Day 138 - Arriving in Iași

Alexandru Ioan Cuza University, Iași, Romania,
by blankdots via Flickr 

I arrived in Iași, often spelled Jassy in English texts, by train and was met by Eugene*, one of the teachers in the English Department of Alexandru Ioan Cuza University, probably the foreign instructor minder (responsible for keeping tabs on us, not for protecting us) for the University. After driving me through town when he pointed out a single building as "the university," Eugene brought me to my apartment on the 8th floor of a building in the industrial zone. Now the university building he pointed to was impressive, but I was used to a university consisting of multiple buildings located on a campus, so I probably didn't react with appropriate awe in response. And I probably also didn't react with appropriate awe to the apartment. It had two bedrooms, a luxury by Romanian standards, and the living room had a TV, the kitchen had a refrigerator, and there was quite a large storage cupboard, all of which were beyond the reach of many Romanians. But I didn't know that yet.

What I did know was that I was very thirsty, but I didn't want to drink tap water. I asked my escort if he could get some mineral water for me before I tried to get some sleep before he planned to return to pick me up in the afternoon to get checked in with the university administration. I knew that drinking tap water would invite digestive problems since I had learned that my system rejected tap water in Minnesota if it hadn't first been boiled and then refrigerated since my system had adjusted to tap water in Iran. Eugene returned a few minutes later with several bottles of mineral water. After opening one bottle and taking a big swallow, I realized why those providing our orientation in Bucharest had mentioned that Borsec brand mineral water was the best. The water Eugene brought was not Borsec and it tasted much more like minerals than water. And it smelled like sulfur.

Legitimaţie

That afternoon Eugene returned and brought me to the university where I turned over my passport and an appropriate number of photographs so that I could get my legitimaţie or official identification card. I also saw the English Department office for the first time. It was a very large room with tables lining three sides with chairs behind them. None of the instructors had their own offices; the English Department office was for all the instructors.

There was always one instructor on duty in the Department. The responsibilities of the person on duty was to answer the telephone - there was only one telephone for the Department - and to write notes for others in the ledger. Other instructors would always check the ledger when they arrived, to see if there were messages for them.

The Department had a small library of books, most of which had been left behind by previous British or American lecturers. I had been given a small amount of money, I think $100, to buy English language materials to bring with me. Since I wasn't able to attend the orientation the summer before my arrival, I wasn't quite sure what materials I was supposed to bring; the guidelines were pretty general. So I bought one copy of every magazine in the rack at Hornbachers with a little money left over that I decided I would figure out how to spend once I arrived in Romania.

My schedule included 5 classes with 15 students in each. Since American music had been very popular in our classes in Iran, I decided I would play a piece of music that I thought was clever for my classes on our first meeting. I knew that listening to music was challenging in one way - it is not always easy to figure out the words from a song - but in other ways music made learning language easier. Think of all the nursery rhymes and stories set to song that we learned in kindergarten and still haven't forgotten.  Sing along with me: I'm a little teapot, short and stout. . .

The song I picked was "Put Another Log On the Fire"** sung by Waylon Jennings. I was pretty sure the students wouldn't have heard the song before, and because of the ironic humor in the second verse, I thought I would be able to see on their faces whether they really understood the words. And I knew I had to have handouts with the words on them to satisfy their curiosity after playing the song.

And that meant - I thought - that I had to have 75 copies, one for each of the 15 students in the 5 classes. But there were no photocopiers in Romania. There were no ditto machines in Romania. And while there were mimeograph machines in the country, they were closely controlled by the government or its institutions, such as the universities, so getting a paper copied meant filling out a form, providing an explanation that someone in the hierarchy would accept, and then waiting three weeks for the work to be done. My alternative was to line up five pieces of paper with carbon paper between them and type the lyrics 15 times - very slowly so that I wouldn't make any mistakes that would be difficult to correct.

My first class all expressed interest in listening to music for their American culture class. I played the song on my 1977 version of a boom box, a very heavy combination radio, short-wave radio and cassette tape player. There was no electric outlet in the room, so I was lucky I had batteries in it. I watched the students' faces and there wasn't a flicker of recognition of the irony at the end of the second verse. When the song ended, I asked they they enjoyed it. They all said they did. I asked if they understood the words. They all said they did. I asked if they would like to hear it again. They all said they would. But this time I asked if they would like to see the words while they listened. They all agreed they would. So I handed out the lyrics and watched as the students began reading them. Before I was able to rewind the cassette and press Play, they had all finished reading and now they were all laughing.

I played the song again. And then we had a discussion in English about what the song meant.

At the end of the class, as the students began leaving the room, they all came up to the desk to return the lyrics. I was stunned that they didn't realize they could keep them. And they were stunned that I was giving them something to keep.

I never typed 75 copies of a handout again.

*a name, not necessarily the right one

**Put Another Log On the Fire

(Shel Silverstein)
Waylon Jennings & Tompall Glaser

Put another log on the fire,
Cook me up some bacon and some beans,
And go out to the car and change the tire,
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.

Come on baby you can fill my pipe and then go fetch my slippers,
And boil me up another pot of tea,
Then put another log on the fire babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

Now don't I let you wash the car on Sunday,
And don't I warn you when you're gettin' fat,
Ain't I a gonna take you fishin' with me someday,
Well, a man can't love a woman more than that.

Ain't I always nice to your kid sister,
Don't I take her driving every night,
So sit here at my feet cause I like you when you're sweet,
And you know it ain't feminine to fight.

So put another log on the fire...