Scarlett Pages

The Biggest Insult

Van has a penchant for swearing when annoyed or angry. I can do my bit on that front as well. But this is generally reserved for stupid people, our internet connection, or inanimate objects. Rarely does one of our beloved animals provoke a fit of insult. In fact the worst they usually get is "very bad [insert type of animal]."

For example, earlier today we were sitting in our lounge chatting when we heard some screeching outside our front door. It was Timid and Claws, who have a certain enmity toward each other. This was not their first altercation. When the noise went on longer than the usual screech and hiss of a brief cat disagreement, Van went outside and forced the two apart. As they high-tailed it down the stairs, Timid with some slightly bloody ears and a large amount of his copious fur deposited over the general area, Van yelled after them "very bad cats!"

That's pretty much the ultimate insult around here, to be called "very bad." They know when they are in trouble; they are well aware of the tone of voice. While the cats will either scatter or try to cozy up to you for forgiveness, depending on their personalities, the dogs will hang their heads in shame and then sheepishly come crawling back. Of course we can never stay mad at them.

Though off the topic of cats, here's an adorable photo Van took of Balanca in the kennel we have on the parking platform. She is a rather large dog; it is a rather average-sized kennel. I've no idea how she gets in there. She's a very happy, affectionate dog, but somehow always looks a bit sad in photos. I must try to get some where she looks happy.

A Long Way From Being a Good Book

I'd previously read Nick Hornby's About A Boy and liked it. And somewhere along the line I had read the first chapter or such of A Long Way Down. It seemed an interesting enough premise: four very different people accidently meet on New Year's Eve when each decides to kill him- or herself by jumping from the top of a tower block in London. Great possibilities there to explore how they interact, come to know and help each other, and find that knowing each other makes life worth living.

Unfortunately, the possibilities are never realized in the dull, irritating pages of this book. I'm the first to admit that I don't always get the British sensibility, but somehow I can't believe the failing here is mine. Very little about the story is compelling. There were times, for example where we read about the disappearance of Jess's sister, when I thought something of interest might develop, but in the end, I kept reading the story only to be done with it, not because it was enjoyable.

There is almost no action or momentum and ultimately very little in the way of story line. It is basically four not-terribly-likable people each taking a turn at telling their version of the story. Which really only amounts to each of them blathering on about their sorry lives and latest psychological "insights" (I use the term loosely). Hornby completely fails to make even one of his characters sympathetic. And was there any climax to the story? Any lesson learned? Anything useful to walk away with? If there was, I missed it.

That said, one of my new readers reported that she had listened to the audiobook version of A Long Way Down and loved it. And I can see that in the right voices, so to speak, it could be hysterical. But reading it was nothing but a chore.

What Happens When You Buy Romanian

Can you say "ultra-crappy quality"?

Oh yeah.

You end up with warped doors on all your cabinets and wardrobes because the carpenter cheaped out and didn't use dry wood of the proper thickness. And then he tries to fix the problem by putting in lots of extra closure catches that require you to slam the door shut and eventually stop working as well due to the wood continuing to warp.

Fun!

But of course it's all because "the floor isn't level." Yeah. Right. Try again.

After months of arguing with the company we bought the furniture from (a "charity" run by some British folks, so god forbid we would not just be completely ecstatic to take the shit they have provided), they've agreed to make some repairs. [I finally had to go all New York bitch on them.] So I had the smelly, halitosis-ridden carpenter and the 20-something upstart "manager" in my house yesterday making a mess. And then they took all the doors from my cabinets so that they can make replacements.

On the upside, I'm hoping that having everything in view for a while will help Van memorize where things are kept in the kitchen so that every time he is in there I don't have to hear "where the hell is the...."

Honey, it's where it always is. Don't you live in this house too?

Irregular Days and More on Responsibility

I wrote this entry on Friday, but waited to post it to see how some things shook out. So I'm posting it now, with updates.

Friday:
I had been on quite a streak of posting there for a while, but it’s been an irregular couple of days. On Wednesday we took two of our horses by trailer to Bistrita to see the vet. Unfortunately, our old draught mare Kaluga is in the beginning stages of heart failure, which is very sad.

Yesterday the electricity was out for the entire morning and into the afternoon. It really makes you realize how dependent on it we are, even out here. Unlike a lot of our neighbors, who don’t have indoor plumbing and heat their houses with individual stoves, we have a boiler system and radiators that require electricity. Of course, we have a gas-powered generator as a back-up for just such occasions. It’s never been used. However, when Van went to turn it on yesterday, somebody had not only taken the spark plug from it, but ripped it out in such a way that the threads were destroyed and a new plug couldn’t be inserted correctly. It was suggested that one of the three younger men who work for us took it because it’s a standard spark plug one would use in a scooter—which they all have. Just another example of the responsibility issue I was talking about before. And to not only take something that doesn’t belong to you, but to ruin the equipment in the process? I’m just so sick of this crap. That’ll be another unnecessary trip to Cluj to get the generator fixed.

