71 de toamne

Cu tine în minte pășim împreună în cel de-al 71-lea an al vieții tale ... Cu tine de mână mă îndrept înspre ziua de maine. Cu speranță, cu dorința fierbinte de mai bine, de mai ușor ... 

De ziua ta mă coplesesc amintirile. Bucuria imensă pe care ți-o aducea fiecare concediu la mare.  Bucatele minunate pe care le pregăteai la sfârșitul fiecărei zile (abia așteptam să deschizi seara ușa de la camera noastră să ne întrebi “Cartofi prăjiți? Sau piure?”). Plimbările pe faleza de la Constanța - la deal și la vale pană se întuneca de-a dreptul și nu mai vedeam marea, doar îi auzeam ecoul ... 

Mereu am iubit gropițele din obrajii tăi slăbuți, și ochii tăi minunați în care se deschide parcă tot cerul ... Am iubit întotdeauna dragostea ta de adevăr, dreptatea, și directitudinea și onestitatea desăvârșite. Am iubit până și cicatricea ta adâncă de pe piept - în secret îmi doream și eu una și pană la urma viața mi-a daruit-o și mie. Un semn de durere dar și de tărie ... 

Mi-aduc aminte ce multă fericire îți aducea tata și ce imensă era dragostea dintre voi, chiar și în zilele cele mai grele ... Mi-aduc aminte de mulți ani frumoși, de seri în familie unde urmăream cu toții vreun serial sau când jucam cu toții Rummy sau tu cu tata, table ... Viața era grea în afară, dar ușoară între noi, pentru că apropierea și dragostea erau mari ... Asta țin cu mine, în inimă cât voi trăi! 

Când viața era mai ușoară, poate, 

și poate fără prea multe griji ...

Trăiesc din amintirile astea zilnic și nu-mi doresc nimic mai mult decât să ne ofere viața în continuare oportunități în care să ne facem altele, noi amintiri, din capitole noi care ni se deschid abia de acum înainte. 

Te iubesc, mama, mai mult decât orice cuvânt din orice limbă poate să descrie. Mi-ai dat onestitatea și puterea ta, chiar dacă nu mi-ai dat gropitele și nici culoarea ochilor. Te iubim cu toții și vrem să ne trăiești sănătoasă și fără griji în continuare ... 

La mulți ani sănătoși, cu putere și ușurință ... 

Random Lessons From a Trip to the Old Country

This is one of those travelogs where things are not necessarily connected outside the fact that they all happened in one trip. 

This time, it was yet another “family/ work” trip and not a fun trip, but fun is something you make on the go and not something you always plan for ... There are some lessons here as well, as travels are always the greatest teachers ... You jump on a plane, or in a car or bus (or in an Uber cab nowadays)  and you learn so much more than any book or any documentary can teach you at home ... 

So, hop on alongside me and find out the juicy details of my latest trip back to the Old Country ... 

On an Austrian Airlines flight you learn that Germans cannot veer off a script to help their lives. On any American flight I have ever been on, if you are asleep and they come by with treats or food, they happily skip you. They do not wake you up. On our long flight from Newark to Vienna, they come and drop the snack packs and napkins in your lap. Some are falling on the floor, some are startling the passenger who is in no mood for eating anyway and ends up storing the snack in the pocket of the seat in front of them - at any rate, a waste ... When they brought over the full-blown dinner, they expanded the tray tables themselves with people still asleep to put the trays in front of sleeping people ... I guess they have 300 food servings and they absolutely must disperse 300 food servings. They cannot operate any other way that would be deemed “out of pattern”... 

Also, on an Austrian Airline flight from America: 

Flight attendant: Would you like some wine? 

Passenger: Yes, please. Red. 

Flight attendant: Would you like some water in your wine? 

Passenger, puzzled: Umm .... nope ... 

In America, no one ever would even consider “spoiling” the wine with water. In Europe, we almost always drink wine with water. Americans are purists. Except when it comes to cocktails and then the sky's the limit.

Once in Iasi, my hometown, I notice things that bring me home. 

