A cigarette to last

Today is a cloudy Sunday. If we can trust the panel on the other side of the street it’s  1.38 PM and 11 degrees celcius. At the bus stop are two wooden benches on which man and a lady are waiting. Bored. And somewhere on a bench next to the woman, is me.

An old lady is approaching slowly, with an aristocratic air. She’s about 1′50 metres tall and quite skinny.  She has a beige coat, a playful brown cap and elegant black boots. She is  walking slowly, holding a big white plastic bag in her hand.

She is wearing discreet makeup; the lipstick was applied quite negligently in order to give a pale pink color to her lips. But the thing that got my attention were her earrings: big green stones, nicely polished, perhaps agate or jade, with a silvery crown around it.

She begins to search her big bag. She takes out a piece of paper which she puts on the bench and then she puts her bag on it. And she keeps looking through her bag. Ah, there it was! She pulls out a handkerchief, she cleans the bench with it and then she sits down. And she kept searching in her big plastic bag. She took out a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes, and in the cigarette box there was also a lighter. She would take out a cigarette, put the packet back in her bag, then pull it out again to get the lighter. She lit her cigarette and held it graciously between her shaky fingers.

- Parca vine ceva. (I think there’s something coming)

As she said it, she was bending slowly towards the street, moving the hand holding the cigarette slightly to the back and watching with a frown in the direction from where the bus was supposed to come.

Her gestures were very elegant and icy but her hand was slightly shaking.

A man walks on the pavement, just in front of us.

Doamna, imi dati si mie o tigara?  (Madam, can I have a cigarette?)

Nu. (No)

A very decided no, accompanied by a slight grin.

My bus arrived and by the time I got in, she still hadn’t finished her cigarette.

Not A Christmas Dream

This morning I woke up late and happy. While Mum was telling me about all the things I have to do in the house, I kept my eyes closed and tried to get a glimpse of my dream again. Yes, it was the best dream I can remember.

I don’t know how my dream started or how I got to Japan, but I remember waiting for the subway train on the Kasumigaseki line in Tokyo. I was watching the others in amazement, and the others were looking strangely at me. Yes, I do remember the look of a woman, something like: what are you doing here? She was wearing a grey costume, a red scarf and a brown briefcase. Maybe I’m just making up the woman now, I wouldn’t know?

Not long ago, on this line, there was a terrorist attack with sarin gas. I know it, ’cause I read it in my book. It’s one of Murakami’s books, called Underground.

The train comes and we get in. But it doesn’t look so much like a subway train. It has no walls, only some kind of roof, made from old wood. Just like in that film I saw before going to bed. The one where two brothers sentenced to death escaped from jail, helped by the wife of the prison director. She ran with them too and in the end she also gets imprisoned. The brothers died.

The train starts to move. I get images from the subway in Bucharest or from Kontroll (the underground film of Nimrod Antal). By the end of the trip, we get into this place invaded by green, something like a tropical forest. The frightening silence, the strong light and the feeling of loneliness reminded me of Apocalypse Now.

But the best part was the trip back to Europe. We were supposed to get on a plane. The flight wasn’t supposed to last more than 6 hours. Once the passengers were all seated, the plane started to move. But instead of rising into the sky, the plane was flying through the water. The bottom of Pacific. Unknown plants, weird looking creatures. Everything was so mysterious. I felt scared and amazingly happy at the same time.

And then I got up: late and happy.

the true story of a wannabe election observer

Cand am auzit povestea de mai jos, in ziua primului tur electoral prezidential, am crezut ca e ceva senzational de scandalos. Curand insa stirile despre fraudele din timpul alegerilor au inceput sa curga garla si mi-am dat seama ca de fapt ce aflasem eu, adica ce i se intamplase prietenei mele, era doar picatura in ocean.

Oricum, rasfoind printre mailurile pe care le insemnasem cu steluta* am gasit mesajul deconspirator. Si nu m-am putut abtine sa nu-l impartasesc. Enjoy!

