27 Luni

Last week I visited the site where I’ll live and work for the next two years, Valea Călugărească.  Like the small village itself, everyone that I met was very welcoming.  My counterparts, the host country nationals that I will be working with, created a detailed itinerary for my visit; some days lasting from 7:30 in the morning until after dinner, 7:30 at night.  Although it was exhausting, I appreciate the thought and effort they put into making my visit a through and fulfilling one.  From meeting my future high school students, to meeting the town Mayor, we covered a lot of ground and shook a lot of hands.

We departed from Tărgoviște at about 10 am Monday morning from the Hotel Valahia where my two counterparts had spent the weekend.  The three of us piled into my colleague’s tiny blue Daewoo, typical of Europe, and bounced on down the road.  In the initial few minutes, as we briskly dodged poorly marked road construction, my counterpart reassured me that she had many years of driving experience; upon which my response was to ensure the tightness of my seat belt.  The trip from Tărgoviște to Ploiești, our first stop, is only fifty kilometers and typically takes less than an hour.   After thirty minutes on the road, we realized that we were heading to Bucharest, clearly taking the much longer, indirect route to Ploiești.  After realizing this it was decided that we would drive all the way back to Tărgoviște to regain our bearings and to start again.  In an effort to avoid being on the road, crammed into the back of the tiny car any longer than need be, I decided to offer the GPS services of my iPhone: this was perhaps more a curse than a blessing.  We quickly identified a shorter route (by distance anyway) and readjusted our course.  Little did I know how poorly maintained the roads in Romania are; a short cut that would normally take five minutes took twenty-five minutes as our fearless driver dodged and sometimes forged crater size, muddy potholes with her bicycle sized tires.  Passing small villages, open fields and herding cattle, we joyously made it back to the “interstate” which has better-maintained surfaces; though my kidneys may never be the same.

Around noon we arrived in Ploiești.  We drove through the city, down Bulevardul Republicii and the incredible tree lined Bulevardul Independenției, as main areas of attraction were pointed out.  Our first stop was the Gara, a beautifully designed though moderately maintained train station.  As we parked the car and walked up to the main entrance I was encouraged to keep a close eye on my pockets; though I honestly never felt unsafe.  The crowd, though scruffy, was spars and didn’t appear to offer much more than a beggar’s threat.  Once inside it was clear that some improvements had been made since the Communist era, with digital computer monitors, electronic ticketing and even vending machine cappuccino; the same could not be said for the trains themselves.  These are not the high-speed Acela trains we are used to on the East Coast, rather circa 1940 wagons that Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack might have ridden in before their fame and fortune.  There are actually three different classes of trains here in Romania, all with varying degrees of speed, comfort and reliability; hopefully the class this example belongs to is on the lower end.  Directly next door to the train station are two other methods of transportation, the “Maxi-Taxi” and beyond that, the Auto-Gara or bus station.  Both are quicker, safer and more frequent than trains but are also more expensive.  I am told that a typical bus ride from Ploiești to Bucharest is only 15 RON or 5 USD and takes only thirty minutes.  This is incredibly convenient, placing me among the three closest members of the Peace Corps Romania Group 28 members to the Capital of Romania; with the main international airport even closer.

After visiting the train station we found a free parking spot closer to the city center and walked around.  Our first stop was the farmers market, Halele Centrale, designed by famed architect Toma Socolescu and opened in 1925.  Unlike anything I have ever seen in the States, this market was a thriving ecosystem unto itself.  Every fresh fruit and vegetable you could imagine, locally produced honey, flowers, cheeses, meat and fish were on display for immediate sale.  Another place that one must watch their wallet, though perhaps not from pick pockets as much as wanting to buy everything in reach, this market will surely be one of my first stops upon returning to site.  Next, we walked across the street to the downtown shopping mall.  Much like any shopping center in the United States, with lame mall security guards, kiosks selling stuff no one in the world actually needs, to designer clothing and ever-present Ikea style particleboard furniture.  With a little extra planning, I can easily bypass this shopping mall for superior ones in Bucharest.  Not to say that I’ll be able to buy designer European belts on my Peace Corps stipend, but there is an H&M.  Our final stop in Ploiești was a nice little restaurant on the outskirts of town.  This is where I met the final of my three school counterparts.  The service was slow and the food modest, but the company was great.  In exchange for the box of truffles I offered as a gift I was given a bottle of Țuica and a matching family heirloom cordial glass; there’s no question that I got the better end of the exchange.  After lunch we went to the school where I had my first glimpses of my new home.

About ten kilometers outside of town, we pulled off the road just passed a rusty and bent up old sign that read Școala de Viticulură.  Down the short side street, passed a horse and cart on the left we turned into the entrance of the school.

To be continued….