Bunissima

Here it is: gay is normal.

Oh, oh! and another one (you’re gonna love this one): gay penguin adoption.

I loved it. Everybody ate crawfish, tons of it. Drinks and things, people browsing from one stage to another. I had to get initiated in the crawfish eating. It was quite messy, but once I got started, I couldn’t stop it.

Before

After

Different types of entertainment were available, but I was not in an adventurous mood. This one was quite a creative idea though:

After some crawfish, Zydeco was the way to go, with a Lousiana band that threw beads at the crowd. I had to fight for mine, since they weren’t giving me any. But at the end I shared a couple of beads with some sad looking kids that didn’t get any.

Hanging around at the festival: different types of food, African art objects, hats, church people trying to convert the pagans, music, Irish dancing, let’s not forget about the rivers of beer that helps with the moods and elevates the spirits.

Despite the many people lying on the ground, no traces of garbage could be found. I am sorry to hit the Romanians where it hurts the most, their pride, but people here do it the right way, don’t throw their trash everywhere like they own the place.

I got tricked into eating the infamous fried snickers. It wasn’t too bad… I am not sure how it was.

Towards the end, after many kilometers of beer, we were chased away by the night in the rhytms of a wonderful Irish music band (the Killdares).

I have just come back from Paris. I wish I had written down a few thoughts while I was still there, because the memory of how it felt is slowly wearing off. Even if there are more beautiful places that I have seen, nonetheless it will remain in my memory as one of the most impressive cities.

The reason is that je ne sais quoi, that belongs to Paris, to the French.

There is a certain liberty in the atmosphere, people seem to live their lives undisturbed by the existence of the other people, they live their llives for themselves. Manners seem to manner a lot. People are so very polite, trying to smile, even if they may be tired after an entire day of work. I still did not understand one thing though. The main street attached to where I stayed was that kind of street with all the expensive renowned names. People walking on the street did not expect themselves to make way for you on the narrow walkway, but if you did not make way for them, they seemed to get offended. I guess it is a n unwritten rule i did not get. I did have a slightly unpleasant experience with a girl, who seemed to hate her job and seeked simpathy from the customers, at one of their Quick burgers fast food. Even if I normally understand French well, that girl seemed to have some difficulties speaking. So, instead of getting a salad which was an alternative to the fries from the Club Fromage or so menu, I had to take the fries because I did not understand what she said, so I could not take advantage of my right to argue about that. I also could not get the milkshake because it was “not included in the menu.” I would have paid extra, but oh well.

I don’t remember ever having heard of a single car honking, but maybe my memory is decieving me. It always seemed like people knew when to cross the street even if the light was not ok for them to go. I got so confused, and at some point tried to copy them, but a car came by very close and made me feel bad for my rushed decision. I guess the drivers are a bit aggressive with their seconds of red light, while the people walking are aggressive whenever they can pass.

Just like any place this one had to have an uncomfortable part to it as well. And it’s not because it is not normal, it’s because you’d expect it to be perfect. Nonetheless, it is not as obvious and upsetting as other places but unfortunately this is the sad reality, they have their own gipsies, thieves, beggars and scoundrels, adopted or not. I was amazed to see gipsies begging there, and I almost felt ashamed thinking they might be Romanian gipsies. They were present at Eiffel tower, with their llarge skirts, asking you “Excuse me, do you speak english?” and then gave you a piece of paper with some stuff written in English on it. There were also some other nationalities and races trying to sell stuff near the Eiffel tower or some other major tourist attraction. Near Basilique de Sacre Coeur there were portrait painters, but they are not robbers, there are just too many of them and they are always choosing the perfect faces for portraits - read tourist faces - which makes it feel a bit stressful. And there were the simple homeless, who just stood there by the side of the road near a warm ventilation spot, and just waiting for mercy.

By the way! Who said that French people dress badly? I mean, I do not know about all French people per se, but lemme tell you, these Parisiens, they made up the fashion. The tourists are the ones who dress the worse. You can see the tourists from a mile, they just can’t be mistaken. The French men wear suits and elegant coats fitted on the body, while women always wear nice leather shoes, and fashionale clothes but of good taste, very feminine and classy all the time. Even if it was not warm enough, they wore skirts, dresses, and elegant coats. It seems like a lifestyle. From young to old, all women dress nicely and take care of themselves. I guess that was what struck me the most. Realize that we, here, dress sports as a way of being, while they dress nice as a way of being. On the other hand you will never see hoochie mama in there, with lots of gold, shiny metal and shiny clothes all the way and bitchy attitude, of which you can see a lot in Romania. The French women respect themselves and think they deserve the best of it all. Even if we are aware of this philosophy of life, we do not really apply it everyday. I think.

