After my Easter horribilis in Romania, I thought I would dread the coming back in June. So far I haven't (but that's because I only landed a few hours ago, gimme some time).
What spurred my good mood was probably the fact that I'm coming here for an interesting conference on specialized translation taking place in a couple of days at the University of Galati. And not even the fact that my mum warned that "it's hot and sunny so I shouldn't pack too many things" while what I see outside the window of the train are fields covered in foggy rain with a chill to match the downpour does not dampen (literally) my current enthusiasm.
The fact that I'm travelling on a quiet train which allows me to finish a translation doesn't hurt either. Had so much work lately (not complaining) that I enjoyed just doing nothing for a whole morning, snoozing on the plane, acting silly at the airport, chasing unhealthy food at the "Gara de Nord" (main train station in Bucharest) and GODDESS my having the time of my life in the one-hour bus ride from Otopeni airport to the NOrth Bucharest train station.
"Chips, bread sticks, beer, juice water ladies and gents! Pretzels, who wants some..." a woman, whose voice is living proof people should not smoke, passes by. Her voice carries back and forth a couple of times, and then dissapears into the next carriage.
Where was I... Ah, yes, the bus ride. The fact is, the whole bus was filled with "capshunari" (The Romanians will understand the pejorative term used for fellow nationals working abroad, usually in Spain, in agriculture, to pick strawberries - hence the name). wait, our bus weas filled with Romanian living and working in Italy... so what's the name for that (open naming season people, what are we, the Romanian Italians?...Alex, do your worst here).
And so fate had it that a kind young men helped the 6 or so Romanian-Italian travellers in front of the bus to correctly use the new magnetic tickets now sold all over Bucharest. Crazy contraption, when you do not know from what direction to approach the machine on the bus with your magnetic plastic card. Doors close, another women manages to get on the bus just on time, struggles with her ticket and validation machine, gives up eventually, ticket controllers arrive.
And I enjoyed the best show ever (only paid one euro for it too, the bus fare). All the bus turned on the "hingheri" (another beautiful Romanian pejorative term for controller, which actually designates people who collect and kill stray dogs. Don't get me started on that...)."had it not been for this young man, we too would have been fined," a disapproving voice is heard when the couple decide ti fine the protesting victim. Another voice and yet another one, plus mine add up to the chorus. The controllers, unmoved, fine the lady and get off the bus. Total anger while the first voice continues this time in perfect Rome accent "Ma che roba è questa, ma non si può far così". Another calm Milanese voice adds: "incredibile come ti trattano qua". And so, a perfectly Romanian bus, sliding through traffic at midday in Bucharest is witness to a fiery coonversation in Italian. It seems all dialects met there. The best was the Rome lady, with Italian husband and two kids, passionate woman and what a voice! Fire and brimstone, one slap occasionally to the smallest child climbing onto the bus seat, more heated discussion, all in perfect dialect, while other responded in Romanian or otehr Italian accents. At arrival, she shouts towards her tribe "Mo' ho tre valigie qua e solo due mani. Muovetevi, su!"
"Mineral water, fizzy, beer, juice, energizers, nuts, sunflower seeds"... after the smoky voice lady, a man's voices, and there he is, suprinsingly suited up, passing by with his musical spell of earthly goods. My curious eyes met his for a second, and made him think I was a potential client, so I smile apologetically and dive back behind the laptop screen once more...
2 hours to go...
"But my boss told them: come at work in my lavanderia in Rome, and those cheeky women asked him how much they would get for a salary and he told them 800 euros a month and they said, are you crazy, what can we do with so little that's why we stay on the streets, we make that money in two days" a shrill voice comes from the neighboirs on the train...
A white haired man in his fifties belly out and eyes on the fields outside absentmindedly takes turns in sipping beer and eating a pretzel, not interested in the woman's stories of the "belles de jour/nuit" in Rome.
Transportation in Romanian hasn't improved much in speed and quality, but it does offer excellent entartainment and company...
Za traveller on the Orient exprex :)
