27 Luni

Upon settling into my site here in Valea Călugărească I was making regular trips into the center of town to buy supplies for the house and to do my grocery shopping.  Along the way, just a short walk from my home, on the main road is a small foldable table with three five-liter bottles of wine; all tied together and then to a fence post.  Two are of different shades of yellow (white wine) and one is red.  Admittedly this was an early pleasant surprise for me.  Being that this region is known for its wine, it shouldn’t come as much of a shock that people make their own batches, it just simply never occurred to me.  Of course, I knew that people made their own țuica from the plethora of plums that grow in this country but how could I be so lucky as to be placed in a region where people take pride in their grapes too.

For several weeks I walked by those three bottles of wine, wondering who sold them and more inquisitively, how could they possibly still be good after such a long time in the daily hot summer sun.  Whenever friends came to visit or I cooked a recipe that required wine I would go to the local magazine and buy a typical bottle of fetească regală which is quite similar to sauvignon blanc.  The normal size wine bottle of 750ml was 13 RON or about $5 USD, quite the deal, or so I thought.

In early September several friends came to visit, some in turn and some over lapping.  One such friend swung by my village for several days before the start of the school year; she is on her second year as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and thus much more fluent in the Romanian language than myself.  As we walked into town trying to decide what to cook for dinner we passed by the little table of wine and I explained my curiosity.  Knowing that we would need wine for dinner anyway, she without hesitation insisted that we investigate on our way back from grocery shopping.  The table is set up immediately in front of what appears to be an abandoned barbershop which shares a common wall with a closed up fish shop.  Since neither of the stores offered an obvious answer to our quest, we walked down a short adjacent driveway to a metal gate.  As luck would have it there was a family relaxing in a little courtyard just beyond the gate and in front of a tight cluster of houses and farm buildings.  As we announced our presence, a strong, middle aged, tall gentleman with short graying hair and a proud round belly stood up to greet us.  His name was Nicu.

My friend communicated our intention of unraveling the story behind the wine bottles along the roadside; our host encouraged us to put down our groceries and to follow him.  So we went halfway back up the driveway to a stairwell that lead to a basement below the old barbershop.  At this point I was very confused; I fully anticipated him cutting one of the bottles off the set tied up out front and handing it to us.  As he unlocked the basement door we followed him into the dark, cool room and to our amazement dozens of five-liter bottles, barrels and jars lined the walls. It turns out that the table out front is simply meant to represent the selection he offers inside.  Before the astonishment could wear off a tasting glass was thrust into my hand full of white wine.  Having worked in the wine industry for a short time I was afforded the opportunity to taste some excellent wines, so I immediately questioned how good this basement made wine could possibly be.  Fortunately, it was amazing.  In the minutes that followed, our proud wine maker encouraged us to taste three different types of wine; all were good.  So the big question on my mind at this point was “How much does a five-liter jug of wine cost?”  Astonishingly, only 25 RON or $7.68 USD.  Yep, that’s right, 6.66 bottles of really decent, organic and sustainably grown wine for less than eight bucks. “This could be trouble.” I thought.

After we picked out the wine jug that was lucky enough to go home with us we began to say our thanks and goodbyes.  Not so fast; Nicu wanted to show us what “life in the country” was like.  So we followed him back through the main gate to his little compound of buildings and around the corner where a pen of chickens came into view.  Across from that was a little barn with loud snorts and grunts coming from within.  Housed inside were three hogs, as big as I had ever seen, being fattened up for the upcoming winter.  After a short exchange between Nicu and my friend in Romanian, she apparently procured me a front row seat at the pre-Christmas slaughter.  After messing about with the pigs, Nicu showed us his garden, a seemingly endless array of various tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, herbs, etc.  He even has a walnut tree in his backyard.  Knowing that the chicken we had purchased earlier in the day was slowly warming up out front we again tried to make our move for the exit.  Before we could move an inch Nicu placed a bag in my hand and explained that I should take as much from his garden as I wanted.  Unsure of what the custom was here and not wanting to offend, I gladly obliged.  In not taking advantage of the situation, I took a modest amount of tomatoes and cucumbers and offered him some money in exchange.  He refused the money and explained that the garden was “din Dumnezeu” or “from God.”  On top of that, Nicu indicated that I could come back anytime if I wanted more produce.  That was only the beginning of the hospitality that this family has shown me.

Over the following weeks I went back several times to Nicu’s, either for more wine, or to share a jar of a recently prepared culinary delight from my kitchen.  His wife Dana has also been very nice as we exchange recipes or chat on their patio.  One day they invited me to return that afternoon for “ciuperci maioneza”.  “Did I hear correctly” I thought, “Mushroom Mayonnaise…no way.”  Not having a clue what that was supposed to be, I accepted the invitation and returned promptly at 6pm as earlier indicated.  As I have been slowly learning, nothing in Romania actually starts at the prescribed time.  It turns out the barbershop actually belongs to Nicu and at the time of my arrival he was in the middle of giving a haircut.  Dana was tending to her own choirs but stopped long enough to introduce me to their son Cristi and his wife.  As the Saturday afternoon went on Nicu’s daughter-in-law did in fact make mayonnaise with mushrooms and garlic.  The end result is more of a chunky spread used to top fresh baked bread and is actually quite good.  Not knowing what I was in for when I received the invite, the night moved from mayonnaise and mushrooms to a full chicken dinner, lots of conversation and of course plenty of Nicu’s wine in-between.

It turns out that Nicu is not only a barber but in a past life was also a boxer and later a boxing referee.  His son is studying divinity and has passed the necessary tests needed to be assigned a church, but is now awaiting an open spot in his district.  Before the night was out, they packed me a large to-go bag of left over mushroom mayonnaise, two bath towels and two soup bowls.  I’m still not completely clear on where the towels and bowls actually came from but from what I gathered Nicu’s son had somehow received them through his service with the church.  At the end of the night Nicu insisted that his son and daughter-in-law walk me home even though its only five minutes away.

It just goes to show you that nothing meets the eye here in Romania, but if you are adventurous enough to knock on a few gates there is a whole other world behind those closed doors.  I went into a situation expecting little more than vinegar and received a treasure trove of good wine and great hospitality.  It’s my hope to continue to build on this relationship with the Pițu family throughout my two years here and to hopefully develop many more.

As part of the agreement between a host country school and the Peace Corps, a municipality must provide adequate housing for its Volunteer.  Being that this is the Peace Corps those requirements are for the bare essentials only; a safe and secure location away from locals bars, within a reasonable travel distance to the school, and the apartment is to have certain furniture provided i.e. desk and bed.  Understandably, other amenities that we have come accustomed to in the U.S. are not required; i.e. oven, TV and Internet.  Most Volunteer homes are located in a bloc (apartment building) and are quite modest in size, usually consisting of one room, plus a bathroom and a kitchen.  Additionally, some Volunteers are required to live with a Gazda (host family) for the duration of their service; basically sharing all common rooms but with their own private bedroom.  Since every Volunteers situation is different, not only with housing but also with Counterparts, general location, school environment etc, we are encouraged not to compare.  Inevitably, being the social creatures that we are, we do compare.  After a recent visit to my site by several Volunteers, I was encouraged to write about my home and a few of the idiosyncrasies it has to offer.

So let’s start off with a quick disclaimer to make sure this blog post is not misconstrued in anyway.  I absolutely love the home I have been provided, my school and my site in general and there is little if anything I would change about it.  Having said that, nothing is perfect and rather than go crazy we are encouraged to have an open and accepting attitude and personally, I just prefer to laugh about those less than perfect things anyway.  In this post we will cover a lot of the things that I love along with some of the challenges, but I am in no way complaining, trust me, I have it really good here, really good.

The house in which I live was built in 1936 with the purpose of housing some of the school’s staff.  I don’t know exactly who has lived here in the past but I would imagine grounds keepers and the like.  The building is essentially a duplex; it consists of one building split down the middle creating a mirror image.  Ironically, after moving to the suburbs of Maryland in the 5^th grade, I lived in a very similar duplex with my mother through much of college.  This is a one-story building, longer than it is deep, with a front and backdoor for each residence.  The front door leads through a small foyer (I guess that is what you call it), which is big enough to keep my bicycle, a row of my shoes and the occasional stray dog that wants to curl up on my welcome mat.  Once through the foyer, we enter the living room, which doubles as an office with a large desk and is where I typically compose blog posts such as this one.  The living room is rather large and displays the high ceilings that are represented throughout the house.  In addition to the desk, I was provided with two armchairs and a couch, all of which double as pull out beds; yes, even the armchairs pull out straight for flat, though narrow, sleeping.  The school also kindly provided a large television, though I have yet to hook it up.  There is one large and old window with white, shear, floral patterned drapes, which looks out onto the main gated entrance for the school; no one can get on or off campus without passing through this gate.  Finally, the first of three sobas (large ceramic, gas and wood heater) stands ornamentally in the living room corner.

Once through the living room, we enter a short hallway.  Immediately to the right is the entrance to my bedroom, second door on the right is my bathroom, the only door on the left is the kitchen and the door straight ahead is the backdoor.  The bedroom is also rather large by Peace Corps standards with plenty of room for a queen size bed, two night stands, another, smaller desk, and a second soba.  There is another large, though slightly smaller than the living room, window with the same shear drapes.  Past the soba to the left is another smaller room, which could perhaps have been an office or a children’s bedroom.  At the moment this is where my school-supplied wardrobe is and where I hang my clothes to dry after cleaning.  There is another window, same size as the bedroom’s, that I can open to help the drying process along; though it is important to note that window screens are not widely used here and thus not so friendly flying creatures may come and go as they please and stick around to torment me at night.  Back out into the main hallway and around to the blue tiled bathroom, I have been supplied with the essentials: toilet, sink and a stand-up shower, no tub (more on all this later).

