Train from Timisoara to Bucharest, plane to Istanbul, another plane to Ankara and then trains and or busses to Tbilisi 

I'm off!

So while plenty of my friends have told me they envy my travel, do they really envy this?

6:33 am: Leave for Bucharest on the train
2:50 pm: Arrive in Bucharest
Wait (hopefully meet up with Maud, another FAC intern)
6:00 pm: Arrive at Otopeni Airport
7:25 pm: Take off
9:00 pm: Arrive in Istanbul
10:00 pm: Take off for Ankara
11:00 pm: Arrive in Ankara

Then we have to collect our baggage, and it's a thirty minute drive to where we're staying. So, we'll be dead on arrival.

Don't get me started on the travel from Ankara to Tbilisi, but it involves numerous busses and or trains, which could take upwards of fourty hours. Not fun.

I'll try to blog as much as I can (hello, Internet cafes) but if I'm not in touch, rest assured that I'm still at least *thinking* about blogging!

Wish me luck!

Stupid things

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life.

Hell, I've done a lot of stupid things in the past six months.

Turkey and Georgia are two of the...well, I wouldn't call them stupid, but I'll try to lay everything out.

Dumb thing #1
Coming to Romania. Sure, it was the best decision I could have made, but I'll always look back and think "what if?"
Risk factor: 3/10 - I didn't know the language but everyone has taken such good care of me
Result: I wouldn't change coming here for the world

Dumb thing #2
Letting the girlfriend of a "friend" spend the night when he treated her badly.
Risk factor: 4/10 - I didn't know her at all
Result: I made a new friend who is one of the most wonderful people I've met in Romania

Dumb thing #3
Travelling from one end of Europe to the other over the holidays to help out at a New Year's Eve party a friend (whom I met three months previous in Bulgaria) was planning
Risk factor: 2/10 - I trusted him completely the instant I met him, although I was still a little nervous seeing him again
Result: Became closer friends with him and made new friends through him in the process

Dumb thing #4
Travelling along from Ankara to Tbilisi. My friend Rob oh so helpfully (ok, I asked for it) provided me the link to ComeBackAlive and they have a huge section on Turkey. Great. I have to beware of Kurdish kidnappers, terrorists and bombs. Georgia's been taken off the list and apparently at one time, Romania and Yugoslavia were on there as well. I made out fine in both cases, so maybe I'll be ok.
Risk factor: 8/10 - Strange language, strange customs, strange culture and I'm a single female doing it all on my own
Result: Let's hope I come back alive.

Georgia

I received my confirmation letter. I'm off to Tbilisi.

Wh00t!

I'm leaving for Turkey this Friday.

12 days in Ankara!

I still haven't heard back from the Georgian organisation. Luckily, Turkish Airlines charges no fee if you need to change your flight so I still have a few more days to get things settled.

Now I'm just making a list of things to remember. Oooh...turns out my Turkish visa is actually a multiple entry visa. This makes my life easier.

Now I just have to finish everything before I go!

Trams

I decided to brave the Timisoara public transportation system this morning. I've taken a grand total of one bus since I came and have mainly relied on walking and taxis to get me everywhere I needed to be.

I've been told that Tram #4 leaves from five minutes outside my apartment and stops directly in front of the institute. I confirmed this last week when I saw the #4 as I was walking home.

This morning, I woke up psyched. I was ready for my adventure! I managed to buy a ticket and when the tram came, I climbed on confidently.

We "trammed" downtown. I relaxed. "This is so easy!" I thought. "Why didn't I start doing this sooner?"

We passed by Piata Libertatii. So far, so good.We started going further and further down the street. I wasn't worried. I assumed any moment, we would turn and drive up the Institute's street.

Sometimes I shouldn't listen to myself. Before I knew it, we were in the middle of nowhere. I didn't know whether to stay on, as the tram would eventually turn around, or get off and catch another tram going the opposite way. I checked out all the tram stops but didn't see any that sold tram tickets by the tracks.

I saw a tram route map on the wall so I went to give it a closer look. The trams of Timisoara aren't native. They're originally from Germany and all the signs inside are German. Including the route map. If I read German, I could tell you what city the tram came from. No map of Timisoara to oriente myself, unfortunately.

Fourty five minutes later, I was alone on the tram in the middle of a field. We had stopped for I didn't know how long. I anxiously texted my coworker and my boss to ask where I was. Turns out I really *was* in the middle of nowhere. I was on the edge of the city limits.

Luckily, the tram turned around a few minutes later and I arrived at work two hours late but no worse for the wear. Turns out that they're doing work on some of the tracks and changed the route. My boss told me that he was meaning to warn me but kept forgetting. Gee, thanks!

