After witnessing the first event of the day, we took our time wandering down the road a bit until we found some lackidasical police offers half-pretending to direct traffic to halt for crossing pedestrians and joined those brave folks on their way to the Casa de Cultura in Calimaneşti, just outside of Ramnicu Valcea in Oltenia, Romania.
I dare say, after all this hot sun and apples malarkey, it was about time for some real food, dontcha think? I surely did. It was for this reason that I moseyed down the inclining asphalt that lead into the park encircling the Casa de Cultura where the vendors lay in wait for an unsuspecting captive market to extinguish their hunger and thirst pangs.
And thank the lucky stars they existed, too. Mmm mmm mmmm. The mouthwatering scent of barbeque, albeit not Texan, and draft beer was in the air. For a couple of road-weary culturepreneurs, this was a divine signal to partake in a consumer frenzy.
In our hurry, we bypassed the Alutus beer kiosk and headed toward the big mititei gratar under the big yellow Bergenbier awning. Our inquisition revealed they were selling grilled chicken, which is great for folks who don’t eat pork like myself. I opted for a chicken leg and cartofi prajiţi (french fries). Lemonmouse was keen on a couple mici cu muştar şi paine.
For the uninitiated, mici (smalls) is synonymous with mititei (smalls). Don’t ask me why, but the words are completely interchangeable. It’s basically ground pig meat in the shape of a hotdog or sausage. Mici is commonly served with mustard and bread. If you’re a foreigner, you might be tempted to slather your mici with mustard and place it on the bread in a style reminiscent of hotdogs, but the local will eat mici dipped in muştar and then clean up any remaining mustard with paine separately.
Mici at the Bergenbier kiosk were selling for 1,5 RON a piece. My chicken was a full 5 RON and fries were 2 RON. Bergenbier was on tap for 3 RON per plastic cup, but delicious as it was we didn’t bite. Wanting to partake in the elusive local beer Alutus from Ramnicu Valcea, we headed next door to the blue awning kiosk and ordered a couple beers.
Alutus was goin for only 2 RON per plastic cup. Quite the bargain, nu? Yeah, well, I realiased a few minutes too late that the Alutus stand was also selling mititei, but at a lower price of only 1 RON each complete with mustard and paine. Doh!
Fortunately, my self-admonishment did not transpire for long as the beer was outstanding. It had an usually hoppy flavor compared to so many bland Romanian beers. I took a seat at a picnic bench not far from the blessed beer stand and started in on my pui cu paine.
Never in my entire life have I ever found a chicken-leg shaped object so entirely devoid of meat. This thing was as tough as platinum armor with absolutely nothing but thrice-grilled skin and bones. Oh, it looked impressive, but inside it was only greazzy skin particles, hard bone, and a few pieces of ligament gristle.
I picked off what ounce or two of meat-like substance there seemed to be and left the rest of the dry overcooked rubbish in a pile. Thankfully, I had ordered some fries, so between those and the bread I managed some semblence of sustinance. Meanwhile, my compadre happily filled up on the mici.
Some point after eating and two or three fantastic Alutus beers la halba, I noticed that a nearby popcorn vendor was attracting some attention. I grabbed my lens and managed to get this shot of their popcorn machine blazing away in an inferno that was easily three times higher that the moment I clicked the shutter.
After that burning episode where a dozen people argued over how to best stop the flames that roared for several minutes, I was able to turn my attention back to the stage as a new performer stepped up front and center. A fragile boy in traditional clothes and a straw hat took the microphone alone to sing an old, emotional song for the crowd.
Disappointly, the poor guy received barely any applause for his touching performance. Maybe it was because the song was long and slow, with substantial acoustic interludes. Maybe it was because he sang painful lyrics using a high-pitch in Hungarian. I felt bad becasue I thought he did fantastic, not only due to the gumption it took to get up and actually perform the tune.
I decided to leave the audience and walk to the side of the stage after his act in order to do approach him. Without having a more sophisticated manner by which to start, I simply blurted out, “Tanulas angolul?” His eyes big as saucers, he waggled his hand in that seemingly universal sign for kinda-sorta-maybe.
“Okay, because nam tudok magyarul.” It took all his willpower to keep from bursting out laughing at that one. I used small words and a little bit of gesturing to communicate my point to him. To avoid playing the race card, I essentially said I had felt bad the people drank too much beer in the sun and were too sleepy to properly clap for him. I wanted to let him know that he was a very impressive singer.
He seemed very flattered and confused getting attention. I shook his hand and wished him luck before leaving him with his shoulders a bit straighter and his smile a bit broader. His dozen or so staring friends probably gushed over the encounter forcing him to explain the details after I was gone.
Now, where were these people hiding the baie around here?
Newsflash to Romanian municipal officials: signage is an exciting, new concept in public administration! By golly, you’ll feel great exercising caesar-like powers in authorizing a few bucks in local funds to be spent on improving your burgh without need the involvement of those smug national types. It’s easy — give it a try today.
Allow me to press upon you yet another point: dear Romanians (and Hungarians and just about most of the world), there is no such thing as a water closet. Thou doth mayeth well spake unto us in Shakespearian English, because “WC” was last used by the non-royal English speaking world back in 1748.
It’s not a water closet. Nor “the closet.” Particularly, if you want to pretend you know English to any degree. A closet is a storage space where one typically hangs one’s clothes or puts away one’s shoes in the bedroom. But don’t worry, I’m here with some friendly help. The most common expression is to call the facilities a bathroom, as in “the bathroom is down the hall and second door on the left.”
