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Romania
Holiday 2001.
Everybody but everybody painted a
bleak picture, basically: 'Don't go unless you have to, be very careful
while you are there!'. There were rumours of a regime ready to catapult
Romania back into a repressive soviet-style era (not true), of galloping
inflation (true), of not being safe anywhere on the streets (gross
exaggeration).
So I expected the worst when we landed at Bucharest Otopeni airport, and
I knew from previous trips just how bad the 'worst' could be. I recalled
my first experience of Romania's 'Heathrow', and just what a state it
was in. Armed uniformed guards shepherding passengers with that mean
look that it seems anyone can quickly engender when given an AK47 to
hold, strangers shuffling up to you and saying 'Dollars, Marks?',
obviously selling something - black market money, drugs, a girl??
Toilets that were, well how can I say it delicately - misused and just
left un-cleaned by the staff.
But I started to get an inkling that things had changed somewhat as soon
as our Lufthansa jet taxied onto the apron. I noticed the state airline
Tarom seemed to be using mainly Boeings. All the old soviet style
Antonovs, Ilyushins, Tupelovs were gone, or else parked up on the far
side of the airport. Even the fleet of British BAC 111 twin-jets,
Romania's former pride, seeing as they were part of a prestige
arrangement forged by the Ceausescu regime, a deal under which he
actually got a honorary knighthood from the Queen, were all parked up for
disposal. Tarom was using Boeing 737's, each named as a Romanian city
('Bucharest' - 'Timisoara' etc). Zero usefulness for xenophobic pride,
just efficient American workhorses - and not an armed guard in sight!
Once in the terminal, I am surprised
by the amount of people using mobile phones.
(I thought surely poor Romania hasn't been able to install a nation-wide
network of mobile phone responders, maybe these work in and around the
capital only? But no, mobile phones are in use all over Romania).
In the arrivals lounge at Bucharest both Miti and Paul Bochian were due
to meet us. We have no idea what Paul looks like and so we study the
numerous people holding placards as we exit the arrivals lounge, while
looking out for Miti too. We draw a blank on both. Miti has told me in
an e-mail that he has gone grey - so I wonder if I will recognise him.
But while walking through the concourse, I see him sitting on a seat and
call out loud like a policeman: 'Mister Zaharia' - Miti jumps up and
soon we are hugging in a big hello to cover the six or seven years it's
been. He doesn't look so very different from how I remember him - his
hair is a little greyed, but it's now got some distinguished curls to
it.
We hire a car, and I buy a phone card so I can use a public phone to
call Paul Bochian. I discover to my surprise the service works
excellently - the equipment confirms the number dialled and makes the
connection immediately. I think maybe this is special installation
because it is at the airport, but later I discover that anywhere in
Romania, even in remote villages, the public phone system has the same
reliable and easy to use equipment.
Soon we are driving out of the
airport with Miti in the back and I can see the changes since my last
visit are not just cosmetic but more fundamental. There are indications
everywhere of enterprises big and small - rising up from nothing, from a
people who previous to ten years ago, had no experience of it. Now
everywhere you can see small shops and businesses. Before you couldn't
tell anyway if a building housed a business because there were no signs
outside the shops, factories or offices. The old communist system did
away with such unsocialist encumbrances and this persisted long after
the revolution. There is colour everywhere! Never again will I bemoan
advertising boards, for here I see they have redeemed what before was a
vista of unremitting drabness. The outlook is also helped by the simple
fact that many buildings seem to have had a lick of paint whereas before
it was an oddity to see anything but greyed or yellowed paint work,
invariably cracked and patchy. These things ring a very different
ambience to me, someone who has not been here since the autumn of 1992.
We make contact with Paul Bochian, and his father John Bochian, who is
pastor of a big church in Bucharest. That evening Mandy and I get to
sing a few songs at his church, and afterwards John takes us for a meal
before finding us all a place to sleep at the back of the church.