Kareoke

I went out for a pub crawl with some friends Friday night. In Canada, a pub crawl means going to a pub, getting a drink, going to another pub and getting drink, etc etc until you can't walk straight to the last pub.

In Romania, this involves us going to a pub and having one of the girls declare she doesn't like it. So we tramp through the cold to the next bar where another girl says the music is too loud. The next pub is too smoky, etc etc. We finally end up at Sinatra, which has a snooty "members-only" feel to it. Actually, it used to be members-only until the boss realised he was getting no business, so now it's open to the public. It's rather nice inside: all brick, low tables and chairs, fluffy drinks and black and white pictures of Frank Sinatra everywhere.

After Sinatra, we went to The Sound. The Sound is Timisoara's kareoke bar. Last time I went, is was full of profesisonal singers warbling out Shania Twain and Celine Dion songs (And I thought one of the perks of coming to Romania was leaving them *behind* in Canada!). Friday night, however, must have been "American Idol Reject Night".

Two girls went up and sang a BoyZone song. They tried to make their voices sound deep like the BoyZone singers. They sounded horrible. I couldn't stop laughing. I had tears running down my face and I smooshed my face into my arm to keep from laughing. Another girl sang No Doubt's "Don't Speak". She would have been good, but I was too distracted by her stomach hanging over the waistband of her jeans.

Then, the performance to end all performances. A guy got up to sing Ricky Martin's "She Bangs". All of us at the table started laughing when we saw the title on the screen because we know how hard it is to sing.

This guy could give William Hung a run for his money. Public Service Announcement: Ricky Martin songs should not be sung with a heavy Romanian accent. They just don't work. And before someone jumps down my throat, Eros Ramazzoti songs should not be sung by Canadians, as we obviously cannot keep up and move our tongues around enough. The Romanians all sang it beautifully.

All in all, a very fun night.

Georgia

My dear, wonderful beloved colleague wrote a nice letter to the Georgia leaders, telling them I would be an ideal candidate for the conference.

An hour later, we get an email back. The application form that I got was for a contact making seminar. Basically, you meet other people in your field, discuss issues, make plans for future projects, etc etc. Twenty people were supposed to participate.

They told me I could take part! That's the good news. The bad news is that it doesn't seem to be a contact-making seminar. The purpose is to create a women's rights network.

Now I have to decide what to do:
a) I could go to Georgia and take part in the conference
b) My boss is keen that I go to represent the institution
c) I could offer to pay my own way so someone else can go as well.

If I *do* go, I'd have to take the train/bus/whatever from Ankara in the middle of Turkey to Tbilisi, in Eastern Georgia which would cut down on the cost.

Have I mentioned that Georgia shares a border with Chechnya? I'm definitely up for the adventure.

Circle of friends

No, not the Quakers. This is the local expat group in Timisoara.

Started out with all the expat NGO workers getting together once a month to hang out and discuss any issues which had come up. Then it expanded to include Romanian NGO workers as well. Now, it's basically an "all are welcome" group, but English is the main language.

I met some Americans, some Romanians and a Spaniard-Scot. I spent most of the evening talking with the American representative of Nestle and two Romanian guys. We ended up going to Arcade for dinner. Arcade is a lovely restaurant in the Bastion, the remaining walls of Timisoara's defrence against the Turks. The food is great, the prices reasonable and it's got a really nice atmosphere.

We talked a lot about the differences in marketing products in Romania and the USA. One of the biggest is "Milky" which is basically a chocolate-covered wafer with flavoured cream in the middle. Quite tasty. Turns out it wouldn't do well in North America. Why not? Not enough chocolate! The chocolate on it is very thin (spray-painted on, as he said) and Americans like thick chocolate. We also discussed the Milky commercials and various marketing strategies. All in all, a very interesting evening.

School part deux

So I went back yesterday to teach the darling little angels how to use the tool.

Ok, for future reference, teach them how the software works *before* they're in the computer lab. They were all trying to check their email and play computer games instead of listening to me. I was *not* happy.

I guess kids are kids all over the world. I saw the shortest and the tallest kids being teased. One student called another one stupid. I told him he was not to call that student stupid and he looked slightly embarassed. Good. Another shoved some papers and pens under a student as he was about to sit down. He was one of the most "developed" students (the tallest and with facial hair), but I grabbed the offending material and whacked the student and told him he should not be doing that, at least around me.

Is there any school where bullying does not exist? I don't think so.

