Scarlett Pages

The Quaint Isle

We have definitely entered the land of quaintness here in England. Early last week we purchased a used 4x4 from a dealership in Hook Norton. Which is a couple miles from Over Norton, but not to be confused with the larger, more cosmopolitan Chipping Norton. And over the hill is Ed Norton.

OK, no Ed Norton, but the others are real places. I couldn't make this stuff up. Reviewing the map as Van drove I noted Great and Little Tew, as well as Duns Tew. Great and Little Milton and Haseley. Great, Little, AND Upper Rissington. Upper and Lower Slaughter, Swell, and Oddington. Upper, Middle, and Lower Tysoe. Upper-, Lower-, and Sutton-under-Brailes.

Bourton-on-the Hill and –on-the-Water. Milton, Shipton, and Ascott—all “-under-Wychwood."

We regularly drive by East and West Lockinge, Hendred, and Hanney. We live in South Moreton, with North Moreton just a mile down the road.

There are Roads and Streets, but they are well outnumbered by the Courts, Lanes, Closes, Ways, Fees, and Mewses. And all the houses, even the small semi-detached ones, have names. Van's friends Mary and Paul live in Badgers Rest. We stayed in a room above a pub on Nottingham Fee, which features Nottingham Fee House. Around the corner was the Yew Tree, also a B&B. We've also stayed at the Regis House and Greensands B&Bs. Every village seems to have an Old School House, The Old Post Office, The Old Farm Cottage. But the names aren't just "cottages" and "houses;" some are quite whimsical, even funny to an American like me. In our travels I've seen Fylands, Fyfield Court, Deveens Fir, Downside (imagine living in a house called the "Downside;" what a downer), Misty Morn, and Merlin

In discussing my amusement at these various names, Van's mother offered as an example the town of Wyre Piddle. Apparently there is another village near it called Piddle-in-the-Hole, but I have not been to verify that. However, I did find Piddletrenthide on the map.

I begin to see where Lewis Carroll and J.R.R. Tolkein took their inspiration. Having performed in my 5th grade class' musical interpretation of Alice in Wonderland, I find myself silently singing:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

In the spirit of whimsy and quaintness that I love so much about my new home, I offer the following interactive "quiz" for my readers. In each group, select the name that is NOT real. [I trust the Brits will excuse themselves for having an unfair advantage.]

HOUSES
Beatlands
Brangwyn
Dolphin Cottage
Mather House
Pax Vobis
Shotover
The Stripey Tiger
Two Chimneys

STREETS
Farm Piece
Featherbed Lane
Packhorse Way
Swing Swang Lane
St. Hugh's Rise
Three Pigeons Close

TOWNS
Broughton Poggs
Duckington
Goosey
Kingston Bagpuize
Netherpuddle Moreton
Stow-on-the-Wold

COUNTIES/ADMINISTRATIVE AREAS
Bournemouth
Milton Keynes
Scrachyerashire
Thurrock
Tyne and Wear
Wokingham

!!!BONUS POINTS!!!

BEERS

Directors Bitter
Hooky Dark
Maidenhead Red
Old Speckled Hen
6X
White Horse Ale

Please submit your answers in the comments section. Entries will be accepted until Monday, 5 May. The person with the most correct answers, submitted first, will win an 8 x 10 photo selected by you from one of my photo galleries.

Acclimatization

Once again apologies for the lack of posting. It's been a strange mix of busy-ness and relaxation for us over the last two weeks as we settle into our new home here in England. Van and I are both immensely enjoying being here, even if we are still living a bit like nomads. We move in to our new rental apartment/house tomorrow, so that will be one more step forward.

For now, I feel that I'm settling in to life in England fairly well. Having lived in Europe for a few years now, I've known and worked with a lot of Brits, so I'm somewhat familiar with the different terms and turns of phrase they use here. For the most part I no longer even consciously notice that anyone is speaking with an English accent. I still can't really tell the difference between the different regional accents, but I suppose that will come.

Otherwise, I'm taking things as they come and enjoying the process of deciphering all the little idiosyncrasies of my new home. Luckily, I have an excellent resource: Van.

He answers questions about the unfamiliar acronyms [HGV (heavy goods vehicle), MOT (Ministry of Transport—used to indicate the require inspection of your vehicle].