Anyway, as of today there is one less of those young men around to cause problems. They all got their salaries yesterday, except for the one who ran the truck into our car and then filed a false police report about it. He’d been well advised of the situation (insurance will not pay because of the false report, so he’s responsible for the cost of the repair) and in typical Romanian fashion, he acted as if the problem would simply go away if he ignored it. Having made no effort to resolve it, yesterday he was told he wouldn’t be receiving his salary until the amount was paid off. And he behaved like a cocky teenager saying he wouldn’t work if he wasn’t getting paid. Which is par for the course when he has never even apologized or acted sorry about what he’s done. He didn’t show up for work today and his brother (who we also employ) passed on the message that he’s resigned. Again, he thinks the situation will just go away now. Apparently he’s thinking of running off to Spain to work in order to avoid paying.

Think again. We sought legal advice and tomorrow will be visiting the local police officer to advise him that the original report was not valid because it was not signed by the car’s owner (which the officer should know, no?) and apprise him of the true situation. Then we’ll get an accurate report and the insurance should cover the repair cost. However, by law, the kid could be charged with taking a vehicle without permission and driving without a license. He could have his license revoked. And if the police officer thinks he will bugger off to Spain, he can confiscate his identity card to prevent that. Plus, as the damage was caused while he drove the vehicle without permission, the insurance company could legally come after him to recoup the cost of the repairs.

Personally, I like this kid and I take no pleasure in doing this. But his attitude from the start has been that this is all a joke and not to be taken seriously. He’s been given ample opportunity to apologize and try to work out a solution with us privately. To me it’s no longer even about the money, but about him taking responsibility, as well as us setting an example to the others—because this is not a place where you can be a push-over. The Romanians will definitely take advantage. It’s sad because we don’t wish to have bad relations with him and his family, but his parents, who we’ve spoken to directly as well, haven’t stepped up to take any action either. The kid is going to end up with so much more trouble than if he had just taken responsibility. Not to mention that he won’t find a better job around here and not working for us will certainly curtail his love life as he won’t be able to flirt with all our interns.

In other news, the electricity was off again today. Apparently they’re replacing the old wooden poles that are rotting, but it’s a pain in the ass. The house is quite cold. Yesterday, even after it came back on, all I could do was sit in front of the fire Van started for me and make lists and read. It was just too cold to sit at the computer. The upside of no electricity is I’ve gotten a lot of reading done and re-organized both my office and my little “section” of our bedroom.

So I guess not having electricity has some benefits.

Today:
Van dropped a written report about the situation off at the police station on Saturday. No follow up over the weekend (of course), so we stopped by there this morning. Basically, the officer who took the original report said the easiest thing would be for us to say we were "mistaken" in how we reported the damage and have the senior staff member go with us to the insurance to file a new damage report that jives with the police report. Absolutely ZERO mention of the fact that the police officer himself suggested falsifying the report; absolutely ZERO mention of the young man who caused the damage.

After we were back in our truck—you know, because our freakin' car is sitting at the dealership because we can't pay for damn repairs!—Van said that he was pretty sure that the young man and his father spoke to the police officer to influence him not to prosecute.

What kind of bullshit is this? So now we should change our story to cover for someone else's lie? And the kid or his father wouldn't make the effort of talking to the police to try to solve the situation, but when it's to cover his own ass, well then that's a different story. I am so sick of this Rom-think "work the system" bullshit to keep themselves out of trouble. And we're always the ones who pay for it. By rights we should be able to prosecute this kid, but the way all the Roms are banding together to cover their collective asses, once again, we end up having to clean up the mess ourselves.

You know, I've had a lot of sympathy for the peasant people here. I'm sure from their point of view, we are rich. But it's behavior like this, the fact that you have to watch them every minute or they break, ruin, or pilfer things, that is making me a lot less sympathetic. It will be a long time before any of them see any extra little niceties from me. I'll be watching everything like a hawk and deducting any missing items from their salaries.

Oh and now, because we didn't have the generator to keep the heating going when we needed it (see above), all the pipes in the guesthouse are frozen. No heat. No water. We're going to have to turn away trade that we desperately need and will likely have a lot of damage from burst radiators and taps once it all thaws out in APRIL, if we're lucky.

AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's Not Really My Desk...

... it's just another place for Tiger to sit and gaze out the window.