The girls really surprised me. Most just sat down and got their pictures taken. A few vamped it up. A couple tried to look downright sexy. They flipped their hair and glared into the camera. I wanted them to look natural, not like models in training. I joked that they were trying to get a boyfriend in the partner class. They giggled and I was able to catch some natural smiles. One girl struck a sexy pose and frowned at my lense. I told her that my camera was not her ex boyfriend and she shouldn't look at it like she was angry. She burst out laughing and her picture came out really nice.

I got them set up with the chat program. One boy came up to me "We're allowed to chat? Now? Right here?" "Yup! Have fun!" *cunning look* "Can we chat with people not in this classroom?" "If you're asking me if you can use IRC, the answer is 'no'" "Oh"

As soon as I turned my back, they were chatting on IRC, playing video games, checking their email, looking up fashions online... Were we this bad in junior high? Oh, that's right! We didn't have the Internet when I was in junior high. I didn't have email until I was 16. And all our school computers were blocked against chatting and email when we finally went online back in '97.

The teacher doesn't speak a word of English. I speak Romanian like a dyslexic six year old. Luckily, we have an incredible translator who speaks better English than me (yes, Alina, that's you). Ever try teaching software through an interpreter? Not easy. Luckily, everyone has a good sense of humour, so it's progressing.

I'm a good teacher

I had to teach our software tool to a class of fourteen year olds today.

I went to the junior high and walked around aimlessly until someone asked what I was doing there. Then I was pointed to the teachers' room.

I keep forgetting that teachers are human. One of my closest friends back home is a former teacher of mine. Maybe that just means that I'm getting older.

Anyways, the entire class stood up when I came into the classroom. I was so embarassed. Turns out that it's custom to do that in Romania and it was for the teacher, not for me. Whoops! They were all wearing marroon vests over normal clothes. Kind of like a uniform, but not. I'm just glad we didn't have to wear stuff like that.

The teacher explained the program and then gave me control. I had no idea what to say.

I tripped going up to the desk. That broke the ice. The class started giggling and everything went great. They seem like such a fun group of students. They were bright and asked lots of questions. I asked if they were enthusiastic about using the tool. "Yeah". "Ok, would you rather use use this tool and play on computers, or do math?" "Computers!" "Ok, let me ask you again: Are you excited?" "YEAH!!!"

I told them that they'd be seeing me a lot and that I wanted their input on how the program was working. I wanted to know the good, the bad and the ugly. I said that I'm only twenty three, so I'm young and new at this too.

Getting up to write the website on the board, I tripped.

I'm good with kids.

I tripped again as I was leaving. One of the boys shouted "Come back soon, I love you!"

Turkey and Georgia

Wh00t! I'm 99% positive that I'm going to Ankara. I missed out last time but there's a new conference coming up that my organisation was invited to. The best part is that this conference will be much more interesting. The other conference would have been helpful but it was on how to build a proper project. This one is much more my style. It's training for facilitators and deals with intercultural education, at-risk youth, mediation, etc etc. All great skills to have. They reserved four places for us, and my boss asked if I'd like to take part. And I think my travel costs will be covered too! I'd fly from Bucharest to Istanbul and then Ankara.

There's also another conference coming up that I would dearly love to take part in. It's in Tbilisi, Georgia (an interest of mine ever since I got my first A at university writing my linguistics paper on the Georgian language) and is about violence against women and also how to get more women involved with peace-making and diplomacy.

Fits right in with my education and training.

I sent in my application and now I'm waiting for an answer back on my acceptance.

Only problem:
Turkey is between January 28th and February 7th. Georgia is between February 17th and the 22nd.

I only find out about Georgia on the 24th of January. I wrote to them and politely asked if they could look at my application form and give me an idea if whether or not I would be in consideration for a place (ie- if I was not what they were looking for, to let me know so I won't get my hopes up). They told me that I would find out on the 24th.

I have three options:
a) If I'm not accepted to Georgia, I simply go to Turkey and come back
b) If I'm accepted to Georgia, I return from Turkey and leave from Romania
c) If I'm accepted to Georgia, I stay in Turkey for ten days and then leave from Istanbul or Ankara

I can stay with my friend Cem in Ankara in the meantime.

So now I don't know what to do. I need a visa for Georgia (not to mention a Turkish visa for Ankara). If I apply in advance, it's 13 pounds. I get also get a visa at the Tbilisi airport for $80 USD. The organisation will send me an invitation (damn post-Soviet bureaucracies!) if I'm accepted. It's not recommended that I get a visa upon arrival. I can get the visa from any Georgian consulate and I'm sure it should be fairly easy to do once I'm in Ankara.