The next day, Monday, we leave the
big capital city, heading for Constanta about 250 km away. It is a
four-hour drive and once there we stop off first to see Miti's sister Eleonora
and her husband Tomas at their flat in old-town Constanta, just
a stones' throw from the port and promenade. They make us royally
welcome, our first taste of the hospitality from Miti's family which is
to abound upon us like a warm cuddle the whole time we are there. Tomas
works shifts on the Black Sea oil rigs and is off work for a few days.
From Constanta, we drive north past Mamaia beach and the campers park
where Miti and I first met, to the town of Navodari, where Miti's sister
Helen, and her husband Rudi, and their now, big daughters Denise and
Claudia, are waiting to greet us outside their apartment block.
How well I remember coming here
for the first time in 1990 as Miti tried to help us get gas for our
camping stove. In the apartment I sat down on a chair only to be told by
Miti 'Oh no, Dave - my sister says you must not sit there, you must sit
here..' I was directed to sit in the best seat in the house from people
who didn't know me at all! Now they make their home openly available to
us, giving us their big double bed to sleep on. Rudi has obtained two
days off work so he can be with us and that night we have a walk around
Navodari and a meal and a long talk with Rudi and Helen.
What a change in Navodari! This town was built essentially to support
the massive oil refinery plant nearby (called 'Petro-Midia'), as well as
a chemical factory which has now closed. In short, it was conceived and
built by the communists as a housing complex for workers and before, to
me, seemed to have all the functionality of a labour camp and little
else. Now it is bedecked with small enterprises and refurbishment
activity. Gone are the lines of shabby grey people shuffling wearily
through drab streets. Now there is a colourful bustle and many young
folk in fashionable, even expensive-looking clothes. Shops sell things -
like paint, or a can of Fanta, or a nice cake! - unheard of before. The
pavements are in the process of being re-laid in block brick, and it's
easy to see the work is being done with some care, quite unlike work in
Romania before!
Surprisingly, I soon discover that Miti and Rudi aren't so aware of any
improvements, I guess it has just grown up slowly around them. 'Do you
notice any change' they ask with a serious look that says there hasn't
been any.
Going to the shops I notice how they now proffer a helpful attitude
toward customers where before they would ignore you completely. I
mention it to Miti - he says it's the influence of TV. So again, I have
to repent of bemoaning these things (TV and advertising boards!) for I
can see what a positive effect these have had on this country, coming
from a 'ground-zero' start in such a relatively short time.
Even the venerable home-produced 'Dacia' car has been brought up to
date. A Dacia was once an object of scorn and derision, much like the
Trabanz of East Germany, but the new model looks great (and Romania now
also produces Daewoo cars too). I remember once going to hire a car in
Bucharest, and upon asking 'could I have a Dacia?' being told in
authoritative manner by the girl 'You don't want a Dacia. Believe
me, you want a Citroen, a Ford, an Opel - but you do NOT want a Dacia!'
Well now I see the Romanian car hire companies offer the Dacia along
with the Citroen, the Ford...
It is a land of once-secret
places. On Tuesday we go with Rudi and Helen to an old nomenclature
hideaway near Basarabi, about 50km from Constanta, where tourists now come for wine-tasting. It is a
building constructed in communist times to quite a unique design,
essentially round with a spiral staircase in the middle. The atmosphere
of the former regime still pervades it through the hard faces of the
staff, who are probably drawn from the same strata of society as before.
Equally probably they are hoping that former glories (for them) will
return, and they can resume their special privileges, and be rid of us
tiresome foreigners.
Later that day, at Constanta's Archaeological Museum I discover to my
surprise that Enisala (Miti's family village) was once an important
'fort' gateway in Genovese times, I am completely amazed by this, and
yet - of course, I knew Enisala had a castle and why would a castle have
been built there unless it was once somewhere important?
On Wednesday, we set out with Miti
and Helen for Enisala village, about 100 km north of Navodari. The main
highway is being repaired and brand new machines resplendent in yellow
paint are applying asphalt surface in a workmanlike manner. An Italian
company have the contract for this work.