The white tiled kitchen is probably my favorite room of the house.  It’s window overlooks a back garden that the students are tasked with maintaining as part of their education, though it is in disrepair at the moment and full of little more than various varietals of weeds.  The sun sets over the back garden and fills the kitchen and laundry room daily with late afternoon sunshine.  This is a blessing and a curse, though pretty, the sunlight adds additional heat to the already running stove and burners causing for sauna like conditions.  Fortunately, though old, I do have a stove and oven combination, fully adjustable and powered by gas, halleluiah!  To the right is a short, but more than adequate refrigerator that, thankfully, doubles as storage space on top.  Continuing around is my third soba, which can also apparently be used as a cook top as it features several adjustable rings above a wood and gas powered furnace.  Next is my washing machine (not supplied by the school), though not actually hooked up yet, it is providing some additional counter space and thus not a total waste.  In front of the window is a small work bench which represents my three square feet of official counter space and kitchen work area; a far cry from the kitchen space I had in Richmond, no parties for twenty-five guests here, but adequate.  A small, but new sink/drying rack combo was installed shortly before I arrived and work fine.  Finally, above the sink is my electric hot water boiler, bolted to the wall and large enough for one quick, hot shower or a huge load of dirty dishes.

A fresh coat of white paint was applied shortly before I arrived, inside the house and just outside the front door.  The living room and bedroom floors are old wood, covered with unfitted carpet that crawls several inches up the walls.  The hallway floor has a thin sheet of laminate flooring haphazardly rolled out to partially cover the original cement.  The bathroom and kitchen both feature tile floors, each with one tile replaced by a water drainage cover.  Thankfully, there is electricity, which seems reasonably reliable thus far with only one outage since I arrived.  Academic florescent lighting hangings from the living room and bedroom ceilings, and provides for overwhelmingly bright, tanning like lighting conditions at night.  All of the internal doors are old and still use skeleton keys for locking, all of which I amazingly have.  The external doors have more modern, and safer, locks.  The windows are barred, but tastefully so, as the bars have been painted white to match the trim of the windows and are hardly noticeable.

Being that the house was built with school staff in mind, it is conveniently placed on the school campus.  This certainly has its advantages and disadvantages.  Perhaps most obviously, due to the close proximity to school, my commute takes all of two minutes; this will come in particularly handy this winter when the snow arrives.  Additionally, being that the school is my landlord, I have not one handyman but a whole staff.  This has proven quite useful, though with the impending start of school, they have become less responsive to my requests for repairs.  One fun story entails the delivery of my bed, which arrived while I was away at the conference in Sinaia.  Since the Administrator, who is the only other person that has a key to my house, was already gone for the day, the bed was stored for the week in the lobby of one of the school buildings.  Upon my return, the staff promptly notified me of the delivery and arranged to have the bed brought across the school grounds to my house.  Early Tuesday morning, there was the gruff, though somewhat endearing, loud knock on the door from whom I have come to know as the “Electrician;” a burly, stout older gentleman with a beer keg belly and killer, grey mustache, who always gives me a hard time for not wearing my papuci (slippers) in the house.  He came ahead of the delivery to move some furniture around to make room for the bed.  Moments later a horse drawn caruța clopped up the school’s driveway with what appeared to be the pieces of my bed in the back.  Unfortunately for this story the caruța kept right on going but as a consolation, a tractor, complete with front loader, loudly crawled up to my front door to deliver my bed frame and mattress, as if they were topsoil for the garden.  The Electrician and a couple other men from the school quickly unloaded everything and, to my surprise, busily got to work with assembly.

In addition to the handymen staff of the school are the cleaning ladies.  Sorry for the lack of equality, when it comes to the maintenance staff, that’s just the way it is here.  Men fix and build stuff and women clean stuff.  Though it is worth mentioning that the boss of all the handymen and cleaning women is a strong willed woman herself, known as the “Administrator.”  Which, after having written it this way, sounds more like the title for an action-packed Jason Statham movie; and with a little additional thought, is totally within the realm of possibility.  I can easily picture the Administrator, mundanely conducting routine business by day and dawning a machine gun by night in the jungles of Columbia, single handedly fighting drug smugglers with explosions going off in the background.  Maybe I have just blown her cover.  Anyway, the point is, that with a few simple, well placed words, such as “Thank you for all of your help this week, I hope you have a great weekend, oh and by the way I have some visitors coming to town today, should be fun” a contingent shows up with cleaning supplies and a vacuum cleaner ready to ensure my place is spotless for any impending company.  All in all the staff here is incredible.

The downside I suppose of being located at the front gate is that there is a lot of traffic; people on foot, bicycles, by car, tractor and yes, by caruța go by regularly and I suspect this will only increase as school actually gets started.  Oh, and did I mention that the pack of schoolhouse dogs bark at them all, especially the bicyclists?  Though it’s not all bad, most of it is kinda fun.  The first time I heard a caruța coming by I had no idea what the heck was happening.  The loud, fast clopping of horse hoofs on cement immediately outside your window is indescribable, something between an earthquake and thunder.  Now I hardly notice the common occurrence; though one early morning I woke up to the sound, slightly dulled.  The same rhythm, but without the harsh concrete amplifying the hoof steps.  As I rolled over in bed towards the window, I realized the horse was coming through the side gate and directly past my bedroom towards the back garden.  I half expected him to pop his head in and say “Hello Wilber.”  Between events such as this one, and the mentally disabled roaster down the street that thinks the sun rises every thirty minutes, it’s a wonder I get any sleep at all.

Another interesting story and somewhat of an unfolding mystery started with the appearance of an old bicycle, chained and leaning against the sidewall of my house one day.  As the past week continued, I noticed the bike was returning everyday and that it belonged to an old man with one of those flat “old man hats” (no idea what they are really called, but think Scottish).  He always parks his bike against my house and thus bypasses the main gate, opting to walk directly past my front window and onto campus.  The dogs are particularly fond of harassing this gentleman.  Yesterday, like clockwork, he came by in the afternoon, this time armed with food to quell the dog’s barking.  I still have yet to figure out what it is that he is doing here, but I suspect he is harvesting fruits from our orchards.

This brings us to the laundry list of quirky things that I am working on getting fixed; enter the Screaming Banshee.  As I mentioned some of the fixtures in my house were newly installed shortly before I arrived; among them were all of the conveniences in the bathroom: sink, shower and toilet; all of which I am certainly grateful to have.  As you could imagine, shortly after flushing the toilet, the wall mounted water tank quickly begins to refill.  As the floating ball on the inside of the tank rises, naturally the water intake slows and eventually stops.  It is in-between the slowing and stopping that my toilet tank suddenly becomes possessed by the lungs of a violent and long dead banshee, screaming for what seems likes hours (though is probably only 10 seconds) a slow, painful and ear piercing song.  Surely all of the dogs in Valea Călugărească either keel over in agony or howl uncontrollably at the sky whenever they hear it.  The best is when unsuspecting houseguests trigger the event at six in the morning.

Let’s stay with the bathroom for a moment.  In addition to the annoyance of my toilet are a couple of challenges related to my shower and sink.  Since I moved in, the brand new, molded plastic, shower floor insert (complete with pink and red heart patterned shower curtain) hasn’t drained properly.  Simply having been installed on the bias causes the water to pool on the far side away from the drain.  The immediate solution to which is to repeatedly push the water to the other side with my hand until the job is done.  The long-term solution, which has yet to be implemented, is for the insert to be properly reinstalled.  Lucky for me there has more recently been fuel added to the fire.  My sink is designed to drain through a series of pipes that migrate over to and under the shower floor insert.  At some point along the way that piping has become dislodged and now drains out under the shower, onto the floor and eventually to the drain beneath my feet in the center of the bathroom floor.  This is particularly fun when brushing my teeth, morning, noon or night, or when shaving, let alone when washing my hands throughout the day.  Imagine my surprise the first time this happened and my socks were unexpectedly and quickly soaked.

Unfortunately, leaks are not limited to the bathroom.  As recently as last night I could hear the constant drip of water coming from the outside roof to the ceiling of my living room, due to the rain we received.  A couple of months ago I noticed the collection of water beneath this spot on the floor, reported it and was told that it had been addressed; based on last night’s observations they may need to make another pass.  One day in the kitchen while washing dishes I realized that the floor was wet.  Knowing that I hadn’t been particularly sloppy when washing dishes, I checked the cabinet under the sink.  Upon opening the door, I received a face full of spraying water.  After turning the water line off I noticed that the intake hose joint had a small crack.  Hoping that MacGyver tape would do the trick I wrapped it up as tight as I could.  Unfortunately a drip persisted for a couple of days; fortunately it has since on its own stopped.  Not sure why, and I’m not asking any questions, just don’t tell anyone.  This reminds me of another leak under the same sink from the water drainage pipe; this one emanating from poor, hasty installation, that I was able to fix with a little elbow grease.

