Day 137 - Bucharest

When I arrived in Bucharest, the US Embassy had arranged for me to stay in a modest hotel near the embassy. The hotel had a restaurant next door that often was entirely reseved for tour groups from the Soviet Union. I was never sure when I could have a meal there. When it was possible, breakfast was the easiest meal because it was continental style so I didn't have to order anything; the waiter just brought me food.

One evening, when I was able to have dinner there, alone, a young man at a neighboring table, Vlad*,  offered to help me understand the menu items. I hadn't picked up enough Romanian to figure out everything yet, so I needed help. He sat down to join me. I hadn't figured out the profile of a gigolo yet, so I wasn't suspicious; and while I wasn't looking for company, the offer of help was appealing.

After dinner, he asked if I was interested in seeing the old section of the city. There had been an earthquake in Bucharest the March before, so much of the city had been destroyed, including part of the old city, making it an opportunity to see what was still there as well as some of the damage, something I thought worth seeing. Before we took off, he asked if I had any cigarettes. I hadn't learned yet about the importance of American cigarettes, especially Marlboro 100s. All I had was a carton of Eve cigarettes that I bought in New York before getting on the plane. I had picked up the bad habit of smoking in Iran because of the taarof politeness system there. Eve cigarettes were 100 milligram in length, but had a distinctively feminie design around the filter. Vlad never hesitated. He accepted the pack I offered.

image of the People's Palace, Ceaucescu's white palace,
by hchalkley, via Flickr

We walked to the old city and wandered around what I understood to be an area attractive to tourists with lots of shops selling craft items, artwork, and Romanian folk music. What I didn't realize was that the area I toured that evening would be flattened in the near future by Nicolae Ceaucescu to make room for his mostrosity of a monument to himself, the white palace.

Vlad asked me how much I was going to earn teaching at the university in Iasi. I knew that the amount I would receive from the university, only part of my compensation, equated to less than $400 per month, so I thought it would be safe to tell him. When I did, he nearly fell out of his chair. I learned later that the amount I would receive from the university, which was less than one fourth of what I received overall, was ten times what my Romanian colleagues would receive each month. That made it clearer why my Romanian violin teacher in Tehran was so shocked at how little his salary in Iran was. What had sounded to him like a small fortune in Romania, when in put into an Iranian context, wasn't enough for him to rent an apartment without sharing it with roommates. And he wasn't the kind of guy who shared anything willingly. His offer to provide private violin lessons was necessary for him to make ends meet.

One of the first purchases I made was a Romanian/English dictionary. My Teach-Yourself-Romanian book from Karl was only good enough for me to construct sentences I wanted to speak, not good enough for me to understand the answers. I found a bookstore and walked up to the counter to ask if they had a Romanian/English dictionary, in the best Romanian I could muster. Books weren't out on shelves for people to look through, they were all behind the counter. My Romanian must have been pretty good because the guy behind the counter then asked me a question in Romanian that I couldn't understand. Eventually he figured that out and handed me a dictionary which I purchased.

image of Intercontinental Hotel in
Bucharest by anaadi+, via Flickr

It was at that point when I realized I wasn't going to be able to pick up English language books for my reading pleasure, a big difference between Bucharest and Tehran. The next day, I walked to the Intercontinental Hotel for a meal. The Intercon was much closer to the embassy, but it was much more expensive. While I waited for my order to arrive, I finished reading the paper back novel I had brought with me. (Introverts always have a book, magazine, or newspaper with them so we have something to do while we wait, something that also discourages others from thinking they can join us.) My eyes fell on those pages at the back with an order form listing more paper backs from the same publisher. I recognized this solution, I took out my pen, checked off all the novels offered on the form regardless that I knew nothing about them or the authors, pulled out my checkbook and wrote out a check for the total and dropped that order off at the embassy. Those novels arrived in my mailbox at the U.S. Embassy in Bucharest a few weeks later - all except The Painted Bird which was delivered to the door of my apartment in the industrial zone of Iasi anonymously,  and just one of many mysteries during my time in Romania.

*a name, not necessarily the right one