

And two reasons to follow it:
a) I'm living in Romania now
b) We didn't want another Ukraine situation developing here

So yesterday, I went around taking pictures of political posters. I don't know how many candidates were running but the real competition came down between two parties. I like to call them the "blue" party and the "orange" party in reference to their political colours.

I will make this as basic as I can.

The blue party, Social Democratic Party of Romania (Partidul Social Democrat or PSD) is often described as harbouring former communists and attempting to control the Romanian mass-media.

The orange party, the National Liberal and Democratic Party is obviously not very exciting as I can't find much information on them. Seems the presidential contender, the mayor of Bucharest, wants to encourage big business, but as far as I'm aware, he is just as corrupt as anyone else, although he does speak out for gay-rights.

According to my Romanian friends, neither is a good candidate. Kind of reminds me of the Bush-Gore election of 2000, except imagine Bush running against himself.

Timisoara's mayor ran in the election as well, coming in a respectable 5th place (with 1.9% of the votes).

No one person for 50% of the votes, so a run-off is scheduled for December 12th.

Even more posters 

This guy is the mayor of Timisoara and came in 5th in the national election 

Variations of the stupidest poster I have ever seen 

More posters 

Boring 

This always makes me giggle 

More posters 

One of the dumbest election posters I've seen 

Election posters 

Stove

So my stove *isn't* broken. Cristi showed me how to use it properly.

I'll never understand these European gas stoves. North American electric stoves make so much more sense. Turn the knob and presto, heat.

Here, you have to light the gas. I've become adept at lighting the burners without burning myself. However, lighting my stove will continue to pose health hazards.

I looked for one of those stick lighters at the local Billa. I couldn't find anything in the candle/match section, and I dreaded asking the sales associate if they had them.

Try describing a stick lighter in another language. Just try it.

"Unde e un foc [makes hand gesture for lighting a lighter]?" ("Where is a lighter?", in Karla-speak).

Riiiight.

So with this stove, you have to hold the gas in for 15-20 seconds after you light it, and the heat sensor keeps the fire light. I will *not* be missing gas stoves when I return to Canada.

Romanian language

Overheard last night:

Karla: Romanian is such a funny-looking language. It's got all these dots and squiggles over the letters.
Christi: No more funny looking than French with the accents.
Karla: Yeah, but French is easy. Romanian just looks like it has bugs crawling all over it.

English names

Christi informed me that a phonetic interpretation of my last name in Romanian could mean "from the penis".

Yet another reason to marry someone with a normal-sounding surname.

Glorious food

Here I present my two favourite things in Romania. Dots and Finetti Sticks.

I've blogged about Dots before. Dots is possibly the most perfect food combination ever to grace our fair planet.

It's a stick of branza (basically a milk derivative similar to what happens when you squeeze the whey out of yogurt, or lumpy cream cheese, or pureed thick cottage cheese) covered in chocolate. Perfection.

And Finetti Sticks are like our Piroulines, but much cheaper. One package costs about $0.25.

Finetti Sticks, about to be eaten 

Finetti Sticks, inside 

Finetti Sticks, back view 

Finetti Sticks, top view 

Dots, again 

Dots, inside