Scarlett Pages

Moving On

When you start using the word "shithole" on a daily basis to describe the country that you live in, well, it's time to move on.

When the very people in the community who you support by buying goods and services from them, and even your own employees, can't be trusted not to steal from you, yep, it's time to go.

When the government itself is hell-bent on destroying the greatest asset and tourist draw its country has--the beautiful natural environment--it just isn't worth staying.

For these and many other reasons, Van and I are closing our business here in Romania and moving back to England. I've tried very hard in recent weeks not to chronicle only the negative aspects of life here, but frankly, there is little that is positive and it will be a relief to cross the border into a more civilized country.

I've got much more to say, but can't really put it all into words right now. I'm disappointed, frustrated, shocked, and angry about what has happened here, but excited about moving to England and building a life there with Van. Even going back to the corporate world sounds pretty good.

Van has a much more eloquent explanation over at his blog.

Car Talk with the Clergy

On our way home from Bistrita yesterday, we stopped at the gas station in Nasaud where we were treated to the sight of a nun and a priest discussing the merits of the modern SUV versus the traditional Dacia pick-up.

OK, not really. Both vehicles were filled with nuns; only the one priest. But they were talking about something related to the vehicles as they both went to the front of the Dacia and the priest was clearly stooping down to look at something on the truck.

Anyway, I thought it was an interesting photo. I actually think the style of habit the nuns wear here is quite elegant compared to what you see in the west.

Yep, More About the Cats

We've been keeping Lucky and Zgomotila indoors lately, much to the chagrin of Tiger, who greatly resents this invasion of his turf. For the last couple days Tiger and Lucky have been particularly active, waging a campaign of highly acrobatic sneak attacks on one another. Just when I think Lucky is really bothering Tiger, the big guy turns around and pounces on Lucky.

Since I worry about everything, I worry about all of them adjusting to being in the house together, especially Tiger. So I was quite pleased when Lucky and Tiger spent most of the day all cozy on the couch together.

Of course, Lucky was once again saying "Enough with the photos woman!"

Animal Hospital, May I Help You?

Sometimes I think we are running our own ad-hoc animal hospital for the menagerie. First, we took Lucky to the vet to have those pesky testicles removed, resulting in the poor drug-addled baby peeing on various carpets. He actually came out of the anesthesia pretty quickly, which was good since it was a little heartbreaking to see him try to move around the house without full command of his faculties. He'd want to get up on a chair, I'd help him, only to have him decide he wanted to be back on the floor. In his drugged state, getting down consisted of doing a header onto the floor. But the funniest thing was the next morning when he tried to put one leg up to do the standard licking his ass maneuver and halfway through he realized this wasn't a good idea. It was a completely fluid move, leg up, head part way down, and then back to normal state.

Exorcist Lucky says "Linda Blair's got nothing on me! Cut my balls off? I'm coming to get you in your sleep, bitches!"

Then our accident-prone Balance accompanied Van and some guests on a carriage ride and managed to slice one of the pads on her left foot right open. So we're back to having her tied up (she literally chewed through the synthetic leash last night!) and trying to keep her foot bandaged. Did I mention this has happened before? Boy, blood sure shows up well on a white dog. Here's a photo of my girl on the fateful carriage trip.

She's outside whimpering pathetically right now because the other dogs are off in some field behind the house having fun without her. My poor girl!

And then last night, I decided to take a look at Zgomotila's ear, because it had looked a little misshapen to me. Oh my god. It is as if his right ear is a balloon that is completely inflated. We spoke to our vet friend and he said it's a hemotoma and that cats sometimes get this. They don't know why. Apparently we have to leave it for several days rather than draining it because if it's drained, it might actually get bigger. Poor Zgomo! Luckily, he doesn't appear to be in any pain. I think it hurts me more to look at it.

And now for some kitty porn...

All together now: AAAAWWWWWWW!

Fashion Faux Pas

Yesterday, I made a crucial error. I've managed to get Van to do a bit of spring cleaning around here to clear out some of the junk he has collected over the last decade. We were doing wardrobe triage and I decided to have a look at my own closet full of former-corporate-girl gear.

And then I decided to try on some of said gear.

Nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, fits! A brief visit to the scale revealed that I have once again reached my highest weight. Ugh. I guess it's time to dust off the old Weight Watchers books. Ugh.

In other sartorial news, Van and I also went through a box of traditional Romanian costumes he had inherited at some point. They were pretty plain and a bit on the old side. And then we found... the Reichsblouse.

Your eyes do not deceive you. That is a swastika pattern. Van has a bit of discussion about the use of this symbol in the pre-Nazi era over on his blog. And it's known that this symbol was used for far more benign purposes in some cultures. But the stigma remains. Needless to say, this one is staying in the box.

