Saying Good-bye

Thursday, December 23, 2010

My time in the safe haven of Baile Tusnad was winding down and there were many slow farewells taking place over several days, like lingering over a sumptuous conversation you don’t want to end even though it’s three in the morning.

Tuesday I said my first good-bye to Barni who was going to spend Christmas with his alcoholic father. We had a preliminary good-bye on Monday night when he looked at me with sad eyes, hugged me strongly and said in that low serious tone he has, “Thank you.” And I knew he meant it from deep within his heart.

On the morning walk to school, Barni, who usually runs ahead with Lorkia and Laci, stayed behind with Ishti and me. He even walked home from school with us and I gave him the camera to use. He wrapped the strap around his wrist and pretended to drop it, giving me that mischievous smile. Out of all the kids, he’s the last one I’d have concerns about with the cameras and the computer. I hope he sees as bright a future for himself as I see for him. We had a few more hugs at the house and then he was gone. The first good-bye of many. I was hoping my heart would hold up as there have been several good-byes in my life recently and loss is something I never deal with well.

Tuesday night, Judit was singing in a school performance at five o’clock. Ilonka, the Nevelok whose house I’ve been staying in, walked with me, Ishti, Mozes and Judit. The classroom was buzzing loudly with kids yelling, running wild and boys and girls hitting each other in that flirtatious way nine-year-olds do.

The children took their places and a triangle ding signaled their cue to start singing. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand the words; their angelic voices, mistakes and giggles spoke directly to my heart. I videotaped them like a proud parent would do. At the end of the performance the girls walked around the classroom offering a tray of small crackers and plastic cups of orange soda. They smile and look everyone in the eyes and don’t miss one person in their offering. I take a cracker from each tray, having learned from when they offered me candy they really wanted me to take it.

A few more hugs to kids I’ve laughed with, comforted and walked hand in hand with over the past few weeks and then I went to decompress at Apol, the pizza place I frequented, and lost myself in facebook before going back to the house to start packing.

Wednesday was the day I’d be saying good-bye to the rest of the kids at the house and that night I was planning on visiting with Sabi and the kids at the St. Francis house to say farewell.

Judit was especially needy on Wednesday, knowing this would be our last time together. She wanted me to play with her like I do with five-year-old Mozes who climbs all over me, but she doesn’t realize her strength, size and age are not conducive to that kind of play. It becomes bothersome and Lorkia scolds her.

Enco came to the house in the afternoon to steal me away for an exit interview at Szekely Fogado where there were a group of Romanian businessmen drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes. Enco commented she knew they were drunk because they started hugging and kissing one another. Harghita county is mostly a Hungarian population and there’s a bit of criticism toward the way the Romanian government works, or in many cases, doesn’t.

The afternoon was spent baking cookies and much to my surprise, Lorkia was the one to take over the activity to the point of shooing the young ones away; not even allowing them to sprinkle red and green sugar on the cookies, so they just filled spoons with sugar and ate it, respecting Lorika’s authority. I felt badly for the kids but didn’t want to contradict Lorika’s admonitions to them. At fourteen, he’s sort of the man of the house and I wanted him to feel some autonomy in the activity.

With very little guidance from me, he rolled out the dough, floured the rolling pin, flipped over the dough and pressed the cookie cutters precisely before lifting the fragile dough to place in exact positions on the makeshift baking sheet to be placed in an oven that has one temperature; hot.

Lorika has all the qualities to make a great baker, meticulous, detailed, organized, precise and he takes pride in his work. I want to send him a book on baking and I imagine him in the future in culinary school. There are so many possibilities for these kids but they will most likely have to leave Romania to achieve them. The country is economically depressed and many young adults are leaving the country to find work.

The kitchen started to get that nice buttery sweet smell which lured the young ones into the kitchen as I slid the cookies onto a tray with a knife. Judit reached for one and like a strict father, Lorika looked sternly at her barking, “Nem!” You can gather that means, no.

I would have let them get covered in dough and eat the cookies fresh out of the oven. When Lorika left the kitchen for a moment, I covered my eyes as Judit reached for a cookie with a hopeful look in her eye and a big grin.

When most of the cookies were stacked in neat little piles of matching shapes on the tray, Lorika finally gave the okay to eat them. Forty cookies were all gone in a matter of minutes.

With a few scraps of dough left, I invited Mozes, Ishti, Felix and Judit to roll the dough and press the cookie cutters. They sprinkled the dough with flour and too much sugar and Judit ate it raw.

It was tough to break away from them that evening. We had our final hugs and as I walked outside toward the gate, tears filled my eyes and that familiar nausea I had before I left for Romania returned.

Laci came running out the door with a ¼ full bottle of water I’d left behind and lingered for one more hug. I trudged up the hill attempting to quicken my pace to get to the St. Francis house, it was already nine p.m. and the younger kids would probably already be in bed.

