Hallelujah! The ramparts have been withdrawn and embattlements disengaged in some parts of Braşov. The four day siege of my apartment is finally over! Water has been restored and some semblance of a sane existence can be reconstructed from the wreckage. While many of you enjoy the biggest concert in this history of Romania, some of us will be taking a shower, mopping floors, wiping down counters, washing stacks of dishes, flushing toilets, cooking better food, cleaning clothes, brushing teeth, and filling empty water bottles in cynical anticipation of the next time the irresponsible blowhards of city hall approve of shutting off water to an entire city during the summer months for days on end.

Note to tourists: Before you waste your time visiting Romania, be sure to check with the local water company and city officials for each of the towns you’ll be staying in to find out there are any planned citywide water outages that will ruin your vacation when you find yourself unable to shower at your hotel or eat at a restaurant. Other than that, I highly recommend vacations in Romania for anyone with camel-like fortitude. The truth sometimes hurts.

[Updated: 26 Jun]

Imagine how panicked you would be while standing in line at the Luca checkout counter as the girl behind the register notes with surprise that you are back, again, to buy yet more beer and as you hoist the hefty bottle of generic CBA bere blonda onto the counter you worry less about what she thinks of your purchasing decision than you do about the sudden knowledge this beer is made by IMEX, private labeller for Carrefour! The horror! The flashbacks! The nausea!

“Al ceva?”

“Sure, babe, gimme a box of condoms, one of those porn mags, a packet of Lucky Strike, and… and some breathmints.”

Presuming she didn’t speak Engleza, she’d probably give you a really funny look and finally say, “Doriţi un packet de Lucky?”

“Nu, glumesc.” No reaction. “Nu vreau. Atut.”

She probably couldn’t wait to get rid of you, stranger in a strange land. So, you’d walk home with too many bottles pulling down the stretched handles on your over used plastic bag that some greedy store owner charged you 10,000 lei vechi for, wondering exactly how close you’ll make it before it tears.

Don’t they sell any cloth bags that don’t break? Why are they charging you such a high price for a cheap plastic bag which you need in order for them to profit from your patronage and for which they only pay about 500 lei or less? Post-communist mentality: gouge everyone!

CBA. Carrefour bere again? You’re not even sure you want to go home and open this puppy, but it’s your duty as the ever stoic adventurer. Maybe that’s not a good description. Ah, well, it’s a working definition.

Just as the game was about to get underway, emergency rescue workers had to be rushed to the scene as Spammy was refusing to referree and had created a somewhat controversial demonstration against tasting any more Hiproma-style beer.

Once cut down, Spammy went on a bit of a tirade threatening to boycott the entire Campionatul Mondial de Bere rather than be involved with any more of Hiproma’s foul concoction misleadingly labelled as beer. After a lengthy period of tense negotiations (including demands for event-sponsored life insurance), our perky pink pig was softly eased into the idea of trying a few sips.

And so it was that CBA got the ball first, uneasily moving down the field to the jeers and insults of the snickering crowd. Amazingly, Luca’s brand of beer did not jumble things up and knock the checkered sphere into its own goal. Broadcasters even indicated that the stuff was nearly drinkable. Almost.

Spammy decided to call his inside connections in the SRI’s shadier bureaus and set up an espionage ring outside of IMEX. How in the world could these guys in Satu Mare make a relatively beer-like drink for Luca’s private label reselling, while at the same time bottling rat poison for Carrefour? The mystery needs answering. Tap the phones. Keylog the computers. Open the mail. Whatever it takes!

Otherwise, we’d be forced to conclude that it’s similar to making prison wine where one version turns out slightly drinkable whereas the other one is best used for engine degreasing.

Well, yeah, so Spammy was kind of distracted with these conversations, but ESPN highlights of Match 10 showed that Skol ended up scoring a goal based on taste. Halftime show was great party music from Manu Chao. Neither team was able to muster pricing or ABV dominance. Things ended peacefully and spectators had a relaxed good time involving some wild dancing.

Final score: CBA 0 – Skol 1

UNF%&@ING BELIEVABLE.

Last night they turned the water off in the entire city of Braşov.

During the summer.

No water. 48 hours.

How stupid are these twits? There is basically no excuse for this other than gross incompetence. This has got to be the worst city administration I’ve ever had the misfortune of suffering through. I wish the directors of Apa Braşov would lose their jobs. I wish the mayor and city council would be summarily dismissed from office. I wish the people would not accept things as they are and riot in the streets!

No water. No toilet! Anywhere. 48 hours.

No clothes washing. No dish washing. No shower or bath, during summer time.

Buy your drinking water. Find a well and pump water into a bucket and carry it home. What is this, Africa!? Start sending the UN relief packets, folks. This is a sick, sick joke and I’m thoroughly unhappy about it.

An entire city without water for two days.

Now, in a blatant display of brash denials, some spineless bureaucrat from some various authority issued an unenforceable press release from behind the safety of his desk in which he stupidly warned that public institutions and companies must continue to respect hygenie laws during this period of time or risk being shut down for six months as punishment.

First of all, you cannot meet hygenie standards when there is no water because hygenie typically requires lots of fresh water! Secondly, it is highly unlikely any fools will actually step outside and go around inspecting anyone for any failures that result from the fact that there is no damn water. Thirdly, most bars, restaurants, and pretty much anyone dealing with food or bathrooms or whathaveyou all closed until this crisis is over. That’s going to be bad for the survival of some companies and terrible for the area’s economy in general. Finally, were testicle-less idiot Iulian Mara to actually go out and apply crushing sanctions to anyone would surely put them out of business (and now you know why they’re closed).

