Week Thirteen

Guess what - yep, another week in Bucharest: in week in which the temperature never got above freezing, I might add. In order to combat the cold (the original plan had me hitting Turkey round about now, so I brought cold clothes but not super-cold clothes), we go shopping for some additional items. Successful finds are a little black woolly hat which makes me look like a.) a Norwegian sailor or b.) a terrorist (depending how far down I pull it); a couple of pairs of thick socks; and a sweatshirt with fleece lining (and logo - Bucharest is even worse than the UK for finding unmarked, non-designer-label or imitation stuff: people here seem to like wandering around being an advert - I think they believe it's a statement). Unsuccessful finds are my attempts to locate a pair of thermals for under my two pairs of autumn trousers. The only pair which approximates to what I want a.) make me look like someone's grandfather and b.) shrink and lose their elasticity when washed, so end up not approximating to what I want. Another worrying development on the clothes front is that both my pairs of autumn trousers are beginning to fray and fall apart - as mentioned, they were only supposed to last until mid-December, after all. Hopefully they'll still do the job until Turkey.
Regarding another strand in my current life, we have Milla's mother and Tina round for tea (pizza) on Monday: there's an intention of crepe pancakes as well, but there are problems with the available pans. Me? I figure it goes quite well, but again Milla disillusions me: we'd been discussing my so far, but that seemed to lead to the conclusion that I'd left a string of girls behind me (in every port, as it were). Flattering, but probably not helpful. Milla refuses to give up on the pancakes, and manages to develop a curious finger-burning technique which is largely successful. We eventually have a pancake and plum jam feast at about 03.00.
We reciprocate the visit on the 14th, and that one actually does go quite well, except that Tina is obviously really unwell and mostly in pain. Most of the visit is spent massaging and fussing over her. She's had a couple of trips to the vet this week, and things seemed to be going not too badly until her last electropuncture. Milla decides to consult another veterinary hospital on Saturday, taking round Tina's case history and recent X-rays. She returns with a second, confirmatory opinion that there's really nothing to be done, and also a 6ml phial of anti-inflammatory, to be given in 1.5ml injections, which eases the pain.
Christmas is meanwhile coming to Bucharest: lights and other decorations start going up, and Christmas trees and cards start appearing for sale (slightly more appropriately at this time of year than in early November, which seems to have become the norm at home). I pick up and post some cards on Tuesday and Wednesday, but have no idea if they'll get back to the UK in time for Christmas, New Year, Easter, or at all. On a related theme, I'm failing to find padded envelopes anywhere in this city, so the next batch of photos for the web are still sitting here. This is worrying, but a lot less worrying than the fact that my web provider has, without any warning, shut down their website maintenance facilities. They promise that they are upgrading the service, but there are no indications as to what this "upgrade" will include - hopefully the online editing tools which allow me to update the site from the field (or café).

Carol singers are in evidence in Bucharest in three variations so far:
a.) four santa-dressed brass-players, giving jazz renditions of various carols - they wander in the backstreets among the tower blocks: people open their windows, shout down requests, and throw down small packages (quite dangerous from the higher floors), presumably of money or goodies.
b.) a strange chanting man, whom someone has let into the block. He works his way around the flats, standing outside the doors chanting and intoning (presumably religious verse) like a displaced Buddgist monk. The flat next door (Milla's sworn enemies - they have a young and loud small child) open their door and give him sometihng.
c.) a curious troupe of about 12 people, in traditional costume (except the guy at the front, who's dressed like a cross between Santa Claus and a giant reindeer - at least, I assume that's not traditional costume). They also wander the streets between the blocks, beating out continual rhythms on a number of loud drums while others blow whistles intermittently. Milla later informs me that this is very traditional, including the reindeer guy at the front.

Milena meanwhile starts to arrange something for Christmas and New Year: she reckons spending it in the mountains is a good option, miles from civilisation amid the wild animals and deep snow. Despite several routes she fails to come up with a good/affordable option, though may continue trying on the basis that the alternative is spending Christmas with family in Bucharest.

I'll finish off this week's notes with a couple of observations about living in a tower-block in Bucharest:

• Each floor has a rubbish chute, which goes straight down and empties into a skip: the skips are collected at regular intervals. No bin-bags, or wheelie-bins, etc.
• Street vendors occasionally work their way around the blocks, crying out: particularly rag-and-bone/scrap merchants, with low, open, horse-drawn carts.
• The elevators, despite apparently being made of cardboard and lined with thin aluminium (don't lean against the sides - they buckle) always seem to be working. Milena only recalls three occasions when hers was briefly out of order (and she's stayed here many years), which is just as well because the climb to the eleventh floor would be a real killer.
• There's a monthly maintenance bill, which pays for an administrator, communal electricty (hall lights, the entry phone, the elevator, etc.), all hot water and central heating. Gas, phone and electricity utilities are rated and paid by the individual flats.

Oh, and next week I'm going to be 35.