As I write this at 5:15am on Sunday, the sun is rising and the sky is full of light streaming across the rooftops and streetscape below my balcony. Sipping on my orange juice, I will try to recount a few details from the past 36 hours.
Leaving Atlanta on Friday afternoon and arriving in Bucharest, Romania Saturday afternoon was all the time needed to transport me to a different culture and life of which I have never experienced. The "European" in "Eastern European" is misleading because there is precious little, if any, influence from that part of the continent. Think more in terms of "Eastern." The marks are everywhere. The Eastern Orthodox religion has staked claim on 95% of the population, and the older buildings tucked between soviet-era "air conditioner" style high-rises are purely Eastern in architecture: From the domed roofs with cupelas, to arched windows and doorways, to the mosaic tiles. From what I know of Budapest and Prague from my sister's travels, Bucharest is totally different.
My only frame of reference for comparison is China or India from 20 years ago. Romania is a low to middle income country that is considered developing. The average income per month is approx $100.
After settling myself in Hotel Renaissance, Thom and I walked the streets for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening. Flowers were being sold on the street corners by the Roma (gypsies) and signs were everywhere of a country still exploring ways in which to life itself out the communist era.
Signs of EU funding can be found in road development primarily. The shops are still Soviet era, as are the street cars and the primary residences as far as the eye can see; cinder block high rises with steel framed windows that are beginning to crumble.
My experience with the residents thus far has been humbling for me. Despite the fact our communication is halted, they work hard to make my experience special. Thom and I stopped for a refreshment in a side alley and unlike all the people sitting at wooden tables and benches, they brought a small, pink, linen tablecloth for us on which to have a drink. I ordered a glass bottle of Fanta Orange and at the first taste I was transported to the age of 13. It hasn't changed in the 20 years since I tasted it.
Agnes NICOLESCAU, the assistant to the Director at the Center for Independent Journalism, assured me that the hotel room secured for me was one that they thought I would "especially like." "It is so you Rebecca," as they have met me before in the US. I was curious to see what they consider "me."
Again, I am humbled. My lodging is a suite with tray ceilings, crown molding, tile bathroom with a large soaking tub, and a vast desk area in which to work. Two hard wood built-in wardrobes with fabric covered windows line one entire wall. I feel undeserved as I look out my window into the apartments sitting next to my hotel. I continue to ask myself, "Why was I given so much opportunity and so many others live in poverty?". The phrase continually echoes in my head -- "To whom much is given, much is required." Thus the inspiration to roll up my sleeves and work this week.
As I returned from an early dinner with Thom, the residents were just beginning to emerge for the evening with loud techno music from the terraced restaurant/bar below my room. Laughter and dancing reverberated through the street until the wee morning hours. (Ted/Amy, the party below kept me awake in honor of missing your annual tiki party last night. :) Sleep was fitful for this weary brain that is struggling to think clearly - a combination of lack of sleep and screwed up meds from the time change and travel.
Things are beginning to settle and I'm sure will be on the "all clear" after a walking tour of the city center this morning and afternoon. I will see the People's Palace - 2nd largest building in the world - and the square in which the revolution took place and where they hung the bodies in 1989. An eye-opener, I'm sure.
Most blogs won't be this long - I have had time and much to process. Love to you all. --RGP