Sa vedem cum a fost. Colega mea de camera e in X** si mi-a spus ca daca sunt o zi observator la alegeri intr-o sectie, voi primi un milion. Si m-au chemat miercuri dupa-amiaza la sediul X din Crangasi sa mi se faca instructia. Cred ca in sala eram 20 de persoana, si mai aveau programata lume sa vina si in alte zile. Ideea e ca la alegeri trebuie sa existe observatori independenti care sa asigure bunul mers al lucrurilor. Iar astia eram noi :P. Am fi activat sub numele unei fundatii Cred, si nimeni nu trebuie sa stie ca apartine de X. Ei mai aveau cateva fundatii fantoma din astea si am inteles ca fiecare partid are. In conditiile in care noi trebuia sa parem independeti, nu puteam avea contact prelungit cu membrul vreunui partid in timpul alegerilor. Fiecare partid are cate un delegat la fiecare sectie. Noua ni s-a spus insa sa incercam sa intram in vorba cu delegatul Y, pt ca el e omul nostru acolo. O chestie din aia, iesiti la o pauza de o tigara, il chemati afara pt o problema anume etc etc, subterfugii din astea ieftine. Asta nu inseamna neaparat ceva, doar sa stabilim contactul (:)) ceva de groaza, ca in filme de spionaj).

Lui ii facem dovada ca am votat in acea zi (si ni s-a cerut sa votam evident cu nenea de pe pereti, domunul candidat Z). In restul zilei bla bla-uri, nimic important de zis. Ar fi trebuit sa fim pur si simplu prezenti acolo. La numarare nu am fi participat, doar sa observam fiecare miscare. Ca na, dupa ce numara voturile si le impart in gramajoare pt fiecare candidat in parte, se mai intampla sa isi faca astia parte de la unii la altii. Iar noi trebuia sa stam in sufletul reprezentantilor celorlalte partide sa ne asiguram ca nu trag spuza pe turta lor. Dar dc nenea de la Y ar fi incercat sa fie el mai smecher si daca ii merge treaba cu adunatul voturilor, noi trebuia sa “facem blana” dupa cum frumos s-a exprimat nenea care ne vorbea. Adica sa nu vedem nimic :). Bon, la sfarsit facem un raport nush ce (deja nu mai ascultam si ma intrebam dc mai ies cu viata de acolo).

*pentru cei care nu stiu inca, gmail are o functie simpatica care-ti permite sa-ti insemni mailurile importante cu stelute. Si mai are si taguri colorate, agenda, editor online de documente, galerie foto s.a.m.d. Get one yourself, it’s free !

**X e numele unui partid care nu mai merita pomenit intrucat si-a primit papara de la presa si de la concurenta. Si oricum, a pierdut alegerile.

Calan – for the dead industrial site lovers

Calan is a Romanian town in Hunedoara County.

In 1990, Calan’s steel plant was among the three biggest in the country. As a consequence of the advent of “democracy” and flawed privatization, the plant slowly died. Nowadays, only a very small part of it is still working.

It is said that the iron for the Eiffel Tower came from here.

Below are some pictures I took at Calan this summer.

You can read a more in depth article about what’s happening nowadays in Calan, in the Epoch Times.

And here is a picture I like a lot, I found it with Google Images.

Queues

Here is another article  from those old, forgotten ones. Also, I managed to find couple of comments, unfortunately not all.

Happy reading and the list of comments wants more :)

I have been at the Post Office for 30 minutes now. I look at my watch every 2 minutes and check my phone every 5. I’m getting hungry, my bag is heavy, it’s too hot and the girls behind me are deciding the future of their relationships. But I must resist, as there is no chance of doing this another time.

I am a peaceful person and there are few things that get me angry. But one of them is queues. Quite often I go to the bank, see a queue, get pissed off and walk away convinced I made the correct choice.

This is because I hate losing time. When I walk for hours in the park, read at the window (my special procedure of reading one page an hour) or just have a long talk with friends, I don’t consider it wasted time. You get some relaxation from it.  But when I have to stay in a queue, and there’s no way to avoid it , my only thought is to get it over with. What satisfaction can you get from moving at 10 metres per hour?

The most impressive queues I saw were at Gara de Nord, the main train station in Bucharest, when the government decided to give free tickets for youngsters. The reason for doing that was the new electoral law that restricted any Romanian citizen who is not at their “official” residency (the address in your identity card) from voting in the Parliamentary elections. So everybody between 18 and 25 could go to the station, show their ID car, be registered (by hand) in a big book and get a free ride home and back.  And there were hundreds of people waiting in line in order to take advantage of the government’s generosity, especially during this times of recession. I decided to go for the first class and save myself from the queue trauma.

This whole mess could have been avoided just by keeping some special lists for people that wanted to vote and were not located at the address in their ID card. And some funds could have had a more useful destination (and don’t we need funds everywhere?)