The front door of the St. Francis house was locked. I had no choice but to head back to the house. The clanking and high pitched whistle of the train that used to make me think of how quaint Tusnad was, now sounded like a sad call that it was time for me to move on.

That night I dreamt about my mother dying. She has in fact been gone since 1991 and I don’t often dream about her dying. In this dream she had been ill and had survived many years beyond her prognosis but she finally succumbed. My brother and I were making arrangements for her service by the sea. We threw bouquets of flowers onto a hillside and then walked to a dock where her casket would be released into the ocean. There were children present and I didn’t want them to see the reality of death. My brother and I stood on the dockside of a tall gated wooden fence built high enough that the children couldn’t see the release of the casket into the water.

That morning after getting dressed and packing the last few items, I headed over to the St. Francis house where I was grateful to have breakfast of sliced meat on buttered bread with Sabi and a few of his boys. One last kid grabbed my hand and sent me on my way with a full but saddened heart.

Enco had arranged for someone to pick me up at Ilonka’s house to drive me a few hours over the Carpathian mountains to the town of Sighisoara where I’d spend one night before heading to the airport in Targu Mures on Friday, the 24th.

As we drove up and over the mountain pass the sun emerged and the distance between the little town of Baile Tusnad and my secure feeling while there was growing.

I just had to keep looking and moving forward even though I am drawn to the safety of the past.

Pizza In The City

Monday December 20, 2010

On Saturday I took the kids into the town of Miercurea Ciuc, which I can kind of pronounce now. It’s a half hour away by train and where locals in Tusnad would travel if they want to buy fresh meat or poultry. Many of the families in the smaller villages slaughter their own animals and in fact, Saturday was the day many of them killed the pig. When I saw Enco Sunday afternoon she was complaining of how sore her arms were from making sausages and cutting up the meat from the pig.

The morning Nevelok helped purchase the train tickets once the attendant finally arrived at the window after my loud rapping on the glass. He seemed to be having words with the Nevelok and I was getting the translation from Enco on the phone that he didn’t want to allow Ishti and Mozes, who are five and entitled to ride for free, to board without paying for a ticket. So, we all got tickets and waited for the train, stomping our feet in an effort to keep the circulation going.

Lorika, the fourteen year-old, had been into town a few weeks prior, but the younger kids seemed pretty fascinated with the passing landscape from the smeared train window that brought us into town.

Once there we waited in the train station for two local students who would act as translators for us. Barni and Ishti chased pigeons while Mozes became curious about the two homeless men slumped over a radiator. We walked to the main square of the city and went in to a very small indoor shopping area, reminiscent of a flea market set-up with various vendor stalls, to warm up before going back out to look at the large decorated Christmas tree.

The translators seemed a bit bored or unenthused about being there and I had to constantly ask them what the kids were saying and kept reminding them this was the only time I’ve been able to understand what they were saying, but I think my plea fell upon deaf ears.

The kids entertained themselves with the small shop windows displaying toys made in China or playing with either of the two cameras before we headed to Bandido’s Mexican restaurant for pizza.

I was finding myself a little moody both from the lack of translation from the students and from the thoughts of my return ‘home’, whatever that looks like now. I’ve been in a protective bubble here, far away from pain, but I can’t stay here forever and I’m having some anxiety about returning. Reality has even invaded my dream world, the peaceful sleep I’ve been having has reverted back to the dreams I was having before I left for Romania.

The patient waitress took our drink order of coca colas and hot chocolate. When Mozes’ hot chocolate was set in front of him his eyes grew big and through translation he said, “Is this all for me?” It was in a big glass and topped with inches of whipped cream, something they don’t see at home I’m sure. I ordered several salads for the table to share knowing that they don’t get many fresh vegetables in their diet. They devoured the greek salad with the exception of the black olives.

The pizza was delicious and the kids ate half a pizza each plus extra slices from a whole pizza I had ordered. After we finished, the younger ones were starting to get restless and I was running after them as they ran through the restaurant, stopped and stared at other tables and played with the automatic hand dryer in the bathroom.

After managing to get them all back to the table I asked if they wanted desert and Barni said, “If you really want to pay for it, we’d love to have it.” They all wanted ice-cream and we ordered four for them to share in pairs of two.

The bill for ten people having sodas, hot chocolate, salads, pizza and desert was 179 Lei equivalent to $55 U.S. dollars. Not a bad way to treat ten people to lunch.

Snow was coming down heavily and we playfully got back to the train station where the translator helped navigate the ticket sales. This time Ishti and Mozes got to ride for free as they should.

We sat in a couchette with a hole in the window where snow came in on the beat up train and listened to songs on my ipod. Barni is the tech gadget kid and has found more features on my phone and camera than I ever knew about.

