Its not just that we speak English as we go, (forgive me, I know I should be working at all times to perfect my Romanian but this is one of the few opportunities we have to free talk in English) the problem is that we appear to walk back and forth for no purpose which is a subject of much confusion amongst the locals. Its not to say that they are averse to a stroll through the countryside, no. However, in our case we pass by going at a pace which suggests we must be some place urgently and then ten minutes later there we are again, going in the opposite direction with equal speed and determination. This behavior can be overlooked once or twice but daily? How to understand such inexplicable goings on?
There is no logical answer and the conclusion they reach is similar to that of my great-grandfather who used to sit on his front porch and watch the joggers who ran past. "In my day," he would say "a man could get enough exercise by working, he didn't need to run in circles looking like a fool."
Fractious walking aside, a mere glance in our direction and they know that we are not merely new in town but foreign. There is something peculiar about Americans; the way we wear our hair, the color of it and the length, the cut of our clothing, color choices, fabric, accessories and, as any American who has ever traveled to Europe knows, our shoes give us away long before we open our mouths.
The inhabitants of Obedin, who perhaps are not as familiar with international footwear, come to the conclusion that we are Italian. We don't realize this mistake at first and are left wondering why they all greet us with "Buon giorno" and the rest of their statements are peppered with words like "piacere" and "scusi, che?" and, as they grow increasingly desperate, "il vino rosso". The boys whisper "what are they saying?" to which I have no reply except "I don't know, just wave and keep walking" and the locals think Italians are a very stupid and rude bunch indeed.
At last some bold soul asks (in Romanian): "Voi sunteţi Italieni, no?" "No," I respond, " noi suntem Americani" Oh! From then on they speak to us in Romanian with a heavy Italian accent so that we are sure to understand them better.
Upon learning who we are, why we have come and how long we plan to stay, their initial reaction seems to indicate that we have done an incredibly foolish thing to have exchanged living in America for a life (no matter how temporary) in Romania. But only moments after this fact (that we are great fools) has been established there develops a keen desire to make us understand just how much better everything here is than in the U.S: the flowers here are surely more beautiful, the soil is far superior, the milk from the cows is "fresh", which we soon discover is one of their favorite American words.
"Natural" is another such word and they take great pains to point out that in Romania the tea is "natural", Romanian strawberries are "natural" and the honey here is "natural" as well. Believing I have found persons who share my values and interest in organic, sustainable, locally sourced agriculture, I agree wholeheartedly and launch into an excited discussion regarding the undesireableness of GMOs and pesticides. In return I receive blank stares. I try for the dictionary and when that doesn't help, I get a translator. They have no idea what I am talking about. So if they aren't giving me a mini lecture on the benefits of organic foods, what is their point? Do they think Americans eat plastic strawberries? To date I remain uncertain what this emphasis is on "natural" and on the whole I would be indifferent but for the unfortunate bit where they tell you about the "natural" with one hand on your shoulder and standing close.
Very close.
And you must repeat it back while they continue to stand very close. "Natural."
"Natural."
"Natural"
"Yes, I understand. Natural." Are they waiting for me to pronounce it differently? I try to accent the first syllable, the middle, the last. It makes no difference.
"Natural."
When you have inhaled about as much of their breath (and other odors, I mean to say they are very close) as you can possibly tolerate and have repeated this word a sufficient amount of times you will know you have met some kind of mysterious quota because they will suddenly laugh, give your shoulder a good shake and step far enough away so that you can at last breathe some "natural" air.
natural raspberry jam
natural cheese
natural beef
natural water
natural milk
This superiority of Romania is such a favorite theme that even at the risk of life and limb it must be prommulgated. On our way to school one morning a local man rides by on his bicycle. "Hey, Italians!" he hollers and waves, "The weather is so much better here than in America!" and although its been raining and windy and the road is covered in mud, I know he means it sincerely and I don't mind agreeing because he is far enough away that I can't smell his breath.
While he is looking back to be sure he has convinced us, his front tire hits a large patch of horse poop and he is unceremoniously dumped into the road. I rush over to see if he is injured and he picks himself up and brushes the horse poop off his sleeve. "Its okay," he tells me with a heavy Italian accent, reaching for my shoulder, " Its natural."
2 comments:
I would give anything to have your sense of humor, and to be able to write it down like you do!
I really enjoyed this one! Thank you for giving the link.
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