Why We Don't Give Away Stripe-y Kittens...

Exhibit #3,492:

All the attention is making Lucky camera-shy:

STOP TAKING MY PICTURE!

Shave and a Haircut?

Yesterday in Bistrita, I waited in the car while Van dropped off some papers at the finance ministry. Papers I believe he has completed no less than three times already. Each time someone else has f---ed up or, in typical Rom fashion, neglected to mention three other items that are needed.

Anyway, I looked over to see a somewhat dapper man, by Romanian standards, in a fairly nice car parked across the street. He was wearing a shirt and tie... and using his visor mirror to shave with an electric razor. Which is a strange thing to do. He continued with his morning shave until the woman he was waiting for arrived. She got in the car; he lit up a pipe (of all things!), started the car, did an illegal u-turn out of the parking space, and somewhat-dapper-man was gone.

Leaving me to examine the ever-increasing amount of old lady chin hair in my own visor mirror.

Security Risks

I had to make the epic journey to Bucharest this week to complete some paperwork at the embassy. We live rather north of the country's capital city, so getting there required an overnight train journey in an overheated sleeper cabin, while the return trip topped out at 11 hours on two trains. And I've already been feeling exhausted. But that's another story.

To get into the embassy, I had to have my bag searched and go through a metal detector. Pretty standard stuff. While I expected them to take my mobile phone—lest I use it to signal my pack of comrades that it is time to storm the gates!—I was surprised that they confiscated my medication and... my deodorant. [See mention of overnight train / overheated sleeper cabin above.]

That's right, my Dove aerosol is a security risk.

Is it because it's the Anti White Marks formula?

Does being "black dress friendly" make it "embassy unfriendly"?

There's no alcohol in it according to the bottle. Oh... wait... it is 150 millilitres. That must be it. That extra 50 millilitres of smell-preventing liquid could really be dangerous!

Just to review:

Dove Invisible Dry aerosol = DANGEROUS SECURITY RISK

John Frieda Frizz-Ease Secret Agent, 100 ml (also in my bag at time of search) = A-OKAY

"Secret Agent." It's right there in the name. Am I the only one noting the irony?

And as a disturbing aside, why in the world are people selling deodorant on eBay?

Another Criminal Genius

I've written recently about the various instances of low-level theft and pilfering that seems to go on here in Romworld. I've also mentioned my issues with the "work ethic."

[As an aside, my good friend Carol was talking with another friend of hers about Eastern Europe and mentioned my issues with the work ethic. This woman's partner emigrated to the U.S. from the former Czechoslovakia, so she knows a bit about this part of the world. Her comment?

"They have a work ethic now?"

You can't make this stuff up.]

Anyway, Van has long suspected that one of the younger men who works for us (let's call him Three), who lives in the next village, is responsible for various bits of tack, horseshoe studs, etc. going missing around here. But it's hard to prove of course. Then the other young man in our employ (let's call him One) mentioned to Van that Three has parts of our tack on his horse harnesses. But this could just be One, who is the cousin of Three, trying to blame someone else for items he has walked off with.

Well, in typical Rom style, Three and his family came to visit one of our neighbors on Sunday. Van and I were returning by truck from an errand in the centre of the village and he immediately noticed that the bit on one of the horses was ours. He went to investigate and Three's father lied through his teeth saying he got the bit from Italy.

Yeah right. How exactly? Not to put too fine a point on it, but this guy is a peasant in a rural village. A) How would he have any knowledge of the kind of bits used in Italy? (And it's clearly an English bit, but that's beside the point.) B) How would he get a bit from Italy? This guy has minimal knowledge of anything outside this area of the country and I'm pretty sure even if he had a computer, he wouldn't have the foggiest idea of how to order something online... from Italy.

And let's not even discuss the sheer stupidity of parking one's horse right across the road from where the items were stolen with the stolen items in plain view. So come Monday Van spoke to Three and told him to bring the items back tomorrow or don't bother coming back.

"What was his excuse for taking the stuff?" I asked Van.

"I'm not exactly sure how to translate looking at the ground and shuffling your feet," he responded with a laugh.

"I assume it's an admission of guilt, rather than an indication that his feet are guilty, a la 'these shoes are made for stealin'."

In other news, Luke has discovered the art of the jailbreak.

Hold the "Y"

Apparently tomorrow, 8 March, is International Women's Day. Who knew?

The mayor's office of our tiny Transylvanian village, that's who. In today's mail every woman in the village received a greeting card from the mayor's office marking the event.

It's sort of sweet, and nice to know that even here, in the back of beyond, they know about these things.

But what I liked best is how they addressed my envelope:

Hands down the most interesting spelling of my name in a very long time. The last time anyone put a "y" in my first name, it was on a valentine's card from a boy in my 5th grade class.