Village Life part 7: Măru

Normally I am very industrious and hard-working, suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder.  Which means in California I do all of my own yard maintenance and house cleaning.  But here it's a different story.  This place is 10x larger than our place in Santa Cruz. No matter how much the disorganization of my in-laws stokes the flames of my OCD, they will never get it to burn hot enough to manage the enormity that is Villa Ionescu.

In the end it got the better of me but it wasn't for lack of obsessing trying.

So we hired Maru, he of the mad cow incident this past summer. *

As I might have mentioned before, employment opportunities around here aren't so plentiful.
Though he's never said it, I'm guessing that being our maintenance guy isn't Maru's first choice for a job but at least it's a pay check.  We do our best to make it as palatable as possible by supplying him with
food and libations while he chops wood and pours new concrete for the driveway and what not.  All in all, we spend a lot of time with Maru as he's either hanging out in the kitchen drinking coffee or we're hanging out with him in the snow trying to coax him into putting on a pair of warmer gloves.

Way back in October he threw a party for his baby daughter.  She was baptized in the Romanian Orthodox church and then apparently it's traditional to have a bit of a shin-dig afterward.  I think of it as a variation of the American baby shower but without the pink and blue froo-froo decorations.
A hard-core baby shower with beer.  The kind most American men would like to go to.  The kind where no one asks them to play 'guess-how-many-squares-of-toilet-paper-go-around-my-wife's-belly" while drinking fruit punch with orange slices.

It was kind of a big deal.  Half the village was invited so we felt very honored that we foreigners were invited as well.

If you read Linda's blog, you've seen her pictures (which were more plentiful) already.  As I said, this was way back in October but somehow I had lost track of where I'd downloaded our photos.  (Being snowed in really goes a long way toward helping you complete those long-procrastinated tasks.)

But I digress.

Here's the main star of the event, being held by her lovely mother who is as shy as her daughter is gregarious even at the age of 8 months (in October).

Foanza was there decked out in a suit.*  He looked pretty dapper and he knew it.  He wasn't timid about asking for some photographs either.  So where are these pictures?  Sadly, I have no idea but if it keeps snowing I might find them yet.

Also missing are photos of Maru but for that I have an explanation.  Maru wasn't there for most of the party. Because I know you're wondering I'll tell you why: he had to go all the way back into the city to buy cucumbers which someone had forgotten to purchase.
Mind you, there was already enough food to feed the entire village but obviously the menu had been firmly established beforehand and the party just could. not. take. place. unless there were cucumbers.
Oh how I love life's little universals!

As you can see, they pulled out all the stops.  Nary a pink streamer nor baby blue doily in sight.

This steaming cauldron of goodness could be smelled all the way down to the end of the village road.  It was so cold outside and this thing was bubbling and wafting the most delicious perfume of sarmale.
Sarmale is the national dish for celebrations.  We in the States would call them cabbage rolls though somehow the translation seems to fall flat and fails to do them justice.   (I don't know what purpose the upside down plates on the top of the pot served but I'm sure it was for something important)

This is Gheorghe with his most prized possession, his electric guitar.

I don't know which I love more: the fact that his expression and Luci's are almost identical or those fantastic shoes on the step behind them.  It was about 2 degrees outside, I never noticed anyone going barefoot so I assume the owner slipped into something more appropriate like a pair of thermal insulated snow boots.  

Like all parties everywhere, there was food, there were drinks, there was talking and laughter and hugging and music.
Deafening, ear-drum-rupturing music.
Across this country, at every restaurant, bar, baby shower or any place where people gather ostensibly to socialize (i.e: talk), you will invariably encounter music being pumped forth at a volume that is mind-numbing.
"What's with the music?" you'll ask.
"What?"
"This music, the music, why is it so loud?"
"What?"
It's the oddest thing.  Most everyone agrees that it impedes any sort of meaningful conversation and the genre that's playing is almost always one that most people don't even care for (Euro disco/Manele/American pop).  You don't even get to enjoy the experience of losing your hearing.  Yet there it is.  Blasting.
And there it was, present at Maru's party even if Maru wasn't.
We couldn't stay long enough to either see Maru or sample any cucumbers.  Our Budapest/Italy/cruise thing was commencing the next morning and we still hadn't finished packing.  So we had to leave the party early but the party didn't really leave us.
No, it followed us.  At least the music did.
Down the street.
Through the doors.
And the windows.
Upstairs.
While packing.  "Did you get the passports in the bag?"
"What?"
And through the night while we dreamed of fancy-cut cucumbers chewed to the beat of Euro disco.

*I included links to the pictures from previous posts so you can remember what they look like if you are so inclined.  I hope I'm not encouraging anyone to waste their time.  I wasted plenty of mine trying to figure out how to do this.