Dogs vs. Cats

One of the blogs I read religiously is White Trash Mom. OK, I’m not a mom, but these ladies are so funny. Recently, the Queen of White Trash posted the diary of a dog vs. the diary of a cat. It’s hilarious. And so true.

I’ve also been watching "Dirt," with Courtney Cox, which they are showing on one of the channels here. I’ve gotten quite into it, mostly because I like the Don Konkey character played by Ian Hart. In a recent (for me) episode former child star Sammy Winter takes the tabloid hostage. Sammy is played by Vincent Gallo, who is so creepy and greasy to begin with, I don’t think they even had to “style” him for the character. At one point he notices Don taking pictures of his little white kitten, Tristan, and the following exchange ensues.

Don: I like cats. Cats are quiet and loving and they know when to give you your space.

Sammy: I say it’s dogs all the way.

Don: (while taking pictures of Sammy) That’s because you’re a narcissist. You can’t live without excessive admiration, adulation, attention and affirmation; dogs’ll give you that. Their love is like a mirror of how you’d like to perceive yourself as seen by others.

Strangely insightful. Another favorite line from a different episode is when a former editor and lover of Lucy’s says “you said you had feelings for me” and she responds “I didn’t say which feelings.” Freakin’ brilliant.

But back to cats and dogs, it’s like the saying goes: Dogs have masters; cats have staff.

20 Pounds of Cat

"Do you have your camera handy?"

An oft used phrase at my house. In this case, Van came walking in with "20 pounds of cat" in his arms. (We use the animeric* measuring system here on the ranch.)

He then tried to do some work on my computer; you can see that Timid was eager to help.

* Not a real word. I made it up.

Giving Up the Gray

I certainly gave up a lot of things when I moved to Romania. Life in a city with all the entertainment possibilities and conveniences; friends; work; a measure of independence. There are times that I miss these things, but I don't feel like I miss them anymore than when I lived in Amsterdam.

And there are other things that I gave up that I do not miss at all. Worrying about fashion and my weight; the oppression of the "thin" stereotype you see in the western (particularly U.S.) media the consumerist urge to buy more, have more, more, more, more; the pressure to do more with every waking minute; wearing makeup; and of course, coloring my hair.

This last one is the focus of my post. I started going gray when I was 19. My mother went gray very young as well and apparently this is a trait inherited from one's maternal genes, so I had little hope. After college I began coloring my hair with various semi-permanent colors and it was fun because I varied from reddish brown to blue black. But then the gray really took over and the semi-permanent worked no more. Using the reddish shades meant there was a great big red spot in the middle of my scalp where the gray was concentrated, while the shade didn't cover what was left of my dark brown hair. Permanent hair color was now required. Which meant roots. Which meant regular maintenance. I still got to change the shade a bit, but the whole hair color thing became a chore. And I wasn't about to pay ridiculous amounts of money to a salon to do something I could do myself.

By the time I made it to Romania, my hair was pretty tired and rather dry from the years of chemicals, so I decided I would let it just grow out and be gray for a while. The fact that I rarely give a damn about how I look here worked in my favor. But every once in a while I would see a photo that Van had taken or we'd go somewhere with mirrors and good lighting and I would be horrified at exactly how gray my hair was (see before photo at right). Kind of like the horror I experience when I see the alarming increase of age spots on various parts of my body.

I finally decided it was time to erase the gray. With visions of a hysterical Scarlett after a tragic color mishap, Van showed extreme patience in the grocery store as I selected product and shade (pictured). I was definitely drawn in by the attractive woman and her gorgeous hair--good marketing Schwartzkopf!--as well as the fact I could read every word on the front of the box (whoo-hoo!). But if, as an aside, I may give a quick review:

• Crappiest plastic gloves I have ever used.
• Pigment tube more difficult to open than necessary.
• BUT a nifty screw off cap on the developer bottle.
• Mixture didn't seem to darken like many of the products I've used, but it was also very easy to wash out and there was no color bleed onto the towel I used to wrap up my hair.
• I'm not entirely pleased with the gray coverage (though this may be my fault for not leaving it on longer) and the color seems more matte than I expected.
• Oh and those lovely English words that I enjoyed on the front of the box? Not a one of them on the enclosed instructions.

Though I am now (mostly) without gray hair, I sure don't look anything like that woman on the box (see after photo at right). And like any hair color change, it takes some getting used to. I look more like my old self, but what's next? Makeup? Perish the thought!

My Tiny Acrobats

As my regular readers have no doubt noticed, many of my photos, particularly of the cats and dogs, are taken from the windows of my kitchen, office, etc. There is always some entertainment going on out there.