I *really really really* want to go. Imagine, Georgia! It will probably be my only chance to visit a Caucasian country.

So what do I do? Right now, I have a ticket reserved from Istanbul to Tbilisi. Tbilisi (isn't that so much fun to say?) is...uh...somewhat remote and doesn't have flights every day of the week. @^%&^#@#^%$#^%$^#

I want to go!

Now I'm just researching everything possible about the country. I'm on the Georgian parliamentary website. Do I really want to go to a country whose official website is done (badly) in FrontPage?

HELL YES!

I think I have a good chance. I won't be heartbroken if I don't get to go, but it will be the trip and chance of a lifetime if I do get accepted.

So wrong

A Romanian woman is now officially the oldest woman ever to give birth, at age 67. I saw her on TV this morning but didn't pay much attention to the story.

I could get into all the reasons why this is so wrong, but I'm sure you're all thinking the same thing as I.

So, so wrong.

I want to shoot myself in the eye

I swear, I'm going to kill myself.

I didn't have a lot of work to do, so I agreed to do a translation for my boss. I'm translating a chapter, from French into English, for his colleague.

The title of said paper, in English, is "Theory and practice of human rights in post-traditional societies: The Romanian case".

The last translation I did had to do with immigration in pre and post-Communist Romanian society and it was a delightful read in sociology. I minored in sociology at university so I found it education and informative.

This is...indescribable. The author is the head of Philosophy at the university of Cluj. Prestigeous, yes. Understandable, absolutely not.

I want to shoot myself in the eye. His focus is on phenomenology, which, according to my fine friends at Wikipedia, is "a current in philosophy that takes intuitive experience of phenomena (what presents itself to us in conscious experience) as its starting point and tries to extract the essential features of experiences and the essence of what we experience".

I would smash my head against the keyboard if I had the energy. It's interesting and legible, but to translate? Ever had to translate philosophy from one language to another? Then you know what I'm talking about. It was taking me forever until I had the brilliant idea of putting the entire thing into Babelfish and then using that as a basis of my own work.

Here's a sample paragraph that I've done:
"The veritable forma mentis of Eastern Europe – whose blurred and vague “complexity” (to use a euphemism) concerns in fact a sort of reciprocity between traditionalism – the avatar of a tradition which doesn’t exist anymore – and modernism – a ghost of a modernity which does not yet exist. This does not mean that – situated between the past of its tradition (which has already left) and the arrival of its own modernity (which has not yet arrived) – Romanian society will find itself in a present which is, finally, its own. The renunciation of the past, which produces the show of traditionalism, and the renunciation of the future, which produces the show of modernism, does not involve a suitable present automatically."

Obviously it's not perfectly edited, but you see the style in which it is written.

Riiiiight.

*pop*

That sound you just heard? It was a blood vessel in my brain.

On a lighter note, this is an academic translation and it good experience.

I'd just like to thank my friend Urgo for helping me translate such words as "calage" and "cotoie", words that I have never seen in all my eighteen years of studying French. And Pete Yorn, whose songs "So Much Work" and "Turn of the Century" are on repeat.

RIP O-Zone

It's official. O-Zone broke up.

I want to cry. The lead singer said "I formed the band, it's my project, now I finished it".

Well, it was good while it lasted.

O-Zone no more?

O-Zone might be breaking up. I'm sad.

Cristi told me that one of the singers is in the USA and the others are in Bucharest.

There's an article in Romanian, but it's pretty easy to figure the meaning out.

Time to listen to some more O-Zone now.

Oh, and as another comment on the Romanian postal story, they made me pay 68,000 lei to pick up my package. I was not pleased.

Post office hell (again)

Going to the post office in Romania is akin to Chinese water torture.

My aunt sent me a package for Christmas. It was addressed to me through the Institute.

Normally, picking up a package should be a piece of cake. But this is Romania. So of course, they make it as difficult as possible.

They sent an announcement saying it was here. Then they sent an announcement saying that if i wasn't there in two days to pick it up, it would be sent back to Canada. I just got back to work on Monday, so it was either Monday or Tuesday.

Romanian post offices have the most inconvenient hours ever. Monday it was open from 10:00 am till 1:00 pm. Today it was open from 11:00 am till 1:00 pm.

Another staff member brought me to the post office. We went up five flights of stairs to the very top, where she left me in the lion's den.

Imagine a tiny cinderblock room, painted in sick grey and yellow tones. A huge crowd of people were stuffed into the room, with others sitting along the perimetre. I got into line. The place smelled like a mixture of garlic, onions, moth balls and cheap perfume.