Queues in Romanian society are left from the communist era. In those harsh times, people were standing in line just to get their daily meal, as everything was rationalized and it was so hard to get. If during Ceausescu’s dictatorship, the penury of products was the reason for all those queues, nowadays they are a problem of management. Most of the queues you’ll see are at the public institutions, where most of the public relations staff has no intent of being efficient and ease your situation. After all, what’s there for them? But if they are actually nice persons that didn’t get totally dull because of the whole system, there is some obsolete procedure that will surely piss you off after getting in contact with public authorities.

I consider queues as a sign that things are not going well. It means that the needs of the one who expects in line are not satisfied properly and that more effort is necessary. And the solutions must be thought considering every situation. Maybe more staff or just better specialized one is necessary. Maybe the schedule should be longer. Maybe the procedures should be rethought.

One teacher told me about Albert Speer, an German architect with brilliant organizing skills. He was appointed ministry of war during Hitler’s third reich and one of his main successes was the increase of tank production. And during war, when he couldn’t get more people involved or change factories’ equipment , he managed to raise the production by improving the way the production was organized.

COMMENTS

Mihai

I really hate those slugish 5 minute moving queues . We are like bloody zombies waiting for a couple of neurons. But hey these are the rules and without rules there is chaos. Sure i don’t like to sit doing nothing, getting all sweaty, listeting to sad conversations about relationships, football, zit issues, stupid tv shows and other useless subjects and sure the queues seem to move slower(maybe because they really are) then in the west or other civilized countries but you don’t have to be dramatic about it. I didn’t exprienced the Gara de Nord queues, i only can imagine how it was and i’m sympathetic with your point of view. The thing is that they were in need for some fast votes so why not through some money away, the child care centers can wait, the homeless can take it etc. I don’t think the queues are leftovers from the communism regim, this sistem is pretty old and it’s used in informatics and mathematics. We just need a lot pacience, kindness and work together to try helping whoever is in agony. So i say if you find yourself stuck in a queues put your headphones on and sing along “i will survive”  maybe ppl will think you are going bongo and skip away :)
cheers mate !

Rupert

Interesting how such a boring activity can make for such an interesting article.  My solution to queues and buses is to always have a copy of the Economist, which takes up more time than one has, and getting a subscription has been so good as it the only newspaper one needs to read (nice bit of free PR for there).  But queues can be inspirational if you approach them in the “observational” mode (see our ideas on filmmaking) and are not in a hurry, as the queue is a microcosm of society and a good place to study it.  Please write more on things like this, ordinary things that don’t seem important at first glance but are really the most important things in life.
Oana

Indeed queues are nerve-killers hate-breeder mind-polluting little social entities… Nobody has the patience to be civil, we are all sighing and throwing bored gazes to the people around us and this doesn’t make any of us more polite. This is from the single person point of view. But when you’re with someone, queuing can become fun! You start to talk about everything and everyone, especially the people around you and their conversations. So, the next time when we complain about hearing all the things people discuss in queues: relationships, eating habits, money, school etc  .. we shouldn’t forget that when we have the occasion we speak about exactly the same things, and by no means quieter. This was the first thought that came to my mind about queues: people and their stories. And yes, do write some more about this urban anthropology

Andra

This article reminded me of one time I wanted to go home, and I had to stay in line twice in order to get the train ticket right. In fact, I even had to take a later train, because I couldn`t make it home for my luggage and back to the train station in time. The lady gave me a ticket at the wrong hour, and so I had to wait for my turn again. And that was NOT fun at all.

Anamaria
Do you remember the queues at the hospitals when you had to go at 5-6 a.m. to queue for a number and then to come later for the appointment? And if your no. was just the next one to come when the doctor’s programme just finished or he had to go to a surgery? Well, thisqueues where no fun. University of Bucharest though made me queue at least 2 years from 4. This “experience” makes me immune to any queue I have to deal with. No queue can beat me no more. You can not imagine how happy I am to talk about my queues memories from the university. To the library, secretary office, dormitories admin, diploma taking, exam subscribing, docs needed, schoolarships. About scholarships I could write a book. I queued for days and days in front of the Ministery of Education, known as ONBSS, as I had the “chance” to gain 4 scholarships. Winter or  summer I had to leave everything to queue in front of that office. During holidays I had to come from Bacau and stay at friends houses to queue. It was like my parallel life so, in my opinion, queuing should be illegal. I’ve made some friends and found out enteresting things during queuing and now I can not go anywhere w/t a newspaper on board. Happy queuing everybody!