Yes, for the inquisitive, bathroom does imply there might be a shower or bathtub inside. However, it remains the most generic term. If you feel like being a bit more particular in implying the lack of bathing accoutrements or need to appear more refined when eating at a restaurant with business guests, then you may refer to it as a restroom, as in “Pardon me, where is the restroom?” To say “the men’s room” or “the ladies’ room” are acceptable alternatives.
To refer to it as “the toilet” is a bit crude and conjures up unsavory images in the English-speakers mind. However, it is quite acceptable as a baseline reference when speaking to travellers because at least they know what it is. Toileta also works because that term can appeal to a number of languages, when in doubt as the origin of your guests.
At no point should you label it WC or call it the closet. We have no idea what you’re talking about, unless we’ve spent considerable time travelling before and gotten used to this abuse of language. Sure, we’ll adapt and eventually figure out what you might possibly be talking about, but I’m just trying to help out the few of you who want to talk like a real person.
Bathroom is most general term, applicable to anywhere. Restroom is a gentler term when out in public. Toilet and toileta are crude, but understandable. That’ll set you well with the overwhelming majority of us who speak American, but our British and Australian friends in the minority are probably most happy if you call it “the loo.” Don’t ask me; I’ve no idea where it comes from.
Tip for new travellers: Look for signs that say “WC,” when you need to relieve yourself. Since there probably won’t be much in the way of signs when you get as far east as Romania, you might need to get a pen and paper in order to write down “WC.” Show that to someone and, if they’ve any sense about them, they’ll direct you to the bathroom. Better yet, always learn this important word in the local language: baie (buy-yea).
With the Cultural House being the only fixed structure around for some distance, that seemed like the logical place to find the bathroom. Milling about inside were several costumed teenagers busy flirting with each other, comparing cell phones, or painting their manicured nails. A couple old men sat in the middle of foyer as if they might be “in charge” of things.
When asked, the pointed to the right indicating restrooms were in that direction. However, after taking one step, they animatedly pointed in another direction to what was now the left. Pivoting and taking another step generated more gesturing that once again pointed back to the right. Calling on the spirit of Davy Crockett, I adventured to the right with confidence and successfully stumbled into the baie.
Armed with a fresh beer, I found myself back on the small park hill looking down toward the temporary stage which had been constructed for the folk festival in Calimaneşti. There were many acts during the evening and night. Between fresh pours of Alutus, I managed to snap a shot or two of some.
Here’s an ethnic hungarian trio that played exceptionally well.
I figure this guy was looking out for a lover to take home, because he certainly had no recognizable interest in the actual festival itself but preferred listening to the one or two low quality songs stored on his mobile.
Dancers
This picture isn’t especially well-focused, but I wanted to include it anyway. This ethnic Romanian duo were very entertaining in a Simon & Garfunkel meets 17th century Romania sort of way.
I thought the dancers from Olt county had the best evening performances. Here two of them re-enacted a routine based on courting rituals (and I assume it was based on performances played out in the past hundreds of years when villages used these dancing festivals as a basis for pairing up men and women in matrimony, among other things).
First the woman performs some dances while the man walks to and fro, behind her, inspecting her figure and movements. He shakes his head disapprovingly and occassionaly gestures the western shrug as if to question what could be special about her.
Fear not my feminist friends, for attitude is a two way street. When the guy takes his turn to demonstrate his machismo and skill, the woman scuttles back and forth, arms impertinently on her hips in disapproval. As she inspects his body and style, she shakes her and clucks negatively.
It was a cute performance the old people seemed to like, even if the younger ones didn’t get it.
These young Oltenian dancers were waiting in a field.
The older Oltenian women were dancing the hora.
The best show of the evening were the men from Olt who danced up a storm to great music, while featuring their youngest dancer as the star of the performance and finishing off with a man wearing a rare, traditional Romanian monster mask dancing along with the group.
The Turks took the stage later that night and, once again, were huge crowd pleasers. The audience got quite worked up by the dancing and music. For everyone, the highlight of their act was when two guys came out dressed like a camel — that got the crowd roaring with laughter.
After that, it wasn’t long before the show was ending and it was becoming late. Time for those who don’t want to sleep near a garbage dumpster to find a ride out of this one-horse town. We did our best to walk straight down the highway that ran directly through the middle of the town, got some help from a Roma prostitute, and managed to find someone willing to stop at this late hour.
A mother and her adult son got us to Valcea around midnight with my needing to participate in any conversations. 5 RON later, we were walking the streets in search of something to eat. Both us knew where to go.
Tip for travellers to Ramnicu Valcea: eat at Simpatico. It’s a non-stop fast food place that most people and all the taxis know. They offer a decent variety of foods, but I’ve not memorized the menu because I’m only there for one thing. Yup, the kebap. The gals workin’ there will whip you up one right quick. Delicious.
Having finally gotten some food into my system it was time to sleep somewhere. Lemonmouse had arranged for an apartment where we were welcome to spend the night. On the way there, just outside Simpatico, I befriended a pup who was timid but interested in me. After a little of the extra kebap me, the little guy was in love and followed me everywhere.
Except into the taxi cab. I had to pick him to get him inside. The driver groaned and thought we were nuts, but Azorel came with us all the way to the apartment, upstairs, and inside. A little kebap meat and a bowl of water made this dog feel like he was in heaven after living on the mean streets of Ramnicu Valcea.
Yeah, we sort of adopted him for the night. Of course, we couldn’t really keep taking him on the road. So, the next day, after talking to some people we knew, we had him hooked up with a nice little girl who happily promised to take good care of Azorel at her grandmother’s village home.
And then it was time to hit the road…