Back at the house the kids had little patience for a jigsaw puzzle. I was exhausted from the day and headed back home. I’ve become used to the crunch, crunch, squeak, squeak of my footsteps in the snow. I notice how the sound changes depending on how fresh or compacted the snow is. My thoughts keep turning to Thursday when I will begin the journey back home and I wonder how I will say good-bye to these seven children I’ve become so fond of.

Her Name is Ildiko

Friday, December 17, 2010

On Thursday late afternoon I had tomato and noodle soup with Ishti, Felix and Judit. When Judit accidentally dripped a tiny speck of soup on the worn off white tablecloth the Nevelok, who’s name is Ildiko, went into an angry huff, yelling at her for her mistake. The three of them hung their heads low and continued eating in silence.

Not too long after that, Mozes spilled a little of the yellow broth from the potato soup and his eyes widened in fear. I quickly took the bread dish and covered the spill. When Ildiko was roaming from room to room on her cell phone I grabbed a damp cloth and dabbed at the spill. As I was cleaning Judit’s tiny tomato spill, Ildiko turned the corner and saw what I was doing. I wasn’t sure if she was going to yell at me, so I just kept dabbing and slinked into the kitchen. I don’t think she knows I fear her as much as the kids do, she smiles a forced fake grin at me and offers me coffee.

As I say my goodbyes, I can sense their sadness that I’ll be gone for two days and I feel it, too.

I went to the house to pack my backpack for Brasov and Ilonka and Zoltan were around so we ‘chatted’ and had a small glass of Palinka. They showed me more video of the traditional Hungarian dancing and I learned that Ilonka is an instructor and quite famous in Hungary apparently.

It was eleven a.m. when I got to Brasov and found my hotel in the Old Town Square, decorated with a huge Christmas tree and some small wooden shacks selling dried meats, wine and Christmas trinkets.

My room wouldn’t be ready for a while and a restaurant called Sergiano’s was recommended. I felt like I was a grown-up again walking into the exposed brick, well-lit dining space with black and white attired waiters. I’ve been used to my pizza place and Szekely Fogado, both very quaint establishments. When my duck arrived I realized I hadn’t used a knife in a week. It felt good to use that other utensil.

My hotel room with two single beds and a single frayed bath towel, felt like a suite. It was warm, had a great view of the square and the bathroom had one of those amazing towel warmers.

My taxi driver from the train station, John, had given me his number and told me to call him if I wanted to go to Bran Castle. He would take me for $150 Lei, $46 U.S. dollars. I decided to splurge rather than navigate trying to find the bus station and taking the bus thirty miles to the castle.

Bran Castle was empty and I enjoyed walking through the creaky cold rooms imagining what Princess Ileana of Romania did in each room during the summer months when she stayed there. I envisioned her in some gauzy flowing white dress with a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers ready to be put into a vase and displayed on the table in the outdoor patio dining room used in the summer months.

I saw her skipping merrily in the courtyard like a fairy, bringing joy to those around her.

Most of the rooms had the wood-burning stoves decorated with beautiful sculpted and painted tiles. I don’t know how they got those rooms warm in the winter months. Brasov was colder than Baile Tusnad and it started snowing heavily as I walked down the steep path to the taxi. I hurried past two small puppies playing in the souvenier kiosk area. One puppy is enough to deal with.

My thoughts kept drifting to the kids and what they were doing and whether Ildiko was yelling at them and if they remembered there was a puppy in the storage room.

That evening, I ventured out to a restaurant called Festival 39, a dimly lit, cozy place that played classic 20’s – 40’s music like ‘I wanna be loved by you’ and ‘We’ll meet again’. The paper placemat had a picture of young lovers from the 30’s. Coincidentally, I’d brought paper to write notes on that were Xerox copies of my Great Grandparents, Morris and Sophie Marcus. I arranged their pictures next to the ones on the placemat to photograph. I felt like I’d stepped back in time and experienced a little of what they might have in those early years they were in Iasi, Romania as a young couple.

After dinner I decided to check out an Irish bar in town called Deane’s Irish Pub. A group called Drum Up was on stage. Three energetic and engaging guys had the bar laughing and joining in on the performance. Orlando had a cache of drums, tambourines and congas that he’d hold up over his head until someone came forth to claim the instrument. Eventually, he instructed them in groups and the end result was an amazing percussion performance.

I slept well in my single bed in my warm room and spent most of the morning sitting at the desk on my computer. Later I visited the Black Church, named from a fire in 1689 that destroyed much of the town but only blackened the walls of the Church.

After lunch, I picked up some pastries from a German bakery for the kids and some magazines from the train station kiosk, and then experienced the frustration of dealing with an inconsistent Romanian rail system that Enco had warned me about.