He explains the lack of mixer taps. [The majority of places we have stayed have had separate hot and cold taps, so unless you want to burn or freeze your hands, you have to fill the basin with water from both; according to Van, this is present mostly in older homes or places where they are trying to be fashionably old-fashioned. I'm not sure about that, as the newly built guesthouse we're staying in right now—with the very modern furnishings and fittings and the flat-screen TV—has two separate taps as well.

He patiently explains that though it may be spelled Berkshire, it's actually pronounced BARK-sher.

Easy lessons to absorb. Made all the easier by the beautiful scenery, quaint villages with darling pubs, and friendly, helpful people with which we seem to find ourselves surrounded.

News from the Former Life

Both Van and I are trying very hard to focus on the future, not the past. But word does still trickle through to us. And it's hard not to be annoyed by it.

Last Thursday we heard that the house, empty for less than two weeks, had already been broken into. We've since heard that the police have boarded it up. We have some suspicions about who might have been behind both of these actions, as one particular member of the family who sold the original house and land to Van about nine years ago, including all the furnishings, has come back to Van several times over the years asking for certain decorative, folkloric items that were not removed before the sale and which he only decided he wanted after the property was legally Van's. [This after the sale agreement was altered at the last minute because someone in the family wanted to keep the small plot of land immediately behind the house. Of course, the price stayed the same. (A fellow North American living in Romania recently observed, "they sure know how to take the money." Which rather sums it up.)]

When the aforementioned person heard we were leaving, he immediately stopped by and said that since we were leaving, he'd like the items back. Right. As if we had just been "renting" the property all these years and it was still technically his. When Van said he had donated the items to a museum, the man got very angry, saying "how dare" Van do this.

We have a term in America, "Indian giver," which I always understood was born of our terrible treatment of the Native Americans, who the American government would give land to in treaties, only to later take it back. It somehow seems very appropriate here.

Another person we sold some horses and equipment to, has now come back asking to re-negotiate the previously-agreed price. Hello? You agreed. You got the equipment and animals at a fair price, even somewhat below their value. You've had the equipment and animals for several weeks already without making payment. And now you want to dicker with us? The scary thing is that this person isn't even Romanian, but apparently has already absorbed some of the habits.

I sincerely hope that the trickle of information dries up soon.

Travel Photos

As I have to fight my e-mail addicted man for use of my laptop right now, I've finally been able to download and post some photos from our travels.

Enjoy!

The Great Escape

That’s what we called our journey across Europe, leaving Romanian to once again join the land of the civilized. I’ve noticed that for those who stay in Romania, there is a kind of self-hypnosis that consists of ignoring the obviously negative aspects and concentrating on the smallest positive details. Van and I clearly partook of this deceptive self-preservation tactic and it has been amazing how quickly our outlook changed as soon as we made the decision to leave.

Driving across Romania, I noted that once we got to the western side of Cluj, there was much less trash scattered by the roadside and the architecture was more tasteful. Van pointed out we were in an ethnically Hungarian area, so that was the reason. But even in Oradea, the last city before the Hungarian border, which is more ethnically Romanian, you could see the Hungarian influence. I was amazed to see how much cleaner and more well-maintained the buildings were. Even the apartment blocks were far more attractive than in cities like Bistrita and Cluj, where they are falling apart and the concrete structures are often stained with streaks of red that runs off the rusty metal railings of the balconies. The storefronts too were much cleaner, better-designed, and more welcoming. Open areas had neatly planted bushes and grass.

Crossing the border into Hungary was pure relief. After passing through the ghost-town of the former Romanian border crossing—no signs to tell you to proceed of course, just an empty shell—we stopped at the Hungarian crossing, anxious that we might have trouble with the papers for the horses that it took us two days at the veterinary service to get. The Hungarians looked at our passports, didn’t even ask to see the horse papers, and sent us on our way.

We continued our journey to the Kalman farm and guesthouse in Tiszafured, in the midst of the great floodplain of the Tisza river. It’s a vast protected wetland full of birds and fishing and other outdoor pursuits. The Kalman guesthouse has only three rooms, but the overall quality of everything—from food to furnishings to building standards—was just obviously so much higher than anything you can find in Romania. A tastefully-decorated, comfortable room; a bathroom done in neutral colors rather than teal or pink tile with matching grout and every effort made to hide or cover any unsightly plumbing; proper double-glazed windows and doors covered in tasteful, clean net curtains; AND even a screen door out onto the balcony. And boy, did we enjoy the breakfast of breads, meats, and cheeses.