So, all of you Romanians who think French dress so comfortably, think twice. Maybe it’s because they are comfortable in their elegant clothes while we understand sport clothes by comfortable. Speaking of classy, in my first day out, I felt so un-classy with my hiking boots and my casual large cut pants that I decided to wear my high hills leather boots the next day, all day long. My soles were numb at the end of the day, but it was worthed. I felt Parisian. If you go to Paris you need a pair of elegant leather shoes, but comfortable.

Moving on, it was a real pleasure to walk and watch the buildings, streets and people. I was so happy and fullfilled just to walk for many times on the Champs Elysees, or go in the Place de la Concorde. Being in a place for many times gives you somehow the feeling that you belong there. I also went to the local Monoprix supermarche, and felt like a local.

Even if I was yet another tourist that is seduced by the legendary Eiffel tower, Notre Dame des Champs, Basilique de Sacre-Coeur, I think that these are undeniably a testimony of the creative power of the people and that is what impresses our modest tourist selves, even if we don’t know that’s the reason we get all that impressed about.

I even plan to walk more just because I enjoyed it so much that I realized that walking is also about a good state of mind, a happy mood. Unfortunately Bucharest is not the best place in the world to give you free happy moods here and there, but I just have to deal with it. French women are very thin, and I guess it’s because they walk a lot. And eat baguettes with lots of cheese. Just kidding, I don’t think that is the reason. The research makes me understand that they just enjoy the food and eat more traditionally cooked food instead of all the unhealthy, additives and fast food crap.

At the end of the day and since I wrote all the above text a few days ago - right after I had come back - now, all the excitement being gone, I am only left with the warm and sunny memory of Paris and think I should just get over with this post and with my life.

Normally, there are places I take with me or feel like I left a part of myself there with all the streets and buildings I have seen and things I have done. But this one was different. I felt that I was still living there after I left. That my mind and my heart were there still, enjoying the amazing architecture, streets, walking from Place de Concorde towards the Eiffel Tower.

P.S. Photos coming soon.

A week ago I was in Sighisoara at the Blues festival. Outside the old medieval walls, just getting off the train, I have found the the city to be just like any other city with its people and their daily worries.

[In the mantime I had a peak at the old city, again, after a few years of a foemar visit here]

[the church seen from the city top]

[my favourite house from the old city of Sighisoara)]

Going up to the old citadel feels like you enter a different world because of the architecture, even if, unfortunately, can still see cars up there. Apart from the festival I had the chance to get a grasp of how food is like there. The restaurants are not very thrilling, maybe not in the winter time. The expectations were very quickly lowered summing up to the basic necessity of satisfying hunger. Being brave enough to look for food at 1 am in the morning proves to show what the hidden part of bravery is: thoughtless, to use an euphemism. But not because it’s your fault, people are apparently very sleepy in there and they go to bed early.

[the centuries old cemetery]

While going down on the old medieval building stairs for the concerts every night, I was lucky enough to be able to enjoy the snow falling down from the lights of the city, which made the entire experience more poetic.

[one of the sighisoara towers in the twilight]

Due to certain reasons, I missed the beggining of the concerts, in all the 3 nights of the show. Nonetheless, being there was real fun. The show was great, some bands better than others. The number of spectators was probably around 500 or even less. The public loved all the bands and singers and even if not all were perfect, it all came out great, because people were enjoying the experience. Who needs perfect when it’s fun?

The blues festival itself may be trying to raise to the level of an international renowned event, but its local color, modesty and location make it more like a niche, exclusivist event, that you discover by accident or if you have a very adventurous spirit. Locals, muzic frenzies and people directly involved in the organization of the festival are not included. The “local” color is given by the small city overall, by the way everyone was checking everyone else up to see if they knew them or just because it almost felt like the spectators, organizers and singers all together were like a small community where everyone knows everyone. I reckon that part of the checking is the human curiosity, but at some point it felt like all eyes were on you.

[the drummer is eight years old and the guitarist 10, they and their other colleague were a revelation for the crowd]

The first edition of the festival was in 2005, so it does not have a great deal of tradition, but it’s a great opportunity to be the witness of a simple and real fun event in a wonderful little medieval city.

A stroll around the city with the memory of some simpler things:

roses in a church’s garded-

some of the best greek fries with feta-

the Zavoi Park at night-

I have weird dreams at night where I am going from one place to another. I can’t help but wonder, which one is the world that has a stronger grip on me? Is it here, where I can feel and think and think that I can feel and think or there where I feel like I know all those people so well and I like them, I live every moment they live, I am oblivious to everything else.

I have been struck by the genius of Science meets the Movie. I don’t know what is it about Battlestar Galactica that makes me so addicted to it, but I can tell that my sensible inner balance has been blown apart after dreaming for 5 days in a row that I am jumping all over the entire Universe.