11:00: Get into line
11:05: Slowly inch my way up
11:10: Realise I'm bring crushed from behind. The good part is that I'm wedged up to the person in front of me, which means no one can take my place
11:15: People start crowding along the sides
11:20: A fight breaks out in the back. Two people are arguing over who is in front of whom
11:25: I'm started by some lady pulling at my sleeve. I ignore it. She pulls harder and starts yelling at me in Romanian.
11:30: She starts yelling at the German girls in front of me. The German girls respond in Romanian. She then starts yelling at me. I'm frustrated, so I tell her I don't speak Romanian. "Oh! You're foreign! You can go first!"
11:35: I'm almost in front of the door. Victory is almost mine
11:40: People start trying to push in front of me. I smoosh up against the German girls. I can feel someone breathing on my neck. I need to scratch my nose but my arm is pinned to my body.
11:45: The door opens and someone is let out. One of the German girls goes in.
11:50: The man behind me mumbles that they should have the number system here to keep the order. I smile sympathetically at him
11:55: Random old ladies come to the front of the line to beg that we let them in front of us. I try to politely ignore them
12:00: The door opens again and suddenly the air is full of hands waving their package claim tickets. I thrust my hand out too. I don't know why some are chosen but not others. The lady looks at my claim ticket and then dismisses it.
12:05: One of the German girls goes in
12:10: The German girl is still there inside. The door opens again and the same girl comes out asking for tickets. I show her mine again but she doesn't like it. She takes a ticket from someone way in the back.
12:15: The oversealous Romanian woman beside me starts mumbling uncontrollably to herself. She asks me something. I ignore it. She repeats it. I ignore it. She says it again and I politely tell her I don't speak Romanian. She starts talking to the woman next to her. The people to my left are having an animated discussion in sign language.
12:20: The German girl finally comes out. I'm at the front of the line! I start to pick at the tape on the door.
12:25: I'm still picking at the tape
12:30: The door opens. My turn! At last! Damnit! Foiled again! A woman (whom, I might add, had just come up the stairs and had been waiting about 20 seconds) came up beside me and said something to the lady at the door, who let her in immediately. She gave me a guilty look.
12:35: The door opens again and the other lady comes out looking for tickets. She takes the ticket of the deaf couple. I'm happy because they were waiting longer than me
12:40: My turn! Finally!

I hand them my two claim tickets and a piece of ID. I'm using my Canadian driver's licence. I was told to bring photo ID. No, apparently that's not good enough. They want my passport. I don't care if I'm in a foreign country. I do not routinely carry my Canadian passport around. I know enough people here whose purses have been snatched. I keep my passport in a very safe place. I do, however, carry a photocopy of it for such emergencies though. I hand them my photocopy.

Apparently, that's not good enough either. I have three pieces of ID in front of me (driver's licence, student card, passport photocopy) and they want the real thing. She lady peers at the photos and then at me. I take my hair out of my ponytail and shake it out, so I look more like my pictures. Nope, still not good enough.

The package was addressed to me care of the Institute. Therefore, they also need proof of where I work. Luckily, I was pre-informed of this and came bearing the Institute's stamp. Suddenly, everything seems to be going well. I mean...there can't be *that* many Karlas working for Institutes in Timisoara, whose aunts share the same (uncommon) last names as them.

A man comes over who knows my boss, and vouches for me. The lady reluctantly gives me my envelope. She then starts to copy my passport number down. I politely ask if she can instead use my driver's license number.

Romanians ask me a lot for my passport number. When I bought speakers at the store, they wanted my passport number. I gave them my student card. When I needed a one-day membership at the grocery store, they asked for my passport and I gave them my student card. I figured this would be no different.

Nope, they wanted my passport. I was tired, I was stressed, and there was no way I was going to give my passport to an overworked, underpaid postal employee. Why do they need it?

"We need to have it as proof that we have you the package"
"Can't you please use my other number?"
"No, we need your passport"
"Why?"
...Ensuing discussion...

Why *do* they need my passport for everything? I don't particularly trust my passport number being written down in a notebook by an institution who just kept me waiting almost two hours to give me an envelope. Any number should be sufficient.

Turns out that I should have a paper from the Romanian government saying I'm living here for over a month. Seeing as I'm travelling so much, my boss thought it unecessary (ie- he doesn't have time to take me to the office) that I have it, seeing as I'm out of the country at least once a month. Because I don't have that paper, they need my passport. Ok, I can accept that, but still.

I hate Romanian post offices.