The main road from Constanta goes north to Babadag (a Turkish name that
translates as 'Father's mountain' Miti says), and that is where we stop
to see another one of Miti's sisters - Viorica. She is effervescent,
just as I remember her from before. Like everywhere of Miti's family we
visit, a meal has been prepared for us, and we dine in her apartment
with her and daughter Diana. Then, with the addition of Viorica and Diana
aboard our hire car, we navigate the 7 km of, what I can only
describe as, wrecked road from Babadag to Enisala village. Miti said
that when he returned home after a trip to Turkey, he thought the NATO
bombers had missed Kosovo and hit the road to his village instead. That
about sums up the state of it!
In Enisala, I meet Miti's family again and introduce them to Mandy. It
is lovely to see mama and papa Zaharia once more, mama hugs me
affectionately, addressing me as one of the family. As always everyone
in Miti's large family is overwhelming in their hospitality to us. While
we are there, we drive out to the castle, which although plainly visible
from Miti's home, is some distance away. A Range-Rover is parked up on
the castle approaches, and we get to meet Terry and Sue, English people
who live in Spain and are on a camping holiday across Europe!
In the Zaharia yard are chickens,
ducks, there is a rabbit pen, and a chained-up guard dog barking for
affection. As we are about to leave I notice the donkey that papa
Zaharia uses to pull his cart. 'Hello Donkey' I say, entering the dark
shed where he lives to give him a pat, while vaguely hearing behind me
shouts from Miti of 'No! - Dave ...' The next thing I know is the donkey
has turned his back on me and with a quick flick, distributed the
contents of the floor upon my humble countenance. Thus I emerge from the
donkey shed covered in donkey poo with everyone collapsing in gales of
laughter.
On the road back to Navodari, we
see Petro-Midia in the distance, like a giant city. 'Ceausescus's
Candles' - Miti says pointing to the three big smoke-stacks. He tells us
about the Stryrene production facility, conspicuous by the several large
spherical tanks, abandoned after Ceausescu because it was so dangerous,
yet another wasteful and damaging project.
On Thursday we spend several hours on the beach at Mamaia, with Miti,
Claudia and Denise, and have the requisite (and only) swim in the Black
Sea. Mandy comments how Mamaia beach is a natural resort, perfect
in every respect except... a couple of miles away you can
see the dark skyscraper outline of the giant Petro-Midia plant. Only the
communists could build such a monstrosity in such a position, on display
as if it were a work of art.
Friday, we spend in Constanta, walking around the old town and sea-front
with Miti, Eleonora and Tomas.
Saturday, we set off to spend a couple of days in Tulcea and Enisala.
The road north passes first through Babadag and we stop off there at
Viorica's (to drop off Claudia who is spending a couple of days with
Viorica's daughter Diana). We pop around to see Cornelia - yes, another
one of Miti's sisters. Of course, popping around means to have a drink,
something to eat...
Along the highway from Babadag to
Tulcea, we see the sign for Tulcea Airport, so we turn into it and drive
along the long tree-lined drive. Closed gates bar access to the terminal
but I am curious, is it possible to use the airport for a private
flight? A young lady appears - Corrine who speaks good English. I ask
her and she lets us in, and clutching a mobile phone and waving off the
armed guard, shows us around a parked Antonov An-2 kitted out for
crop-spraying. She gives me all the details I need to operate a Beech
King-Air into the
airport ($50 to land, another $50 to have the lights switched on...).
The place has facilities which I can only describe as over-the-top for
an airport which probably sees one movement per day.
At Tulcea we walk along the Danube
promenade, check out Hotel prices (for tomorrow night) before driving to
Enisala via a back road through the Russian village of Sarichoi.
Saturday night we stay at Miti's family home in Enisala. It is a
sobering education to sample life where there is no plumbing, no toilet
or bathroom.... In fact going to the toilet is an adventure to be
remembered and cannot but leave you aware that the substance of
prosperity is measured in simple things which add up to comfort and
ease.
