Chrismas meal and ghost stories

Yesterday  some friends and relatives gathered at my place. Although, everybody was already fed up with food, and they strongly refused everything, while talking and laughing, the few dishes and sweets which were on the table disappeared gradually. What I enjoyed mostly was the invariable point of the discussions related to supernatural events. It astonishes me how long conversations tend to slip somehow towards that point after a while. It's supernatural. I recognised the story heard before about how my mother almost found her death in a snow of a haunted ravine. Having heard it before, doesn't mean that it doesn't give me chills every time I hear it. I blame my imagination. I actually see her on that hill top fighting the deep snow and trying to find her way through the thick fog towards my grandma's house where I was waiting for her. She did that trip some many years ago, when I was around three years old and every transportation was suspended due to the heavily snowing. But she didn't want to give up joining her family and bringing me presents for Christmas and so she risked going over the hills, some 15 kilometers, to the village. She tells us every time that she knew that road very well, but that time the snow had covered every sign of it so she had to guide after other things. At one time she almost lost her way when she heard some geese to her right. Confident that it meant, a village was there, she started going to that direction. She knew that a certain village had to be on the right of the road. While walking she glanced also to the opposite direction and to her surprise she saw a light there. She decided to turn round and go to the light. When she got to the house where the light was, she recognised the woman who came out and realised where she was. She said that the village should have been to her right not her left and was really puzzled why she heard geese in the other direction. There was nothing there. When she managed to get to my grandma's, after being well scolded for her deed, she told the family about her adventures. To her surprise everybody froze when they heard about the geese. Grandma told her that was a life and death moment for her. She told my mum that the direction she had gone first was taking her to a deep ravine which was known for being haunted. It had tricked many people to their death and people avoid going there as much as possible. She named some people from the villages around who had been mysteriously found dead in that ravine. As you can see I know the story very well, testimony to that fact that it impressed me very much.
Another story that impressed me yesterday was one told by a friend. He told us about a conversation he had with a colleague from work some years ago. The friend told him that the previous evening, he and his sister were going home taking a shortcut through a train depot when a  cat attacked them The cat seemed mad jumping on them with its claws out. Startled, they started kicking it with the bags they were carrying. To their surprise, the bags seemed to pass through it, not touching it. My friend expresses his disbelief and that they must have imagined that weird cat. He would have forgotten the story, if the second day, in the same area, something weird hadn't happen to him too. He told us that while walking along a fence, a dog came to him and started barking aggressively at him. Surprised, he stepped back, only to be startled by the sudden movement of a cat which crossed his path. Surprise made him back up a little more, almost being hit by a train which  turned the corner on some nearby rail. He said that the blow knocked him to the ground, but he was happy to be alive. He still doesn't know how come he didn't hear the train approaching.

Hog's pudding

The Scorch

Today is the day for preparing the hog's pudding. The various pieces of meat, grease and organs will be put in the special pig intestine, together with all can be gathered from the head. I love when I find in it the crunchy ear. I think the combination of soft and hard pieces and the condiments put in it, make this dish one of my favourites in Christmas mornings.

Orange shimmering snow

A desire for some movement, led me last night to go to one of my mother's elderly aunt. There I ended up with a snow shovel and broom in my hand, cleaning her paths in the yard. It seems everyone had the same idea, because in the street we met with two neighbours clearing the walkway too.
Going down, I enjoyed the orange nuance given by the street lights to the shimmering impeccable snow. I love the sunset colours in the winter, when we seem to live in a fairytale. The snow plow going by with the small national flag hanging by a side, made a funny appearance while heading straight to the distant darkness.
All was great! Not great was the chill which caught me in the evening, announcing a cold. It was worth it anyway, the evening contributed to my general well being.