More job worries

This job thing is starting to stress me. I figure I should use this blog, at least occasionally, for what most blogs are meant for: ranting and raving. Sorry that I've been off the "Romania" topic lately but I've got other stuff on my mind.

I have to figure out:
a) what my education will let me do
b) what my experiences will let me do
c) what I'm interested in
d) what I want to do

So let's take this from the top:

a) I have a degree in International Relations from one of the best undergrad universities in Canada. I focused on technology, society and cultural issues and did my "thesis" on the male gendercide in Bosnia and subsequent mis-information/bias in the media. My IR programme was pretty much geared towards diplomacy or human rights work. I also studied International Relations and French for a year at L'Universite Marc Bloch in Strasbourg, France. I have minors in French and Sociology, but who cares about those?

b) I was an exchange student in Sweden when I was 18. I have travelled alone all across Europe, from Scandinavia to the Iberian peninsula to the Balkans. I can take care of myself, I can easily adapt to the local culture and I pick up languages very quickly. I know how to live on my own in a foreign culture, make friends and get along with the locals. I am also a pro at getting the absolute cheapest price for travel tickets.

I have worked:
-as an intern in an architecture firm/graphic designer
-doing retail
-as a secretary
-doing tech support
-doing multimedia support
-as a webpage designer
-as a technical advisor
-as a French lab instructor
-as a media analyst
-project research coordinator
-intern at a human rights organisation

c) Until I came to Romania, I thought I'd go into the Foreign Service or work for a human rights organisation. Now that I see the opportunities available here, I'm not sure if that's what I want. Paperwork bores me to tears. I don't want to be enclosed in a small office. I like to go out, move, travel and interact with people. However, I also need to make money too. Being the child of two accountants, I know the value of a good pension plan.

I did apply to CSIS (Canadian CIA). My friend knows a recruiter and I was able to get an application form for a post which is normally reserved for internal hiring. The background check takes up to eighteen months, so I have another eight to go before I hear about anything.

I never knew about the informal youth work networks that exist in Europe. I'm passionate about intercultural exchanges. I've done three of them. I think understanding other cultures is one of the best ways of peace-making. I'm still shocked at the outdated ideas many Europeans and North Americans have about Romania and the Balkans in general. Ideally, I'd like to combine both my education and my travel experience into the perfect job.

d) I don't know what I want to do. This is the problem. I think one of the best jobs is that lady on TLC who goes around the world and rates all the best spas. I've considered applying to be a tour guide in Europe. I have lots of little skills but have done nothing concrete. I'm fresh out of undergrad university and am working at a job that involves me editing and translating articles and doing HTML. I don't think I want to go to graduate school. I don't have much faith in the education system and I would rather learn on my own through life experience than by reading a book and finding out what "experts" thought about a certain subject. Most of the jobs that I *do* find are for Europeans only. There's a position at the Council of Europe for a youth work coordinator between Canada and Europe, which would be perfect, but I can't find any information on it and the lady who knew the recruiter has lost touch with him.

I'm done my internship in March. I'm going to do some travelling in Turkey and Yugoslavia and hopefully go back to Sweden and Spain. Then what? I can't go back home and work in a call centre. I'm too European to be Canadian and too Canadian to be European. I'm searching for my own place to be.

You guys have any ideas for me? I'd be grateful if you could help me out. Thanks.

Taxi drivers, part 38

The new intern arrives today and I didn't want to be late meeting her. I got a taxi to work and asked for my usual stop: "Catedrale, va rog".

After a few minutes, the driver asked me what language I spoke. "English". Then he asked me what I was doing here. And how long I was staying. And if I missed my parents. And what jobs my parents do in Canada.

It wasn't until we were almost to my stop that I realised that we were speaking completely in Romanian. I understood everything he said! And he understood me! Of course, my grammar and vocabulary are spotty, but still! I have this nice warm glowy feeling inside.

I always ask to get out at the cathedral because if I give my work address, unscrupulous drivers take the long route there and I end up getting charged double. The cathedral is only a five minute walk from my building, so it's just as easy to get dropped off there.

I had walked maybe ten metres when the taxi driver honked. He asked if that's where I *really* wanted to get out. I told him it's only a five minute walk to my office but he insisted on driving me there. What a nice guy!

Edward Monkton

When I was in London, I discovered and fell in love with the drawings of Edward Monkton.

Edward Monkton is a god, that's all I can say.

I could not stop smiling when I saw his Christmas cards. They're bright, cheerful and oh so funny. I ended up buying a pack, which was the only reason I would spend four British pounds on cards.

Here is a selection of his non-Christmassy stuff.
This is his website.

