Scarlett Pages

Driving—Rom Style

I enjoy driving. Not city driving, but open road driving. And I prefer an automatic transmission. I don't care what people say about an automatic not being "real driving," that somehow having gears is the "authentic" driving experience. Whatever. Automatic is just easier. Why mess with gears if you don't have to?

Anyway, driving in Romania isn't exactly a fun experience. On a good day it's a dance with the devil; on a bad day it's a full contact sport.

A while back Van wrote a post about Romanian drivers. Personally, I think Romania needs to start by having a reputable, non-Romanian authority re-test all the driving instructors, because they are clearly failing at their task of teaching their countrymen to drive properly. In fact, there was a recent case east of us in Suceava where it was found that a driving instructor who had been teaching others for years didn't even have a driver's license himself!

This is a photo of my favorite driving school. They're not just OK, they're SUPER OK! Points for actual branding in a country that doesn't seem to have a clue, but demerits for the name itself.

And then there are the Romanians who have managed to buy a second-hand German car. Now, your average Romanian driver can barely pilot a Dacia and is in no way equipped to handle a car that offers actual "performance." There should be a special test before anyone is allowed to drive a German car.

Part of the problem is that the general level of road sense among people here is quite low. In rural areas, they're still not quite used to cars. You see people walking along the road, with cars obviously coming in both directions and never does it occur to them that they should step off the pavement. It's pretty unbelievable. It's as if they have no idea that they will lose in a contest between them and a vehicle.

Other parts of the problem are the poor roads, signage, and road maintenance. If the berm of a road collapses or is washed away, instead of fixing it, the Romanian solution is to put a sign immediately before it--not several meters before to give a warning, literally right where the problem is. The sign is generally an arrow pointing to the other side of the road. When there's a serious car accident, instead of replacing the guard rail or considering how that piece of road could be made safer, the Romanians put up monuments to those killed there. Or the town or village will post a sign indicating how many deaths and injuries have happened in the last year.

When they actually do embark on road construction or repair, again, there are no warning signs and it is an absolute mess to figure out where the road was, where it's going to be, and where you're supposed to go in the mean time.

There are absolutely no standards for road signage. The Romanians literally hand over a bunch of signs to someone employed by the city, town, village, or county and say "go put these up." The amount of unnecessary arrow signs to indicate that the road is making a .001 degree bend is unbelievable... until you come upon a hairpin curve with absolute no sign. My favorite is when you approach the Nasaud rail road crossing driving from Bistrita to see that some completely frivolous sign has been placed directly in front of the railroad crossing light, making it impossible to see if a train is coming or not. Smart thinking!

The latest stupidity in Bistrita is that they've replaced the stoplights at several main intersections with roundabouts. Excuse me, but the drivers here need MORE guidance not less. It's a complete mess. Van's theory is that the existing stop lights were near the end of their life span and some bright light in officialdom saw roundabouts on a trip abroad and thought this would be a good way to avoid spending money on new lights.

But that's the Rom way. Don't do any research. Don't say, go visit Germany and talk to their transportation department about best practices. Hell, a reasonably intelligent person could read a book about road signage and come up with a workable system.

I'm personally convinced the Romanians are the worst drivers in Europe, but I did a bit of research and found that Forbes had already ranked the European Union countries based on number of road deaths per million inhabitants. Lithuania gets the top prize, followed by Latvia and Estonia. (I love the photo from Slovenia; it reminds me so much of something that would happen here in Romworld!)

Of course I should point out that the figures used by Forbes were for 2006--before Romania joined the European Union. I can't wait to see where Romania shows up in the next rankings. Any guesses?

My Week

There are a lot of reasons I don't post as regularly as I should.

A) My life is not that exciting.
B) I'm lazy.
C) The spirit fails to move me.
D) Occasionally I am even too damn busy. (No, really, it does happen.)

For example, last week. Monday and Tuesday we traveled to Cluj for various business and to pick up a travel writer at the airport. In addition, we had a group of six from Ireland here for a cultural tour. Since winter is slow and money tight, I made a bargain with Van that I would do all the cooking for the group if I could have the ladies clean the house. Because the thought of cleaning a ten-bedroom guesthouse just gives me agita.