On a commemorative plaque on a historic building in Iasi, a quote that seems appropriate for my trip: “We were given suffering so we can speak the truth.”(original: “Ni s-a dat suferinta ca sa spunem adevarul.”) (Iosif Sava)

I noticed a lot more street music players this time around in Iasi. Sure, they want to get paid but some of them were rather good. This particular guy was playing the guitar and singing a la Victor Socaciu (a famous Romanian  troubadour)  in front of the Trei Ierarhi cathedral in the city center. The lyrics stuck with me because they spoke so loudly to my life now: “si te iubesc cu groaza si cu mila”, meaning, “I love you in awe and with so much mercy”. This is me and mom right now. 

The most beautiful thing anyone has ever told me, and the most beautiful thing my mom has ever told me was on March 8, which is International Women’s Day: we were both lying in bed, next to each other. She started caressing my cheek and said: “You are way too beautiful to be my daughter ... “. I teared up and told her “I am beautiful because I am your daughter. I am beautiful because you are my mom and you gave me your beauty.” 

Outside of the oncology hospital, and all around it, in the yard, and the streets adjacent to it, I could not help but notice tons of patients in their pj’s, in the cold, gray days of February, smoking. Such an oxymoron, or maybe a clear explanation of the place ... 

I could write a separate blog, or even a short book about my experience in Uber cars. They could be quite the character builder and quite the character study. A few snippets: 

• March 8th will remain in my calendar as the day when I traveled with an Uber driver in Iasi, Romania that did not have music blasting in his car. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. It was truly eerie. Usually, you can’t hear yourself think from music shaking the car windows. They never ask permission and they never ask whether the music is to your liking or too loud. And you don’t dare ask.  I tried really hard not to feel guilty during this particular trip, since it was only like a 7 minute ride but I failed. On second thought, I am not sure I would qualify for “this new generation”, either ... 

• Soliloquy of an Uber driver in my home town of Iasi: I don’t get it with young people nowadays - they ride the Uber and then they complain that they’re fat and need a gym membership!! Well, stop being lazy and walk and you won’t need the gym! But this is why they want such high salaries to have money for their gym and their Uber. They want big salaries, they’re not happy with the salaries, they go outside (the country) for their jobs. I am not sure who’ll be working to pay for our retirement anymore. But ... that’s this new generation for you!! 
• Another Uber driver while we stop at an intersection next-door to a cafe. We are very clearly looking at a  prostitute with her pimp having coffee and smoking on the patio of the cafe, when the driver muses out loud: You can totally see their ... umm... ‘relationship’. As a man I never understood how you can stoop so low to have a woman make you look handsome and well-dressed like that with what she earns. He would be nothing without her. How can he accept such a relationship and be kept with the money earned that way? I don’t get it! Where is his pride?! 
• In general, Romanian drivers are angry. I know because I am one, and I am the daughter of one. Romanian Uber drivers, though, are a special brand of angry. I am not sure whether I should be grateful that they are trying with all their might (through expletives, sudden acceleration followed by sudden dead-stops, and abundant honking) to get me to my destination faster, or I should rate them poorly for having an attitude or an anger management problem.
• Not sure why but I find that Uber drivers, at least in Europe (this happened several times in Iasi, but it also happened in Vienna a few years back) love to talk politics. I mean, politics in America are taboo. Not in Europe. And definitely not in Romania. One day, in Iasi, this kid tells me “Oh, the world is upside down nowadays, you know. Did you hear that Canada just passed a law where if you say ANYTHING against the government, they put you in jail forever?” I told him I am somewhat familiar with Canada and their laws and I heard of no such thing, and that there are nuances to every law and someone somewhere misinformed him. He assured me it’s true because “even Elon Musk is against it, because he is very free-speech, you know.” Oh yes, I know.
• I learned, also in Romania, about how much an Uber driver makes, because in Romania speaking about your gains is totally normal, unlike in the US. This driver gave me the example of the ride I was paying for: the total came up to 45 lei (about $9). He makes about 30 lei of those ($6). I am not sure what I would have expected their share to be, but there it was. 

A lot of the time during my trip to Romania revolved around relocating mom and starting a new chapter in our lives as a family. It was one of the most difficult trips that I have ever had to take. Seeing that someone you love, their whole life is reduced to the confines of a strange room, or even smaller, to a bed that doesn’t even belong to them is gut-wrenching. There are no words to describe that kind of pain. 