While I was waiting for my train that never arrived, I saw a young scruffy boy carrying a stock pot and a plastic bag with what looked like leftover food inside. He stood on the platform as people were boarding a train. A woman from the train came to the door and called something that sounded like, ‘Pepiloo’ and the boy ran over to take an orange and half a sandwich she handed to him. He scurried back to his pot and put the sandwich in the bag and immediately starting peeling the orange. He finished the orange, leaving the peel behind as he carried his stuff back down the stairs from the train platform.

I had wanted to arrive in Tusnad at six o’clock to have a chance to say good-bye to Peter. As it turned out, I was arriving on the train he was leaving on and as the train slowed in Tusnad, I saw all the children lined up on the stairs above the platform to see Peter off. It wasn’t until I got off the train that I could hear them crying. It was heartbreaking.

Peter was boarding the train, saying his last goodbyes to his group of boys that he basically has parented for the past 2 years. All the other children were standing still, sobbing softly. I hugged Enco who was also in tears, and Sabi who has worked along side Peter for two years.

I don’t know what the mood will be like at the St. Francis house but I heard the director had visitors in from out of town and didn’t want all the kids crying in the hallways. You’d think he’d see the kid’s sadness as a testament to the caliber of caregiver they employ, but he obviously doesn’t see it that way. It’s a good thing T.B. and I have a language barrier because I’d have a few things to say to him.

A Filling and a Puppy

Thursday, December 16, 2010

I’d sent Peter an email inquiring about how much the filling would cost for the kid who lost his. I may never raise funds for all the kids to have a dental exam, but I can help this one kid who happened to lose a filling while I’m here. And, if a one-hour massage is under $10.00, how much could one little filling be?

I got to the St. Francis house just as the kids were saying the ‘thanks for the grub’ prayer after dinner. While Peter and I were talking about the dentist I noticed a bit of commotion brewing and then saw a bowl of bananas and what looked like tangerines coming from the kitchen service window. This was the only time I’d seen the kids scrambling for any type of food. Funny how most kids grab for sweets, not fruit.

I was later told by Edit, the English teacher, that in addition to the personality conflicts T.B., the director of the house, has with many in the village, there are serious nutritional concerns for the children as well and many of them get sick from an improper diet.

Peter had also told me after I’d had tap water to drink, that the well for the house is contaminated. A few sips won’t do any harm but I can only hope that future Nevelok and children are advised not to drink it.

Tuesday was ‘bring an American to class’ day. I joined Edit in her four English classes where I recognized many smiling faces from the St. Francis home and ‘my’ kids from the Tusnad house.

I was told I’d be assisting individual kids with their English work during class but it turns out, Edit asked me to just take over the class, talk a bit and maybe do some games. The first class was sixth grade and I was completely unprepared. I felt flushed, like I was actually in the sixth grade again, asked to present something to the class. I know nothing about teaching kids, let alone non-English speaking kids!

Edit introduced me as being from California and prompted me to speak a little bit about where I was from and that took all of ten minutes. She bought me some time by having them sing Jingle Bells and If You’re Happy And You Know It.

Some of the kids wanted to practice the dialogues they’ve been learning which include asking about favorite colors, hobbies, pets, etc. After that exercise I was thinking of questions to ask them as they sat in a circle around me, all I could think was not to ask them typical questions about their parents, favorite toys or foods. I was so afraid I was going to blurt those words out, like if there’s a midget in the room and you concentrate so hard to not say ‘midget’ and then it slips out.

Edit then translated questions they had for me like what was my favorite music, food, animal and the inevitable, “How old are you?” Edit and I shared a knowing laugh and I answered, forty-six. The room filled with Hungarian whispers before Edit translated, “The children say you look much younger.”

I hate to admit that vanity has not escaped me while I’ve been here; it was flattering to hear they thought I looked younger.

The next class I found myself a little more comfortable and during the question and answer time the daughter of massage therapist, who I’d seen at the spa, asked if I wanted another massage. One boy asked which place is better; Romania or California and I said it’s how you feel where you are that matters. The questions ended with how old I was and again I was relieved to hear that they, too, thought I was younger.

In the Eighth grade class I was asked what religion I was. The area is heavily Roman Catholic and I didn’t know how my truthful answer would be received but I said I didn’t practice any formal religion and that I believed in God and felt that God is everywhere. Immediately, Barni, who I’d gone to Church with on Sunday, blurted something out and Edit translated that’s what he believes, too.

At noon, I walked Ishti home and turned around to go get Mr. Independent, Mozes, from Nursery School. He doesn’t like to hold hands while walking and can do everything for himself, until he falls in the snow and needs a brushing off and his mittens put back on.

Back at the house, we played some computer games I downloaded for them. It’s a challenge to get the younger ones to take turns and not slap all the keys on my thankfully sturdy, Mac Book Pro. I think Laci, Barni and Lorika enjoyed the mystery game they played, and even the Plants vs. Zombies game proved entertaining for all ages.

That morning, Felix had asked me if I would come get him from school at four o’clock when he was done with Judo. The Nevelok was scoffing at the idea of my going to get him because of his age, but I wanted to.