This brings us to a story I alluded to a couple of weeks ago; the explosion of my hot water boiler.  Whenever leaving site for an extended period of time, I turn the boiler off so as not to unnecessarily use up electricity.  Upon returning though I naturally turn it back on so that at some point in the future I can enjoy a hot shower or wash my dishes.  After being home for a couple of days, I noticed a subtle but unnerving pop coming from the kitchen and more specifically the boiler.  Never having had one of these things before I figured the sound was just part of the boilers normal operation, kicking on and off.   One day while working in the living room, I heard a very load pop and could discern the sound of gushing water.  Running to the kitchen to investigate, I witnessed water spewing out the front of the boiler and a thick cloud of smoke filling the kitchen.  Knowing that the boiler was electric and not wanting to be electrocuted, I ran to check the circuit breaker box that hangs on the wall in the foyer.  A circuit had in fact been tripped but for good measure I shut them all off.  Returning to the kitchen I turned off the water supply to the boiler to stop the flow that had now successfully doused everything in sight, opened some windows and called my counterpart.  Within a reasonable period of the time the Electrician came over to assess the damage and discovered that the heating element inside the boiler had ruptured and made direct contact with the water inside the tank.  Long story short, it took a few days to get the boiler repaired, but that was no matter since shortly their after all of the water to my building was suspended for the week due to a broken underground pipe elsewhere on school grounds.  In hindsight, I wonder if the failure with the boiler had anything to do with the fact that initially every time I washed dishes a small electrical current would provide a less than comfortable shock.  No matter I suppose, as the shock went away as soon as I put my papuci on…

All of this is well and good, and following the old adage of “sh!t happens” all I can do is shrug my shoulders and relax.  The truth is that I am incredibly lucky to have been assigned to this site.  The location is great, the school grounds are beautiful, the neighbors and shopkeepers are all friendly and the staff and counterparts here are supportive and helpful.  Now if I could just get internet at home….I could actually post this blog entry.

Immediately following our conference in Sinaia I was convinced to delay returning to site by a couple of days to visit the nearby city of Brașov.  A few volunteers had wanted to make the most of their time in this part of the country and since it’s so close we figured ‘Why not?’  Brașov is only another hour and a half north from Sinaia by train and is the home to famed Bran Castle of Dracula lore.  Though it is worth mentioning that Vlad Tepeș the Impaler, aka Dracula never actually lived in this castle; it is the site where Stoker borrowers inspiration for his book.  So already packed for an extended stay, we went north instead of south for some added adventure in Dracula country.

We arrived at the train station in Brașov on Saturday afternoon absolutely giddy.  Not for Dracula or the beautiful historic city, but for Chinese food; and not just any Chinese food, but food court Chinese food.  Again, as with the steakhouse in Sinaia, I feel that I have to mention why we were so excited at this prospect.  Chinese food is not exactly widely available here in Romania.  Bucharest certainly has it, but the little villages in which we were placed rarely have restaurants of any kind let alone something of any ethnicity, or further more…spice…of the heat or flavor variety.  As a result, I am not embarrassed to say that I ordered the Farfurie Mare (Big Plate), which consisted of two main entrees and two side choices and probably the biggest plate of Chinese food I have ever had, never mind the copious amounts of MSG undoubtedly still in use here.  Nor am I embarrassed to say that I did the same exact thing at the train station on the way out of town.  This should be a big hint for any of my readers out there planning a care package, two words….Szechuan Sauce…okay maybe one more word….Sriracha.

After satiating our craving for stir-fried goodness, we exited the little shopping mall next to the train station and made way for the cabstand.  Now time for a quick side note directed specifically to my dear friends, Cab Drivers:  Now there is certainly no way of mistaking the large group of us for anything but Americans; with our large packs, and louder voices we are a dead give away.  But when we walk up to you speaking perfectly good Romanian and ask for a ride to downtown Brașov don’t try to egregiously rip us off.  Yea, we know, you’ve pulled this off a million times with unsuspecting tourists, but we are Peace Corps Volunteers and we have your number.  A few RON is no problem, we get it, and we are probably too lazy to fight you over it, but 50 RON instead of the normal 10 RON…please, that’s just insulting.  Okay, back to my readers.  Once the twelve of us found three reasonably intelligent cabbies we split up for the ride into the historic center of Brașov and let me tell you dear readers, it is amazing.  The old center is as beautiful as any plaza in Italy, complete with well-maintained buildings, impressive architecture, fountains, performers, vendors selling inexpensive homemade wine, cheese and honey, endless umbrellas shading patrons and their perfectly frosted beverages from the sun.  Even the flock of pigeons seemed to have been specially trained in Western Europe, complete with French accents and brought here to fly perfectly formed circles around us and even seemingly thoughtful enough to aim their business elsewhere.  Oh and the service…unlike it’s evil twin in Sinaia, the service here is impeccable without even an ounce of pretention.  The waiters and waitresses are thoughtful, kind, energetic and even seem to be happy to serve us, as if we had been coming here for years.  The following example should sum it up: For one reason or another we elected to stay at the Mare Hostel just off the plaza.  Turns out that it is within the Hostelling International network and thus likely to be reputable.  Though there is no write up about Mare Hostel in Lonely Planet we went with it anyway.  The rooms were clean, generally well kept; the experience was just as it should be if not better.  But here is the kicker; throughout my few days there I became the point person when it came to engaging the owner, Angie.  When the group of 27ers started to arrive (their conference lasted a day later as they arrive a day later in Sinaia) we made arrangements to stay an extra night, but forgot to be at the hostel at the prescribed time to actually register and pay.  Since I already had a large room for the group that I had stayed in the night before, we simply stored all of our stuff and hit the town.  Angie called and without a bit of apprehension said “Don’t worry about it, you can just pay me tomorrow before you leave town.”  As if this were not enough, when I actually did go to pay her the next day, I mentioned in passing how much we liked her hostel and that I would definitely be staying there in the future when friends came to visit.  I also mentioned that Brașov was the one place that my Mother had specifically mentioned wanting to visit when she comes to Romania for vacation next year.  Without hesitation, Angie said “Great, well be sure to call me before you arrive and I will help you plan your entire stay.  Try to call a couple weeks ahead of time though so that I can make arrangements for you at an Inn or Bed and Breakfast though because your Mom probably won’t want to stay at a hostel.”  Who does that?  Talk about going above and beyond, exceeding the every expectation of your customer.  Places in the United States could take lessons from this behavior, let alone Sinaia.  If you come to visit me from the States I guarantee you a trip to this splendid city.

Okay, so more about food, maybe I shouldn’t blog when I am hungry, but if you know me at all, then you know I like food.  Not only does Brașov have Chinese food but also they have basically everything else you could want…well, I didn’t actually see sushi or thai, but I will forgive the city for the oversight.  Every morning we were there began at the Come Again bakery where they basically have any kind of baked good you could imagine; from literally the best donuts I have ever had to flat bread pizza things that were inexpensive and amazing.  The coffee thing here in Romania is a whole other blog post just waiting to happen but let me give you a quick introduction.  First of all there are no industrial drip coffee pots with the stained glass bowl pitchers, one with a black top for regular and one with an orange top for decaf.  Oh, no, my friends, every single cup of coffee is made to order from a magical machine behind the counter and every single cup is perfect.  If you prefer table service, the coffee is just as good, but it is served on a small tray, with a coffee cup with an ergonomically designed handle, complete with saucer, strategically placed on top of a paper doily with exactly and always two sticks of sugar, none of this American rectangular packet stuff here.  If you ordered your coffee cu lapte (with milk) you will also be served, to the left of the coffee as you face it, a tiny little narrow mouthed pitcher of fresh milk; no messy plastic creamer thingies here either.  Interested in sweet n low, splenda, etc, better bring it from the States, only the real deal here.  Free refills?  Forget it, but once you have your first cup you will gladly pay the 5 RON (1.69 USD) a cup again and again.

Not to be out done by their German baker neighbors, the Mexican food place is absolutely and ultra surprisingly incredible.  I know, I know, Mexican food in Romania, are you kidding me, how can you possibly be excited about that?  I’m just saying, wait until you don’t have a Chipotle on every corner and see how you like it.  Let me remind you that Romanian’s don’t seem to like spicy foods, so it’s not surprising that Mexican restaurants would be few and far between.  This place, however, is amazing.  They make many of their menu items from scratch, including salsa, guacamole and flour tortillas; none of which are readily available in stores here in Romania and thus a real treat.  As you can imagine, I wanted to order one of everything from the menu, with nothing but the prices and my small stipend stopping me.  Thank god for likeminded friends; we went the next best route and ordered several things and shared all around.  When the owner unexpectedly brought out complimentary servings of tequila, complete with salt and lime (also hard to come by), our day raised to a whole other, thought to be unachievable, level of happiness.

How long could this utopia of good food luck hold out?  Surely there is no way that the Irish Pub down the street could actually have real hamburgers and there is absolutely no way they would be any good.  A good hamburger is hard enough to come by in the States let alone in Romania.  At best I expected a solid hockey puck of blended meat (pork and beef, mostly pork) sandwiched between two half slices of soggy Wonder Bread.  Never before have I been so wrong, though admittedly I have enjoyed better burgers, this one certainly held its own; juicy, properly cooked and on a buttered and toasted bun; heaven.  What put this experience over the top was chili sauce.  I know, not the usual condiment for a hamburger, but when I saw it on the menu as an option for French fries I couldn’t resist.  The perfect balance of flavor and heat that soon encompassed my taste buds was almost too much to bear; I’m lucky that I didn’t burst out into tears over what was probably the best burger I will have in the next two years here.

Pizza is fairly ubiquitous in Romania; it is also very often awful.  Even though we are a stone’s throw away from Italy, the Romanians have adopted this syrupy ketchup-like substance for use as a pizza sauce topping; dulce (sweet) or picant (hot).  The picant I can kind of understand, but why anyone would ever want sweet sauce on his or her pizza is almost unforgivable.  Further more, if anyone offers you Smantana (Romanian Sour Cream) to put on your pizza I would encourage you to kindly but firmly decline.  Luckily for me, most pizza joints in Romania have a Diavolo version, which usually consists of a thin crust, sos picant, cheese, some pepperoni-like substance, roasted red peppers and a sprinkling of hot jalapenos.  Admittedly, I am a bit of a pizza snob so perhaps I am being to hard on the Romanians; come for a visit and you can be the judge.  Regardless, we had a great meal at an Italian restaurant around the corner from the plaza with a very well executed pizza that certainly raised the bar.