There was a clock hung on the wall in the hallway, at the facility where mom lives now and it had no hands. It was so symbolic: I guess once you come there, life just stops in so many ways. Who needs the time to be measured anymore?! You’re kinda drifting. And that just empties me ... 

The clock with no hands, right next to an emergency exit sign ...

To have one parent still alive, but not be able to watch them watch you leave the house and wave “goodbye” to you as you depart, or to have a parent and not be able to at least text them when you board a flight to let them know you’re safely leaving, or to text them when you land to tell them you safely made it on the other shore - this is character building! 

Airports are funny places. You can observe the entire humanity, in all its glory,  desperation, beauty, and ugliness. Some of the things I notice in this one trip: 

• Romanians spent 50 years of communism with no heat and now they are making up for it by overheating every indoor place. Stores and the airports are easily North of 80F. And that is because it’s March outside, which in Romania can easily pass for winter. 
• Romanians wear the most uncomfortable shoes in airports! Patented shoes?! Super high stiletto heels?! I am not quite sure where they think they are going at 11PM on a flight to Bucharest of all places (internal flight for Romania), but they surely dress up for it. 
• I like watching the different fashions parading through the airports: the posh, overworked but comfortable look of French women, passing by bored like they own the place and every Chanel, Gautier and Yves St Laurent store; the fad, plain, unkempt look of American women, with froufrou socs, worn-down scrunchies, makeupless faces, staring at everything with mouths agape. I am pretty sure only Americans stare with their mouths open. I am not sure why that is but you try to prove me wrong. The visible discomfort of Muslim women roasting under the many layers and tight scarves in a hot airport. We all make up a world. And somehow, in an airport, we can all get along. So different, and yet so alike and united by one purpose: to wander home, wherever that is for all of us ... 
• Airports are some of the most diverse places I have ever been in. At 3 AM in Bucharest, you see everyone and anyone: Muslim families with women clad in such tight clothes I wonder if they can breathe, very few African Americans (unusual for Eastern Europe), traveling Hare Krishnas, and even a Scottish guy in a kilt. It’s not even the US, or Paris. This is Bucharest. 
• The waitress at the Lavazza restaurant in Bucharest refuses to speak Romanian with me. Is it that I look foreign? Or does she assume that everyone must speak the international language of English in an international airport? Is she tired? I know it cannot be that my Romanian is that bad, because I have been here for a month and I have been moving mountains in the very language I was born and raised in and not one person had issues understanding me, but I honor her persistence and answer her in English. I would not want to upset her at midnight, now would I?! She might screw up my cappuccino decaf. 
• The waitress in the Paris airport is downright rude when I have trouble understanding her very heavily French-accented English. She almost screams at me when I ask her to repeat the price.  
• Speaking of the French - I find French people speaking English hard to understand but this one was so clever: a flight attendant on an Air France plane (a dark-brown-eyed young Alain Delon) says to a person asking whether they will catch their connection since our flight is coming in delayed: “It is in the same terminal, so you might catch it, but go to the gate first when we land and ask, but you might catch it. It is make-able.” Well, of course “make-able” should be a word. Why not?! 
• Thank God for small favors, and when a patriarchal society pays off: we have to ride the bus in the Bucharest airport, from the plane to the terminal. Because I have a head full of gray hair, younger men rush to stand up and offer me their seats. And you know what: at midnight, in a packed-full bus, I do not feel insulted and I do not mind. I take the seat and am grateful. 

I notice a huge difference in the way we look at local business here, in The States, and how they look at it in Romania. In the US, you are uncool and the enemy if you don’t agree that “shop local” is the best - support your local economy for a strong city and community. In Romania, when I shop at the local neighborhood, family-owned convenience stores and grocery stores, my uncle reminds me that “I need to go to Auchan or Kaufland (both huge supermarket stores) because I don’t want you to put the money in the coffers of these thieves down the street.” I have trouble understanding why people trying to make a living on their own are “thieves” but he is convinced this is wrong. 

