Anyone for Tennis?

I was fortunate enough to be given tickets for the Bucharest Open men’s semi-finals over the weekend, and, even more useful, a parking permit.   Now tennis isn’t really my thing but I know someone’s who’s obsessed with it, having stayed up for the US Open so many nights that his body clock is now completely reversed, so as an act of kindness I accepted the invitation.   Off we went to find the BCR Open.  Given that it’s Romania’s premier tennis championship, we were expecting signs, parking directions, some indication somewhere that this momentous event was taking place. Nothing.  The parking permit did recommend entering via a particular street but neglected to say that it was full of pot holes and barely traversable.  Nevertheless, we arrived halfway along at a no entry sign but were allowed with the aid of our permit to drive through. But where was the car park?  Indeed, where was the championship venue?  Once at the other end of the street, we were at a loss to know where to go next.  The guard outside a rather formal looking entrance with a Romanian flag flying indicated we had actually arrived at the right place and suggested we could park anywhere in the street, seeming disinclined to actually let us drive through the gate.  Possibly because it was neither a diplomatic car or a Mercedes.  

 

We made our way through the very generous grounds   to our stand, past several stalls serving surprisingly tasty refreshments, skimpily dressed girls handing out free copies of Tabu magazine, Glade deodorizer strips and cardboard fans, and kids clutching outsize tennis balls for collecting autographs.  The stands of the court itself were half empty and remained sparsely attended for both semi final matches, exciting though they were even to my inexpert eye.  This is probably a good thing.  I’m not sure whether the players would have been able to focus on their game had the stands been full.  It seems to be commonplace for spectators to smoke in the stands, to keep their phones on, to chat to their neighbours about anything (but tennis). As for the traffic during the breaks, either there is an outbreak of weak bladder disease in the tennis-watching population or they were all suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder.  Not to mention same kids with their autograph balls who spent the minutes between serves and games racing in groups of 6 or 7 from one row to another around the court. Did they actually see any of the game, I wonder?

 

By the time the semifinals were over, and people started filing in for the exhibition match between the professionals (Ilie Nastase and Andrei Pavel against Henri LeConte and Mansour Bahrami), I concluded that it wasn’t actually tennis which was the spectator sport here but the being seen at the tennis championship.  One particular couple caught my eye.  Mr Poser with his sweater artfully draped over his shoulders, and his much younger Miss Thing on his arm, periodically flicking back her (admittedly very long) hair,  sunglasses firmly positioned on her nose even after the lights went on and the rain started falling.   Shame the whole effect was spoilt by the spitting out of the sunflower seed shells, most of which ended up on the ground.  So uncool.  Someone should tell them.   

 

If you’re interested, the tennis was pretty good and the exhibition match a laugh as well,  as we expected. 

Driving Us Round the Bend

Well, I’m back.  I decided to take a break for a couple of weeks because of travelling, and the weeks turned into months.  Not that there hasn’t been plenty to blog about.  But while the spirit was willing, the body and the internet connection were weak.  But I’ve been galvanized into taking up the mouse again by the excitement of the Bucharest City Challenge and the perennial charms of the Romanian driver. 

 

For those who don’t know, the Bucharest City Challenge is not, as you might expect, the name given to the painful experience of trying to cross this city by car anytime between 0700 and 2100 on a weekday but is a Formula 3 race in the centre of Bucharest, in the square that surrounds the People’s Palace, that sinister yet compelling monument to megalomania built by Ceausescu, designated half in pride, half in shame, the 2^nd largest building in the world and which now houses the Romanian Parliament .  Anyone who knows Bucharest, already one of the world’s traffic nightmares, might wonder at the stupidity of closing down the southern end of the city for a week so that a few rich kids of rich dads plus a few foreigners can drive very expensive cars round and round in  circles very fast.  After all, this is what they do all the time anyway, the same disregard for the speed limit, the same practice of overtaking on whatever side gets you ahead by a few extra seconds. 