Driving through the small Hungarian towns really underscored just how dirty and screwed-up Romworld is. Here were small to moderate size houses neatly arranged into rows with clean little yards covered in grass or landscaping. The roads were paved and well-maintained, with the verges paved as well and any grass or weeds trimmed. Even a teeny-tiny village is like this. In Romania, the predominant thing you notice is the dirt, which during the many wet months just turns the entire place into a mud hole. And while there was the occasional house painted in a bright orange or yellow, it blended in simply because the owner hadn’t felt the need to build some giant three-story monstrosity too big for the plot of land and paint it a lurid color in order to show his neighbors how “successful” he is. It comes down to the Hungarians having a sense of proportion, sophistication, and taste—attributes sorely lacking in Romania.

And since I’ve brought up the idea of success: I’ve many times discussed the Rom view that all foreigners are rich. But the Roms never stop to think why foreigners have more. It’s not merely about the advantages we have had being Western countries. It’s about work and planning and prudence. The Romanians are not at all hard workers and they spend their money as soon as they get it. They seem to resent anyone doing better than them, are completely entranced by anything big and shiny (as it connotes “success” to them), and fail to plan for the future. For example:

• Our head horseman once figured out that he spent a third of his salary on cigarettes and drink. Did he stop? No.
• While we had four staff working to take care of 30 horses, the Hungarian breeder we sold our Hutuls to has 120 horses and two staff. Because they actually work and do their jobs rather than standing around until the boss comes to tell them exactly what to do.
• Van paid for one of our staff to train as a farrier; had he the slightest bit of ambition, he could have been making a fair bit of money shoeing horses in his free time. He has no interest (too much like hard work) and didn’t even bat an eye when Van packed up all the farriery tools and horseshoes.

And then there are the lurid villas, each one bigger and uglier than the next. These houses are literally of a size that would be considered a mansion in the U.S. (though they are far too ugly and poorly designed and constructed to be). Usually these are the result of someone working abroad in Spain and sending money back. Most of them are in a half-finished state and I’m sure that not one of the owners has thought about the fact that he will never be able to afford to heat the place, much less fully furnish it. Like the heads of the gypsy clans who build outsided houses and then live in one room, that's what many of the Romanians with their lurid villas are now doing... or will be in the future. What happens when the work dries up? What happens when Spain and Italy get so sick of the Roms and their behavior that they kick them out? How will they pay to maintain these monstrosities then? Why not build a modest house and save your money? Because that’s what foreigners do and that’s why they have money! It’s not that hard to figure out.

But the Roms like to play the eternal victims; nothing is every their fault. “Oh, woe is me, we were oppressed by Communism,” blah, blah, blah. Well, it’s been about 20 years since Communism, so you’ve had time to put your country in order. Hungary was Communist longer than Romania and they seem to be doing fine. Perhaps its because they actually work hard, save their money, and put the effort in that’s needed to make things work well. And since the Roms always need someone to blame, every ill of their society is blamed on the gypsies (or Roma). They blame the gypsies for stealing, for dumping their trash, for anything negative, failing to see that they behave exactly the same way.

Having become very frustrated with the Roms and their behavior, I found myself saying more and more in the last few days of our time there “enjoy your economic downturn” and “the ATM is closed.” Because Romanians seem to have no understanding of cause and effect, no one has thought through how our leaving will affect the local economy. Oh, the occasional person whined about “who will buy our hay now?” (as if that’s our concern), but that was as long-term as the thinking got. Most of them were just happy to get their last payment for hay and go off to the bar. The employees seemed overjoyed at the household items and equipment we let them take, giving not a thought to the fact that neither of the women who worked as cooks would likely find further employment in the village. It’s just all short-term thinking.

I'll stop my own complaining now and close this post by saying that we arrived safely in England on Thursday and are happy indeed to be here. After six days traveling in a trailer and being good as gold, Doru and Pintea are ensconced in their new home at a stable in Ginge. Van has even been out riding Doru on the downs twice now, while Pintea enjoyed a much-needed grooming yesterday to remove the mud and heavy winter coat from his former life. Van and I are staying in room above a pub, which makes him quite happy, as does the use of their Wi-Fi internet connection. We've sorted out mobile phones and are looking for an apartment and jobs. So for now, we are just as busy as we were before our great escape.

Thanks to everyone who's sent us messages of support and good wishes. I will be writing more in the coming days and I'll post a few photos I managed to take on our journey.

But When She Got There, The Cupboard Was Bare

Let me start with the part of our day yesterday that made me smile and nearly squeal with delight.

