An Apology

Ok, so. I like to write those long, literary-esque blog posts. I rather enjoy them. Much better than saying “and then I did this…”. But they take time. I’m digging during the day but I brought a lot of work for uni that needs to be done and I told myself to do it. And I do need to do it, it’s much more important than you all knowing about what particular metaphor I would like to use to describe Brasov in a horribly pretentious first-person narrative (it’s a personal blog, if you don’t like it, get your own :D). Worst case I’ll retell the same stories a million times over. I’m noting down plans to jog my memory of the events, for the blog posts, so I guess eventually you’ll get more stories. I have pretty pictures, interesting anecdotes and odd videos (OMIGOSH THAT WAS TOTALLY A TRICOLON CRESCENS WITH A HYPERBATIC THIRD PHRASE INTERRUPTING THE CONSONANCE/ASSONANCE PLAY don’t listen to me, I’ve had too much Tzuica). But later. Yeah, you get your blogs WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT.

So, to let you all know what you really want to know:

• I’m having a great time, and I’m learning more than I could have ever imagined about myself and life in general.
• My Romanian really only consists of thank you (multumesc), good morning/day/evening//good night (buna diminatsa/ziua/seara//napte buna), cheers (narroc), please (va rog), I am (sunt), gerunds are formed by a –tul ending, yes/no (da – yes, just like Russian –/nu), and the most important fact: MOST ROMANIANS SPEAK ENGLISH! I met a kid, Lucian, in the internet cafe on Wednesday who was 13 and spoke nearly fluent English. We’re Facebook’d now.
• The other three volunteers are: Kirstine, the Dane (AKA Vicky the Viking), Sophie, the German (AKA The Hamburger) and Lena, the other German (AKA Cleo). My nickname is Gunther. Apparently it is applied to well-hung Austrian men and ugly Germans. Go figure.
• I have found bones, pottery and a bit of an inscription. Currently we are in Sarmizegetusa excavating the Capitolium (temple to Capitoline Jupiter) and a drainage channel built by someone after another temple was ruined (this temple is to three Persian gods… can’t remember the weird names). Going to Arad this weekend for the remainder to dig up Bronze Age Thracian pits. Apparently there are SKELETONS!
• Tzuica is made from apples, plums, any sugary fruit – best from plums or pears. Sasa (my roomie PhD student Archaeological buddy) says I should tell you that.
• I am currently listening to Evanescence. iPhone speakers are working a treat because these new headphones sound like being underwater.
• I have a mild sunburn on the back of my lower upper-arms (around the elbow). Aside from that I’m healthily tanned.
• My beard is awesome. Will send pics before it gets shaved (if ever).
• The food here is… REALLY HUGE PORTIONS. Speaking of which, dinner time! TTYL, lots of love darlings.

The Plan

Wednesday 25 August	London to Brasov
Thursday 26 August	Brasov to Porolissum
Friday 27 August	Porolissum
Saturday 28 August	Porolissum
Sunday 29 August	Porolissum to Sarmizegetusa
Monday 30 August	Sarmizegetusa
Tuesday 31 August	Sarmizegetusa
Wednesday 1 September	Sarmizegetusa
Thursday 2 September	Sarmizegetusa
Friday 3 September	Sarmizegetusa
Saturday 4 September	Sarmizegetusa to Arad
Sunday 5 September	Arad
Monday 6 September	Arad
Tuesday 7 September	Arad
Wednesday 8 September	Arad
Thursday 9 September	Arad
Friday 10 September	Arad
Saturday 11 September	Arad
Sunday 12 September	Arad
Monday 13 September	Arad
Tuesday 14 September	Arad
Wednesday 15 September	Arad
Thursday 16 September	Arad
Friday 17 September	Arad
Saturday 18 September	Arad?
Sunday 19 September	Arad to Brasov?
Monday 20 September	Brasov?
Tuesday 21 September	Brasov?
Wednesday 22 September	Brasov to London?

 

Apparently Brasov is always worth a look so I’ll return to have a few days there before finally hitting the road home. My flight is at 22:50 on 22 September, so I am going to look into getting to Bucharest early and having some time there. Lord knows where I’ll put my rucksack, maybe I’ll just carry it. It would be nice to find a locker or something for it though. Need to look into it when I post this blog (MENTAL NOTE TO SELF TOM!). I’ll tell you about Arad on a need to know basis.