Winter's moods and Christmas preparations

These days passed in a hurry. Some inspections, a school celebration and parties were the highlights. All around, winter is playing with us, showing us randomly beautiful white days and then gloomy ones. It's been great for me, except yesterday when, probably due to some students' curses, I had some bad luck. Some boiling oil took a swing at my face and my middle finger went the wrong way when I slipped on a wet floor. My eyes, fortunately, were protected by some glasses, and only my finger enjoys these days a very nice black-blues colour. It looks like I used it one too many times to wave it. That reminds me of Mr Bean (Seehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDqe2rtRnPQ)
These days began also the preparation for Christmas. I took a picture of my mother's fat and very spicy sausages as they proudly filled a pot. I enjoyed the first ones deep fried in oil and the garlic still seems to haunt my mouth now, a day later. The sheets for the traditional nuts sweets are ready too, waiting for the syrup and hungry mouths.

National pride

Today I saw my father with a national flag. He bought one for him and another for one of my uncles, devising holders for them at work. I saw a flag displayed by the balcony of one of my neighbours too and another at a nearby house. I think it's weird. It's a new trend which makes me think that a new nationalistic passion is stirring up in these people. The upcoming elections must have reminded them of what's valuable for them. In the last few years Romanians chose to put aside that national pride which they had flaunted during the Communist era ( from obvious reasons- they didn't know much about the others, the country being closed like an enclave and because of propagandist directions). After this period when most of them were willing to leave the country easily in favour of brighter economical horizons, and many of them did, it seems the economical crisis and the impossibility to make more money elsewhere have awaken that national feeling and people started again using that phrase "Nowhere it's better than in your own country". It stands to reason that people are trying to find a reasoning for giving up the dream of getting rich in the west. No one wants to admit willingly they have no choice so they pretend they chose to stay home because of their national pride. There is no problem with this, as long that the frustration feeling is not focused on doing something reckless. I remember what happened with Germany after the second World War, when Hitler took advantage of the frustration feeling of the Germans who after losing the war had to pay retributions and went through a harsh crisis. I hope no charismatic wannabe will be smart enough to take advantage of this and guide the people to something dangerous. Of course, I don't like how the situation in Romania is now, but I don't want reckless actions either. I know well enough from previous experiences that we are too small to gain a battle against too large interested parties around, and even if we are lucky to ally with the victors, nobody will make us the favour of giving us something to get ahead.

nice

http://fotonicu.wordpress.com/2012/11/02/biserica-fortificata-de-la-biertan/

God's will

Changing channels last night I found an episode from Ally McBeal when she went in a confessional. That stirred me up in a bad way. I remembered my participation to the religious service in a catholic cathedral as a observer during my Master studies. Going there with several colleagues and a professor, we had to identify different behaviours After the class, one of my colleagues expressed her desire to go and experience the confession in one of the confessionals there. She presented herself first to the priest/ pastor (I don't remember the term) and asked if she could do that in spite of the fact that she was Orthodox. Afterwards she told us about the experience and even wrote a paper from that point of view. I remember fondly her initiative and her willingness to try different experiences, as part of her general joie de vivre. She was the daughter of an Orthodox priest form one of the villages from Northern Moldavia known for their religious traditions, so she had been raised in a very strict environment. Unfortunately, her very happy, energetic life ended a year later after graduating her Master degree in a car accident when she tried to go in front of a truck. She and her baby boy, who was with her in the car, died at once. Hearing about her death, I couldn't stop myself to think, in a clearly pessimistic Romanian way, that she had been to happy to live very long. There is a deeply rooted belief in Romania that geniuses and happy people can't have a long life - God isn't patient enough and demands their company very soon.

Momentary states of madness

Today was another happy day under my sky. The main culprit in the singing occurred in the class I was telling you about yesterday, came after me on the hallway and apologized for his deed and blamed his action on a "momentary state of madness". Later on we had the class together and he asked me nicely if he could answer at the lesson. After grading others, he asked if he could hope at a five today five his answers, as to balance a bit the 2 taken yesterday. And that concluded the problems between us.
Talking about "momentary states of madness" reminded me of a feeling I had today. A friend I went out, began explaining to me why she didn't join me to a recent party. She mentioned a jealousy fit she threw her husband that night because of a Facebook page she discovered on his laptop. She told me the whole story of her creative mind working up an entire love story between that woman on the Facebook page and her husband. Now, thinking in retrospective she knew perfectly well that she didn't have a real reason to imagine all that, that she should have thought at a reasonable explanation for that page because her husband had been the most faithful partner for the last eight years. Hearing her telling me the whole story, reminded me of similar moments I had. I know that generally I and most of women behave like reasonable beings but one in a while we seem to lose our minds. I think it's a flaw in our making. I remember once I dumped my boyfriend, who cared a lot for me and was a perfect partner, because I didn't like how we looked together and imagined people were looking strangely at us.When we happen to cross paths, I still see in his eyes that he considers me a bit mad.