We arrived home from Bistrita (Part 1 of our day, which will be detailed in another post), to find the guesthouse empty of all furniture. Don't worry. We weren't robbed (for a change). This time, this is what was supposed to happen.

We had attempted to sell the furniture we'd had made by an English-run charity here in Romania, but as A) many pieces were poorly made with the wrong thickness of wood to begin with and B) at least three tries by the charity's personnel (read: bodges and tricks to try to cover that it was poorly made to begin with) failed to solve the problems, no one was willing to pay good money for it.

However, we were contacted by another charity working with gypsy children who were trying to furnish their facility and were happy to take whatever we wished to donate off our hands. The husband and wife running the facility came to Lunca Ilvei and literally busted their asses for two days packing up beds, mattresses, wardrobes, cabinets, chairs, night tables, shelves and desks. We also gave them the linens and towels, pots and pans, dishes, silverware, etc. These two people were so nice, so hard-working, and so appreciative, it was a pleasant change from what we've been seeing lately in the local Romanian population. It made Van in particular very happy to know that the items would be put to good use.

I too am happy to see these items go to a good home, to see that they will be of use. But I'm not as ashamed as I probably should be to say that I'm also happy that they will not go to the locals. Many have already been sniffing around for what they can get. And on the rare occasion they offer to buy something, they want it for one-quarter of its value. While our staff and several neighbors helped load our belongings onto a huge tractor trailer truck Wednesday night (not for free, mind you, but for payment in money or hay, depending on their preference), Van noted that the boys were rather reluctant to pack some of the equipment in his workshop. No doubt in hopes that he would "forget" it and they could come back and claim it later. We have no doubt that people will be breaking into the house within a day of our leaving to scavenge what they can.

And that's part of why we're leaving. The dishonesty, the petty--and outright--theft, and the attitude that because we're foreigners, because we (admittedly) have more than them, that it is somehow every Romanian's right to try to get as much off of us as possible. It's a strange sense of entitlement, almost as if as foreigners it's our responsibility to provide for them.

I certainly don't expect people to be grateful for any little thing we might do, but the great sucking vortex of ungratefulness is shocking and rather disheartening when we have made a real contribution to this community, providing jobs at above-average pay and spending our money on local goods and services. The worst example has frankly been our part-time cook, who is married to our head horseman Cornel. She is clearly the queen bee among her family and set of women friends and enjoys that position. She's a smart woman, worthy of respect, and we have always treated her well. But frankly, she's grown a bit too big for her britches.

Knowing that Cornel is a highly-capable man who has a family to support, Van went out of his way to promote Cornel as a potential employee to all his contacts. He was able to secure Cornel a position with an old aristocratic Romanian family who were forced to flee during Communism and have returned to start a foundation. The family are building a large tourist establishment (hotel, golf course, riding) near Cluj. Having purchased several horses and other equipment from us, they wanted Cornel to come work for them taking care of the horses. The job includes a 20% increase in his salary, a small house (with a larger house to be built by the end of the year), and because Cluj is three hours away, money to return to Lunca Ilvei each weekend.

Not perfect because of the location, but still a good offer, working for good people, with a chance to develop, opportunity for his wife to work in the hotel once it's finished, and a chance to move their two boys to an area with a better school system and more opportunity to go to university. All in all, Van was (rightly) quite pleased to have been able to secure this offer for Cornel, who was himself grateful. I don't want to sound like some phony do-gooder who's more interested in how the "good" makes her look than if it is actually valid and useful for the recipient, but frankly, this is a real chance for their family to move up in the world.

But wife's comments amounted to: the salary isn't enough; it's more important for the children to be near their extended family than to go to better schools; she needs the new employer to pay for someone to cut and bring her firewood (despite Cornel having four weeks of vacation per year when he could work around home--what does she think the women whose husbands are in Spain do?); and oh, can she have the refrigerator in our kitchen?

I was and remain absolutely shocked by the ingratitude. It really floors me. I have been so angry and disappointed, that I determined that NOTHING would go to her. Normally, she is the first person who I give anything extra to, anything that I don't have a use for. But it has also become clear that she now expects this and you can sense that she isn't pleased to be coming out of this with none of the kitchen equipment, dishes, linens, etc.

Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I honestly wish I could see the look on her face when she sees that everything is gone.

What a pity to leave on such a sad, negative note. But at least I had the opportunity to see Cornel this morning, give him a hug, and ask how the new job is working out. I do wish him and his family all the best.