Okay, enough about food; onto some sight seeing.  Aside from the plaza itself, there were a few tourist attractions that we couldn’t resist and a few more that we didn’t have time for.  I’ll mention now that I didn’t bother with the Bran Castle visit, though other volunteers went, I figure in my time here there will be plenty of opportunities to see the famed landmark with State-side visitors.  I did however, participate in a group trip up the super cliché telegondola to the Hollywoodesque Brașov sign.  Once we reached the base of the gondola the ride itself was only about two minutes and was totally worth it.  Brașov is beautiful up close, but from the top of the mountain is overwhelmingly incredible.  We also visited the “Black Church,” named such as a result of a fire several centuries ago; though not particularly black anymore the church is quite majestic.  We were fortunate enough to be there on one of the nights in which a short concert was being held to display the organ of 4,000 pipes.  They only play the organ during the tourist season of July through August and then only three nights a week.  Regardless, the church was packed for the hour-long concert, which hosted famous composers from Mozart to Beethoven and others I simply don’t remember.  We also toured around town and found the “first Romanian school.”  Whether this claim is true or not, we are certain that we found the site, but not so certain that we found the school.  There is an old church on the grounds today, so perhaps the school was hosted inside the church.  I know, horrible blogger, just google it and see for yourself.

Well, that is about if for our trip to Brașov.  There was actually a point when I was considering not making the trip, sighting the fact that I had already been on the road enough this summer, and just needed a weekend to decompress.  Boy! I’m glad that I went; there is no better way to relax if you ask me.  If anyone ever invites you to go to Brașov, be sure to take him or her up on the offer.

Sinaia is probably the most beautiful location in which I have been required to attend a work related conference.  The small tourist town is nestled in the Bucegi Mountains in Prahova County, conveniently located (for me at least) about 60 kilometers north of Ploiești and Valea Călugărească.  Winding through the endless green mountains, travelers find Sinaia’s train station located at the very bottom of the valley with the town inching it’s way up the mountainside.  The roads of Sinaia steeply switchback around houses, historic and new alike, and are undoubtedly incredibly treacherous in the snowy winter.  Fortunately, taxicabs are numerous and cheap, providing a convenient alternative for those not wanting to lug their baggage up steep ramps and old twisting stone stairways.  Little did the inhabitants and other tourists know that a rag-tag cadre of eighty Peace Corps Volunteers would be descending on the sleepy get-away destination.

Knowing that the conference that week would consume the majority of our daylight, a few of us decided to arrive a couple days early.  Since this part of the trip was not Peace Corps sanctioned we had to arrange for our own accommodations; enter the Blue Silver Hostel.  Neither blue nor silver the bright orange building clashed against the historic backdrop of the town, though admittedly in a rather fun and refreshing way.  The hostel is located a short walk to the north of the train station, though since their website doesn’t make this obvious we decided to error on the side of caution and to hail a cab.  The first cab driver indicated that five RON would be sufficient for the distance, to which we agreed; unfortunately after several tries his rather new Dacia wouldn’t start.  While several other cab drivers gathered around to address the problem, we hopped out and found another.  A rather jovial man, insisted on ten RON, but assured us that this difference in cost was due to the fact that his cab would actually start; weary from travel we begrudgingly agreed.  The irony is that had we insisted on using the meter the fare wouldn’t have been more than three RON given the really short distance.  In the end though, divided among the three of us we each got taken for less than a U.S. dollar, well worth it in my opinion just for the story alone.

The hostel was big, with several buildings comprising the complex.  There was a dinning room located in the same room as the lobby, but with no actual table service.  In other words, as I understand it, you provide your own food and cooking expertise and the hostel provides the table, chairs and kitchen equipment; but we didn’t test the theory, opting to eat out instead.  The hostel was clean with fresh sheets and towels and hot running water in the bathrooms.  The owners were nice and quite accommodating considering the several last minute reservations we piled on top of them.  Perhaps the best part is that the hostel was only 10 Euro a night, seemingly the going rate for hostels here in Romania.

Arriving on a Sunday with our conference due to start on Tuesday morning we did some quick research on the main attraction, Peleș Castle, and discovered that it was scheduled to be closed Monday.  Not wanting to miss out on this early 19^th century marvel, we waited for a few more Volunteers to arrive and made our way by foot across town and up the cobble stone mountain road to Peleș.  The hike through the forested mountains would have been quite amazing enough for me in one day, but as the trees ended at a clearing, Peleș emerged from the ground with majestic mountain peaks framing in the distance.  Although, we took a forty-five minute tour I really can’t tell you much about the history of the place, for that you can check Wikipedia.  Suffice it to say that some old king of Romania, perhaps of German decent, built the austere monster some time around 1800.  It has multiple levels (of which my relatively expensive tour only covered the first) each with rooms filled to the brim with gaudy excesses of luxury and opulence.  The place even has a cliché secret passage behind the bookshelves in the library that leads to the King’s private bedroom.  There are two main courtyards, one permanently open air, like you might imagine from Brave Heart or Robin Hood, and another with an electric powered, retractable glass roof.  As if that were not enough, leading to the King’s “Receiving Room” is another large room with every inch of wall space covered in more weaponry than I would ever care to see in one place; with the apparent intention being that of intimidation upon the part of any visitor.  Honestly, I found this whole experience unnerving.  Here we are, Peace Corps Volunteers, with our primary mission that of empowering the Romanian people to further lift themselves up and yet we find ourselves visiting a haughty palace no doubt built on the backs of peasants and the sacrifice of the nation’s treasure.  In my mind, this palace is a clear precursor to the megalomaniacal Palace of the Parliament project built by Ceaceascu during the 1980’s.  If more Rulers throughout the centuries invested as much wealth and energy in their own people as they did in themselves the world could be a very different place.

After visiting Peleș, we wondered back down the mountain along a different path than we brought up, this one lined with street vendors selling everything from various worthless trinkets to coal roasted corn (without butter…crazy).  As we made our way back to the hostel we ran into late arriving Volunteers and made plans to have dinner in ‘downtown’ Sinaia.  From there a bunch of us gathered in my hostel room for a couple of hours to catch up on summer camps and various stories from our respective sites.  After a little rest and relaxation we again ventured out to see what Sinaia had to offer.  The downtown area consists of one main road, which begins at a large park and ends beyond the city limits and is lined with the typical restaurants, hotels and shops that you might expect in a tourist town.  One refreshing notion is the clear lack of chain restaurants and hotels.  Here are a couple things that stood out about the restaurants: though understandably expensive, the food was generally quite good; service on the other hand was atrocious.  Celebrating a colleague’s birthday, in an “American” themed steakhouse, we regularly received flippant comments and disrespectful stares from our waitress.  Feeling that I have to justify why exactly we were at an American themed steakhouse in Romania to begin with, I must add that beef, for one reason or another, is not particularly popular here and thus somewhat difficult to come by; hence we couldn’t pass up the opportunity.  This might be a good time to share a cultural insight as it pertains to differences in service between Romania and the United States.  The U.S. is of course a service-based society, our waiters and waitresses are generally paid minimum wage (of which the ethicality is debatable) and then earn the majority of their income from tips.  Here in Romania the opposite is true; they are paid a reasonable wage upfront and expect at most a 10% tip, if anything at all.  This simple difference in approach could have a big impact to a restaurant’s bottom line; many of times here in Romania our table would have gladly gone for that extra round of drinks or dessert if only we had been asked.  On the flip side, the benefit is that you don’t have an annoying waiter constantly hovering over your head eagerly waiting to fill up your mostly full water glass or encouraging you to leave the table quickly to increase his turnover rate.  Here in Romania it is perfectly acceptable to linger at a table for hours sipping your perfectly made and presented gourmet coffee.

The next day, Monday, we wondered around town, visited an ancient monastery and lazily picnicked in the park.  A vendor was renting out ‘big wheel’ rides to children that would spin relentlessly around the large fountain in the center of the park.  The well-tended grass was densely spotted with the blankets of people of all ages enjoying the lovely day.  I have noticed that Romanian’s make better use of their parks for recreation than I feel American’s do, save perhaps New York City inhabitants.  Gentle but sullied stray dogs made their rounds from family to family in search of scraps or just whatever attention they could muster.  Youthful couples, with nowhere else to go, freely showed their affection for one another on the public grounds, another stark difference that I have noticed between Europe and the United States; it seems that public benches would be incomplete without teenagers necking in broad daylight.  Since Monday was the main travel day for my group of Peace Corps Volunteers, the remainder of us had almost fully arrived by dinner time so our numbers had swelled to about thirty-five and since this was the first time we had all been together in several weeks we marched up the street from the hotel and completely took over an entire restaurant, of course without reservation.

