Construction time again

Mihai and his maternal grandmother, Eufrosina, circa 1978.

From September to June, Mihai and his brother lived in Craiova with Pia and Silviu but from June to September, the boys stayed with their maternal grandmother in her house in Viștea. (I'm including a map for some reference since I understand that it's hard enough to find Romania on a globe, much less figure out the location of Oltenia in relation to Transylvania.)

For reference, we are currently in Obedin which is just outside of Craiova. Viștea is between Sibiu and Brașov.

Contrary to the impression he might give, Mihai has a very sentimental nature and the memories of both his grandmother, and the years spent in her house, hold a special place in his heart. 

After his grandmother died, the property was not maintained with the same care and attention she had given it. Over the years, we would stop by and check on things and invariably, Mihai would leave in a depressed funk over the state of disrepair.

During the last years of her life, Dița moved in but sadly, she was suffering from alcoholic encephalopathy and if anything, the condition of the house and property became worse. 

A couple of years ago, Dița died and Mihai inherited the property but then it sat, once more an abandoned blight on the neighborhood. This seemed doubly unfair since the properties in the community are nicely maintained.  

We couldn't just continue status quo, something had to be done. Enter plans A, B, and C.

Plan A was to sell it, but sentimentality overrode plan A. 

In sentimentality's favor, however, is the fact that the location of Viștea is ideal. 

For one thing, it's at the base of the Carpathian mountains which means the summers are cooler―a lovely break from the sweltering humidity of the southern plain. 

Another plus is that they have municipal water, sewage, and gas, none of which exist in the house in Obedin. 

In addition, it's close to Sibiu which is not only one of our favorite cities in Romania, but also the stopping point for every trip we make to Budapest (and you know we make a lot of trips to Budapest). Instead of staying in Hotel Ibis, we reasoned, we could stay in Viștea when we travel. 

Plan B thus involved converting a closet into a shower, repairing ceilings and walls, and performing an intense deep clean to make it functional and livable. However, once the contractors started working, plan B fell apart. Quite literally. The house fell down. (Did I mention it had not been maintained?)

On to plan C.

Everything was torn down and we built something new from the ground up. 

Let me be clear: we do not need a second house and had plan B not failed, I would be thoroughly delighted with what was going to essentially be a barn with a toilet and a stove. 

But plan B did fail, and plan A is not something Mihai could handle emotionally.

So here we are.

On a clearer day, you can see the snow on the Carpathian Mountains from our house. Alas, it was not a clear day.

Sentimentality aside, the second best thing I can say about this new house is that some of you are reluctant (you might not say it with words but I can read your non-verbal cues) to visit us in Obedin given the lack of municipal water, bad roads, and general chaos there. I understand.

The last time I checked, neither Obedin (nor Oltenia for that matter), showed up on any "Top 100 Places to Travel" lists. 

However, most people hold at least a vague romantic notion of Transylvania and it's my hope that the exotic local, running water, and good climate will be sufficient motivation for anyone hesitating to make the trip. My hope is that, at last, people might actually come and visit us. (A quick shout out to Griffin and Logan who were brave enough to make the trip in 2018.)

This is the last I will say on the subject of the Vistea house construction, unless everyone is clamoring for photos of concrete and stories of abandoned property? 

I thought not.

Likely no one is really clamoring for photos and stories of Sibiu, either. We've been there too many times for long-time readers to be interested in that city. 

However, we're still dealing with the pandemic and in the interests of safety and responsibility, we're just not going to do that much traveling. So you'll get repeats of Sibiu and Obedin, and maybe Horezu and Vaideeni. 

Just be glad it's not Budapest.

Views from the morning

Although I don't know why,  I've carried around the erroneous belief that if I could just sleep on the flight to Europe, my jet lag would be eliminated (is this what happens when you ignore science?). 

While it's true we were better rested than had we not flown business class, there is a limit to what an upgrade can do. For example, not only is it incapable of making one look more fashionable, but it also cannot immediately reset the inner clock. 

Which brings me to the first morning after our arrival when I found myself awake before dawn, standing on the front balcony to watch the sunrise. 

Those of you who know me are aware that I have the circadian rhythm of a chicken so I'm generally up to see the sunrise no matter which continent I'm on. But autumn mornings in Romania hold a treasured place in my soul. There's a special kind of pleasure in waking to the scent of woodsmoke on the crisp morning air, to see that particular maturity that only autumn sunlight seems to possess, to hear the roosters and cows stir, the clip-clop of horses hoofs on the street below, and the full-throated laughter of children on their way to school.

Even though it makes my heart feel a bit tender and sore, longing for years past when Pia was alive, the garden was full of vegetables and flowers, the house was full of the sounds of my children and Alexandru, I couldn't resist walking about and taking in all of the sights and smells that transport me back to those days. 