 

So what’s different?  Well, first of all, people pay for the privilege of watching -  apparently 44,000 spectators  (compared to 200 Romanian visitors to Beijing for the Olympics, not counting the 100-strong Romanian Olympic delegation).  Now what would you rather watch?  Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt?  Or a cloud of exhaust and a constant whining noise as several tens of cars whizz round the square for 3 days?   Second, there are no pedestrians to get in the way, no cars speeding in the opposite direction, and no traffic cops.  So they can gorge themselves on speed, safe in the knowledge that the only people they are endangering are other speed freaks like themselves.

  I’d be interested to know if Ionut P from Vrancea was in the race this year.  This road hog (and I am being charitable here) has made the top of the police black list with 29 speeding tickets so far this year.  They’ve taken his licence off him 3 times but he’s managed to have it returned each time by the courts on appeal (after what convincing “justifications”, one wonders?).  He’d have been right at home in this road race.

 

 

 

Spring Cleaning and Summitry

  Less than a week before the NATO summit and the city is still going through its “extreme makeover”.  Roads are being repaired, pockets of pansies and primula are appearing in hastily dug flower beds along the main roads ( but so too are the weeds), they have finally got around to putting in street lamps near Baneasa airport where for months we have been treated to the sight of loose cabling sticking out of the ground like so many bare trees. There are signposts in the centre of town telling everyone how to get to districts of Bucharest that the NATO Summit visitors will never actually visit.   They are repainting the white lines in the roads, though I can’t for the life of me understand why.  Romanian drivers on the whole ignore them as an unwelcome piece of road art, and when the Summit convoys are on the move, no-one else will be allowed on the road anyway so it doesn’t much matter.  NATO has ordered dozens of portaloos be installed in the conference venue because the half a dozen that are there will not serve 3000 people, contrary to what Madam Architect of the building believes. And they’ve rounded up about 500 stray mutts from the vicinity of the airport and crowded them into cages at the pounds in the hope that out of sight will be out of mind. But what about the dogs that are not on the convoy routes, several thousands of them?  Perhaps the dogs know better than to wander off in the direction of the hundreds of law enforcement officers that will be patrolling the main routes.  And what will they do with them afterwards?  They can’t afford to feed them; they’re not allowed by law to euthanise them; and no-one wants to adopt them.  My guess is they’ll turn them all out on the street again the minute the last plane leaves.   And there’s a new phenomenon now – abandoned horses.  Their owners are forbidden to use their horse and carts on the roads; if they do, their carts are confiscated; they have no money to feed their animals and so are forced to abandon them.  I saw two abandoned behind a petrol station a couple of weeks ago, looking half starved and in miserable condition.  But could I find anyone to call to have them looked after? Nobody I knew how to track down.  But as long as these poor animals are nowhere near the airport or within sight of the visiting dignitaries, who cares anyway.  Never mind the poverty that forces people to such extreme measures.  Much better to spend 25 million Euros on a slap dash decorating job that will last a few months but will save the authorities from the embarrassment of some critical comment about the state of the city they have neglected for years.   So why are they doing all this?  Are they so desperate to show the rest of the world what a civilized city Bucharest is?  Do they really think a coat of paint and a few pot plants here and there will succeed in distracting European leaders from the childish political games that continue to bemuse the general population, or from the dysfunctional justice system which has put the responsibility to waive or not to waive parliamentary immunity in cases of corruption investigations right back into the hands of …yes,  the parliamentarians?  (No prizes for guessing which way they decide.)  And while they’re preoccupying themselves with decorating and sweeping, the real business of what will be agreed at the NATO summit seems to be going on without much input from the host country.  As is so often the case, they are more worried about form than substance.  As long as they get to shake lots of important hands and no-one complains about the dirt or the dogs, they can claim the summit is a success for Romania’s image.  From this weekend the city will start to shut down.  The airport road will be down to one lane.  The convoy routes, supposedly confidential for security reasons though you only have to look for the plants and the paint to know which they are, will be closed to normal traffic.  Air traffic will be severely disrupted, though not for TAROM passengers since their flights have been cancelled altogether.  Antiterrorist police are scouring manhole covers (where they’ve been stolen, I assume they’ll have them replaced), parking will be forbidden along main routes (if only they would keep that measure in place permanently) and extra security surrounds sensitive points, though not the thousands of exposed gas pipes and electricity junction boxes throughout the city.  All in all, the week will be hell on earth for those people forced to go to work, like most of the public servants in the capital who haven’t been given time off.  On the plus side, travel agents are doubling their business selling holiday packages to Bulgaria and Greece.  I for one am off at the weekend and will be back when the madness has died down. Let’s see if all this effort and expense has achieved anything useful for the average Romanian citizen in the long-term. For those who read Romanian, I recommend a recent article by Alina Mungiu Pippidi on the subject  - http://www.romanialibera.ro/a120496/poale-peste-nato.html.

