Category Archives: Peace Corps Romania

30 Minutes, Five Days, Decades.

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Wednesday I got a notice in my mailbox stating that a package awaited me at the local post office. I was notified, as usual, that the postal staff would be available to assist me in retrieving this package from 8 – 3 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I get to the post office a half an hour late and although the lady who does all the paperwork is still there, I can’t pick up the package. Admittedly, I was late, and no, I’ve never had any massive problems before.

However, I am freshly piqued about the absurdity of this Communist-era system. It boils down to the fact that the pickup window is far too small. Think about it, 8 – 3 on Tuesday and Thursday; working hours on two work days. This assumes that the person who needs to retrieve his/her package will be able to somehow leave work, go all the way to the post office, wait in line, and then return. If this person had a half hour lunch break, this might be accomplished, with little or no time to spare. However, in Romania, the workday trend is to begin early, around 8 and continue straight through until roughly 3. After work, most individuals return home for lunch, which is the primary daily meal here. Therefore, since the odds of a person having a lunch-break are slim, and it is likely that this person’s working hours are at least 8 – 3, the package pickup window, (Tues/Thurs 8-3,) could not possibly be less convenient.

The real kicker, though, is the absurdity of the customs process. Whereas amazon.com shipments are expedited to a full service window, (i.e. they can be picked up any time,) shipments originating from foreign countries necessitate a customs inspection. However, this inspection is farcical at best, and in my opinion, vestigial of the built-in corruption endemic during the Communist era. The pickup process entails 2 stops. First, you present your ID card to a postal worker who writes your ID number somewhere on the package’s shipping label. After you sign somewhere, anywhere on that label, the clerk goes into a back room to retrieve your package. The package is then placed on a scale, at which point the clerk cuts it open.

Then, responsibility is transfered to the visiting customs official. Not simply a lowly postal worker, the customs official has his own uniform and log-book; he has come to the post office from the central customs office to perform his bi-weekly duty. The extent of this duty differs widely. Those customs officials used to snooping and in all likelihood seeking something from which to extract a bribe (in the old days of course,) will take everything out of the package and question why you could possibly want such things. However, I must give credit where credit is due and state that this variety of customs worker has been rare, and reportedly becoming rarer; bravo Romania! Most of said officials will simply peer in the box, or pull out the topmost item only to quickly send you on your way. You need not sign again.

But, here comes the real treat. The past 3 or 4 packages I have retrieved did not even make it to step 2; that is, they were never opened. I’ve heard rumors that this is due to the fact that it is technically illegal to open and inspect these packages; perhaps though the staff have simply lost interest in examining my massive candy shipments. Regardless, this non-enforcement of step 2 renders the customs official a mere looker-overer; his only function in my last few pickups has been to acknowledge, via nod, that the package has been retrieved. As I said, sitting behind his little pane of glass in his neat uniform and large log-book, he resembles a vestigial organ no longer quite sure of its purpose, content only with the fact that it may still, sporadically, cause problems.

So, when I arrived a half hour late to find the customs officer gone and the postal worker unwilling to get me my package which stood just feet behind her, I consoled myself with the fact that my minor inconvenience was simply a symptom of a larger unresolved issue in Romania. Given the country’s unwillingness to engage in sincere reform, many practices from old eras persist to this day. I am positive that this is the case with foreign package pickup. This is also the case with the grade registers in the schools, as well as pretty much all other aspects of the educational system. I’d bet that even if the post office was to begin tracking packages by computer, that when all was said and done, the object of efficiency would still only be available on Tuesday and Thursday, from 8 – 3.

Context

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Apparently the idea of a bake sale is rather novel round these parts. You may remember how a while back I wrote about my project with the language lab at my school. Now that the grant money has been spent and the director has generously found funds to upgrade the electrical system, I figured it was time for the icing on the cake. We need some heavy curtains to properly darken the room and a sound system to be used in tandem with the projector. For the latter and larger project, I’ll have some good news soon, but regarding the curtains I decided to get one of my new classes involved. This class has always struck me as a very hard-working and straight-shooting bunch, so I figured I could entrust them to pull off a bake sale with minimal hassle. As soon as I mentioned the idea two weeks ago they took right to it; soon I had received commitments from each student to bring in a baked good or two (in addition to my promise to contribute some of my highly regarded brownies.)

Today was the day, and I’m overjoyed to say that is was a great success – all the students came through, from the bakers to the salesmen! I know, a bake sale certainly isn’t the highest of accomplishments, but in context it felt like a great victory. Not only were we mobbed and did we sell out completely, but I also received praise from other teachers, many of whom rarely speak with me. It’s funny how sometimes a simple idea can be executed to great regard; the context in which events are executed determine their impact, and though it has taken almost two years, I seem to have finally grasped the nuances of said context. Many of the students asked if we could do this again, and hopefully they no longer need my guidance to do so. That’s the entire point of sustainable development, no? It’s basic, but in a way, quite divine… (oh, and did I mention my famous brownies???)

This and That

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A few things:

1. Pictures from my trip to Istanbul have been posted in the photo gallery. Find them in the Peace Corps Romania album… enjoy!