The " decency" of a teacher

Today I replaced a colleague who had an inspection. Not having classes with those students, I didn't have anything to do with them than talk. At a certain point, one of the boys began telling me that I don't look like a teacher. Intrigued, I asked him to explain himself. He said that I don't look decent enough. You can't imagine my feelings and immediately I looked at my clothes asking myself, why I am not decent. Not seeing anything than a pair of high-heeled shoes, jeans and a leather jacket over a pink shirt, I was wondering what was wrong...why I wasn't decent. As to get a clue about what he considered decent, I asked him to tell me what he considers decent. He said that decent means " beautifully". I asked him why he doesn't consider my clothes beautiful, explaining that he should really look in a dictionary for the explanation of the word "decent". I pointed to the fact that he should use words he doesn't know the meaning of with care, or else he can be offensive towards others. I explained to him a bit what this means as not to make the same mistake with others and then asked him for details about the clothes he expected a teacher to wear. He started telling me that I should wear a suit with a nice shirt. I showed him my shirt and told him I was wearing one. A...But no, the colour was not right. It was pink, while it should have been white and with a blazer. Wow, it sounded like an uniform. I told him to try that when he'll become a teacher- he'll see that after two weeks he'll finish wearing his wardrobe.
I found this situation very weird, not only because it was the second day since the beginning of school when I was wearing jeans (usually wearing skirts or classical pants), but more because of the person demanding me this "decent" attire. He was wearing pair of  jeans intentionally torn in various parts and worn with the waist line lowered at half of his buttocks (the view of the dark blue boxer shorts being a plus) and a T-shirt with a barely-hidden sexual innuendo in English.
Oh, how great it is to be a teacher when we have these perfect students to teach us how to dress...That brings to my mind a  email message sent by one of our colleagues who was pointing out exactly to our ingrate position we are in now. The students have only right ( they have the right to do anything and say anything, even swear us, without any consequences which would scare them the least) while we are told we have only obligations. We must be the perfect teachers, being blamed for everything. We are the ones sanctioned when a student throws a fit in the middle of class, without a particular reason, we are to blame when they are too lazy to wake us and come to school, we are to blame when they get bored and start listening to manele on their very expensive cells, etc. They are allowed to raise their voices at us, slam the door behind them when leaving the class feeling offended by a bad grade received: are allowed to have as many examinations as they want during the summer holidays as to pass the class they have not studied for an entire year... And many others. No wonder they don't respect us. They told me several times that they wouldn't do my job for my "shitty" pay check and dealing with all the " nuts". A lot of them come to school because they get bored at home and they consider classes an entertainment. All of us  has had that type of student that purposely tries to find out which buttons he/ she must push as to get you  to lose your temper only as to have something amusing to laugh at. It's like you are a circus monkey, present there for their entertainment. I find myself congratulating myself  for my stoical smile while letting them do their number and promisig myself the delayed revenge at the end of the class when I will be rid of them (of course if I won't have the happiness of finding them in a another desk while repeating the year).
Talking about great theatrical numbers in class. Today a part of students, in an all boys graduating class, started humming and then singing to me and their classmates the lyrics of a manele song they were listening on their headphones. As usual, trying not to get mad and offer them a reason to amuse themselves on my behalf, I reminded them of the school policy which forbids them to use cells in school (with the clear threat of expelling them, which they are perfectly aware that nobody will enforce). They very innocently pulled out their headphones while asking me if I don't like that song. Grinning I reminded them that they have something else to do during class and that I was just teaching something. Patiently I continued my teaching to be again interrupted by one of them who started singing the tune as he remembered, with a funny twist. Having the whole class bursting into laughter, I couldn't take it any more. I turned towards the catalogue and asked the very funny comedians to tell me something them the lesson I was teaching. Of course, they had no idea about it. They had writtten everything, knowing that I was checking their notebooks and grading them for not doing at least that. Finally, the 2 mark  convinced them them and the class that in spite of my big smile and kind tone I was deadly serious. I think I behaved like a saint in front of these twenty years old bullies, known throughout the school for their physical  and behavoural "muscles". I remember last year when I had my first classes with them, they tried everything to push my buttons and I did the same until I hit the right ones which make them hurt and fall back. Now, it's easier and other collegues come to me asking what methods I use to make them be so silent and orderly in my classes while theirs are the worst. My best advice is to be patient, find the clowns of the class and their weak points and attack them. If you conquer the leaders, the class will be yours. They must have something you can work with. Some of them respond well if you take them as allies and involve them in teaching or establishing the order in class. Some respond to bad grading or the contrary encouraging grading. For some you have to appeal to their raising - pointing out that they don't want to offend a nice lady like me. With some you have to talk with their parents, because they are the only ones they listed to (more often because they enforce discipline the hard way, which you can't do). And so on... Psychology and a lot of patience will help you overcome all obstacles and maybe you'll make it in this very "rewarding" job. To do this you need to define very clearly why you are doing this and hold on to that, or else you are in danger of losing your mind, which happens more often than you think.
After many years of teaching, I definitely know why I'm do this- I like it. I am a bit sado-masochistic. I tried other things and I got bored, I missed the challenge and the thrill of a new day when anything can happen from a bloody fight, a pregnant girl's faint to a funeral masquerade. I am usually the most happy person, smiling at their unruly behaviour an then bursting into laughter a their surprised faces while punishing them with the lowest grade possible for not paying attention. Unfortunately most classes know me already well enough and now are too obedient. Some days I feel like torturing them and they don't give me any reason. it happened to me to raise my voice a bit towards a chatting student and to have another tell me that he knows that I am not really mad. So if you are a bit sado-masochist you should try this position. It can give you the thrills you need (not in the sexual manner, of course) in the psychological sense.