But it was on the walk home that I was really, seriously challenged. A small helpless adorable puppy came running, as best it could, through the snow, in the street, on the sidewalk and right over to me.

It was shivering and wagging its stumpy tail at the same time while grunting pitifully. I made the mistake of picking it up. Most of you know how I am with animals. This was a challenge. It’s heart breaking enough to see all the adult dogs running wild, but to see a small helpless puppy was just too much.

I thought of bringing it to the Romanian Church but Felix’s eyes grew wide in apprehension at my gesture of holding the puppy toward the Church gates.

I had no choice but to put the puppy back down in the snow. It nearly killed me to do so, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I’m in a village that has no regard for strays, seemingly no spay and neuter program, and I’m dealing with a huge language barrier. I hoped for the best and watched as he followed a young couple up the sidewalk and I didn’t look back. In my fantasy, they took him in and he will have a good life.

Later that afternoon, Felix, Judit and Mozes and I were playing computer games when all of a sudden the scary Nevelok abruptly came in and yelled at them. She made them get off the couch and arranged three stools for them to sit on facing the couch. I stood up waiting for my instructions but she left me alone for a moment. Just as I went to sit down she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward another end of the couch where she smiled and pushed my shoulders down, “sit!” And I did. We waited for her to leave the room and looked at one another trying to figure out what happened. When I patted on the couch for Mozes to join me he shook his head ‘no’, obviously in fear of the tempermental Nevelok.

On Wednesday I walked the kids to school and the plan was for me to join Edit in her English classes from nine o’clock until one o’clock when I walk the kids home.

In the teacher’s room, Edit was visibly upset. Her little girl was sick with a fever and she needed to leave to take her to the Doctor. She taught her nine o’clock class and then asked me if I would take her third grade class. She had some Christmas crossword puzzle for them to work on and I’d brought my computer with a slideshow of pictures from home.

I entered the class full of smiling faces and girls patting the chairs next to them, pleading, “Patti, Patti,” inviting me to sit next to them.

They loved seeing the pictures and I was able to help them with the crossword puzzle. Toward the end of class is when the girls started braiding my hair and one by one they all gave me their Christmas tree drawings. I think that will be my most treasured gift this holiday.

I grabbed a quick bite to eat an was heading back to school to pick up Ishti and Judit when all of a sudden who do I see but that damn puppy. Only now his shivering is much worse and I’m afraid he’s going to freeze to death. I scoop him up in my arms and recall hearing there was a woman in one of the nearby shops who feeds the stray dogs. A frail long-toothed woman opened the door to a second hand store and I tried to communicate the dog will die if it doesn’t get out of the weather. She makes a sweet face at the dog and I gather from what she says that she has too many dogs already.

I carry the puppy to the school where all the kids gather around and pet him. I’m trying desperately to let them know he needs a home and he’ll die if he stays out in the cold much longer. The kids smile and keep petting him and eventually it’s just the puppy, me, Ishti and Judit and we’re late to pick up Mozes.

At Mozes’s nursery school I decide to call Enco for help. I can’t return the puppy to the streets and I start thinking of how I can get him vaccinated and documented before my return trip home. Enco tells me to bring the puppy to the house and we’ll figure it out later. Relief.

I assume bringing the puppy to the house means ‘in’ the house, but the Nevelok made me put him in a cold storage room; still better than where he was.

When I talked to Enco later, she said the puppy has a home for Christmas. I was shocked. So my silly idea of placing stray dogs with the orphanage homes has already worked! And maybe it will just be that one dog in that one house, and that’s fine.

Felix was excited and surprised to not only see the puppy again but to know they get to keep it. And, ‘he’ turned out to be a ‘she’. I’m curious what they’ll name her. I heard Rexi getting tossed around, but with seven of them to agree on a name it may be a few days before they decide.

That night I went to the St. Francis House and Peter told me he spoke with the dentist and the boy had an appointment for Thursday morning. Total cost for the filling, $60 Lei. Best $19.00 U.S. dollars I ever spent.

The Healing Water

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Monday morning I got to the Tusnad house at 6:45 a.m. to have a breakfast of bread with butter and a bologna type of meat with the kids before walking them to school. Mozes, the youngest, kept running ahead and I was concerned he’d run into the street; in fact he started to cross the street by himself at his nursery school drop-off. I have to remind myself this is common for them; even at such young ages, they don’t have an adult with them at all times.

As I was leaving the school grounds I turned back to look into Felix’s classroom and he was waving at me, not the least bit embarrassed as I remember being when my mother dared to acknowledge she even knew me in Mrs. Vaccaro’s 5^th grade class.

I met up with the kids back at the house for a lunch of rice and liver. I should remember to put a small portion in my bowl to taste before committing to a whole serving; it’s unthinkable to throw out food.

