{"id":316,"date":"2010-04-15T07:23:46","date_gmt":"2010-04-15T15:23:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/onelife\/?p=316"},"modified":"2010-04-15T07:23:46","modified_gmt":"2010-04-15T15:23:46","slug":"povs-from-three-blocks-west-of-wonderland","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/?p=316","title":{"rendered":"POVs, or Redheads Rule Romania, from “Three Blocks West of Wonderland”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

A long poem-for me-about my trip to Romania a few years back. Several Romanians have taken issue with it but I found their country fascinating. Every nation has it’s problems, challenges and usually, a turbulent history.<\/p>\n

POVs<\/strong><\/p>\n

DAY 1<\/p>\n

At Heathrow I am wan, so pooped my heart quits
\npalpitating. I stop scrutinizing threat level colour codes,
\nunattended backpacks, retreat to my insignificance,
\nlisten as a wife recites The London Times,
\nas foreign to me as Rome\u2019s Il Messaggero<\/em>. Katrina who?
\nThese are disturbing times, dear. Cartoonist hit lists.
\nBoils of slam. Novelist fatwas. Bird flu dread.
\nSpread by beak or spicy chicken wing?
\nOff to hotbed of Romania, host to more than one virus.
\nOnline scamming. Corruption. HIV. European Union
\nbid in peril. Does the average Brit give a feck?
\nDo rhetorical questions require a question mark?<\/p>\n

DAY 2<\/p>\n

Bucharest terminal quiet but for the cabbies. I nearly miss
\nfoundation staffer Caroline\u2019s hand-inked sign.
\nShe leads me to a young American with a Welsh name
\nand an English woman with a broken tooth. Wait here
\nwhile we search for the poet laureate of New Hampshire\u2019s
\nluggage. Not another reality show, please. Pale silhouettes
\namble past a riot of architecture, crepuscular on the banks
\nof the D\u00e2mbovi\u0163a. Baroque. Modern. Renaissance. Gothic.
\nSquat, Soviet blocks abut opulent cathedrals.<\/p>\n

DAY 3<\/p>\n

Currency\u2014lei<\/em>\u2014so overwhelms me with zeros I don\u2019t buy
\nbooks or icons of Mary and the saints. Resistance heroes
\nin stone. An Arcul de Triumf and a monument
\nto the 89 coup d\u2019\u00e9tat, Memorial of Rebirth, a tall, marble
\npillar and orb locals scorn as the toothpick and the olive.<\/em>
\nRedheads rule Romania now, mine violet in the gamut of tints,
\nox blood to bozo carrot. I don\u2019t blend in. Women in heavy kohl
\nstumble on cobblestones. Toward vogue. Glamazons vying
\nto be Western and like their nation, falling short. In stilettos.
\nWe\u2019re mini-vanned out of the city to Grimm fairytale countryside.
\nMedieval haystacks resemble Cousin It.
\nWish I could hide in one of him. Them.
\nWe reach Busteni. Yellow houses. Lacy red grillwork gates,
\nlivestock grazing downtown. No dearth of roadside
\nshrines, rusting tin roofs and Coca-Cola signs.
\nGarbage collectors on strike? I learn trashcans are stolen.
\nThe villa is a boarding house, proprietors dwelling in the garage.
\nI lope up stairs, past confusion, snag a room with a view.
\nTransylvanian Alps. Hardscrabble peaks, like Squamish.
\nHome, distant as a vague notion.<\/p>\n

DAY 4
\nDining in Romania. Waiting. Sitting. Waiting. Salivating under stuffed
\nheads. Fox. Boar. Stag. Begging for beer. Wine. Anything. Something
\nto drink! Our host translates the menu. Everything delicious.
\nWe may have ciroba<\/em>. Soup. Ciorba de perlshoare. Ciroba pescareasca<\/em>
\nor ciorba tzaraneasca<\/em>. He orders for the long table of hapless authors.
\nScience. Children. Food. Travel. Australian, Russian journalists.
\nBritish poets. Boston and Nashville novelists researching the devil\u2019s son,
\nVlad the Impaler. I, the lone Canuck. United, we wait, aghast
\nat southern belle expatriate Caroline\u2019s take on the Roma.
\nGypsies. Thieves. Bimbo. Bigot. The dumb leading the blind?
\nA brawny waitress appears to hurl mashed potatoes and mititei-
\nsausage. No fries. No substitutions. No free bread. No mustard.
\nI just want a friggin\u2019 beer! Please. I have money. On the brink of revolt
\nwe are granted native pilsner, vino. \u201cToo sweet\u201d declares the wine critic,
\nbottle soon drained. I guzzle an Ursus, Romania\u2019s king of beers.
\nBack at the inn, feeling frayed, grimy, I remain aloft.
\nI\u2019m able to squelch Canadianisms like, \u201cloonie\u201d and \u201ceh\u201d
\nbut not my diffidence. They\u2019ll think we\u2019re snobs.
\nCanadians are snobs, in the main,
\nor trailer trash. I am both, neither aspect inclined
\nto listen to drunken poets and plumbers spouting Shakespeare.<\/p>\n