Forward march into spring

The beginning of March is a good time to be in Romania if you’re female.  I particularly like the tradition of Martisor -  on 1^st March, to celebrate the beginning of spring, the men in your life, personal or professional, give you a small token with a red and white plaited thread  for strength and health during the year.   This you pin to your clothes or wrap around your wrist, either for the day or for the week.

 

The attached links describe the history of this charming tradition.  

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C4%83r%C5%A3i%C5%9For

 http://www.meetromania.info/uk_martisor.html 

There are other sites but they seem to be linked to the internet sex trade selling on-line dates with “beautiful Romanian women”.  One step away from trafficking if you ask me. And does anyone actually believe that there are beautiful Romanian women at the other end of the mouse anyway waiting to chat to these sad, pathetic men?  Time for a reality check, chaps…

 

But that won’t spoil my mood today.  When Martisor coincides as it did this year with a sunny day, temperatures of about 18C, and the first signs of the tulips breaking through the wasteland of your garden, you feel empowered to do anything.  But this isn’t all. Next comes 8^th March, Women’s Day.  This may have its roots in Communism but I dare any woman to say she’s not invigorated when a bouquet of roses arrives at the front door.  Men in Romania may have a long way to go to become “new men” but for a short while at least, they can be forgiven.

 

So this Sunday, I’m armed with my martisor around my wrist, my flowers are brightening up the living room, the sun is still shining,  temperatures are set to top 18C today and it’s time to hit the garden and get planting. Roses, bourgainvillea, vines, fruit trees – all these grow fantastically well here. And on a day like this, reading of storms about to hit UK, you forget the hassle of driving to work, the dust and rubbish everywhere, the frustrations of the bureaucracy, and you remember why you love Romania.  

Dancing in the Street

The Romanian police are to be given ballet lessons!  I kid you not.  For Romanian speakers the link to the press report is http://www.evz.ro/articole/detalii-articol/793414/Lectii-de-balet-pentru-politisti/ .  The idea is that it’s supposed to teach them grace and give a pleasing appearance while they’re trapped between rows of impatient drivers honking their horns, suffocated by dust and car exhaust fumes.  I suppose it can’t do any harm.  But quite frankly, I’d rather they learnt how to give hand signals that are actually identifiable instead of flapping their hands in a fan movement, rotating their wrists or wiggling their fingers at you. And how about a proper halt gesture that no-one can pretend to ignore?  Or, a novel idea this one, I know, how about pulling over drivers who are speeding, jumping red lights, lane-hopping, driving on the pavement, driving on the tram-lines, dodging pedestrians on the zebra crossings, jabbering on the mobile phone, or just double or triple parked.  There are times when the police are out in force stopping drivers to fine them – it seems to coincide with the last few days of the month, just before pay day when the pocket begins to feel a bit empty.   On the other hand, they do have a miserable job.  This must be why no-one with an IQ much over 70 seems to get recruited.  On top of the thankless task of pirouetting in the traffic all day, they’ll apparently also be asked to make an inventory of the pot holes. Well, that’s a job for life here, isn’t it?  I should think it will take them a week just to do our road. Or maybe they will classify the whole street as one large pot-hole.  And how will they deal with the pot-hole that’s repaired on a Monday and is back again on a Friday? There’s a very good example in Piata Charles de Gaulle, a rather fine 19^th C cobbled square, where they’ve repaired the same patch three times this year already. Will they count that as one pothole or three?  And what about the sinkholes that are appearing in some of the new roads around Baneasa that were only finished 3-4 months ago?    Strictly speaking, they’re not potholes at all since the road surface is still intact – it’s just that in patches, there’s nothing underneath.  The only people happy with this situation are the construction companies who have plenty of business.  I wonder though why they are so keen to advertise their names on large hoardings not 5 metres from the holes and bumps in the roads they’ve just built.  Anybody contemplating hiring a construction company would be well-advised to stay away from them.

