Music is inescapable in Romania. Whether traveling, eating or attempting to relax, one can rest assured that some form or other of noise will be broadcast for our benefit. Let’s have a rundown of particular situations in which this phenomenon is manifest:

1) Maxi-Taxis: One can only hope that this means of transportation will soon go away as Romania continues to develop its road infrastructure. But for the time being, they serve a crucial function, connecting cities, towns and one horse villages at a speedy and somewhat dizzying pace. The ruler of the Maxi Taxi is, of course, the driver. These men (indeed they are all men) share certain characteristics: 30 – 60 years old, stocky, favor plaid work shirts, smokers, gruff, non-communicative (except to young female passengers,) and lovers of loud music. The music you will hear in maxi-taxis is either the radio, or, more frequently, a cassette tape of the driver’s choosing. Traditional Romanian folk music is popular here with the older drivers (the more icons plastered around the visor the more likely you are to hear this sort of music.) Also popular is Romanian rock. Since the driver likes to keep his window down (while many have been so kind as to jerry-rig the sliding windows further back permanently shut,) the music must be loud enough to compensate for the sound of air and semi-trucks whooshing past at a margin of 2 inches. While some drivers will be considerate enough to confine their musical tastes to the front speakers, many gladly share via the hardwired system (in more modern maxi-taxis,) or via some slick speakers installed by Mihai down at Dacia-Zone. Thus one is confronted with the choice of either sucking it up or listening to music of one’s own. Reading is not an option.

2) Restaurants: Though music in restaurants isn’t bad per-se, careful attention to the type and volume is crucial in such applications. However, attention to detail is not a particularly strong suite of most business owners over here. As such, music at restaurants is usually inappropriate. The worst offenders can be found in the more touristy regions. Restaurants such as these (which all offer, by the way, the exact same fare,) enjoy hiring a young man, usually between 20 and 30, whose is taxed with setting up his Yamaha and microphone a few inches from the dining tables and regaling the crowd with classic renditions of American favorites such as “Hotel California.” Though Bodgan is in earnest here, he doesn’t seem to realize that his role is to provide background noise, and not to overpower the poor frail human voice. Thus at such establishments, in addition to surly service, one can expect to either eat in silence or converse as if at a nightclub. The non-touristy places usually do not offer live performances, but sadly the volume issue is still not well understood. And furthermore, unless “Beep” by The Pussycat Dolls is your preferred type of music for the dining out experience, you’re beeped.

3) Pool/Seaside: What could be better in the summer than a trip to the sea or your local public swimming pool? Here in Romania, where it does get hot in the summer, these places offer a much needed respite from the polluted airs of *insert your city/village here*. Many municipalities have recently invested in new complexes offering not only swimming but also dining, ice cream, tennis and other fun activities. There is, of course, a price, and that price is usually in the form of some heavy duty all weather speakers mounted on poles throughout the place. Here in my home town, they have even gone so far as to place a remote broadcasting booth for a local radio station right next to the pools! Thus as you strut and tan, you can be sure you do so to the beat of the day’s top 10 songs. And by top ten, I really mean ten. Romanian homogeneity is manifest in multiple ways, but most noticeably so on commercial radio, which dominates the dial. One can expect to hear the latest in American trash-hop, some classic rock (Queen,) and the latest and greatest in Romanian pop (for a sampling of this music, see Owlspotting’s post on the subject.) But to summarize, most of such pop tends to use the clever rhyming technique of “mine” and “bine” (mee-nay (mine) and bee-nay (good)) in some form or another, and that’s all you really need to know. Reading in such locales is possible, but be prepared to receive a few strange looks as this pastime is not in favor anywhere outside of the library.

4) Sidewalk: Many of the “hip” stores and cafes have discovered that playing loud techno-style music somehow entices customers to shovel out ever more for standard mass-produced clothing covered with nonsensical slogans. The worst such offender is a clothing outfit called Kenvelo, which usually has its stores located in high traffic areas. The music in these stores is so loud that it bleeds out onto the street; it is the modern day siren which lures teenage boys and girls into shopping frenzies which result in the rest of us doing many double takes trying to understand just what messages such as, “Gigolo Italiano 880,” (in sparkling sequins) and “moto star sports awesom!” are attempting to convey. Trendy cafes with outdoor seating are also guilty of this trick, though in these cases the effect is a 2-for-1, encompassing both this technique and the one mentioned in number 2. [n.b. – The author must pause here to admit that he is, at times, attracted to this method of advertising when the reward promises to be a well made cocktail. In all other instances, he is disgusted.]

To summarize – Romanians like their music, they like it loud, and they like it public. For an otherwise timid people, this phenomenon (along with the excessive amounts of PDA) seems out of place. But perhaps music is an affirmation of freedom. The affirmation of freedom to join the global community. To join the global community of uniformity, lack of creativity and originality. To be, in a way, one, united, but at the same time, desperately unique.

So a few days ago I am doing a load of dishes in the kitchen. When I’m finished, I go to wash my hands in the bathroom and notice that the entire floor is covered in about an inch of water. It seemed that all the (dirty greasy) water that had gone down the kitchen sink ended up here. Darn. So, this entailed a call to my landlord. Now, although landlord is usually synonymous with trouble, I am quite lucky. My landlord is an old retired man. Although the apartment technically belongs to his son, the father manages everything.

The next day he comes over with a spool of cable, gets down on his knees in the bathroom, and tries to unclog the mess himself. It doesn’t work. So, after admonishing me not to take a shower, he vows to return the next day with a plumber. The next day he does indeed show up with a plumber, and this plumber is a typical plumber: big, overalls, dirty, friendly. He takes apart the bathroom sink, does some heavy duty plunging, sticks a few cables down the drain, and about half an hour later comes up with an absolutely rank looking conglomeration of hairballs, congealed grease and toenail clippings. After this victory, he takes a look at the kitchen sink and replaces the old piping with a new flexible hose. All is well. I shake hands with the both of them and bid them adeiu.

An hour later, all is calm, and I am reading on my balcony, enjoying the fine weather. Buzz!, someone is at my door. An un-announced buzz means one of three things: Gypsy salesperson, man/woman coming to read the electric/water meters, or my landlord. I assume its him and I’m right. He has with him a little bag of cleaning products, and proceeds into the kitchen. Taking out a product called “Axion,” he dabs a bit on a sponge and begins scouring the sink. Apparently during his previous visit he concluded that I was not keeping the sink as clean as he would like. As he continues scrubbing away at the sink, I attempt to join in, but really its only a one person job. So, I just leave him be and continue to read on the balcony.

About a half hour later I come back inside and find that he has moved to the bathroom and is scrubbing the tub. He is pretty much finished, and at that point I get a short lecture about how I should keep the kitchen and bathroom cleaner. It’s not mean-spirited, but as I had been warned by my counterpart to humor him, I smile and nod and promise to keep everything more sparklinger. Before he leaves, additional notice of displeasure is given regarding my collection of shoes adjacent to the front door. A mess, he exclaims, in mock frustration, too many shoes! So I put a few of them away in a little closet and at this he is quite satisfied. I promise again to keep things cleaner in the future and he leaves satisfied.

A minute later comes the customary follow-up buzz; he always forgets something and has to come back for it. This time it is his watch. I grab it, open the door and hand it right to him. We laugh a little and he departs once again.