The life lessons from the two movies I watch on the plane can be summarized in these two quotes: 

• From the immigration movie Past Lives: “If you leave something behind you gain something too.“ I couldn't agree more with this. 
• From Barbie: “I’m a man with no power. Does that make me a woman?” Indeed. 

As I get ready to go back home a second time this year, I am grinning in melancholy about what other adventures will await the second time around, as I have looked back at these memories from earlier in the year ... Life is a never-ending surprise, and it will fill you with wonders if you’re ready to welcome them ... 

Blowing Rock, NC. Mountain Charm. Timeless Flair.

When I lived in North Carolina my first time around, before 2010, because I lived closer to it, Blowing Rock used to be my favorite day-trip destination. I would drive up there for the day from Greensboro, have lunch at The Speckled Trout, then walk about the town, up and down the main street, pop in and out of all the cute little stores, check out the newest local art, try to spot the newest China merchandise that traps any tourist in any American town that sees themselves as a destination, get an ice cream at Kilwins, then head on down the mountain come dinner time. 

A little spot for peace in downtown Blowing Rock: a children's prayer garden

Now, living about an hour  further away, we visit The Crown of the Blue Ridge, as it’s known, much less often. But it still beckons us back from time to time, like it did this weekend. 

These are some of the observations I have made of  an old friend, and of the world as we see it today as we’re travelers through it ... In no particular order ... 

This had to be the least busy holiday weekend I have ever experienced anywhere, but definitely in the North Carolina mountains. We could not figure it out, but all restaurants had open seats (we’re used to driving up there for the holiday weekend and ending up eating fast food or bar food at a bar that still wants people to drink but doesn’t have much to offer by way of food). We hardly needed a reservation anywhere. 

The scenic ride slope at Beech Mountain was almost empty. No lines at all. When we pulled into the parking lot, we counted no more than 20 cars, I’d say. They have three parking lots, but even the one closest to the slope seemed completely empty ... I was sure the resort would be  closed. 

Riding a scenic chairlift in the summer in the mountains is the one activity I look forward to every year. This year, we finally managed to get to it at the very end of summer. It was worth the wait ...

Beech Mountain was open, in fact, but the tavern at the bottom of the slope seemed totally empty, outside of the few occupied tables on their patio. The pub at the top of the mountain had most tables full but the fact that we found a table to sit at at all should tell you they were not very busy. Last time we went, on a non-holiday, summer weekend it was standing-room only both inside and out. There was no one inside this time around. No music playing either, which made it seem even more grim and lonely than the slim crowd. 

Back in the olden, olden days of my trips up the mountain, if I went for an overnight trip, I would equally patronize both Cheeseburgers in Paradise, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint that made a great chicken salad, and The Speckled Trout that made the best trout anywhere on the Parkway. Cheeseburgers in Paradise closed what seems to be a century ago, with the place sitting there, in the heart of downtown, in the busiest intersection of Blowing Rock, empty, falling in disrepair, hurting my soul with every visit, year after year after year. 

But on this trip, it was nice to see that the place took on a brand-new life, and someone loved and cared for the old spot, along other adjacent plots downtown as they now constructed the brand-new and very welcoming hotel Embers. It is where we hung our hats and it was a beautiful experience. The place is clean, welcoming, laid back and full of little gems in the shape of good food, delicious cocktails, and an extremely friendly staff. It was so nice to see history evolving and the town stepping into its next chapter with this new venture downtown. 

The Embers Hotel in downtown Blowing Rock

The Speckled Trout is still as happening as ever - probably the only place where you did still need reservations during this not-so-busy weekend. The wait is still North of an hour for a table and they can only seat you outside with no reservations, and people were taking the outside tables, even when it was pouring out. The trout itself is not what it used to be here - you don’t get a full trout anymore, like in the olden days, and the sides are not just simple baked potatoes, corn on the cob, or steamed veggies ... You have more ‘fancy’ offerings now, like vegan fennel and potato salad, smoked gouda grits, or summer succotash salad. I still visit the place with every visit, just for the good ol’ time’s sake and just because they still serve trout (you’d think they should forever. It’s in their name, after all.) and trout is hard to find, surprisingly, even in mountain towns. 