Education by Degrees

I was recently invited to a doctoral thesis presentation, the third such in 18 months.  This is a big deal for a Romanian PhD student who after completing the doctoral thesis, is expected to present a summary to a board of professorial examiners, listen to their comments, and then wait while the board withdraws to pronounce on whether or not the doctorate may be approved.  This ordeal is hard enough in itself but in Romania this is all done in front of a roomful of family and friends, other teachers, and fellow students. 

Of course the student has no idea what comments to expect from the professors, nor for that matter how long they might speak. How many of the board, apart from the supervising academic, do actually read the entire thesis and don’t rely simply on the written abstract which the student has so obligingly distributed in writing, along with a bound copy of the full thesis? And how long do they spend preparing their remarks?  I was witness to one performance where the comments were scrawled in manuscript on a scruffy piece of paper and were full of grammar mistakes, so many in fact that he was obliged to apologise.  On the other hand, it is not uncommon for an examining academic to re-explain at great length what the student has already attempted to explain in the thesis.  Does this mean he thinks it is not clear enough already?  Or is it because he wants to impress upon the assembled audience that he has actually read the thesis and, even better, has understood it?  And is anyone listening anyway?

As far as I know, no-one undergoing this doctoral trial has ever been failed.  Once the supervising professor has given approval for the thesis to be presented, it is understood that the board will concur.  Which begs the question why does the board bother to withdraw at all?  Perhaps they just want a drink and a quick cigarette? My personal take is that it’s designed to add to the drama of the occasion which is after all to celebrate the end of many hard months of research and writing.  To top off the experience, there’s always a party, in true Romanian style, plenty of food and drink and congratulations.  This I find very endearing, this custom of celebrating one’s good news with one’s friends, and I always feel honoured to be included.

Now I am full of admiration with people who study for Masters or PhDs almost entirely in their own time while holding full-time and demanding jobs.  At the end of the day, I come home to slump on the couch and snooze in front of the TV. I’m incapable of reading anything more taxing than the newspaper.  The thought of having to go on to the library, a lecture, even worse, an exam, or simply to a different computer screen would fill me with despair.  I simply don’t have the self discipline or the energy for that sort of effort.  So what is it that drives so many Romanians to put themselves through this intellectual torture?

There is an unhealthy obsession in this country with post-graduate qualifications which compels otherwise normal people to put their personal lives on hold until they notch up another degree or two.  I was advised that I couldn’t employ my driver because he hadn’t got his High School Baccalaureat. He had instead a vocational qualification that apparently disqualified him from driving a private vehicle (a saloon, not an articulated truck) for a living.   Clearly driving here is a skilled occupation requiring the equivalent of several ‘A’ levels.  Is it any wonder so many Romanians want to work elsewhere in the EU where such stupidities don’t apply?

In Britain I know a handful of people with a PhD, or even a Masters.  In Romania, with my Bachelor’s degree, and only one of them at that, I’m in a minority. If you’re applying for a job in Romania, experience is not considered nearly as valuable as a string of letters after your name.  I sense an undercurrent of condescension from some of the youngsters who work for me because they have or will have a masters degree and I don’t.  But too much of the education here is still almost entirely knowledge-based.  Exams are set to test how well you memorise and re-present the lectures they dictate or the books they have instructed you to read. If you were to place some of the product of the universities in a job which demands common sense, judgement, a bit of imagination, they would be lost. Original thought is not expected, in fact in some cases, it is actively discouraged.  After all, this threatens the present teaching establishment, much of which is largely unchanged since pre-1989 or created in the same mould.  

Andrei Postelnicu’s article (in Romanian) in a Romanian business weekly, Capital, (http://www.capital.ro/articole/dictatura-diplomei/107017) makes the point that qualifications from a specific faculty are not sufficient as an indication of potential.  He refers primarily to France but mentions a similar phenomenon in Romania.  He’s right. A political science or a law degree is viewed, at least by students, as a pre-requisite for anyone wanting to go into politics.  I would be surprised if there is anyone in Parliament today without a degree or two.  How can they claim to represent the mass of people in the country who have no university education?   Or is this irrelevant? Are political leaders supposed to be on a higher intellectual plane than their followers?