DAY 5
\nAwakened early by cowbells and braying roosters Romanians ignore
\nthe way they look past emaciated mutts, orphans, vagabonds, AIDS.
\nRussian comrade reports it took forty minutes for the mistress
\nof the house to eject the poddatogo\u2019s vzashey. Aren\u2019t plumbers VIPs
\naround here? More talking, barking, Dostoevsky and dogma.
\nAll very amusing until boiled wieners for breakfast, then falling off
\na parlour step with no apparent purpose, shattering my foot.
\nLimp to the picnic in a sparse pinery bereft of birdlife.
\nBurnt sausage. Bread. Beer. The staples. Doughnut of silicone tubing
\nadorns a fir branch like a Christmas tree ornament. Scraps of denim
\ncap a bush. Red shirt drapes a boulder in the Praheva River.
\nAngler with a tree limb for a fishing pole. What might he reel in?<\/p>\n

DAY 6
\nTrain it to Sinaia. Drag my mangled foot ligaments up a steep staircase
\nto Peles castle. CLOSED. Admire its turrets from a caf\u00e9, lolling in resin
\nchairs, consoling ourselves with Heinekens, POVs clashing.
\nAmericans annoy the Russian with questions. Stalin? Putin?
\nRomanians pester, make derogatory remarks, bring up history.
\nShe smiles, offering each detractor a Yava smoke. She is superior
\nto can-do Americans arrogantly taking action, employing their famous
\nknow-how. Amusing, their futile attempts at improving things.
\nI voice no opinion, prefer to watch.<\/p>\n

DAY 7
\nTaken to Brasov to see the Black Church. Why?
\nWe are left to discover the significance of all things Romanian.
\nNo matter. It is CLOSED. To the monastery of exquisite frescos
\nmiraculously OPEN. Gruesome crucifixes. Gold leaf
\non parchment. Indecipherable documents encased in glass.
\nPriest locks a lapsed Catholic inside until a crone in shawl
\nand babushka chuckles at my frenzied knocking
\nand retrieves the sheepish Father to liberate me.<\/p>\n

DAY 8
\nHauled to the horseshoe of the Carpathians. Castle Bran,
\nDracula\u2019s castle guarding trade routes since 1212.
\nFlanders to the west, Turkey to the east. The Count did not reside here.
\nBram Stoker never saw it. Well, I have and it\u2019s perfectly benign,
\nincluding the secret staircases. Trek back. Surprise! Foodie Jen-
\nLady Bountiful bought fruit, first rate wine, cooked up a righteous
\nmeal. Antipasto. Baquette. Linguini. Red sauce. Eggplant. Mousse.<\/p>\n

DAY 9
\nChaos ebbing. Back in Bucharest we scout our own patios, parks,
\nart museums. Drawn to the mystical 16th century Kretzulescu Church,
\nceilings darkened by eons of candle smoke, incense. Stroll into a festival
\ncelebrating beloved Romanian composer George Enescu.
\nOur fraternity meets at the Hilton, infamous English Bar for one last drink.
\nNoroc<\/em>! Rehash how we have prevailed over the farce\u2014
\nthe program\u2014guides, lousy at it, good at losing us, and face.
\nCharm of Romania\u2019s towns, intact despite the strife. Hunger
\ncircuses, legacy of Ceausescu\u2019s systemization converted to malls.
\nTime to pay up. Someone is confusing the blue bills with the green bills.
\nOh, just give me the cash, I\u2019ll use my credit card.<\/em> No one hears.
\nHow many writers does it take to pay a Romanian drink tab.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A long poem-for me-about my trip to Romania a few years back. Several Romanians have taken issue with it but I found their country fascinating. Every nation has it’s problems, challenges and usually, a turbulent history. POVs DAY 1 At Heathrow I am wan, so pooped my heart quits palpitating. I stop scrutinizing threat level […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[12],"tags":[149,270,324],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=316"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/316\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=316"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=316"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/heatherhaley.com\/hh2\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=316"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}