Week Ten

The ultimate non-entry in a travel journal: not only did I not see anything new or different today, but we didn't even leave the flat.

Out again on my own, this time to get some prints made from my last batch of films (if I'm here for a while, I'll post them back to the UK from Romania), and to spend time arranging the previous batch of prints on the website. I also bought an okay hairband - I've been looking for new ones for s few days (the ones I brought are collapsing), but haven't found anything suitable (pony-tails are pretty much only for girls here, so all hairbands are (eg.) pink or have plastic flowers). Apart from that, nothing really except spending time with Milena.
Lemme tell you about Milena:

On the first day after my interrail pass expires, we decide to visit Transylvania together - she already knows all the places on my list to visit, so it should be perfect. We check the train times north (there are options at 07.00, 07.30, 08.50 and 09.00) and start thinking about what to take. Top of Milena's list are a pair of good boots, a waterproof jacket and a small bag (none of which she has), which seems quite reasonable to me. We head into town as early as possible, which (again) is late afternoon, to do what stuff we can - we search the old town for a place to cut keys (they're all closing) and a cobblers (she has a pair of military boots which are too large for her). En route, she buys a couple of little bagels with sesame seeds - possibly a bad choice, since she spends the next ten minutes picking the sesame seeds of hers.
After a fruitless search, she takes me to a cobbler she's used before: he works out of a basement (reeking of leather and glue and polish) in a confused courtyard, created by an uneven jumble of residential blocks. It's very 50s communist, reminiscent of a thousand Soviet films and also of the hostel in Sofia - stray dogs prwl the area, as do random groups of overcoated men, and bulky women with shopping bags. The cobbler's facility is two rooms, lined with random unmatched furniture heaped with shoes, boots, pieces of leather, various tools, and collections of soles. The man himself is a jolly figure directly taken from a Grimm fairy tale: he takes a series of measurements, and 250,000 lei, and the boots, and then we leave.

It's Wednesday, which is apparently a good day to visit church, and Milena's favourite church is here. So in we go (she tells me that I can wait outside if I want, but hey - I've probably been in more Orthodox churches in the last month than she has). Actually, I probably should have waited outside: there's a big difference between touristing a church (check out the architecture, the frescoes, the icons, any history, the cultural/social spread of worshippers) and waiting in the vestibule while your partner genuflects and crosses herself and prays her way round each of the icons. To be honest, it freaks me out a bit - I can observe pretty much anything dispassionately from outside, but this was a bit too close to inside. Also, it reminds me how completely different we are in some ways.
Also, she buys and lights four candles on the way out.

We go for a coffee to a basement bar lined with tables and long seats - Club A (that's Cloob Ah): we chat for a while with bisexual, one-eyed Marian - a friend of Milena's from her journalism student days (she has not completed both a multi-year journalism qualification and a degree in biochem). Actually, when I say "we chat" I mean mostly that they chat - it seems only fair, considering Milan's spoken nthing but English for the past 8 days. Social interplay is interesting and quite French: people drift in and out, bar-staff change, introductions are amde and conversations continues ("What's your name?" Millena asks at one point, when she doesn't recognise the guy behind the bar) at the same level. The egality and lack of that semi-formal introduction system present in the UK is refreshing: come to think of it, it's quite American as well. I don't know why, but the assumption in the UK seems to be that you probably won't like/be liked by people you don't know: here, there's more of an assumption that you will. Dunno.
After a coffee and a beer, we catch separate trams (I'm getting out at Mosilor to catch up on some emails; Milena has things to do). When I get back at 23.30, she's pretty pissed off - not only is she in the process of falling out with her mother (whom we keep talking about visiting, and their common dog Tina), but her Cable TV's been literally cut off: something to do with not paying for it. A few late telephone calls to bribeable cable engineers results in an early morning arrangement for someone to come round tomorrow to connect her directly to the rooftop hub/receiver (advantage of living on the top floor).
Dinner is late and large, as ever (Milena feeds me more than I ever eat if left to my own devices - my waist is expanding again, after having lost well over a stone so far this trip).
I go to sleep reflecting on the fact that I'm staying with a mad psycho woman . . . again.

The cable guy's scheduled to turn up in the morning, so we resolve to get up early, but don't. They (there are two) wake us and I hide (or at least don't say anything) so they don't get the impression that we've got a bundle of money - actually, we do have a bundle of money (everyone has in this country), but it's all notes worth <30p: coins here are aluminium (I think) and worth effectively nothing, so people tend to do everything with paper. After an amount of drilling and hammering, the guys leave and Milena skips around the flat proclaiming "We've got TV!".
A couple of hours later we receive our first visitor - Milena's friend Ella, who is tall, elegant, nervous and comes bearing cakes as a visiting present. After she leaves, Milena informs me that I have to tell her she's lovely next time we meet, to allay her paranoia - ah, the social repsonsibility. We hit the market at Obor once again: outside there are 'dealers', casually standing around and saying "tigari" from time to time. They will negotiate a price for grey import cigarettes, based on the quantity you're buying. Additionally, we stock up on food, coffee, luxury items, and so on.
Back home, Milena starts washing clothes - a multi-stage manual operation, which mostly involves putting the bath out of order for long periods of time. We pack stuff, ready to hit Transylvania tomorrow.
Also today, Milena gives me all her cash on some bizarre basis that I should keep it (we are buying everything in common, I suppose): the end result is that all our transactions now take a little longer, since she has to ask me for the money each time.

Bucharest is turning into Morocco, in that we keep talking about going places but never actually go. Again, we get up way too late to do anything travel-related. We go out late afternoon, and walk pretty much the whole length of Mosilor looking for a key place - the message is the same, though: it's an unusual type of key, and we'd be better off contacting a housebreaker.
After that, I show Milla my website (to prove it exists) and then we return home, where the washing moves on a stage.

Okay - not only did we not go to Transylvania today, but we didn't even leave the flat. I notices that the blisters on my feet, which had calloused and were excellent for walking, are beginning to start healing and rubbing off. I've become an immobile traveller. Also, unusually, I've made almost no effort to learn Romanian - there are two reasons for this:

• I'm normally with Milena, so I don't need it, and
• I can figure out an awful lot of it (eg. a sleeping car here is a "Vagon de Dormit").

Today we didn't go to Transylvania: instead, Milena finished washing clothes (three days, possibly a record) and cooked - stuffed peppers and meatballs in a sauce. This entailed a major market trip to pick up all the ingredients, which in turn entailed a loud and public shouting argument with a woman selling eggs: it transpires that she and Milena had an altercation last year as well, which involved the police. Me? I probably would have avoided the same person, but Milena couldn't resist her cheaper prices.
The meal was pretty good (except the sauce - but that was counterbalanced by my disastrous coffee of late this evening). I have a photograph of her cooking, but have been forbidden from posting it on the web. The entire cooking operation lasts about five hours, uses every utensil and pan in the flat, and results in a very spread-out evening meal (which helps disguise the fact that it's huge). Tomorrow is Monday, a day on which many museums and tourist attractions (including Peles and Pelisor Castles at Sinaia) are closed, so we won't go tomorrow either. Not to worry - that gives us a day to get clothes and money ready, and to collect Milena's boots.