Memory

One of my neighbours has died recently. An acquaintance of mine asked me today about him and I recollected all I knew about him. I knew Mr. Little Feather (this is the actual translation of his name- yeah, I know it is very picturesque...)only from our encounters on the apartment block stairs. He and his wife moved only a few years ago here at the suggestion of their daughter who lives nearby. He was the only one doing errands for them, so we used to meet often. He was always wearing a suit and an old-fashioned hat so his silhouette was easily recognizable in the distance. His slightly leaned back didn't diminish the elegant posture of his body. He seemed to have a special smile and tone for everybody. His attention directed in equal measure towards the teenagers playing around the building and the busy adults passing him by. Seeing him, you had to stop to talk for a bit even if you were in a hurry.  He had that calm, wise demeanor of people who know too much about about life and consider it a pleasure that has to be relished in a certain pace.
What I liked most about him was that he was a character who seemed to represent all I knew and imagined about the generation who lived between the two world wars in Romania. And he was exactly that! He was a man raised in that "decadent" era inspired by the French culture. He was an educated well-read man, well over what we call educated nowadays, who knew how to speak with everybody without making you feel different. I say this because I know too many people who think that they are too educated to lower themselves to talk normally with less educated ones or the ones they consider inferior as social status.
He married a much younger woman, but a very beautiful and elegant one. And he respected her too much to ask her to work. He considered her too delicate even for house chores, so he did everything...even in his last days when he wasn't feeling well. They were married for more than 70 years. Imagine...to be married to someone so long. They must have known each other each breath, better than themselves. And they had so much respect for each other. This must be the secret for their successful life together. I remember I saw the same think, the same kind of relationship between my grandparents. They used to address each other with Mr... and Mrs.... and always wait for the other when they had to decide something.
This reminds me of  my grand- grand father. He was a fairy-tale character in my childhood. I used to jump around when I heard that we were visiting him. I, and everybody in the family, no matter the age, enjoyed enormously his war stories. Even when he told us the same story, he told it in a different way which made you discover other details in the places and characters he recollected. Even now, when I watch a war documentary, I fill the gaps with all his characters and events. He was a soldier in both World Wars and fought side by side the Germans and Russians. He put the foundations for my the stereotypes I have about these people. At the end he was taken prisoner and taken to Siberia, from where he returned, on foot of course, to his village safe and sound to raise three children and many grandchildren.
I know I jumped from one man to another, but for me they all represent the same thing- an era when people learned to respect life and each other, in a hard way. I am glad that we don't have to go through those hardships, but I realise also that my generation takes life too easier, too superficial and I know we are missing something. I think people feel the void somehow bu they don't know what is missing from their lives. I would like people to feel how valuable their life is and that they have to make it worth living by doing important, significant things without being in life or death situations. I know that sufferance wakes some of them up, but there are not enough and many of them don't understand the lesson. I hope no conflagration will be needed to make this world's population feel alive again. I say this because I see a kind of restlessness, itch that exists in people. It seems that while the generations fed up with war faded away, as it happened with my grand-grandfather, grandparents and neighbour, the newer generations tend to "forget" of reinterpret what happened at the last conflagrations and think with greater ease at a war as a way in which they can leave their mark on the world. People have such a short memory...We are too stubborn and proud to let history, the past generations teach us something about ourselves, our nature.