The next four days were fully absorbed by the conference.  Through the hotel’s restaurant, Peace Corps provided our breakfast and lunch; with our dinners covered through a per diem deposited earlier in the month.  From nine to five we had back-to-back sessions on how to be more effective Volunteers.  Some of the highlights included breakaway sessions run by experienced first and second year Volunteers covering such topics as: Creative Classroom Techniques, Classroom Management Methodology, English Writing Workshop, Lesson Planning and a session on Appreciative Inquiry focused Legacy Community Projects.  Later in the week we had several Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) come to introduce themselves: ARCA a refuge and migrant placement NGO founded in 1998, UNICEF focusing on their school attendance program, Biblionet funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the National Forestation Movement in Romania and Mai Mult Verde an organization focused on cleaning up Romania’s litter.  Each NGO encouraged us to get involved in any way we can, especially with our students, as promoting volunteerism is a big initiative right now in Romania.  Another guest speaker was Sandra Pralong, an Entrepreneur that has worked with Peace Corps staff in Romania in the past.  She is originally from Romania, lived in New York City for many years, but returned and has lived here for the last twenty years.  Her current project is a book with the working title of “Mental Spaces” that is to focus on the cross-cultural exchange between Americans and Romanians.  She has asked us all to contribute to the collection with written essays regarding our experiences here in Romania, which she hopes to publish next year.

On a personal note, the conference was quite good for me as an individual.  After being nominated earlier in the summer for a position on our group’s Volunteer Advisory Committee (VAC), we held the actual elections and I was selected along with two others to represent our group.  As a member of the VAC I will work with my colleagues as liaisons between the volunteer group as a whole and the Peace Corps staff in Bucharest.  In our capacity, we will act as advocates and filters for the group and sounding boards for Peace Corps staff as new policies are discussed and implemented.  In addition to VAC, I was asked to serve on the Information and Communication Technology committee (ICT) which is responsible for managing the Peace Corps Romania website (www.peacecorps.ro).  From what I gather, my penchant for technology, being the only member of our group with the trifecta of iPhone 4, iPad 2 and Mac Book Pro, gave the false impression that I am actually technically savvy behind the scenes as well.  Though I am most definitely not, there is an area of design where I should be able to help.  Piggy backing off of that initiative, some member of the ICT are also working in conjunction with our Gender and Development group (GAD) on a commemorative coffee table book; this is where my photography background could come in handy.  As if that were not enough, I will also be working with our Volunteer publication of Pofta Mare, which focuses on regionally specific foods.  Though I don’t know much about Romanian food, this only makes sense with my culinary arts education.  Regardless to say, I will be keeping very busy during the cold and dreary Romanian winters, which is fine by me!

The conference in Sinaia was also a great venue for putting several faces with the names of those in Group 27.  They consist of another thirty plus volunteers that arrived about a year before us and as a result they have a year of teaching in Romania under their belt already.  This gave us 28ers a real opportunity to work with some experienced Volunteers.  Not only did we gain keen insights into critical classroom techniques and methodologies but also exposure to important cultural realities that will impact our two years here.

Our time in Sinaia was undoubtedly great.  We met some awesome new people, learned a ton about how to be better, more effective Volunteers and even had time to soak in some of the sights.  The tentative plan is to have the Group 28 In-Service Training (IST) in Sinaia sometime this fall or winter.  Although there are a lot of other great locations in Romania to host such an event, I am perfectly happy returning to this sleepy little tourist town.

During the final days of the English camp in Sangeorz-Bai, a colleague contacted me about a change to the next camp I was scheduled to attend.  Originally we were told that the camp would need two Peace Corps Volunteers at a time each week.  As a result, a total of four Volunteers had signed up for the upcoming two weeks.  It turned out that only one Volunteer at a time was actually needed; coincidentally, as it happens, the two Volunteers that signed up for the week preceding mine were not going to be able to make it and since I didn’t have any specific plans for the coming week I volunteered to go early.  What this meant at the time was that I would have to take an overnight train Saturday, seventeen hours door to door, return to Valea Călugărească, repack and then make my way south to Snagov on Sunday afternoon.  Fortunately, it turned out that the Tennis Instructor for the camp passed through Ploiești after a mountain biking competition and was able to give me a ride.  And so, Sunday night I arrived at the Tabara de Tenis tired but excited about the week ahead.

One of my colleagues worked this camp a few weeks prior and talked it up quite a bit.  This helped since I was a little bummed that the original plan of attending with a friend fell through.  The camp is located on a large lake halfway between Bucharest and Ploiești, and is surrounded by a protected wild life preserve.  Additionally, the camp takes place in and around facilities designated as the official training grounds of the Romanian Olympic Team.  The camp was billed as a tennis camp, obviously, and also swimming; both of which take place on the tennis courts and in the indoor swimming pool of the Olympic complex.  The lake is continually used for athletes to train for all kinds of water sports, as I can personally attest to.  In fact, while I was there they were training for the World Championship competition scheduled to take place the third week of August in Hungary.  Among other international teams, as an added bonus, I even had the privilege to briefly meet several members of the U.S. Olympic Canoeing Team.  My Romanian camp counterparts and I regularly joked with each other about whose team was to win the upcoming competition.  Admittedly, the athletes on the Romanian team are massive individuals, putting the Incredible Hulk to shame if given the chance, but size isn’t everything and my money is decidedly placed on the U.S.

The Tabara de Tennis accommodations are usually in athlete housing situated by the lake but due to the athlete’s training for the upcoming event we moved down the street a bit to give them some peace and quiet.  Having said that, the housing was relatively nice, being the best in which I have stayed in conjunction with a camp related to Peace Corps.  The tennis coach and I shared an apartment, each with our own separate bedrooms, with communal kitchen and bathroom.  The facility had several such apartments, a restaurant in the front of the property and a large ballroom for parties which was perfect for movie night and some indoor activities on a couple of the rainy days we had.  Splitting the two rows of double-decker apartments was a long driveway frequently used by the campers as they went around in circles on their bikes.   The camp coordinators had even set up a portable, inflatable swimming pool for the campers to cool down on the hot summer days and the epic water fight that took place on the final day.

We had twelve participants in total for the camp ranging from eight to fourteen years old; each bringing their own unique personality.  The typical schedule for the camp was as follows: Breakfast at 8:15 (though rarely actually started before 8:45), tennis lessons for one and half to two hours which were immediately followed by swimming for another couple of hours.  Lunch was served around 1:30 in the afternoon and was without question the largest meal of the day, featuring bread, soup and then a well-rounded main course.  After lunch was a short break, followed by a two to three hours of English related activities, then a second tennis lesson, which was followed by a healthy dinner.  The day was typically closed out with games or a movie.  Fortunately the campers were worn down enough throughout the day to hit the sack at a relatively decent hour.

In addition to tennis, swimming and English lessons, the campers had kayaking and went on a daily bike trip through the forest.  I was fortunate enough to join them for one such bike trip that led to a small island in the middle of the lake.  On this island is an historic monastery built several hundred years ago.  It’s said that the head of Vlad Tepeș the Impaler is buried there and I did in fact see the alleged grave in the center of the church floor.  The monastery is located on beautiful grounds surrounded by trees and obviously the lake.  They have a small vineyard, garden and several goats roaming the property.  The island is accessible by boat and a well-constructed bridge.  Being that this is an historical site, the Romanian government is trying to encourage tourism to the monastery so much of the interior is undergoing renovation.  Unfortunately the fee to take photographs is 20 Euros or about 85 RON, a hefty sum of money at 10% of my monthly Peace Corps allowance, so dear readers you will just have to imagine the majesty of the artwork on the inside.

The camp ended with a “foc de tabara” or “campfire” by the side of the lake.  The waiter, and now friend, of our restaurant catered the event for us with shish kabob like chicken skewers with onion and tomatoes.  What amazed me the most was that the skewers were grilled over coals taken from the campfire in its later stages.  Potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil were thrown directly in the fire and buried.  The campers had the distinct privilege of roasting their own corn with long wooden rods over the fire; as you can imagine several ears were lost or otherwise blackened due to fidgety little hands.  The corn cooked in this manner, by the way, was dreadful and not a method that I would recommend.  The chicken on the other hand was simple but fantastic.  Marshmallows in Romania are a completely different entity than what we are acquainted with in U.S.; in fact, the only resemblance is in name.  The shape, size and even colors are different.  Here they are two inch long twists of three different colors; white, green and pink if I remember right.  American Marshmallows are hard enough to keep on the stick, but the design of these makes it nearly impossible.  Regardless of the differences in marshmallow construction, the kids had a great time.

Three weeks ago, before this recent run of back-to-back camps, I decided to buy a bicycle.  Like just about everything for a Peace Corps worker in Romania, this isn’t quite as easy as you might think.  In the US, if you want to buy something, just about anything, all you have to do is hop in your car or online, buy it, and bring it home or have it delivered.  Simply purchasing a hammer and nails could be an all day adventure here.  Though research, buying and delivery via the Internet is quite prevalent in Romania, there is still the small dilemma of the language barrier.  To add insult to injury, though not surprising, if you commence a Google search in English for stores in Romania you are not going to find much.  Having said that, I was actually successful in searching the Internet for a bicycle shop in the neighboring city of Ploiești.  Now deciphering anything on their website except for the store location was however virtually impossible.  Add the fact that I know nothing about bicycles or the plethora of latest technology available for them; the Internet was quickly abandoned and a trip to Ploiești became warranted.  The procurement of a bike is, in the end, supposed to make my life easier as it should help me get around town quicker.

So one morning I woke up and made my way into the big city.  After running a few other errands I made my way, by foot, across town to the DHS Bicycle shop.  After exchanging the usual pleasantries with what appeared to be the husband and wife that own the shop, I explained that I was looking to purchase a simple bicycle for the purposes of getting around the small village of Valea Călugărească and perhaps the occasional trip to Ploiești.  My poor Romanian somehow seemed to convey that I wanted a tricycle for my two-year-old daughter, because the lady immediately started showing me her selection of little three wheeled pink bikes.  Either my Romanian immediately got much better or the look of disapproval on my face got the message across.  At this point I struck out on my own around the store to look at the selection and corresponding prices.