It was pretty exhausting too. When I woke up, I was so tired after all those jumps, I needed some more sleep.

A cloudy spring day. It was not cold nor warm. There were joyful times when life was simpler. Nonetheless, love is all the same.

I miss BraÅŸov and I love everything that it represents for me.

Aveam o vecină foarte nebunatică înainte. De fapt nici măcar nu era prea nebunatica dar nu am alt cuvânt pentru ea, care să sune îndeajuns de bine. Vecina asta a mea avea tot felul de prietene, unele mai frumoase, altele mai mult sau mai puţin inteligente. Nu că eu străluceam, dar măcar ma prefăceam. Una dintre ele era Ramona. Nu mai ştiu dacă pe Ramona o cunoscusem în vizită la vecina sau în discotecă, era şi asta unul dintre locurile lor preferate.

Cu Ramona nu schimbasem niciodată prea multe vorbe, mi se părea o tipă liniştită, care nu avea prea multe de spus, dar nu era genul de tipă retrasă, pur şi simplu avea o atitudine anume, un fel de ştiu-ce-fac, sunt cool, vorbesc cu tine dacă am eu chef.

ÃŽn orăşelul acela mic, oamenii se deosebesc după anumite repere, după anumite standarde. Tinerii se deosebesc după studii. Unii învaţă multe manele, cum arata “colegii” de la discotecă ÅŸi cum să se îmbrace ca ÅŸi cum ar fi rapperi bad-asses din U.S.ÅŸi cum să îşi asorteze lanÅ£urile false de aur ăăăă… fals. AlÅ£ii învaţă la facultatea privată din oraÅŸ iar alÅ£ii învaÅ£a în alte oraÅŸe mai mari si mai frumoase.

Fata asta, Ramona, le facuse pe toate, deÅŸi nu avea decât 21 de ani anu’ trecut. Mă rog, aproape pe toate. La un moment dat era super îndrăgostită de un “ÅŸmecher” care făcea măgarii pe net. Când s-a terminat cu tipul asta de ÅŸmecherie, băiatul s-a dus în Italia la furat… pardon, la lucrat. Când i-au pus aÅŸtia interdicÅ£ie pe Italia, se însurase deja cu tipa în cauza, aÅŸa că era liber ca pasărea cerului sa zboare înapoi în Italia.

După o vreme vecina mi-a spus că au divorţat. Şi că se căsătoriseră de fapt pentru nume. Mda, pentru că el avea interdicţie în Italia. Siiigur ca da. Părea o poveste de iubire aşa de frumoasă, care la douăzeci de ani culmina deja cu o căsătorie. Nici o problemă, nu mai e nevoie de maturitate sau de bani mulţi, căsatoria e zooop3r kul (pupici, inimioare şi sclipici la greu) la orice vârstă! Păcat de frumuseţe de rochie şi banii pentru organizarea nunţii.

Oricum, mă întâlnesc cu Ramona după o vreme. Eram la un rave party, nu ÅŸtiu ce căuta ea acolo, ca nu erau manele. De fapt ÅŸtiu, lucra, dar chiar nu ÅŸtiu de ce nu lucra la discotecă. Acolo aveau manele la kilogram, fără număr. Haha! (Ok, aici trebuie sa ma opresc, sa îmi trag vreo două palme “lasă-le naiba de manele, că fiecare om cu aia mă-sii, mai abÅ£ine-te fată”). Åži m-am gândit că ar fi drăgut să schimbăm vreo doua cuvinte.

Mi-a spus că nu se mai ducea la facultate. Mersese până atunci la o facultate privata, Spiru sau aşa ceva. Am întrebat-o cu vădită părere de rău - deşi nici nu ar fi trebuit să îmi pese - de ce şi dacă e sigură? Mi-a zis ca nu are rost să se ducă, e pierdere de timp şi profesorii sunt nişte incompetenţi care-i fac pe studenţi să îsi piarda timpul şi că o să îşi cumpere diploma pur si simplu, fără să se mai ducă la cursuri.

Eu sunt de modă veche. Nu m-aÅŸ angaja în domeniul în care am terminat (ÅŸtiu, las-o aÅŸa, e doar o forma de a spune) fară a mă asigura că îmi amintesc cel puÅ£in ce am studiat - glumesc - fară a revedea tot ce ar trebui să ÅŸtiu, ba chiar mai mult dacă aÅŸ avea timp. Altfel, de ce sa vrei o diplomă cumpărată în felul ăsta… Doar ca să îţi găseÅŸti un job ca manager la McDonalds?

Cred că unora le place sa umble cu cioara vopsită după ei, atât timp cât îi face să arate bine în faţa altora. Eu una prefer cioara mea naturelle. (Asta da replică!)