On Sunday, after another walk
around Enisala, we take the car back to Tulcea, this time along a road
that meanders close to Lake Razelm, and the Danube Delta. We stop off at
a Danube-crossing point, a town called Mahmudia - and walk alongside the
big river, watching kids swimming and hand-rowed ferries plying their
way through the strong current. A old Russian lady with muscles like
Arnold Schwartzeneger pulls up in her boat, and after what looks like an
argument, but is really just a normal discussion in emotive Romanian,
collects the fare from two young lads before parking her boat and going
for a rest. Not very far across the other side of the river is Ukraine,
and the tops of buildings in the city of Izmail can be seen in the
distance. I wonder what life is like there, and if you can buy a can of
Fanta in a shop. Miti says the economic situation there is worse, and I
know Miti's scale of what is worse or better is as different to mine as
the Romanian Lei is to the pound. Speaking of which, our Hotel in Tulcea
(one room for the three of us), costs us Nine Hundred Thousand Romanian
Lei - about £22.50, and this is where we go to next to have a warm
shower and get ready to visit John Bochian's satellite church in Tulcea.
We went to Romania with the Prayer of Jabez - an obscure scripture from
1 Chronicles 4, verse 10 that says: 'Oh that you would bless me indeed,
and enlarge my coast, that your hand would be with me. And keep me from
evil that I might cause no pain. And the Lord granted all that he
requested.'
Sunday night at the Pentecostal church a Tulcea, I sing those words to a
tune I have made up, and speak about it, while Miti translates (and
adds a little editorial I think!). It is such a simple thing. Jabez, born
to disadvantage and lack, acknowledged that only God could change his
destiny and so called on him for his blessing and help.
After the service, we go with the congregation to a birthday party and
Miti is asked by Cristi, the pastor, to teach him some English for his
upcoming trip to England in August. Also, teaching English to the Sunday
school kids is mentioned. Miti also tells us that the pastor is
interested in creating a website - the very thing that we originally
contemplated being involved in when we renewed contact with Miti earlier
this year.
Before leaving Tulcea on Monday we
visit Miti's old friend Sandu, and then go to the library and meet the
brunette lady (nick-named 'brunette eve' by Miti in his writings).
Then, via Babadag and a siesta with Cornelia and husband Sarmis, we
collect Claudia and take the highway south back to Navodari.
That evening, the last of our
holiday, we go to Mamaia beach for a meal with Rudi and Helen. At the
open air restaurant, I ask Miti who the lady and two fellas are sat at
our table. 'They have come here especially to speak to me Dave. - the
lady wants to be taught English and the two men have a natural medicine
company in Constanta and they want my help in translations for a
website.' 'Wow!' I say, 'how did this come about?' 'It's the prayer of
Jabez' he says.
On Tuesday morning, we say good-byes to our wonderful hosts, Rudi and
Helen, catching them before they go out early to work, and then drive
with Miti down to Constanta where Eleonora wants to give us a present.
And so it is that we say our good-byes to Miti and Eleonora, outside
MacDonalds in downtown Constanta.
Beginning the long trek home, we
drive over the big Danube toll bridge and again, I get a smart little
blue-coloured receipt handed me by the toll clerk. It's just a little
thing, but I remember well how this was once a land where 'paper', as we
would know it, simply did not exist. Every document would be on a
flimsy, corrugated, rough grey material that you would not find hung in
a western toilet! But all that is history now, along with the mindset
that created it. No longer is Romania oblivious to the shabby-quality
world that communism built for them. Now everywhere you can see a
quality emerging in goods and work. Where before you felt a sense of
being trapped in a system that didn't care, now you can sense that being
slowly swept away. The once oppressed people are finding their feet and
their confidence, and new expectations are being loosed as ordinary folk
for the first time, have access to the tools needed to turn their back
on the sad past. Where before, all they had was a dilapidated, worn out
and unreliable infrastructure, now everywhere you can see new things
coming on stream. The average wage in Romania is still astronomically
low, it is still a very poor country compared with western Europe. But
sometimes statistics don't tell the whole story and I can see that God's
hand of blessing is moving over this new Romania...
I have kept that little toll ticket as a memento, like I kept the
previous corrugated one, a small artefact to encapsulate the Romania I
found in 2001 compared with the one of 1992.
Dave |