The store seemed to be divided by type of bike, though you could have mixed them all together and I wouldn’t have immediately known the difference.  In the end, I figured out that they have a section for pure mountain biking, the most expensive of the options with special lightweight frames, breaks and gear shifting mechanisms, although foarte mișto, these were way out of my budget.  Next there were “city bikes” which had preinstalled baskets on the front and racks over the back tire for additional luggage.  For my uses this option probably would have been the most prudent, but deep down I wanted something a little more versatile, after all you never know when you might be invited to hit the trails with a local (actually not likely in the least).  This lead me to a section of hybrid bikes created to handle the trails but also with a more modest design for getting around town.  The only thing this model didn’t have by default that I was interested in was the option for saddlebags over the back tire.

This is where the whole deal started to get a little shady.  When I made up my mind as to which bike I would like to buy, I asked the shopkeeper if we could put a rack on the back and she assured me that this could be easily accomplished.  For the next thirty minutes her husband tried in vain to install a flimsy mud flap over the back tire, on top of which they intended to place saddlebags that would eventually carry a week’s supply of heavy groceries.  It took me another fifteen minutes to convince them that there was no way this could possibly work, at which point they begrudgingly abandoned the idea.

This part of the episode is what I find to be somewhat metaphorical for Romania.  Not that they tried to rip me off, as I feel they were genuinely trying to find a solution for me, but that often times things here are haphazardly constructed.  This probably stems from the simple lack of funds and resources to do things the right way, and rather exemplifies “making due” with what you have got.  As an example, the bike that I purchased was designed and built in Romania by a Romanian company, DHS.  The bike itself seems to be incredibly well built, sturdy and of quality parts, but some of the aftermarket accessories are flimsy or simply held on with incorrect bolts and as a result rattle relentlessly.  Another example, although my apartment is incredible and practically perfect in everyway, corners were clearly cut when making the latest renovations (We won’t even get into the fact that my hot water heater, mounted to the wall in the kitchen, literally exploded in a cloud of dense smoke and spewing water yesterday); take for instance my carpeting, it is of appropriately modest quality for a Peace Corps worker but has been installed with such haste that the carpet is too big for the rooms and results in several inches curled up at every wall.  Or the shower tub, again great quality in and of itself but has been installed in such a way that it doesn’t drain properly.  It’s almost like running a marathon with exceptional performance throughout and then crab walking the final ten meters across the finish line.

Though interesting, this tangent is immaterial, the real question is how in the heck do I get my brand new bicycle home …. without dying?  Two options; pay an extra 40 RON for delivery, almost a week’s worth of groceries, or ride the thing all the way home.  Now twelve kilometers to anyone who owns and regularly rides a bicycle probably isn’t a great distance, but for someone who hasn’t really ridden a bike in fifteen years it might as well be across the entire country.  Already feeling the pinch this purchase had on my budget I sucked it up and elected to save the 40 RON and ride home.  Now you might think that a place with the word valley (Valea) in the name would be in a valley and hence downhill from places that are perhaps around it, noooo.  My calves and thigh muscles quickly deduced that Valea Călugărească is the high point of the surrounding area, which may make for nice views but is brutal to the untrained rider.  Regardless, I made it, admittedly with the help of my snazzy new gear shifters.  I would tell you all about them, but the owners manual is all in Romanian.

Today I returned from another weeklong summer camp focusing on English. The camp was coordinated by a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer through her high school and was held in northern Romania in the small town of Sangeorz-Bai. This camp had a very different pace than the last one I participated in, which was a welcome change. Rather than the non-stop, fourteen-hour days of TOBE, this camp only required us to plan for three hours a day, a much more manageable amount of time.

Since the camp was held within the community it was designed to serve, there was no requirement to provide the students with overnight accommodations or to keep them pre-occupied from dawn to dusk. This allowed us the freedom to hold sessions midday, plan in the afternoons and to relax in the evenings. In similar fashion to other camps, the PCV coordinator segmented each day into different topics such as: getting to know one another, gender stereotypes, and directional vocabulary.

One thing that is nice about summer camps like this is that we are given the leeway to have more fun with the students outside of a set agenda, as such, we were able to play a lot of games and activities with them that would not necessarily fit in a normal classroom setting. My colleague did a great job putting everything together, every session went smoothly and the students gave great positive feedback at the end. I was particularly impressed with how creative the other participating Volunteers were; with little notice and time to prepare, they always had some great idea in their back pocket to save the day.

Even more impressive than the camp itself, was the camp’s backdrop. This is the first time that I have been so far north into the country and it is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. Sangeorz-Bai is tucked in-between and surrounded by tree-covered mountainsides that are dotted with small cleared patches of land for farms. The houses are mostly modest in size, but are enviably charming, many are even painted with bright vibrant colors. The town itself has two main streets that meet in the ‘center’ of town; this is where the Town Hall, Cultural Center and the High School can be found, not mention a great fruit and vegetable stand. Just down the street is the town’s Contemporary Art Museum, which for a town of only ten thousand people is quite impressive. The museum reminded me of something one might find in New Mexico or Central California; it had multiple levels with an open flowing staircase transitioning its guests from installation to installation. Soft light entered the building through skylights on the roof and illuminated the various pieces of art perfectly. Needless to say, the artwork itself vastly exceeded my expectations as well; moving beyond two-dimensional drawing and paintings, many were large pieces of installation art, some even spanning multiple levels. The visit to this museum was certainly an unexpected highlight of the trip.

Sangeorz-Bai is currently a buzz with construction activity. The two main streets as well as the town’s main park are in the process of being renovated with new sidewalks, drainage systems, and fresh pavement. As I understand it, the town managed to qualify for funding from the European Union; once the work is complete, this charming little town will be even more pleasant to walk around. There are a couple of great grocery stores (no peanut butter though), small shops all around and a handful of interesting eateries. One coffee shop, whose name escapes me, is affectionately known as the ‘fish bowl.’ An apt nickname as the establishment has huge windows lining is front facing outside wall on both the first and second floor. In a small town, where everyone already not only knows your name but your business too, it would be tough to slip by unnoticed on a date in this place.

It was explained to me that Sangeorz-Bai originally became popular due of the healing properties of natural mineral springs that run down from the surrounding mountainsides; the name itself, ‘Bai’ even suggests ‘bath.’ Although the tourist industry has faded in recent years, the infrastructure still exists to facilitate a major population swell. It is my guess that as the town repairs are completed and the economy at large picks back up, that Sangeorz-Bai will once again benefit from tourists searching for the fountain of youth. In the meantime, I feel ten years younger just having had the great opportunity to visit the town, help out with the camp, catch up with some friends and to do some cooking!

With a slight last minute adjustment to my schedule, I returned this morning on an overnight train ride and plan to turn around this afternoon to head to Snagov for another camp, Tabara de Tennis. The camp is apparently quite expensive for participants and is held at a Romanian Olympic training site. The focus, in addition to English, will be tennis and swimming. The camp is situated on a large lake, so as I understand it, there will be kayaking and such as well. More updates on that next weekend.

P.S. I will upload some photos as soon as I have the Internet bandwidth.

Throughout the remainder of the week at TOBE the campers participated in similar activities to those outlined in my previous blog post.  This final post in the series on TOBE will attempt to highlight those activities which I feel were the most relevant and beneficial.  The purpose of this post is perhaps more for cataloging the activities for future reflection and may seem more academic than previous posts; though I will try to interject with interesting stories about the students when they come to mind.

Before we get started here’s a quick note on performance expectations.  One thing that I learned fairly early on during my week at TOBE is that Romanian teenagers, perhaps just like American teenagers, have their own agenda.  Telling them what, how and when to do something is about as effective as properly picking up sushi with one chopstick.  The most you can do is coax them in the general direction you hope to go.  Punctuality is virtually nonexistent here, as we would regularly begin sessions ten to fifteen minutes late, if not more.  Coming from a world where you’re late unless you’re early, this has taken a lot of getting used to and has pushed my patience to the maximum.  The best you can do here is tell a group that an event starts earlier than it really does and hope they make it more or less on time and in the meanwhile, plan your lessons around floating start and end points.  The one time where punctuality holds true is at mealtime; without fail there would be a line around the main tent well before the food was even supposed to have arrived.  Additionally, I noticed that focus and commitment to various sessions waned as the week went on and start times continued to slip more and more egregiously.  Perhaps this was because the campers knew the week was coming to a close, or perhaps they became more comfortable with us as counselors and hence felt they need pay less attention.  In fact, several activities in the end were cancelled or forgotten about completely as camper focus became more difficult to maintain.  The question in my mind is whether or not this should simply be culturally accepted or is this the fault of the program for failing to maintain a sustained, high-level of interest.

“Everyone is a Firework,” that is what one camper regularly said as we led a series of sessions one day with a focus on personal values.  Since no two fireworks are exactly the same, he was implying that every one of us is unique in our own way and that we all have a varying set of values and characteristics.  Earlier in the morning we broke off into tribes and each counselor was assigned to facilitate a conversation on values.  For an icebreaker we used the Hot Air Balloon game that I have described in an earlier post.  This time, Martin Luther King, Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, and Madonna were selected.  A heated debate ensued, but in the end Adam lost to Jim and was thrown from the balloon.  After a quick discussion on what values actually are, how they are defined and why they are important, each camper was given a list of approximately fifty values and was instructed to select five to seven that most identify them.  Before going around the circle and optional discussing the values each camper circled, we talked a little about the values of Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Mother Teresa and a handful of other prominent individuals known for standing up for their beliefs.  As each camper openly discussed their various values, I was amazed that not only were they willing to share, but that they had logical and deep reasoning for why they selected the handful that they did.  This was another moment where the campers exceeded my expectations.  Once everyone had an opportunity to discuss his list, we then asked them to narrow it down to just two and to write them in big letters on a sheet of paper.  Next all of the groups reconvened in the big tent and an auction was held.  Each camper was given credits worth twenty thousand and had the opportunity to bid for those values that are most important to them.  The idea here was for them to think about how important each value is and what it feels like to lose one to a higher bidder.  To make things more interesting, the campers unknowingly could pair up, pool their money and share the values equally that they won.