One of the hopes for Romania’s future is the growing number of young people who are being educated and employed in Western Europe and the US. If they can only be attracted back to Romania, they could be a real force for a more modern approach to education.  But would they even get through the door for an interview at the moment without a Bachelors degree, one or two Masters, and halfway through their PhD?  In the meantime, I’ll continue to admire the perseverance of my friends who give up so much of their private time to pursue their education,  gladly accept their invitations to the Trial by Professor and raise a glass or two to them afterwards.  Cheers!

  

Service, What Service?

In the past two weeks, we have suffered two power cuts at home,  at a weekend, been without gas, and therefore without heat, for two days and had the power cut to the building where my office is located.  On each occasion the power  cut out at about 10 am, leaving us not only without light but without phone, internet, heating and even water.  We have no mains water supply; we have a well in our garden which is connected to an electric water pump.  Just why there is no mains water supply to a growing residential suburb is a mystery known only to the water company – and perhaps the town hall.  

We did wonder whether some random pedestrian passing the end of our road where the power junction box is fixed to a ramshackle fence had decided to trip the switch for fun.  This box is a lightweight, rusting metal casing with no padlock, no protection at all in fact; any troublemaker would find it easy enough to open the door and flick the switch.  How this is considered a safe and normal way to proceed is a mystery known only to the electricity company.

The gas was cut off for a day because they were working somewhere in the district.  They did at least give us advance warning (by advance, I mean on the morning itself).  When it didn’t come on again in the evening, we assumed, unfairly as it happens, that they had forgotten to turn it on again when they went home.  The real reason is more bizarre.  When the gas engineer eventually turned up at 6 p.m. the following day, after more than half a doxen telephone calls to the emergency number (it was below zero outside), he explained that the gas cut out because of air pockets caused by people illegally syphoning gas away from the mains.  Just how they actually gain access to these pipes is  – yes, a mystery,  known only to the gas company – and the gas thieves.  But it may have something to do with the fact that the gas company seems to think it’s perfectly normal to leave gas pipes exposed on the outer wall of buildings rather than conceal them underground or within the walls.  The engineer’s solution was very scary: he unscrewed the gas meter from the gas pipe that runs up the wall outside our study, listened carefully until he could hear the gas whooshing out, and then jammed the meter back on again, carefully avoiding any friction which could have caused a spark and blown the whole street up.  Fortunately, and unusually, there was no-one smoking within several hundred metres.   This poor man had been following the same procedure at several other houses in the area.  Whatever he’s paid, it isn’t enough.

These are not rare occurences.  There are frequent power outages and gas works going on in the newly developed residential areas, chiefly because the basic infrastructure wasn’t put in place before construction started.   I suppose we get hit at weekends because power usage increases when everyone is at home. But one would expect the power companies to anticipate that, no?  And perhaps cutting the gas when there’s a freeze on is not the wisest course of action.

We have similar problems with our cable TV/internet service which seems to cut out for no apparent reason.  Nor has the internet company been able to explain it on the rare occasion that someone in customer service is prepared to take your call.  But the way the cable connection is buried in a pothole at the end of a road, protected by  two large flat stones, might have something to do with it.  As the cable controls the phone lines it’s difficult to call for help.  Perhaps it’s all a conspiracy to prevent irate customers from calling the power companies.  Though I have yet to meet anyone in this country who does not have a mobile phone.  Now you know why.

Where is it I live again?  In a developing country in the middle of Africa?  In a remote rural village in the mountains?  On a desert island in a Survivor reality show?  Or in the capital city of a European Union country?  And the most distressing fact of all: all these companies who provide such appalling service to their customers, yet charge them handsomely for the privilege, are foreign-owned and foreign-managed.  I wonder whether customers in France, Italy or the US would accept these shortcomings with as much patience and resignation as the long-suffering Romanians.  They deserve the same high standards of management and customer service that customers expect in the West.  But before they can complain, these companies need to develop an adequate customer complaints procedure.  So how about it, guys?  A bit of service, please.