Meanwhile, the hospitals are teetering on the edge of going without water. Supposedly, they’ve got a slight bit of reserves on hand and a stream of trucks will be organized to bring water from somewhere. Hospital officials told reporters they had done as much as humanly possible to hedge against medical catastrophes, but clearly things would “not be easy” for the next two days. Sorry, Mr. Lazarescu, but nobody in Braşov cares even one iota. Please die. Die now.

I can’t believe it. Maybe this is third world and Romania is not ready to join the EU, afterall. Two days without any water during summertime in a major city? Outrageous.

Hot diggity! We had ourselves a barn-burner on Sunday night, ladies and gentlemen. Trust me when I say you wish you would have been there. Despite the unfortunate postponement of Caraiman vs Noroc, the ninth match of our little series went off without a hitch. Y’all should’a been at this here hootenany, I tell you whut.

As the third foreign beer in the tournament, Tuborg Strong invaded the BraşoDome and were welcomed by the fans as conquering heros. That’s right, Timmy, the Romanian beer drinkers were actually hailing the mighty crimson and black from the frozen north of Denmark. These Danish warriors were menacing and somber with a keen eye toward revenging the loss of their sister team Tuborg Gold.

The crowds mostly ignored the yellow jerseyed brand when they entered the coliseum. Sure, the funny commercials are well liked in Romania, but to actually drink some? I’ve never seen it. Ever. At all. Leading beerontological experts believe this is a consquence of Bergenbier’s status of a cultural mutt. It’s brewed in Romania, has Belgian ownership, and the name is a mixture of Norwegian and German. And yet, flying in the face of overwhelming anecdotal evidence, some bean counters claim it was the leading beer in 2003.

At the cap-off, things got wet quickly as the eager competitors went neck in neck. That is, their bottle necks were nearly down the throats of the judges necks. As the first to be orally enclosed, Tuborg Strong has the first chance to make good on its rage. Racing down the sidelines to the deafening thunder of the expectant crowd, Tuborg Royal Export stung the thirsty palates with its patented flavored of a sugared-up sourmash. GOAL!

Nonplussed, the sticla din Belgia surprised the complacent judges (who had been secretly fearing the worst from this heretofore unknown taste) with a full-bodied and outrageously delicious balance of light malts and hard hops that washed away all concerns with a slightly nutmeg characteristic in just an instant. GOAL!

In fact, the Bergenbier flavorings shocked both the crowd and officials alike by completely dominating the tastebudinal aspect of the game, when it was assumed that Tuborg Royal Export would win that category. Yet, for all the predictions of the betting public, the radiant Truth came shining down on the blessed referrees as they greedily relished large swigs of this Lager As Lagers Should Be. Astonishing all present with undeniable great brewmastery, Bergbier struck again before the half. GOAL!

The inter-period break featured the very talented discography of Tool, which made rock lovers of all apartments surrounding the BrasoDome. The gathered faithful played a little air guitar, took their try at singing, and even engaged in a little headbanging fun. During breaks between songs, the game caller notified alert sportsfans that some health conscious smack talkin’ was still raging on about possible side effects of Ciuc.

During the second half, Tuborg Strong evened things up with the expected superstar forwards using the devastating alcohol content to push the yellow defenders back on their heels. GOAL!

As you mostly cannot tell from the photo above, the Danish Royals (and not the royal danish, mmm yum) were a strong straw color while the Norwegermans were close in coloration but with slightly more amber hues darkening them. Either way, the image is a complete failure to capture what at the time seemed like a relatively simple scene to nail. But between the lighting, mugalogical differentiation, and general incompetence, it turned out a bit shoddy. Sorry, gents.

Ever persistent, the boys of Bergenbier took their succulent, savory time in passing the ball down the field. Eventually, their costational lownitude paid off when the far side left-wing struck gold on a flying scissor kick. GOAL!

Tensions mounted in the stadium as the lush drunkards anticipated a counterstrike from the mighty alcohol of Tuborg Royal Export. Indeed, the crimson worshippers were not disappointed when the expected attack came with the sheer brute force of seven point two percent alcohol by volume and the very breath of Tuborg Strong sent the ball sailing on a saturated wind. GOAL!

Satisfied with a draw match instead of a loss, the weary crowds shuffled towards the exits, muttering under their breaths and fumbling around for taxi money. Invariably, the louder folks were chattering about the upcoming match between CBA and Skol. Talent scouts discovered CBA was managed by the same brewer as Carrefour, so bets weren’t being made about who would win, but rather about how much nonsense the judges could suffer.

Oh, but strange things happen. With most of the beer drinking public already squabbling over who got shotgun in the 1968 Dacia taxi, everyone paused in disbelief at the sounds of a roar coming from inside the BraşoDome. While not many people had remained behind, the excitement unextinguishable as newly loyal Bergenbier fans watched them but the nail in the coffin with a late shot based on the insanely low price of only 1,39 RON. GOAL!

Fantatical supporters stormed the field and tore down the goal posts. Fire works were set off and someone opened more bottles. The party raged on into the wee hours of morning when Mirinda, the janitor tasked with preparing the BrasoDome for the next match, found a number of individuals passed out on the field… including Spammy, conspicuously absent from the game after his recent injuries, who was found wearing earrings, lipstick and a wig in what is sure to be a scandal for some time to come.