“The Totemic Tower” was another activity designed to further address teambuilding.  Each tribe was given a different initial set of clues, including a map and a basic framework for the game in which they learned that they would later build a tower.  They then had to go out into the community, scale a hillside and find the clues marked on the map.  Each set of clues led them to another set which culminated in one of four things regarding the tower: location, materials, design part one and design part two.  The goal was for the tribes to realize that they needed to work with the other tribes in order to successfully complete the objective.  Admittedly, it took quite a bit longer than we had hoped for the teams to make this realization.  With a handful of obvious leaders directing the flow of work, we began to see make shift towers going up in various parts of the camp.  With a little additional prodding, they figured it out and erected the proper tower in the right location shortly after dark that night.  Regardless of how long it took for the solution to be reached, the moral of the activity was clearly conveyed back to us during the nightly debrief.

Another interesting team activity that we used was aptly named “Tribes.”  Each of the four tribes was given a simple but unique objective that they had to achieve before time was up.  The first tribe was told that they have an important totem pole that has been damaged and that they must obtain building materials to fix it.  This first group was given some marbles to barter with and was instructed that they were not allowed to traverse beyond the boundaries of their own land.  The second group was given the objective to incorporate tall men into their tribe and they were given building materials to possibly trade with.  This group was also told that they were not allowed to travel beyond the confines of their land.  The third group was given two bicycles that could be used to travel from one civilization to another, but only when driven by one of them and they could only take one passenger along.  This group’s objective was to collect as much “stuff” as possible.  The final group was designated to be Historians.  Their role was to travel freely, but unnoticed, between the civilizations and to document the other group’s activities and progress.  Later the Historians were instructed to present their findings to the whole group.  Before getting started, each group is given time to develop a story behind who they are and why they are motivated to the objectives they were given.  They were encouraged to create a tribe name, and back-story, but perhaps most interestingly their own language.  In the end this proved to be more of a red herring than anything, as each tribe got bogged down on actually creating their own elaborate language.  The purpose really was that they had to meet their goals without speaking to the other tribes (or Historians) in Romanian or English.  This type of activity is thoroughly interesting to watch as an outsider who is aware of the bigger picture.  As I observed, I could see tribes making missteps but I could only marginally step in to help remind them of their objectives and the rules.  Ultimately the group as a whole did well with the exercise and again, regardless of the outcome, everyone seem to learn something from the activity.

After reading the last couple paragraphs, you might say “Why not just lock the boys up in a padded room, put lab coats on them, and force them to solve astrophysics problems all day?”  This is a summer camp after all; it wasn’t all about mind-bending exercises, strategic thinking, teambuilding, diversity and so many other corporate buzzwords; I promise we did actually have some fun too.  On Wednesday, the camp went mobile as we hiked the three kilometers into town looking for the village soccer pitch that we had heard about earlier.  The idea for this afternoon was to have a “Community Development” exercise where anyone from town was invited to come and watch the campers and volunteers play softball.  The catch to all this was that none of the campers had ever played softball, let alone knew the rules.  Fortunately, one of my colleague PCVs was up to the task of coaching them.  The afternoon was absolutely perfect, a golden moment, the exact type of event you might picture to be quintessentially Peace Corps.  The weather was absolutely perfect, great temperature, bright sunshine with the occasional fluffy white cloud floating by.  At one point we even had five minutes of light misty rain that we couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.  Rolling hillsides, dotted with trees and cows, set our scenic background; we worked through the frustration of teaching the campers a new American game and it paid off big time, they absolutely loved it.  After an initial hour of tossing the ball around, practicing swings and having a quick mock game, it was show time.  Children and adults started to show up by the dozens, filing the bleachers and lining up along the chain link fence.  Our camp’s program manager is apparently a DJ or something by day, because he brought a legit speaker set with a microphone and served as our announcer throughout the whole event; introducing the game to the crowd, calling all of the plays, and encouraging extra hustle.  The only things that could have made this day better are American hot dogs and cold beer.  After the game is when the real magic started to happen.  The crowd was encouraged to come out on to the field and give the game a try themselves.  What’s amazing is that our newly trained semi-pro softball camper athletes started to have one on one lessons with members from the community; showing the proper way to hold a bat, throw a ball etc.  All things they had only learned themselves a couple hours earlier.  After it was all over, several campers mentioned to me how good it felt to be teaching someone else something; it was a feeling I told them to focus on and to remember.

Now on to the real topic at hand: after a long Saturday of traveling and a night literally sleeping in the hayloft, Sunday is when the fun and hard work really began, the day when the students arrived.  In the morning we woke shortly after sunrise and shook off the ‘fruit punch ice cream float’ concoction that we used as a conversation lubricant the night before.  Not skipping a beat, our Romanian hosts had a breakfast table loaded with tomatoes, cucumbers, muesli, cheese, cured meats and endlessly flowing coffee.  Following breakfast, the coordinators and volunteers got together to review the day’s activities (really more of a creation session than review) and then we broke off to make sure everything was ready for the day.  Since there had been rain the night before I volunteered to make sure the tents were dry and ready for the luggage and sleeping bags currently in route.  Perhaps making for more adventure than some campers were up for, the tents were not particularly waterproof, and the forecast was thoroughly dotted with rain clouds.  After working up a solid sweat, and probably adding more liquid to the tents then I actually sopped up it, was time to form a receiving line and meet my first ever group of campers.

Since our campers didn’t arrive until after 1pm in the afternoon the day was totally geared towards everyone getting to know each other and the activities clearly reflected this goal.  After a few quick introductions by the staff and volunteers, and after the parents got comfortable with the camp setting and said their goodbyes we kicked things off with a version of “Speed Dating.”  Everyone in the group had to quickly move through the crowd and introduce themselves to as many other people as they could, given the allotted time.  To make this activity a little more fun, the campers were given a brief script and encouraged to use a formal British accent.  Giggles and laughter let on that the activity was working well as an icebreaker.

Next we used an idea that I stole and adapted from Pre-Service Training, where all of our campers formed a large circle and, in order, listed their name and an adjective that more or less identified with their personality and that also began with the same letter as their first name.  The catch is that the next person in line has to not only say their own name and adjective but also that of everyone that has gone before them.  This ensures that at least those students toward the end of the circle are paying extra close attention.  Knowing that whomever went last had a real challenge on their hands I naturally went first, and not surprisingly I broke the rules right off the bat and said “Jeremy the Java Man” which is more of a noun than an adjective (you try coming up with an adjective on the fly that starts with ‘J’ and describes me).  Java Man did seem appropriate though considering my love of coffee, besides the campers got a kick out of it.  Some other examples were:  Aran the Abominable, Adrian the Atomic, Nico the Nice, Tudor the Traveler, Tudor the Tiny (surprisingly endearing, this name stuck all week, as he was the smallest in our group), Nick the Normal, Alex the Abnormal and so on.  What’s great about this activity is that everyone in the group is required to speak up, so as an organizer you are able to quickly identify those with in the group that are perhaps shy or relatively weak in English.  The activity also begins to build a support structure among the campers because inevitably they help each other through the long list toward the end.  The downside is perhaps that it can get a little boring for those that went at the beginning as they wait for the long list to be repeated over and over; however it works at the start of a camp because everyone is still on their best behavior.

Next on the agenda was allotted time for the campers to settle into their tents and then to reconvene for lunch, the first of many great meals.   In an effort to build a team mentality right from the beginning we divided the group of twenty-seven into four groups with tents closely placed.  Here I suggested another idea that I stole from Peace Corps, this time from our staging event in Philadelphia.  All of the campers were placed in a large circle, oldest to youngest, (slight deviation from the original game) each camper facing outwards so they couldn’t directly see other members of the group.  We then placed sticky paper dots of four varying colors on each person’s back in an alternating manner.   Alternating the dots helped to ensure that each group had a broad range of ages since our group was fourteen to eighteen and we wanted to promote cooperation across age groups.  Not knowing what color dot is on their own back, we gave instructions for them to figure out what they should do next, with the main rule being that they are not allowed to talk; this is were it gets interesting and the antics begin.  Slowly they started to figure out what was going on and they formed into groups of like colors.  This was the beginning of the individual group dynamic that, as coordinators, we’d feed off and plan all future activities around.

After lunch it was time for more team building games, activities and for the students to create their individual ‘tribes.’  Kicking the afternoon off with some physical activity we played a game, new to me, called “TuTuTuTu.”  The field of players was split into two equal groups, spread away from each other and divided down the middle with a row of blue scarves.  One member of one of the teams is designated by the referee to start things off.  That player then has to take a deep breath, run across the blue line and touch as many people on the other side while saying “Tu Tu Tu Tu….” and without taking in another breath until they cross back to their own side.  Everyone that has been touched has to go with the player to the other side at the end of the round.  During the subsequent rounds anyone who wants to cross the line can, provided they follow the above rules.  One catch is that a player can grab and hold onto an invading player until they run out of breath, if this happens the invader has to stay on the opponents side and is then converted to that team.   The game ends when all players are on one side.