The cornmeal crusted trout dish at Speckled Trout

Outside The Speckled Trout, the busiest place in Blowing Rock is Camp Coffee Roasters - the line is flowing out into the street at any given time of the day, but those kids who work there know what they’re doing - I thought for sure it would take us an hour to get in and out. It took a bit less than 20 minutes. I guess they time it since you can only park in front of their store for 30 minutes at a time. 

The view from Camp Coffee Roasters towards The Speckled Trout and Embers hotel - across the street

Before we got up the mountain, we toured a couple of wineries in the Yadkin Valley, and then visited another one in the mountains on our second day. 

The gorgeous furnishings at Castello Barone Vineyards and Winery in Yadkin Valley

We love finding little places that do so much to (almost literally) squeeze the sweetness and the richness out of the North Carolina soil to make good products that illustrate the uniqueness or our landscape and climate ... We love talking to the winemakers who, so proudly, showcase their elixirs. It’s always an experience to be shared. Midnight Magdalena, Castello Barone in the Yadkin Valley and Eagles Nest Winery outside Beech Mountain were new findings for us. Featuring mostly dry wines (North Carolina is humid and wet which typically yields dryer varieties, we learned), they were oases of hospitality and good taste. Eagles Nest is hidden deep into the woods of The Smokies. There is no highway sign for it, and you have to kinda trust your maps to take you there. Once you get there, though, the log cabin feel and the gorgeous landscape will render you shocked, mouth-agape. It’s like coming home. You feel the mountains around you just casting a great, warm hug around you, and welcoming you in. 

The beautiful setting at the Eagles Nest Winery, outside Beech Mountain

The wines here, though, are hardly local, being all raised in California, and just mixed and bottled on site, so they’re  a little bit of a fraud, you can say, but they are good wines, and the place is still worth visiting for a moment of respite, a slice of fresh pizza and a cold glass of wine, even semi-imported/ local ... 

There were some low notes during our trip, too. 

The beauty of the setting at Timberlake Restaurant in the Chetola resort is in stark contrast to the poor service and the lesser quality of the food served there, I am sad to say. Kids working in hospitality nowadays need to learn how to use proper words anymore (doesn’t everyone in today’s age of AI when anything we read or write is filled-out for us?). When I tell a young waitress that my order got screwed up and I list at least three things wrong with it and the answer I get is a friendly, chipper, uplifting “Oh, perfect!” followed by a smile - it makes one wonder if anything is being processed on the other end ... 

The serene and peaceful setting of The Timberlake restaurant

We always notice people with kids, and as childless folks, we notice how from day to day, from year to year, kids are more and more close to monkeys and parents are further and further disconnected from any responsibility of raising them. I always say: stop having them or learn how to parent. Filling up the world with screaming, entitled brats is hardly optimistic for our future. Don’t know. Maybe it’s my aging, ornery self, who knows?! 

Although the whole experience was wonderful, as we partook in good foods, good drinks, and great conversations with strangers everywhere, I think the highlight for me was just being in the mountains. Driving on an empty Blue Ridge was my favorite pastime - just seeing no one coming around the curve, and not being rushed by anyone behind us, looking over the (still) bright, green mountains, half in a smoky mist and half clear, breathing in the strong mountain air from our room’s patio were what we drive three and a half hours for - just to take in the mountains and recharge the batteries for the next season. 

Some things will linger for a while: the new-place smell at The Embers, the sticky floors from busy wear and tear at The Speckled Trout, the inexperience of the staff at The Timberlake, the easy-go-lucky staff at Beech Mountain, the super friendly and jack-of-all-trades bartender, Everett, at The Embers bar, the timelessness of the stores that line the Blowing Rock sidewalks year after year, the smell of pines after the rain, the warm cups of coffee at Camp Coffee Roasters, the friendliest hotel receptionist, Stacy, at The Embers ... and all the screaming kids of the world, too ...

Some things are new, some thing are timeless. The world is a mixed bag of nuts; you take the salt with the sugar and you make a nice snack; but whatever you do, don’t stop getting out there and getting your life going, seeing and learning new things. 

The view from the top of Beech Mountain, after the chairlift ride