The Nevelok in the house that day even had me on my toes and I felt a bit like one of the children. I don’t understand a word she says but her admonishing shrill tone cuts through any language barrier.

I don’t understand the circumstances under which she yells at the kids but we may be playing a game and she’ll enter the room to yell at two or three of them at a time. I find myself sitting with my hands crossed, avoiding her eyes, hoping not to hear my name called.

I brought over the game, Memory, easy enough to play without having to speak a common language. I found myself oddly frustrated with the younger kids while I was setting up the game and trying to show them how to turn the cards over to play and keep them in order so other players have a chance at selecting two matching cards.

It took me a little time to remember they aren’t exposed to the typical games so many other kids are used to playing. Laci and I played two rounds of Memory that ended up being pretty close games.

I modified the game for Judit, Ishti and Mozes by just holding up one card and having them search the pile of cards for a match to see who could find one first.

In the late afternoon after I pried myself away from the kids who literally were grabbing onto me to stay, I headed for the Hotel Tusnad to experience the orange mineral water bath I’d heard about. On my way I saw Felix who wanted me to walk back to the house with him. I was kind of surprised as he is a little older, but it made sense, as he’s a little more shy and would probably do well with some one on one time.

I paid the 15 Lei entrance for the ‘spa’; $4.70 U.S. dollars. I navigated the creaky old hallways with torn red carpet and brown paneled walls like a rat in a maze and ended up in an area where there were a few women wearing white coats.

Had I not known I was in a Hotel, I could just have easily been in an institution for the insane. From the darkened halls with flickering fluorescent lights, crooked letters or none at all on door after door to nowhere to the echoing sounds of people in a room you can’t quite find, it was all very unsettling but enjoyable at the same time because I was experiencing something completely new.

The white coat woman walked me through yet more hallways, through old changing rooms to water soaked floors where the sounds of people were louder. I asked her if she did massage and she said, “Yes, in one hour?” I agreed.

She let me change in a room that had 4 brown and rusted Jacuzzi baths that looked like they hadn’t seen water since the 1970’s. I swiped a towel that was laying over the radiator since who knows when and headed for the door leading to the ‘bath’.

There was an open shower area with a very slippery floor before the room opened to a pool sized terra cotta colored water ‘bath’ with a mix of locals and European visitors soaking in the healing water.

I couldn’t and didn’t want to see what was in the water as I walked willingly into the warmth and moved my aching back from side to side. After travelling, sleeping on a firm surface and carrying my backpack everywhere, my body was relieved to be submerged in water.

I then went to find my white coat massage therapist and she led me to a wood paneled room and put a thin sheet on the antique massage table. While the draping wasn’t as modest as it is in the States, and the room was cold, the hour-long massage felt wonderful. I’m almost ashamed to tell you that including tip the massage was 30 Lei; $9.40 U.S dollars. I kid you not.

After the massage I headed to the St. Francis home where the energy was quite different from the night before. The halls were dark and echoing with the wailing inconsolable sobs of a lone child. Other children’s yells, laughs and cries provided the chorus but the main verse was the constant wailing.

I had been visiting a new quad of girls when I found myself drawn downstairs toward the sound of discontent only to find it was the little giggly boy from the night before who’d grabbed onto my leg and had such joy in his eyes.

I imagine there are as many moods in the St. Francis Home as there are words for snow in Alaska.

I met Leon, a highly tattooed Nevelok who almost didn’t survive T.B.’s judgment, who cares for 10-15 girls. He plays rough with them, like they were little boys. I found the younger ones climbing up on me like a vine in spring you’re happy to see but quickly becomes invasive. But then they smile and hug me and are so starving for attention that I can’t help but extend my arms, my lap, my hair they like to fluff; anything I can to let them know for that moment someone cares for them.

Leaving for the night is an ordeal as the girls tug at me and practically beg me to stay. I don’t really have any good reason for leaving other than I am exhausted from the day and need to rest for the morning routine of walking the kids to school.

And so the sounds of the little girls pleading “Patti” start to fade as I walk downstairs and out into the snowy night.

Palinka and Church

Palinka

Saturday, December 11

After having my WiFi fix and some delicious stuffed cabbage I was headed back to the house to grab a bathing suit and go for a soak in the mineral bath at the Hotel Tusnad but Zoltan invited me in for “alcohol?” he said with a smile and a wink. I heard some laughter from the kitchen and said I’d join them.

I figured that would be a good time to give him the little bag full of miniature whiskeys and liquors I’d stocked up on at Bev Mo as a thank you token.

The friends in the kitchen were familiar faces as I’d seen them earlier at the restaurant and took a group picture for them. We laughed at the coincidence and Zoltan poured me a shot of Palinka, a very strong, unpleasant earthy brandy. Not just any brandy, but the national Romanian brandy. It is super strong and we all agreed that sooner rather than later we’d all be speaking the same language with no problem.