In keeping with the pace, the next game we played was called “Trophy.”  Again the group is split down the middle and separated on two sides.  This time, a facilitator stands on a stump in the middle holding a yellow scarf.  Each of the two teams numbered off from 1 through 13 (we were still short one camper at this point so we had an even number).  When the facilitator called out number, one of three things could happen.  If a single number is called, then each player with that number runs out and tries to grab the scarf and run it back to his line with out the other player stopping him.  Once the scarf is in hand, if touched by your opponent, they score the point.  If two numbers are called, then those two players from each team have grab the scarf together while running arms locked back to back.  When three numbers were called, the corresponding players had to create a human chair and carry the third player to and from the facilitator holding the scarf.  A fourth option exists in which four numbers are called and three of the players have to carry the fourth in an ‘airplane’ configuration, one player on each arm and one at the feet.  Sighting obvious injury risk on this last option with unavoidable face plants into the ground, we opted to skip it.

After everyone worked up a sweat and worked off the anxiety of being in a new camp with new people, we brought everyone back into the main tent for another sit down activity, Truth and Lies, another one that I stole, this time from a TEFL website.  Perhaps obviously, in this activity each participant has to come up with two things true about themselves and one lie.  After a few minutes of private brainstorming, we proceeded to go around the group circle, one by one.  As an example, I offered: 1. I have been to culinary school, 2. I have been to Australia, and 3. I used to race motorcycles in San Diego.  This exercise provided a great opportunity to get to know a couple interesting things about each camper and it offered a glimpse into their individual senses of humor.

Next the teams, until now been called by their color, was given the opportunity to break off and develop their tribal identities.  Each group was instructed to come up with a Tribe Name, Slogan/Chant, Stomp, Handshake, and Flag etc.  After providing them with plenty of time and materials to get creative we broke for dinner, setting the expectation that each group would have to present their results after the meal.  In no particular order the results were as follows:  The Tenters, The Pheonix (yes, misspelling noted and apparently intentional), The Redds (a Romanian beer, but apparently only coincidental) and The Zoo-Loo.  Perhaps the most memorable was the performance by The Pheonix group.  Their ‘stomp’ consisted of two guitar players strumming along to an unrecognizable tune and two other members dancing around the center of the circle, slowly flapping their arms until they collapsed to the ground (reportedly turning into ashes), and then they rose again.  This was absolutely priceless as the entire group irrupted into laughter; good memories were definitely starting to form.  Even before starting the ‘stomp’ one team member of the group said, “Don’t forget to take pictures, because this will be a golden moment.”  Luckily, I got video.

After creating and introducing their tribes it was time for the daily debrief.  One camp counselor brought an ‘African rain stick’ that we used to pass around the group as a stand in for a talking stick.  The idea was that as we passed the stick around, only the person holding it (or touching it) could speak.  We encouraged everyone to say a few words but it was not required.  This is where the group really blew me away and a precedent was sent for the remainder of the week.  Throughout the course of the day, the campers had already started to thoroughly impress me with their English speaking ability, but now we were getting into deeper, unprovoked monologs.  Almost every camper provided thoughtful and valuable feedback regarding his impressions of the first day.  Many addressed their earlier concerns over attending such a camp, indicating they more or less had to be dragged to the event and then how they realized how happy they were to be there.  Others spoke at length about what which activities they liked the most and specifically why.  My comments focused on how impressed I was with their language ability and how much I was looking forward to working with them throughout the week.

We closed out the first day of sessions by introducing a new game that was to continually take place, behind the scenes, over the next few days called “The Tea-Bag Killer.”  Everyone participated, volunteers, coordinators and campers alike.  We each drew a card from a bowl, on which a specific role was written or nothing at all.  One person secretly received a card saying “Killer,” two others received a card saying “Copy Cat” and the remainder received blank cards implying potential “Victim”.  The objective was for the Killer to knock everyone off without revealing his identify.  He could only do this by showing the tea-bag to a person in private, no group killing in other words.  Once dead, a player would write his name on a publicly placed sheet of flow chart paper.  The Killer could then elicit the assistance of Victims by isolating those still alive.  The Killer could knock someone off that wasn’t “alone” only if they were with “dead” people.  To make things more interesting, there were two Copy Cats.  If the Killer unknowingly presents the tea-bag to a Copy Cat player, the Killer himself dies and the Copy Cat then becomes the new Killer.

That wrapped up the first full day with the Campers, well almost.  One tent was designated for a counselor or two (the only completely water-proof one thankfully) with the idea being that one of us would be easily accessible in the event troubles were to brew.  Although fundamentally a very important aspect to any camp, the downside was that one of us would actually have to sleep out their with the kids.  Wanting to get this over with on the first night (and as it happens, second night), I volunteered for the first shift.  Imagine twenty-seven (our final participant arrived shortly after eleven p.m.) teenage boys; with naturally uncontrollably loud voices, three guitars and an abundance of energy.   Now imagine that in a field, with paper thin tents, placed closely together at two a.m.  Ironically, my saving grace was a torrential down pour of rain that began around three a.m. and drowned out all of the background noise.  Initially, I was perturbed at the whole scenario, but slowly I realized that this was to be a unique moment in their lives and that they should be allowed to enjoy, so I refrained from interjecting.  Plus, I secretly plotted my revenge, which was to include a bullhorn at close proximity the next morning at seven a.m.

Although I wish that I were clever enough to have conjured up this witty blog title on my own, the true credit goes to the smart young men of the week-long T.O.B.E. camp from which I just returned.  As a springboard for the upcoming semester and next two years of teaching English as a foreign language, Peace Corps Volunteers are encouraged to participate and contribute to various summer camps around their respective countries.  T.O.B.E. was my first camp during Peace Corps service and the first ever in which I was on the Camp Counselor side.  Although admittedly frustrating at times with sixteen-hour workdays and brilliant though distracted participants, the camp was a success for the organizers, educational for the students and incalculably beneficial for me.

T.O.B.E., which stands for Teaching Our Boys Excellence, is a program that was designed to help young high-school aged men to learn and practice leadership skills, team building and how to think critically in problem solving situations.  Each student submits an application ahead of time and once selected must pay a relatively small amount to participate.  The compliment to T.O.B.E. is G.L.O.W., Girls Leading Our World, which has a similar agenda, but as the name obviously gives away, it is geared towards young women.  As I understand it, this is the first year T.O.B.E. or G.L.O.W. has been held either in Romania as a whole or at least at this particular location as there are/were several going on this summer all over Romania.  I actually knew very little about any of this until the night I arrived.  Leading up to that, I only had the acronym for the camp, the village in which it was to be located and a phrase repeating in my head from other volunteers; “You are going to have a blast, they build stuff there and even have a zip line!”  Although a true statement, it’s also a vast understatement for how amazing a program like T.O.B.E. really is.

This whole adventure kicked off at Gara de Sud in Ploiești at 1:20pm on a Saturday with another Peace Corps Volunteer as we set off on our first long-distance ride on a Romanian “Personal” train.  The nearly eight-hour journey from Ploiești to Simbrea included forty-eight arduous station stops as we crept along the Romanian countryside, slowly moving from the plains in the south to rolling foothills of the Carpathian Mountains.  There are essentially four different types of trains in Romania, the Personal, Accelerate, Rapid, and Inter-City.  Listed here in order from slowest and most basic to quickest and most amenity rich.  The Personal trains are old, though inside are in better repair than I expected, they don’t have such frivolous things as air conditioning, the toilets are literally holes that lead straight to the tracks and the clientele patronizing this option do so out of monetary mandate or destination necessity, which leads to interesting people watching/interaction regardless.  In our case, this was the only train getting us from point A to point B, and despite the description I rather enjoyed the experience.  This particular train was not as packed as other Volunteers have reported in the past; the two of us actually each had our own school-bus styled benches in a facing configuration to stretch out on and fortunately no one in our wagon complained about keeping the windows open (despite the “death causing” Romanian “current”) on the hot summer day.  It was almost like being a traveler in the distant past where modern day amenities had yet to be invented; the trip was simple, adventurous and actually kind of refreshing.  The Romanian countryside was quite stunning with countless old World War era train stations and endless yellow fields of sunflowers.  The divide between rural and urban in Romania is stark; the concept of ‘suburb’ doesn’t seem to exist here as the landscape changes in the blink of an eye from city to field and from revving car engines to flute playing shepherds.  Towards the end of our journey we passed through two mountain tunnels and since the train’s lights had yet to be illuminated we were immediately and without warning engulfed in perfect and absolute darkness; a final ice water splash in the face that ubiquitously wrapped up our enlightening train ride.

Pulling into Simbrea at close to 9pm the same day, we were warmly greeted by one of the G.L.O.W./T.O.B.E. organizers; an incredibly dynamic and driven woman with a clear passion for doing her part to improve her country.  The event itself took place on her family’s property, who generously donated their entire backyard to make room for the necessary camp infrastructure of tents, campfires and latrines.  With our stomachs grumbling from the long trek Romanian hospitality kicked into high gear with more ciorbe and sarmale than we could eat.  Following dinner, we met with the two T.O.B.E. Program and Content Managers in an effort to break the ice and introduce us to the framework of activities that had been prepared.  In what was to become typical T.O.B.E. fashion, the four of us were instructed to select three things from our wallet/pockets that defined us.  Being a man who doesn’t like a lot of clutter I pulled out my phone, money clip and pen; the only three things I ever regularly carry in my pockets.  Surrounded by juxtaposing two inch thick wallets, we were each introduced to people we had never before met and yet by the end of it all are likely never to forget.