A meeting with parents

Today I had a meeting with some parents of my students. The theme of the reunion was the problems they are challenged with in educating their children. I had chosen some clips with problematic kids to give them a starter of discussion. But I was positively surprised to see them start the discussion without any help. This is the second time I manage such a discussion group and they seem to become more and more relaxed at these reunions. Almost every parent present got involved and debated offering various ideas and sharing experiences. They really liked hearing our point of view, mine and my colleagues, and debating what happens with teenagers nowadays and what we can do to keep them safe and disciplined. I liked it when at the end some of them were still talking to us, some haw reluctant to leave. It was a great atmosphere and we really felt that everyone of us learnt something new from the others. Three hours passed without noticing. One of the mums also noticed and told me that she thought the meeting went great and she said that she enjoyed it.
Leaving with a colleague, she talked about stopping in town to drink a hot chocolate. This mum being with us, I invited her too, if she wasn't busy. We ended up going to a pastry shop where we stayed and talked for another two hours. It was a lot of fun. Walking back, this mum and the colleague I was with  kept thanking me for including them in the parent reunion and that sweet getaway. They seemed so happy...I don't think I did something extraordinary but they were delighted. I was thinking that some people need so little to be happy. They both have children and worries and don't get very often the chance to forget everything and get out with friends and forget about everything at a "cup of talking".
All in all, it was another " beautiful" day in my life when I felt perfectly happy to be surrounded by wonderfully open people. I liked to see these parents sharing their dissatisfaction and opinions and at the same time my smiles when I was joking about some deeds of my students.The problems are serious but I didn't want the discussion to become a prescriptive one in which someone teaches someone else what to do with his child. Everyone is smart enough to think about their own problems and learn from the others. One of the fathers was very cute- he wrote down every idea and took the sheet of paper with him. He said that he has to learn and apply them.
When I invited them to the next meetings, I had the surprise to heat that they want more. I say that I am surprised, because very often it is difficult to manage to determine parents to come to school. I think the last discussion was so interesting that they decided they enjoy these reunions. Thus we had today  a greater number than expected. All for the best. I only wish more parents with problematic children come to us. Maybe they will hear how these discussion work, and that we don't point fingers and they will open this communication channel.
 On another note, I feel a certain appeal that I have for people. I like when people feel my warmth and open up. I think for people it's easier to open up to me. This is a thing I discovered about me lately, comparing the reaction of other people towards me and my colleagues. I am not the coordinator of this program for parents, but a colleague is. She is a very kind, elegant person with whom it is always a pleasure to talk. But at parents meetings, it is easier for me to open a discussion and incite people to open up and talk. Maybe because of my younger age, my friendly jokes and smiles. And I think she was aware of this before me and that's why she asks me to elicit and entertain the talks.
 Of course, I am ware that I am a very talkative person ( as you can see from all this writing...) and permanently try to monitor myself as to talk in a reasonable ratio. I don't want to monopolize the discussion. I tried this today too but I don't know in what measure I managed because I saw that when someone else from the group was talking they were looking periodically at me. I will ask one of my colleagues tomorrow, if I talked too much. I hope not!
 A, and today I saw two very beautifully colored woodpeckers in front of the school. I am still surprised to see them coming so close to us. You didn't used to see this in the last years. A moment when I was sorry I didn't have my camera with me today was when visiting an elderly relative I saw a shinny black rooster pouring his soul out in a impetuous song on a brand new red gate. It was a fairy -tale image with the proud,  hell-black strained rooster filling the air with sound perched on a red gate matching perfectly the red on his head.