So here's how my average day went:

08:00-09:00: prepare breakfast
09:00-10:00: wash dishes, clean up kitchen, prepare lunch
10:00-13:00: various baking and food prep, perhaps an hour to eat lunch and take a shower
13:00-16:00: more baking and food prep with perhaps some work on the computer
16:00-17:00: put out coffee, tea, and snacks for guests returning from tours
17:00-19:00: cook and prepare dinner
19:00-20:00: serve dinner
20:00-21:00: clean up

That's pretty much 12 hours on my feet cooking. And my feet? Ain't used to that. Of course, the fact that I make all our desserts from scratch doesn't help. Here's the menu I put together for the week, including changes as the itinerary was adjusted.

I look at this and, while I feel a sense of accomplishment because planning and successfully preparing three-course meals for a group are not things I ever thought I could do, it also contributes to my sense of "how in god's name did I end up in the tourism industry?"

But it all went off without a hitch--even the dishes from the Transylvanian cookbook, Dining in Romania, by Julian's friend Doina Packham that I had never cooked before. And the guests loved the food and were incredibly complementary, so what more can a reformed non-cooking city girl ask for?

My Right Hand

You'll have to forgive me. It's very hard to take a photo of your own hand. But this poor appendage bears witness to the ridiculously busy week I'm having (more on this later).

This situation is far beyond mere dishpan hands at this point.

Universally Welcome

You know the type: the person who thinks they are universally welcome. Always assumes he/she is included in any plans you make the mistake of mentioning within a 25 foot radius of him/her. Always shows up at every group / company event. Is gifted with blissful lack of awareness of how others view him/her?

Well, my dog Balanca, bless her heart, appears to believe she is universally welcome.

It's winter. I'm not outside very much. I am the chief attention-giver of the family. So when I step outside, the dogs--and the cats, but especially the dogs--are all over me. Hey, it's nice to be loved and I allow myself to believe it's all about me and not just the fact that someone, anyone is giving these little attention whores the crack they crave so desperately.

Today Van and I walked across the road to Cornel and Reghina's to talk about some work for the upcoming week. It's difficult to leave the yard on foot without the dogs following. They L-O-V-E getting to go out on the road and sniff new things. But we closed all the gates behind us and left Balanca and Blue Eyes peering out an opening at us.

Now, a typical Romanian house has a sort of entrance or porch area that the outside door opens onto and then another inner door that leads into the main house. Because it was warmer today and he was working outside, Cornel had the outside door open. We're sitting in his living room and I suddenly see a little face about waist high at the inner door.

Yep, it's Balanca. Not only did she and Blue Eyes finally decide to go around back to get past the gates, they came into Cornel's yard, and Balanca walked right into the entrance room of the house!

If it weren't so cute, I'd be annoyed. That's my girl! Of course she's wanted... right there in the house with you! But how can you not love a face like that? Huh?

Lack of Posting

My brother kindly pointed out last night that I haven't updated the blog in a while. I know, I know. I suck. I was sick for two weeks over the Christmas / New Year period with Mondo-Cold. Then I spent Monday, Tuesday, AND Wednesday in Bistrita this past week. I topped off that fun extravaganza of driving by poisoning Van, our friend Samuel, and myself with a pasta dinner I made using some pork meat that was, in retrospect, bacterially-challenged. (My Romanian neighbors eat raw pig skin right off the freshly killed animal, but I get food poisoning from ground up pork that has been properly cooked and refrigerated. Where is the justice?)

"You know at the least I can usually expect to visit your blog and see a picture of the cat," the brother commented. Well, haven't taken many photos lately, but I do have this really nice shot of one of our pigs being butchered.

That's Cornel's father on the right using their homemade flame-thrower to burn off the hair, while Cornel, on the left, scrapes the skin clean with a knife. Aren't you glad I was nowhere around when they started cutting the thing up?

Basically, the muse hasn't moved me of late on the writing or photography front. Must be the winter doldrums. Though it is beautifully bright and sunny today (but still too cold for wimpy me to spend time outside). Van is just setting off for a ride on his stallion Doru. The dogs are beside themselves anticipating their journey outside the ranch. I'm supposed to be working on the team-building program Van, Samuel, and I are putting together, but I fear my butt is destined for the couch. I can only hope there is something on to watch. If not, there is always the bounty of books my good friend Carol sent me for Christmas. And Tiger to keep me company.