2. You may now select which skin/theme you prefer for this site. Look for “Select Theme” under “Search:” on the left hand side. This is not 100% yet, but the front page is all set.

3. Click here to read a pithy commentary about a broken social contract viewed in the context of the armed forces medical care scandal. The author, a Vietnam vet, states: “There is a social contract between a country and those it sends to war, and America’s social contract is broken… Less than half a percent of our population is being asked to bear the burden of this “long war.” Our all-volunteer military has allowed most of the country to remain oblivious to the horrors of our wars. We must begin to equitably distribute this sacrifice – not by sharing the burden of combat, but through the burden of political engagement.”

A commenter replies: “Sadly, the results you describe are inevitable when the ENTIRE burden of the war is carried by those serving and their families. As far as most Americans are concerned, this war has been outsourced. Too bad if a soldier gets hurt: he knew the job was dangerous when he took it. It is this attitude, varients of which exist all through American society, that is so shameful. People picking crops can’t make a decent wage? Too bad, it is simply supply and demand. Your job was sent to India? Too bad, but that is the way the new economy works now.”

I am particularly interested in the issue because it DOES appear that this entire war has been outsourced (or perhaps down-sourced to the most desperate members of our own society.) When I look at the maps showing where most of the dead have come from, I see few coming from priviliged areas. Though this is not new, past wars have called for shared sacrifice, such as rationing in WWII and the draft in Vietnam. Thus, if this GWOT is indeed the generational struggle that it is trumped up to be, ought not we all be asked to sacrifice? (and no, not our Constitutional liberties…)

4. Spring is beginning to show itself here. Though it’s raining and nasty out now, I’ll take some photos as soon as we see some blue skies. And, on that topic, have you heard the song “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO? It’s fantastic. I’m starting to feel this way for many things…

Trees, Memorials and a Haus.

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Yesterday I received a SMS from a former student of mine stating that he was bored and wanted to hang out and chat. Meeting him in the center, I had in mind a coffee somewhere, but since is was pretty nice out, we decided to just walk around. Heading in no particular direction, we talked about some of the difficulties he was experiencing at school and what he wanted to do after graduation.

We headed up by his school, (where I no longer teach,) and continued up a large hill that sits above the town. He mentioned a “fake tree” that I just had to see, and we started down a street I had never been on. Before we got to the fake tree we saw this old house, or haus. To preface, this town used to have a sizable German population. However, after the war most ethnic Germans decided to return home, a transaction that was facilitated by the German government. Although German is still a popular 2nd language at my school (a Hungarian school,) and some of the students have Germanic features, the percentage of Germans in town is in the single digits. Anyway, this old haus was set back about 50 ft. from the street and appeared to be in a state of disrepair. Unlike the other surrounding Romanian style houses, though, this one looked visibly different, almost like a Bavarian chalet. Near the peak of the roof was the date 1935 in large black letters. It was an amazing find, and led me to wonder who used to inhabit that house and what had happened to them.

But, as I’ve mentioned, the ostensible purpose behind heading up this direction was the fake tree. Now this former student of mine was really intrigued by the fake tree, speculating about secret underground bunkers, et. al. Of course, I was a bit skeptical, but I figured it was worth a look. After winding up a little unpaved road he said, “ok, do you see it?” I looked around, and replied, “no, where is it?” We walked up a little further and then he asked again. This time I did see it, and let me tell you, I was impressed! This was one of those transmitter/receiver contraptions set up to resemble a tree so as to not be jarring to the natural landscape. We’ve probably all seen them before, and if we looked closely enough, did a quick ‘what the heck!’ This one, though, was quite the model of perfection. In fact, it was the very perfection of its design which ultimately belied its true nature. The trunk was a dark and folksy brown, and the branches a vibrant green.

Although this site was to conclude our tour, I saw a strange looking building just a bit further up the hill and decided that we should, in the spirit of adventure, push on. As I got closer, I noticed that this old slightly decrepit building had many Stars of David on in. Peering around the side, I saw an old cemetery. I soon realized that we had stumbled across town’s Jewish cemetery. Although my companion didn’t want to go inside, fearing some retribution, I decided to head on in. Greeted by a few nasty looking dogs on chains and a weary and skeptical old woman, I conveyed my interest and she grudgingly let us have a look.

It was quite a find. The newest graves showed death dates within the past few years; most of these individuals born around 1920. These graves had polished granite headstones and were well tended. However, further towards the back end of the cemetery, the graves became older. At about the center of the graveyard were the memorial plots, some of them dedicated to multiple individuals, many of them with the word Auschwitz on them. At the very back were the graves that chronicled lives that began and ended before the War. Viewing the names was fascinating. There were gold-, -bergs, -steins, etc. Many of the names were a mix of German, Jewish, and Hungarian. Only a few of the headstones bore Romanian sounding names. It was a both a sad and poignant discovery. For while some of the graves were tended, most had been long forgotten, with weeds and snarled branches covering the grounds around them. It was a testament to a reality which no longer exists, and the few who are tasked with remembering.

As we strolled back to the center, the topic of our conversation moved on to the latest exploits of the school’s goofy English teacher and future dreams of travel and money. We had left the past behind, but discovered something new in our journey.