I took some more group pictures of them with the man’s Canon SLR and mentioned I had brought my Nikon. He mumbled something and I recognized a familiar sarcastic tone as if he’d said, “Pity, not a Canon”. I laughed and said something to let him know I knew he was teasing me about having a Nikon.

The English speaking woman quickly let him know I was on to him and he blushed, slightly embarrassed that I understood. I think my smile and laughter let him know all was fine. In fact I kept hearing ‘Canon’ and ‘Nikon’ and giggles for some time afterwards.

I told the table that humor truly is the common language we all have. Once translated, all agreed.

Zoltan brought out his computer and played some video of traditional Hungarian dancing at what looked to be local festivals throughout the region. I recognized his wife, Ilonka, dressed in traditional costume. Zoltan was very proud of his Hungarian heritage and he enthusiastically drew dates and circles meant to be maps on notepaper giving me a brief history of the Hungarian and Romanian border changes throughout World War I and II.

Watching the traditional dance that young and old alike proudly participated in got me thinking that our American ‘traditions’ of celebrating 4^th of July or going to ballgames or having Thanksgiving dinner and celebrating Halloween seem much less significant compared to generations who have learned musical instruments to play songs that ancestors of long ago had played.

When his friends left I bundled up and headed to the pizza place I went to the day before to see what if any nightlife was going on in Tusnad on a Saturday night. Apparently, I was it. The one couple in the restaurant left shortly after I sat down and not one other person came in during the hour and a half I was there. I had a beer and a plate of pasta and headed home, carrying a small container of leftovers, which, as it turns out, is quite dangerous in a town over run with hungry stray dogs.

I have to say, I was a little nervous when they were jumping on my back and nipping at my thick gloves. When I got into the safety of the house, I stashed the container in the fridge and pulled out some salami to give to the one patient dog still sitting hopefully in the cold at the door.

Sunday With the Kids

Sunday, December 12

I was worried that I wouldn’t have any common ground with the kids for 2 hours before going to Church, but the time flew by. They all pretty much stay together in a group, even with their range in ages, from 5 to 14; they seem to operate as one unit. I’ve seen Felix separate from the group, as he is a bit shy. Barni is definitely the most charismatic; he is Oliver reincarnated. He wears a cap, does amazing magic tricks, elbows his buddies appropriately in Church, figured out the camera and computer rather quickly and could easily charm you into adopting him.

I was wondering if the shelves below the books held any other games but when I saw Ilonka putting a doll away into one of them, I realized there were no games. Jenga was it. Tomorrow I’ll bring either the Memory game or the jigsaw puzzle. I can only imagine what these kids would be doing if they were like my nieces and nephews who have an abundance of toys and educational games at their disposal. These kids rely on amusing themselves and listening to Barni play the same self taught songs over and over on the keyboard. They watch the same video of the traditional Hungarian dancing that Ilonka was in that I’d seen at her house just the night before.

I brought out the computer to show a slideshow and they were absolutely riveted, inching to sit closer to the screen. I should have realized they wouldn’t have WiFi at the house, so it was kind of anticlimactic after showing them pictures when I couldn’t do anything else with the computer. They did take hundreds of pictures and video with the camera and they loved seeing the videos played back over and over. I’m going to download some games for them to play. Hopefully they’ll get the concept of taking turns.

Lorika, Laci, Judit, Felix and Barni and I bundled up and headed off to Church. The kids go on their own, whether an adult is with them or not. In fact there were many more kids in Church than adults. There was a large group from the St. Francis Home sitting with Sabi, another Nevelok I met. Nevelok is the James Cameron-esque word they use here for ‘carer’ of the children. The word conjures up a fairytale born from these mysterious mountains in Transylvania.

The Church had wooden seats and was very sparse on décor and warmth. Most people stayed in their coats and hats; frosty breath expelled with each prayer. I found my mind drifting from how I could raise funds for all the kids to have a dental check-up to taking the seven kids into town to a museum or an arcade or a restaurant.

When the donation basket was passed around, I handed Judit ten Lei, around $3.00 dollars, to put in the basket. Barni’s eyes widened and I motioned it was for all of us. In perfect English like when he’d been singing Run DMC he looked up at me and said, “Thank you.”

After Church the kids went back home and I headed off to the St. Francis Home with Sabi and the group of fifteen kids he’d escorted to Church. Immediately I was linked arm in arm by smiling kids on either side of me. They introduced themselves and asked me my name.

Their communal dining room has around six tables that accommodate ten kids at a time so the house eats in shifts. I joined Peter’s group at the table where the kids lined up for a serving of noodle soup and brought it to the table. There was bread and plum jam on the table and the boys said a prayer in Hungarian before eating.