You can't argue with characters like the "Potato of Doom", "The Ninja Biscuits" and the "Shoe of Salvation". Please just go and see for yourself.

His email address was on his website, so I wrote and told him how much I enjoyed his drawings. He wrote me back a few minutes later.

"Thank you for your delightful message, Karla.

How kind of you to write.

Very best wishes,

Edward."

Awwww!

Jobs

I've started my job search. Because this is Europe, I'm getting lots of leads to the Council of Europe.

Only problem is that while I qualify for many of them, I need to be a European citizen.

While I almost got married to a European before, I really want European citizenship. I *need* European citizenship.

I remember a Dutch guy auctioning himself on Ebay to the highest bidder, who would get Dutch citizenship out of it (and all the benefits that such a nationality gives).

There are enough people out there who want Canadian citizenship. Any way we could work out a trade? I'm not picky. I'll take a Latvian or a Spaniard or a Luxemburger. I don't care, I just need the EU sign on my passport.

Who owns what?

Today is my first day back at work. The first thing my coworker tells me is that we have to be gone from the building in two months.

Apparently, this building (and it's HUGE) used to be a single family dwelling. There are probably close to twenty apartments here along with the Institute. I'd say the building is almost a hundred years old.

During the Communist times, Ceasescu repossesed many privatly owned buildings and gave the ownership to the State, or used them to house numerous families. I guess our building falls into the latter category.

Now, the previous owners want their stuff back, to put it bluntly. Turns out the man who owns our building went to the authorities with the proper paperwork and says everyone has to leave within two months. I have no idea what's going to happen to the others who live here. Many of the old office buildings in the area used to be single-family houses too. I think another building has been turned into a high school.

On one hand, it's good to get back what was stolen from you. On the other, this also seems like a microchosm of the situation of ethnic Hungarians abroad. How far back do we have look?

If I owned a building which was forcibly taken from me by the government, I'm be pretty pissed off. If I had the chance to get it back, twenty or thirty years later, having only to show a bit of paperwork, I'd be pretty happy and would jump at the chance. I guess the Institute and everyone else who lives here is just collateral.

On the bright side, at least the building is staying in Romanian hands, at least for now. Nothing pisses me off more (well, there are lots of things, but I'm trying to stay on topic) than seeing foreigners buy up local land for their own profit. I see it back in Canada and I see it here too. Turns out a Syrian man owns most of the downtown buildings and is trying to charge 5000 euros a month for rent for a tiny office space.

O-Zone

People seem to think this is the official O-Zone fanclub headquarters.

It's not.

Although my coworker just told me that O-Zone is now the richest band in Romania!

It's also very pleasurable to be walking along a beach in Cascais in Portugal to hear the strains of Dragostea Din Tei. And to start singing along.

Karla phone home

So this is the part of international living that rarely gets talked about: phone cards.

When I was in France, we used a lovely calling service which costed $0.06 to call overseas. Unfortunately, that same service charges $0.39 per minute to Romania, so Mom and I have been using calling cards.

I really want to speak to my mother. Normally, I use a pretty basic calling card.

Said calling card wasn't available this morning from the shop. As it's Sunday, I have limited resources available. Do you realise how hard it is trying to describe a calling card with code in another language?

I was tired, depressed and in no means of a long, drawn-out description of what I wanted. They showed me a card with the microchip.

"Nu, fara asta" (*points to chip*)
*confused look from sales associate* "Orange? Connex?"
"Nu...cartele pentru Canada"
"Connex? Orange?"
"Nu...cartele cu...code?"
*more confused looks*

I went to the shop around the corner and saw a sign for calling cards on the wall. The man behind the counter seemed to delight in taking advantage of my limited Romanian skills. I was the only one in the shop, but he kept telling me to wait a few minutes before he would sell me the card. Two customers came and went before he told me it was 200,000 lei. At least he didn't try to rip me off.

The card is from Swissfone. The fact that "Phone" is spelled wrong should have been a tip-off.

I tried calling the free Timisoara number. I got a message in Romanian basically telling me the number doesn't exist. I'm on the website and nothing is helping. Maybe it's because...oh...everything is in Romanian?

My Romanian is good enough that I can read and get the gist of the meaning of something. When I call, I can figure out that the number can't be found and I should call the service centre for more information.

This is pissing me off. I tried a different phone. I tied all the different access numbers. Still nothing.

@&*&@#%^@%#&^%#@&^

Portugal

So now I'm back. I'm sad.