Alex

N.1 (I’m going to try to keep the blogs shorter; I stayed up far too late last night. I promise a minimum of one blog every M-W-F, but maybe you’ll get more!)
N.2 (Planned and half written on the train from Brasov to Cluj Thurs 26 Aug, finished Tues 31. Events occur on Wed 25th Aug.)

“Thomas!” Alex extends his hand as I offer an uncertain “Salut,” outside his apartment block on the outskirts of-

I’m writing this on the train. Alex gets off the phone:
“My best friend is getting married this Saturday. Only yesterday we were running naked after cars in Brasov. We're growing up,” he muses with trepidation.
“Naked after cars?” I inquire.
“Yeah, it was mid-Februrary, four or five years ago. We lost a bet and it was about -21, -22.”
I'm missing the obvious point, so I offer in vain reassurance, “Well, it happens to all of us.”
“We always used to say we'd get married if we were stupid or bored!” he laughs.
“Is he happy?”
“Yes... I've told him what I think though!”

-Brasov. Daniel and he exchange a few words, laugh and Daniel leaves. “Multumesc,” I call as he gets into the car.

“Welcome to my house!” Alex declares, leading me into his apartment. It has two or three bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room, bathroom and hallway in miniature. His room, in which I will stay, has all the hallmarks of a big kid. There are action figures on the shelves and a giant plasma TV connected to an Xbox.
“Where did you learn English Alex?”
“Cartoon Network.”
Naturally.

Alex enjoys the little things. He’s very upset to see the water in his new aquarium is still cloudy, but even so he’s rather proud of it. It is impressive. There’s a shisha thing in the corner with a Canadian flag sticking out of it (his ambition is to get out of Romania and live in Canada). He has a towel pinned up with the BMW logo. He shows me a racing game on his laptop that effectively involves destroying your opponents and surviving to the finish, and I’m disappointed to forget its name later. I note the video games on the floor and we begin a geeky discussion.
“But they're very expensive here, much more than England.”
“They're expensive too, in England.”
But the pizza arrives and we end the conversation there. Though I still wonder at our relative definitions of 'expensive'.

Over pizza we watch Bear Grylls on the Discovery channel. Alex has cable and the Romanians prefer subtitles to dubbing, so we both enjoy our own cynical commentary:
I'm going alone into the deep marshes...
“With your cameraman, sound guy and producer!”
...where no-one will be able to help me if I'm injured.
“Except the guys filming you in the helicopter.”

I ask Alex a bit about himself. He's 22, an IT student at the university, but he also works two jobs: the ProjectsAbroad desk officer (the general point of contact about anything) and repairs computers for another company.
“In the holidays, or all the time?”
“All the time, of course!”
I'm a little stunned. Two jobs? And studies? 
“Isn’t that pretty tough?”
He looks away for the briefest time, with his voice trailing off he says, “Yeah, it can be. But money…”

I unpack while he makes my bed. I help him with the duvet, and when it’s done I pick up my new headphones in their awkward clamshell packaging.
“Do you have any scissors for these?”
“Maybe…”
I follow him to the kitchen where he gets a pair and I open it, explaining, “I left my headphones at home, I bought these in the airport.”
“How much were they?”
“Sixteen pounds.” I had looked for cheaper ones but, being petrified of planes and always looking for an escape while flying, bought them. The plan fell through when I realized they were unopenable with my bare hands. I didn’t think too much of the price anyway.
“Woah, not cheap huh?”
It hadn’t really crossed my mind. What could I do with that money? Why did I spend it? I guess it was worth it, in the end, but I hadn’t thought about it, just handed the money over. Three hours waiting tables. The cost of a nice lunch for two.

It’s an old cliche, that you don’t know how privileged you are. I’ve always been grateful and respectful of my father’s provision for me and our family. But I guess when all you know is your dad just paying for stuff, never saying “I can’t afford this” and rarely saying “It’s too expensive” (though more often “You realize this isn’t cheap, you should look after this/use it/be grateful.”), you get that way yourself. Step into a tiny apartment that houses a family (I briefly met his sister, his mother was on holiday), meet a guy whose ambition is for Canada but works two jobs while studying for a degree in IT, all while avoiding growing up, or getting too serious (he’s doing a fine job),  you start learning a lot pretty quickly.

Sixteen pounds. Not cheap.