Today I was lured to the window by the sound of the dogs barking, followed by the sight of four neighborhood dogs zooming through our courtyard with Mina, Balanca, and Blue Eyes in chase. Moving to the back window of my office, I noted one of the interlopers trying to hide under the parking platform, while another jumped up onto the cats' feeding table and helped himself to their food. A hearty shout from me seemed to scare them all away, with back-up chasing provided by our brave Mina, who is literally about half the size of any one of these dogs.

Afterward, I found myself looking out at Zgomotilla, perched on the fence, and thinking that the cats are my own private acrobatic troupe. They are continually frustrated by the fact that they cannot get to me at my back office window--there's no bit of roof running below the window across which they can traipse. But still they try: leaping from the roof of the outhouse to the roof of the parking platform.

Having watched Zgomo make the leap from outhouse to roof, which at first I thought might just be impossible, I was ready with camera when Marmalade followed suit.

Heretofore he shall be referred to as Marmalade the Magnificent, Flying Cat of the Carpathians. All press enquiries and requests for bookings can be directed to his managing agent, Scarlett.

Responsibility is a Four Letter Word

I tend to get a bit pissed with our staff sometimes. Communist Romania treated its citizens like children; indeed it was dangerous to think for one's self. Consequently, nearly twenty years on there remains an aversion to taking responsibility. If one likens the development of this country and its populace to human development, they've perhaps reached adolescence. Perhaps.

Like children, many of the Romanians I've encountered still think that if you simply deny something, it will go away. Something gets broken and they either have no idea about what happened or try to claim it isn't broken in the first place. Plus it is just assumed that the broken or lost object will be replaced by the "management," so they don't have to take any care with the tools and materials with which they are provided. Plus there is the view here that all foreigners are rich. And compared to the Romanians, we probably do appear to be. But our staff and our neighbors have no idea what goes on behind the scenes—what Van and I do to run this business up to a standard that is acceptable to our western clients, the fact that Van has never in eight years taken a salary, what has been invested so the business can grow—nor do they appear to care. I get very upset with their attitude, their negligence, and their simple lack of any work ethic. They seem to think we piss liquid gold and shit huge stacks of cash. And I can tell you, we don't.

You try to explain to the staff that their not doing their jobs well and that their carelessness has an affect on them and it's like talking to the dogs and cats. No evidence that the message gets through. Recently they were moving the vehicles around in the yard and one of the boys, who had not yet received his driver's license and did not have permission to be driving our new Mitsubishi truck, managed to back the truck straight into our Skoda car while it was parked.

Now in Rom world, they all think "Oh it's just a little dent and some scratches and you could get someone to pound that out." Well, actually, the car is leased by our business, which means that we still have to have it fixed by the dealership or we risk voiding the guarantee on it. So then the Roms think "well, let's just say that it was hit by a horse cart" (a standard dodge here). Except that if we claim something like that, it's sure to affect us when it comes time to renew the insurance for the business. They simply don't understand that it's all connected and if you're trying to run a proper business, you can't be doing all sort of tricky dodges. Especially in an environment where foreigners will be pursued first because we are "rich."

And despite their inability to take any responsibility, you can't tell them anything. They all know better. Two of them went off to the police to file a report (because you have to have a police report for even a dent if you want to get it fixed and the police can pull you over and give you a fine if you are driving the vehicle without a police report). In trying to cover up that an unlicensed driver was involved, they went ahead and reported that the car was hit by a horse cart. Which is all fine and good until it comes time to get the insurance to pay for the 2,000 RON (about $800) repair. Van isn't about to commit insurance fraud and so filled out the insurance form factually, but since the police report doesn't match, the insurance is refusing to pay. Now our car is sitting at the dealership until we have the money to pay for the repair.

Which, hello, it's winter? Aren't we ALWAYS low on cash in the winter? It's not like this is a new situation. The staff are well aware. And try getting the implicated staff member to take responsibility. He's going to end up working three months without salary. Maybe then he'll start to understand. Maybe they'll all finally get that if we have to spend money on unnecessary repairs and replacing things they destroy through sheer negligence, then we don't have money for other things like, oh, say, their bloody salaries!

We happen to know that they are all making above average salaries for the county we live in—and that includes the cities, where educated people with actual college degrees are working. Plus, they receive a lot of extra money in tips during our main season—primarily because we go out of our way to mention tipping to our guests. They all have pretty cushy, well-paid jobs with a lot of perks, yet they totally take advantage. If Van isn't around watching them every minute, they either don't do the job properly or do nothing at all. It's infuriating, especially for a westerner. I'd like to take every one of them and put them to work in a riding centre in England for a week. They'd soon learn what real work is. Unfortunately, I think things are going to have to get a lot tougher around here. I'm not as nice as Van is. And if they quit—which they won't because they won't find a better paid job that doesn't involve hard work logging in the forest—well, there are always people coming by asking for work.