Portugal was wonderful. It was good to see Nuno again, and his family and friends are amazing. I don't think I've ever met a nicer group of people. New Year's was a blast and I keep reliving all the moment over in my head.

Portugal is now my favourite country. Sorry Sweden, Spain and Croatia. Everyone in Portugal is just so nice. Plus, they have palm trees. Can't go wrong with palm trees, I always say.

I've spent the past 2.5 weeks with people. Walking into my empty apartment was hell. More so when I realised that when my boss asked me before I left if I minded his wife bringing in a photocopier for her work, he never told me that she would be using the spare room. She already uses my living room. So my storage room is now gone. No place to put my suitcase, ironing board, drying rack or ladder. I have things in the spare bathroom, but I'm not pleased. Well, at least this means that I won't be having a roomate!

So I was supposed to be using this afternoon to translate my article for work, but instead I've been blogging for the past six hours. I hope you're all happy and have a safe and happy holiday season!

Célia and Nuno

Célia and I

Waiting for it to be lit-up again 

It also turns blue 

Tallest Christmas tree in Europe 

The symbol of Expo 98 

I love fish 

Hello! 

Starfish 

Moon jellyfish 

Looking up 

A shark 

A ray 

My new friends 

I love the little space bubbbles 

River (sadly, not the Atlantic Ocean) 

Coimbra

I've been wanting to go to Coimbra ever since I saw pictures of the main square. An associate of the Institute also recommended I go there. So, Tuesday morning, I packed up and left for northern Portugal.

The train ride was fine, if expensive. Almost 20 euros for two hours in the train. I was not happy but beggars can't be choosers. Nuno gave me the address of a youth hostel who had rooms for the night. I was not too keen on sleeping in a hostel. I've only done it a few times and while those experiences were pleasant enough, I'd rather get a hotel room if at all possible. A bed in a dorm would cost 9 euros and a bed in a quad would cost 24 euros.

Coming off the train, I noticed two backpackers speaking with British accents. I walked up to them and asked if they were headed to the hostel. Nope, they live here and are missionairies, but their apartment was around the block from the hostel, so I got a cab with them.

The hostel didn't open for another few hours. I wandered up and down the street and then just decided to head downtown. I had only brought my backpack with me so travelling was easy. I took some pictures and then ended up in the main square. Then I saw the blinking neon lights of a pensao (basically like a 1-2 star hotel). I went upstairs and asked for the price of a room. "18 euros". "I'll take it!"

With my gear stowed in my room, I could really get out and explore. I wandered around and got some seafood pasta for supper. It was horrible. Then I went back to the hotel and watched a bit of TV. I was almost falling asleep but I told myself I had to go out and have an adventure.

I wanted to find a disco but I was so tired I wanted to stay close to my hotel. I went to a few bars but I wasn't comfortable there. Finally, I found a half-empty tapas bar and sat down and ordered a drink.

I wanted tea. "Tea" in Portuguese is "cha". Not knowing how to pronounce it, I asked for "cha". The bartender was confused. "Cha!" Still another confused look. I decided it was the loud music. "CHA!" Still no recognition. Finally, I wrote down the word. Turns out it's pronounced "sha". Oops!

An older guy sitting beside me asked where I was from. He had worked in England for five years and was anxious to practice his English. He asked if I'd like to have a glass of wine with him. We split a bottle of port. Well, I only had a few glasses.

He asked if I had a boyfriend.
"Nope"
"Is your friend in Portugal your boyfriend?"
"Nope, just a friend"
"Did you sleep with him?"
"Excuse me?"
"I really want to have sex with you"
"Excuse me?"
"I really feel a connection with you. I want to have sex with you"
"I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen"

He asked if he could walk me back to my hotel. I told him it was close by and that I could handle it myself.
"But I just want to talk to you!"
"I told you, there is no way in hell that we're going to sleep with each other"

I made a big show of yawning and then left, claiming I was tired. He followed me out the door. He asked what we were going to do when we got to my hotel. "Nothing. And I'm not sleeping with you." "Oh." Then he asked what my hotel room looked like. "It's a hotel room, but it doesn't matter because you're not going to be seeing it." "Oh."

"What are we going to do once we go to your room?"
"I told you a hundred times! I'm going to my hotel alone, you're not going to walk me there and furthermore, we are not having sex! Goodnight!"

His face just crumpled. "Oh, ok. I'm sorry. Goodnight."

And he left.

My pensao was to the right of that brown building 

Apartment buildings 

Roman Arch 

All those people that I randomly telephoned on January 4th, this is where I was 

Medieval house 

Coimbra 

Coimbra street 

This grafitti was all over the student part of town