Loved it!

http://fotonicu.wordpress.com/2012/10/10/giselle-opera-nationala-romana-cluj-napoca/

Slovakia

Last week I was fortunate enough to go on a trip to Slovakia. I say "fortunate" because I loved it. Besides the warmth of the people, the beauty of the women and the delicious food in pantagruelic portions, I had the chance also to visit some beautiful places. One of them was the 14th century Castle of Stará Ľubovňa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star%C3%A1_%C4%BDubov%C5%88a )

 The castle is very well preserved and accessible for tourists. It has so many rooms and exhibits there that a few hours proved insufficient to see everything. Also the view from the tower was magnificent. You could see for many kilometres around.

A surprise was the rafting in Červený Kláštor, down a river separating Slovakia from Poland. It was clearly out of season for this, but the raft ride was even more special like this. We had the privilege of admiring the colourful autumn mountainous landscape at sunset and of listening to a lot of local legends about those places from one of the boatmen (I don't know how come, most of the stories were a bit misogynist...). The ride ended in the night under a gorgeous moon with some wolf stories. The unplanned walk in the dark towards the point where there was a car waiting for us, was the cherry on top. It was unique.

The High Tatras were another great experience. You didn't know where to look...there was a gorgeous scenery everywhere.

The visit to the Count Andrassy's summer mansion, brushed my history and showed me a style of life in which everything was unique and priceless. It reminded me of some memorable historical characters related to the location, like the Empress Sissy of Austria-Hungary and their influence on Romanian history. I realised that Romanians had in common with Slovakians the fact that both of them had been under Hungarian rule at the same time. That explained to me the similarities I had seen in towns- both had received an infusion of  German population and  implicitly style from the Austria- Hungarian Empire.

I saw the same similarities in Kosice. I found it very similar to Brasov and I felt like home. I enjoyed a guided walk around the center with a very nice lady who, I found out, shared my contempt for Francis II Rákóczi buried in St. Elisabeth's Cathedral. The city was under renovation preparing to be one of the European cultural capitals of next year.
 All in all, I found Slovakia to be like a 2.0 version of Romania - with more forests, bigger plates and fairer ladies.

Brasov, Targu Jiu, Transalpina+ Tudor Vladimirescu

The last few days I went on a trip. First, I went  to Brasov. We walked through Poiana Brasov a bit. I liked a place called Cabana Haiducilor (Outlaw's Hut) in a rustic style.


 

Ram spit

Calf spit

 
 
 
 

 
 

Peasant's pantry

 
 


 Afterwards  we went to the Oktoberfest organised yearly by the German population. The locals were saying that this year it was better organised than the last ones. Here are some pictures with the German band entertaining the happy atmosphere. A "kidnapped" bride (a customary stage in a Romanian wedding) made an appearance and was invited to a waltz by her "kidnapper".


 
Opera in the Council Square

Deciding to go to Oltenia through a road going through the Retezat Mountains ( Transalpina), we passes through a lot of very nice villages.

I liked Fagaras, a very small and quiet town and, of course, I managed to find a pastry shop immediately. I fell in love with its' German style painted furniture and delicious cakes.

 



 Going on the road again, I notice that almost in every village we went through, there was a soccer match on the local fields. Nice way to entertain yourself on a Sunday. I liked to see those men in very nice equipment running on the green pasture. There was no public, gallery or press, but they were definitely enjoying the game.
In Targu Jiu, even if I go there often enough, I don't feel I've been there it i haven't gone through the central part with the sculptural works of Constantin Brancusi. Thy are Targu Jiu for me.

When I go through this town, I like the air of history given by the old traditional buildings, like the Town Hall.