To Drive or Not to Drive

I’ve just read a press story about traffic congestion in the UK  which contains a suggestion that building less roads and  putting in more speed cameras is the answer.  This started me thinking what would be the answer to the traffic problems in Bucharest. They say the British are obsessed with the weather as a topic of conversation.  I would judge that the traffic has the same effect on people in Bucharest.  It is truly hellish.  A car journey which takes 10 minutes at the week-end can take over an hour on a week-day morning. You might recommend avoiding the rush hour but I have yet to determine when the rush hour is.  It’s more like a rush day.  It seems to start at 7.30 am and last until 7.30 p.m.   You might suggest using public transport.  Well, fine where it exists but the city planners and engineers responsible for infrastructure are years behind the real estate moguls who have built up the northern suburbs of Bucharest from where a lot of the traffic streams in.  The odd bus may trundle along past the zoo and the Police Academy but there’s no metro station for miles. 

One reason the traffic is so bad is that there are simply too many cars – one for every 2 inhabitants in the capital and rising – and too few arteries leading into the city. And they are forecasting that by 2010, there will be 1.4 million cars in Bucharest.   But this is only scratching the surface of the problem.   The city suffers from a lack of parking spaces.  There is apparently one parking space for every 8 cars.  So people park anywhere and everywhere; on the pavements, so pedestrians are forced into the road; in the nearside lane, which reduces the driving lanes; on the verges and central reservations with their back ends sticking out so to all intents and purposes both the nearside and the farside lanes are blocked.   Add to that the vehicles that have broken down because there is no MOT system here, or at least not one that keeps unroad-worthy vehicles off the road.  And the construction trucks stopped by one or other of the countless building sites, maybe to unload material  or simply because the driver fancies a rest and a ciggie and can’t be bothered to park. And don’t forget the road-works where they manage to dig up both sides of a road at the same time which creates huge bottle-necks at certain spots. Distrigaz, can you hear me? 

So how do drivers cope in this chaos of cars? One solution is to drive into every available space, whether in front, to your left or to your right and to keep going until you’re at the front of the queue.  Cut in as often as you can. And whatever you do, never say thank you to the person letting you in. Or drive on the tramlines, preferably when no tram is in sight, but if one is coming up behind you, you can always move onto the other set.  This is close to my personal bugbear, driving on the wrong side of the road and cutting in much further along which prevents all the cars you’ve left behind from moving at all.  I once found myself facing an irate driver who had driven at some speed on the wrong side of the road towards me, and then had the nerve to gesticulate rudely for me to get on to the verge so he could continue past me.  I was so taken aback that I pulled over. The frustration with the traffic jams manifests itself with an obsessive urge to speed when the traffic is light.  Speed limits are universally ignored and it is common to see drivers speeding along at 80 or 90 km an hour or more along roads with a 50km limit.  This contempt for the limit has prompted Romanian parliamentarians to amend the highway code and the speed limit, but not, as you might imagine, to reduce the limit and set crippling fines for those breaking the law. No, no.  The Senate in their wisdom has decided to increase the speed limit in built-up areas so that those who are breaking the law will break it just a little less severely in future.  The sad fact is that Romania has the highest mortality rate in Europe from traffic accidents and that Bucharest tops the list of European capitals for the number of serious accidents: 865 in 2007 with 122 dead and 783 seriously injured.  A pity the law-makers don’t pass measures to help the beleaguered traffic police instead of encouraging such reckless driving habits.

I’d Rather Go to the Dentist…..

I have just spent an hour pushing and shoving my way around the local hyper market for some fruit and veg and a few slabs of meat.  I know it’s a Saturday but the whole place was heaving with overloaded trolleys.  And I’m talking about the mall.  It is obviously the entertainment of choice for whole families to cruise the mall on a Saturday afternoon. The coffee shops are choc-a-bloc with groups of friends enjoying a cappucino and several packets of cigarettes – each.  And the supermarket aisles are crowded.  You would think that food was about to be rationed from the quantities of food passing through the tills. Now I know Romanians are among the most hospitable people in Europe and willingly provide enough food for 20 when inviting half a dozen friends over for supper.  But this is too much. How can they consume so much in a week?  And how can they afford it?  Perhaps they only shop every 2 weeks.  