For these reasons, autumn feels like the perfect time to be here with the one notable exception: because we had to change the dates for this trip, Mircea and Madeline weren't able to come. It's possible this is the reason for the exceptional sentimentality that I'm feeling. 

In any case, the following photos are not particularly well-crafted, (they're just shots taken from my phone) but they represent a little bit of the sorts of sights that make me long for this place when I'm far away. 

Yes, I even miss the plastic gnomes and alligators Pia used to love so much. Apparently nostalgia does not have very good taste.

I'm not so nostalgic for the kitchen mess (or the foam Disney decals that Silvia glued to the tiles which I have since removed) but I love the ritual of eating bread, salami, gogoși and mustard around the kitchen table

Soon we're off to Viștea to see the new/old house and spend a few days in Sibiu. It won't be a new city for long-time readers but hopefully the photos will be more interesting for those of you who don't fall into a melancholy puddle over sunrises and pickled food.

The business of travel

 

Behind me, I heard the all-designer-clad woman ask, "Where is the first?" to which her husband replied, "I don't know, I only see a sign that says 'business'".

The cause of their confusion was that there was no sign for First Class boarding. Instead, the flight from San Francisco to Istanbul had two boarding lines: one containing the usual throng of economy class passengers, and another, smaller group that stood in front of a sign that read Business Class. 

Just as orange is the new black, 50 is the new 30, and low-waist pants are making a comeback, Business Class has, for some airlines, become the new First Class. Most people (I think most) would take the change in nomenclature with an indifferent shrug but for this couple, it seemed to signify that they had somehow, and without intending to, taken a step down in the world. 

In addition to the disappointing exchange of adjectives, the woman had another issue: "Why," she objected, "are there so many people in this line?" 

Implicit was that both the quantity and quality of passengers in said line were not to her liking. Standing in front her in my ill-fitting, thrift store outfit, I silently condemned her pretentiousness (but consoled myself that poetic justice was surely going to be served by the toddler who was screaming in her mother's arms at the front of the queue), and yet, if we set aside my petty delight in the discomfiture of an elitist snob, I have to admit that I understood. 

Probably no one was more surprised than I was to find myself holding a ticket for a seat in something other than economy class. Economy class is where I have sat on every trip to Europe through my teens, 20s, 30s, and 40s. But now my 50s have arrived, along with a pandemic, and I found myself (incredulous and disbelieving until the end) in that glorious section where you can stretch out and sleep. 

Let me be clear that I don't care about the chef-prepared meals, I don't care about the faster check-in, I don't care about any of the perks business class has to offer. I just care about being able to sleep. Not snatching a couple of minutes of an exhausted doze until your neck snaps and jerks you awake, kind of sleep. No. I mean stretch out 100% horizontally, pull a blanket over yourself and dream for 5 hours straight kind of sleep. In my book, that's all that matters, and yet I never thought it was attainable for us until last year when Turkish Airlines offered a 40% discount for RNs who worked through the pandemic. All you had to do was provide proof of employment and you'd get the savings on 4 tickets. 

It sounded too good to be true and I assumed, until the flight actually took off, that there was going to be a terrible (and probably mildly humiliating) hitch.

Yet here we are, once again in Europe, and we traveled business (call it First if it makes you feel better, lady) class to get here. I have the (uninspiring) photos to prove it.

That was the SF to Istanbul leg. The seats were these futuristic looking little pods that gave you the sensation you were the only person on the flight. To be honest, it was initially a little disconcerting after years of having children sprawled across my lap, sharing half my allotted shoulder space with Mihai, and enduring the jabs in the back by whatever long-legged passenger was always, always, always behind me. But I managed to adjust.

Istanbul to Bucharest. 

It seemed silly to be in business class for a 45 minute flight but it's a package deal. 

Not sure why we're so involved with our phones right then. 

The train ride to Craiova which, for the first time ever, we did not have to take turns sleeping through (although I notice I still look like I've been hit by a truck so I guess I can't use the "I just flew in from California and haven't had any sleep" excuse).

The final piece of the journey-from Craiova to Obedin by van. 1:30 am but we weren't staggering and stumbling because (yes, I'm going to beat the horse good and dead) we were able to sleep on the flight.

Sleeping on the plane didn't mean we weren't still tired at the end of the trip but what could be better than coming home to your comfy bed, complete with the inexplicable addition of a US Air Force pillow. 

(Why?? The eternal question when it comes to decor at Casa Ionescu)

So that was my way of reintroduction this time around: uninspired photos and bragging about being able to sleep on the plane. 

Long-time readers of this blog know this is just how I roll, but newer readers should be aware it doesn't always get any better than this. 

You've been duly warned. 

2020

The less said about 2020, the better, do we all agree?