The Endless Column in another park

In the spirit of discovering new, hidden places, we decided to look for the memorial house of Tudor Vladimirescu. It was in a bit tricky to find it but it worth it. Going to it we saw an old church. At the entrance, the road had rows of crosses. I knew from previous passing through this region that they put crosses in certain places of the village when somebody in the family days. A person showed me a rope bridge he built when his young son died. But I hadn't seen crosses arranged like this by the side of the road.

The church in itself was special. It was a very old one, a historical monument. I enjoyed the paintings a lot. They were very vivid in their cruelty.

This one amused me, with its God held scale which shows that a rich man weighs more than a devil. Obviously this painting was meant to show that the boyars had more sins than a devil. It must have been very rewarding for peasants to see that their boyars will have a hard life in hell, in the hands of the devils and drowning in a river of blood.

I liked also the big devil's head, even if a bit eroded by time.
 On the hill next to the church there was a cemetery with older and newer grave crosses, nothing unusual for a Romanian village church. But what I noticed,  were the few crosses at the entrance in the church yard. Some were really old and the stone writing had been wiped by the elements so I couldn't figure out the years.

I liked the cross picture depicting two peasants in their national costumes. This must have been one of the first pictures taken in the region and the two, obviously wealthy peasants, seemed very proud to have their picture taken.

 

I know that the village church was a important place for the education of Tudor Vladimirescu,  and perhaps the images depicting the sins of the oppressive boyars were one of the things which inspired him and his followers to rise against them. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tudor_Vladimirescu
The house, a reconstruction on a lower terrain, was a step back in the past. I saw village museums, but they usually have the most beautiful villages houses, chosen by interested collectors. This one was representative in the sense that it had belonged to a common poor peasant family. Nothing unusual or spectacular, only things with a strict utility.

 
As usual I take the time to caress the wood work. The stellar/ sun pattern which can be found on the Maramures gates or on the mountain churches, reminding me of the pagan roots of local Christianity, was present also here. It was one of the few decorations of the place.
 

This visit made me think of the efforts made my our ancestors for some rights. The land was so important for the peasants who fought together with Tudor, but now it seems some of their grand-grand children have lost their love for this land.
The house was opened for us by the husband of the museum caretaker. We wanted to give him a sum as a retribution for letting us inside, but he was very reluctant to take it and when he finally took it, he gave us back a lot of small things, souvenirs which were worth much more than we gave him, He seemed to really like his talk with us and we finished by sharing a lot of things from our history reflections to our regional problems and family details. He told us he had been mayor of the village for three mandates and told us some of the problems people there have. At the end, seeing us admiring his trees, he started shaking two apple trees in his yard and filled us a bag of apples. We had to insist that it was enough as to sop him going to another tree.

I left at the end our road on the Transalpina in the Retezat reservation. Last year I saw this and another very known road -Transfagarasan in the Fagaras mountains. Both offers me incredible views but I definitely preferred the first one because it offered me a view on a larger scale on several rows of mountains. I enjoyed the rich, pillow-like grass which made shoes redundant and the view of the blue ponds a the bottom of the steep ravines.
This time, I felt dissaponted, like a child whos has been told  there is no Santa Clause. I felt Transalpina lost its fairy -tale feeling. The long drought made the grass brown and dull, the ponds dissapeared as if never there and I felt its increased popularity made it loose the charm a hidden place has.

I didn't like the food stands which appeared on the largest plane space, even if they sold traditional food. I felt that they steal the attention that you have to pay to the magnificent scenery around. After all, that'sthe reason you go ther, not to eat, which you can do anywhere. Walking around, I felt like the place didnt' have the purity I felt before there. There certainly are people who feel the need to distroy beautiful thing. Why else would you leave behind a plastic bottle, bag or pieces of paper on an immaculate moutain plane?

All right, enough with pessimistic thoughts. On the road, I was also amused to see some donkies, run-aways from the near-by sheepfolds, stopping the traffic with an indiferent posture. They seemed less curious about the cars going around them and mare outraged that we were standing in their way.

The mountains are my favourite summer destination, they never ceise to amaze me. You can see a gorgeous scenery at every corner.