Peter offered me what was left from lunch to dip my bread into. It tasted like chicken pot pie, without the chicken; very tasty, but I couldn’t imagine stew and soup being my every meal as these kids have. They don’t need the knives put out somewhat hopefully on the table. No napkins; pants and sleeves work just fine.

After dinner the prayer is in English. Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub, Yeah God. A prayer my brother and his friend Derek would say at our dinner table a lifetime ago.

Little girls were smiling and waving to me in the dining room and one little toddler just grabbed onto my leg looking up at me and giggled.

There was a performance for the kids that night and the dining area was filled with eager faces. A Christmas puppet show delighted them and I gave my camera to one of Peter’s kids to use and he quickly became adept at the camera features and seemed to enjoy taking pictures.

As I said my good-byes I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone wouldn’t want any one of the kids I’d seen. Given their lack of parental guidance and one on one interaction, they had to be the most well-behaved, polite kids I’ve ever seen.

They have so much independence, some of them just toddler aged are roaming the large home themselves to and from their quarters to the common areas or to visit friends in other quarters.

Some of the boys in Peter’s care are teenagers, which presents challenges in any situation; but overall I got the sense the kids respected and listened to him. Peter has an additional five boys to care for because another Nevelok took time off.

Poor Alvin stood quietly as he got admonished in Hungarian for not taking a shower when he was told to. Peter explained to him that with fifteen boys in his care, he does not have the time to make several requests for them to do what they need to do. Alvin nodded and headed for the shower.

I walked the kids to school this morning and on my way back I was happy to see Alvin’s smiling face say hello as he walked to school; presumably showered from the night before.

Arriving in Tusnad

Thursday 11:00 p.m.

Well, after a 6-½-train ride from Cluj, I have arrived in Baile Tusnad. I was met at the train station by Enco, the local coordinator who will be telling me what I’ll be doing over the next few weeks.

She’s got long wavy red hair and I can tell her spirit is as fiery as her mane. Even late at night, her eyes had a sparkle.

We lugged my suitcase up hill in the rain and walked on the street, avoiding cars, to the home where I’ll be staying. Ilanka works at the care home where I’ll be assigned and her husband; Zolton apparently was the Mayor of Tusnad for 12 years. He now works in the nearby truly unprounceable town of Miercurea Ciuc.

Enco had texted me while I was on the train asking if I was hungry and I said yes, a little something would be good; but sadly, no stores were open by the time my train arrived so I noshed on a few peanuts still left in my bag.

I have my own room and my bathroom is in the laundry room. I washed my face with cold water because I couldn’t figure out how to get the hot water to come on. I hope it will be a little different in the shower.

The bathroom is quite chilly but my room has a wood burning stove to keep me warm from the cold outside. The gusty rain earlier has turned to snow. Don’t know if it will still be there when I wake up in the morning.

Enco will be returning to go over my schedule. She hitchhiked home in the rain 15 km. I just texted her to see if she got home safely and she thanked me for worrying about her. I guess we all feel like orphans now and then.

I will have breakfast and lunch at the care home and then I can cook my own dinner or go to one of the local restaurants. Apparently there are also a few markets in town to buy food.

I’m told Breakfast will be bread and jam or a meat spread and lunch will be soup and something else. I may be stocking up as best I can at that grocery store as I find my stomach growling as I lay here in the very firm makeshift bed.

Enco told me I can use the internet at another group home which houses 100 kids where there’s been an American running the house but he is leaving to go back to the states in a little over a week.

I thought they’d reformed the institutionalized orphanages; I wonder why there are 100 kids in that facility.

She did mention that in the mornings I would most likely be going to school and helping the teacher with English language.

I am already starting to fall asleep.

I wonder if I’ll remember where I am when I wake up tomorrow.

So, here I am and the process has begun.

9:00 a.m. Friday

I did manage to sleep okay, although it did get quite chilly and now is downright cold in the room. I have not been able to get the hot water to come on, so I’ll try again this evening after my room has warmed up at least.

There is a light blanket of snow on the ground and it is currently flurrying lightly.

Later –

I met with the English teacher, Enit, who I will be assisting on Tuesday and Wednesdays. I will also be spending time in the care home interacting with the kids and walking two of the younger ones to and from school.

Enco and I met up with Peter, the one who runs the St. Francis group home, which is where I am currently, using the internet.

Because it is a private foundation, the Romanian Government rules of smaller populated group homes don’t apply. Peter shares a dorm like space with 10 boys who sleep in groups of 5 on loft platforms above the communal living space. There are adults designated for each small group of kids. There are more girls in this home than boys.

As I’ve been writing, a young boy came in holding his cheek, obviously a toothache. Peter explained the boy lost a filling, and while there is a dentist in town, he is not compensated by the government for any dental work, therefore it’s unlikely the little boy will have the filling replaced unless the pain becomes an emergency level. Peter gave him an aspirin.

Tomorrow I will be going to the group home to meet the kids.