Why visiting the mall is such a thrill for so many families is beyond my comprehension.  First, you have to drive around for up to 10 minutes looking for somewhere to park.  The supermarket itself is somewhere in the middle of the mall, but the trolleys are not stacked outside it.  That’s far too logical.  No, they’re stacked in the parking lot, and not even near the entrance that is closest to the supermarket but the one that is furthest away. This is no doubt a subtle ploy to tempt all those shoppers to trail past all the expensive shops in the mall selling things no-one really needs, like tropical fish, or yet another mobile phone.  And then when you come out, you have not only your own trolley to dispose of but the one that the driver that was parked next to you has considerately left just behind your boot. 

I wonder how much of all that food that is bought every Saturday  is thrown out 3 days later because it’s gone off? At this time of year, much of the fruit and veg is either imported and hardly fresh when it arrives or else it’s local produce that has been poorly stored and is no longer at its best.  Rummaging through the onions I discarded at least half of what was in the baskets because they’d already gone mouldy.  The supermarkets (nearly all foreign-owned) would do society a great service if they sorted out the sub-standard fruit and veg before it’s completely  inedible and donate it to one of the charities looking after the homeless, especially the elderly.  That has to be a better solution than tossing it in the bin. And they can certainly afford it.

Road Trials and Tribulations

I’ve joined the ranks of the bloggers, with encouragement of friends who have listened to me ranting about the trials of living in Bucharest.  I think this might be a better way of letting off steam  than offending or boring my patient Romanian friends.  There are plenty of advantages to living in Romania and I’ll write about them in time.  But winter in Bucharest is not conducive to optimism.  So my first blogs are likely to be none too flattering.

I hear that the Dakar Rally this year is to be rerouted and raced through Hungary and Romania: the Central European Rally.  From recent driving experience to and from my home in a suburb to the north of  Bucharest, I would say that Romania is a fitting place for rally drivers to try out their skills.  Driving around town is an exercise in avoiding potholes the size of manhole covers, in fact in some places they are manholes where the covers have been removed or stolen.                                                                                                      

On some stretches of road the trucks have churned up the road so badly you might as well be driving over corrugated iron.  There are feeble attempts to fix the roads: filling them with sand but this only lasts to the next rainfall when the rain washes it all away; repairing with asphalt but without levelling the repaired patch with the original road surface so the end result is a completely new set of lumpy bits.  And of course there are roads which haven’t been surfaced at all yet. 

I live in a newly residential area in Voluntari. This is known as a “fiţe”(pronounced fitzeh) zone.  Fiţe is a peculiar term in Romanian which is both complimentary and derogatory at the same time.  It can mean wealthy, trendy and fashionable, but it can also mean nouveau riche with the implication of lack of class that goes with the term in English.   Poser comes to mind. But more on fiţe another time.  The point is that the area is teeming with massive 3 or 4 story villas, high walls and fences, luxurious instant gardens created almost overnight with imported plants from Italy and topsoil hijacked from the forest. A former international footballer and a record producer are among those who live near my modest semi. Yet the roads to these villas are either unpaved or so badly damaged by the construction traffic that they are pretty much impassable to anything but a tractor.  How can this be, you might ask?  Don’t these people pay lots of taxes?  Indeed they do, and the town or commune of Voluntari is now the proud owner of a spanking new town hall.  But our road is still not paved!  And the main route from the airport road to the ring road is almost as bad.  That car in front of you swerving from side to side is not driven by a drunk, contrary to your first impression, but trying to avoid the holes and/or the road works without having to slow down.  Maybe the mayor is hoping that if he leaves the roads as they are the Central European Rally will be routed through his town and bring unimagined new tourist opportunities and wealth to the area. 

In the meantime, drivers resort to one of two courses of action to cope with this; either drive so fast that you skim over the top – this only works if you have a very large SUV or you don’t own the car you’re driving; or crawl over the lumps and around the holes in a feeble attempt to avoid destroying your undercarriage.  Three guesses as to which the timid foreigner chooses.  But so far my car is still intact, even if the colour is barely recognisable from the mud. A plea to Mayor Pendele, please do something before the rain that is forecast for April. And in the meantime if you are thinking of entering the rally, be warned. If any Bucharest drivers are entered, you’ve got no chance of beating them.  They’ve been practising for years.