Fun with Immigration (and beards)

Some of you may already know that about two months ago, Crystal was very courteously asked to leave Romania for 90 days by the Romanian Immigration Authority.  It all came about because we couldn’t seem to get her papers quite right for her residency request.  In particular, it was our marriage license.  We had brought a copy with us, but when we first applied for her residency card on the day after I got mine, we were told that a copy wasn’t good enough; that it needed to be the original.  So, with some effort and some help from our friends in North Carolina, we ordered an original from the Register of Deeds in Greensboro.  Three weeks later, we received a receipt for the marriage certificate and the birth certificate for some guy in High Point, NC that I don’t know.   Well, this is just perfect.  I have spent all this time complaining about Romanian government agencies and bragging about how it’s done in America.  I suppose I should have just kept my mouth shut.

I spent some time on the phone with the very nice lady in Greensboro who made the mistake.  She was very apologetic and understanding.  We sent the birth certificate back and she sent us our marriage certificate, only this time she didn’t put enough postage on it, so it got returned to the Register of Deeds for more postage. That little goof added more than a week to the shipping time, so this one arrived about eight weeks after we originally made our request.  The very next day we went with our lawyer to the immigration office with our huge stack of documents, including our brand new, shiny, original marriage certificate.  They asked where the apostille stamp was.  I asked what an apostille stamp was.  They said it’s the thing that was missing.  Oh, and that Crystal had to leave the country because she had been here too long and her visa had already expired.  Damn it.

They began deliberating.  We waited outside.  Almost everyone in the office knew us by now because we had been there so many times.  They knew that we had been honestly trying to get this done.  Our lawyer explained the fiasco with the marriage certificate.  Never the less, we were waiting, and wondering. Were they going to charge her? Deport her? Would there be handcuffs involved? Needless to say, I was not in a very good frame of mind.  In the end, they decided on a fine and that she would have thirty days to leave the country.  Once she left, she would be able to return after ninety days away.  This did not improve my frame of mind.  I paid the fine and left.

I did finally learn what an apostille stamp was.  It’s kind of like a natianal notary stamp.  I also learned that to get one, it had to come from the country of origin for the document that was being certified.   For us, that meant that an original marriage license had to get to the Secretary of State office in Raleigh, NC.  With quite a bit more help from our friends in North Carolina who went way above and beyond, we managed to pull off a logistical miracle. We got a new marriage certificate printed, delivered to the Secretary of State, certified by the Apostille Notary, and shipped over night to Romania.  I learned what an apostille stamp was on Monday at the immigration office.  By Friday, I had one. 

Unfortunately, as impressive as it was, it was too little too late.  When we appealed the ruling on that Friday, the folks at the immigration office confirmed that this piece of paper that we now had was indeed exactly what was required. In order to comply with the law though, she would have to leave.  They seemed sympathetic and understanding.  They even spoke English for us, which they had never done before.  They said that the fine was the lowest they were allowed to impose under the law.  They said that she was not being punished, that she was not being deported, and that she would be welcomed back, but that she had to go away for ninety days.  Just like last call. You ain’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here.

After a lot of deliberation and a lot of thought, we decided that it would be best for her to fly back to North Carolina and spend the summer at the beach working at one of the bars or restaurants there.  We found a place for her to stay with some more help from our friends (we really do have amazing friends) and a vehicle for her to use while she was there.  She left on May 20^th.

It was then that I decided to stop cutting my hair and to stop shaving until I saw her again as a sort of protest.  It was a silly thing, maybe, but it was a way that I could say to people that I am not OK, that I miss my wife, without actually complaining and crying into my beer.  That’s not really my style.  A friend here asked me what the Romanian government thought of my protest.  To be honest, it never even occurred to me to tell them, but I’m quite certain they wouldn’t care.  It was the law, and they did what the law required them to do.  Crystal really liked the idea because I would end up looking like a homeless guy or a mountain man, which meant that there was zero chance of me finding a Romanian girlfriend.  So I guess it worked on multiple levels.

Next week I ‘m flying to North Carolina.  I’ll be bouncing around the States visiting family and friends and doing a bit of work, but the real point is that we’ll be together again.  Actually, the real point is that I can shave this damn beard off!  Don’t get me wrong, I like the beard.  I’ve never been an avid shaver, but I had never really grown a full beard before and I think it’s pretty damn cool.  Because of my self-imposed rules though, there would be no trimming or shaping, so I really did end up looking like hell.  Not as bad as Shane McGowan, but not anywhere close the most interesting man in the world either. 

Over the next week, I will be shaving my mustache and beard off a little at a time.  Each day I will look a little bit different than the day before and I’ll be posting photos to Facebook.  I’ve been getting all kinds of suggestions, from a Fu Man Chu, to a Hitler, to Andy Samburg. What do you think?  Any Ideas?

Snow???

Yesterday a storm came through and the wind picked up. When I looked out the window I was very surprised to see that it was snowing. I stepped out onto the veranda to find that the snow storm was actually made up of dandelion seeds. There were millions of them filling the sky.  It was truly one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.  

Grocery Shopping in Cluj & How to Make a Taco When Halfway Around the World

I have been corresponding with a woman whose fiancé has just arrived in Cluj-Napoca.  She will be following in a few months and asked the following questions:  Where can we get ground turkey for tacos? And where is the best place to go for groceries?  In short, there is no one best place to shop.  The tiny markets called magazines are not mentioned below, but offer convenience at a slightly higher price.  It’s isn’t always worth it to walk half an hour each way just to get a carton of milk for the morning’s coffee.  The large markets offer more variety at cheaper prices than their convenient counterparts but not all of them excel at every aspect of the shopping experience.  I thought I would include my response to these questions here to assist anyone new to Cluj.  A bit of guidance would have indeed been helpful my first few weeks here.   This list is not comprehensive but represents the merchants with which I am most familiar.

Ah, the taco.  You have mentioned one of my favorite words that the English language has appropriated.  I have several alternatives I can suggest for ground turkey/chicken tacos he is looking for.  I am afraid ground meat, other, than pork is not so easy to come by.  

Cora Shopping Center does in fact sell fresh turkey.  I have seen whole, drumsticks and just the breast.  But it is not already ground.  How comfortable is Mathew in the kitchen?  Every single hypermarket (think Wal-Mart or Target) sells meat grinders.  The people here love sausages the way dogs love a car ride.  So getting a grinder of any quality or price point is not difficult at all.  He could purchase the meat that he would like and then grind his own for meatballs and tacos.  Ground turkey will keep in the freezer for up to 3 months if it is properly wrapped. 

Option number two: For the taco, I have been making my own Rotel like tomatoes.  I use that with chicken breast and stock to make a Mexican style shredded chicken.  It makes excellent tacos.  Turkey could very easily be substituted.  It takes several hours to make from scratch; however, I make a huge amount and then portion it out and keep it in the freezer.  It reheats well on the stove top.  Michael insists that I must tell you how amazing your house will smell while making these. 

Recreating Mexican food here can be difficult.  For starters, Romanians do not eat spicy food.  We once bought a bag of chips that came with a health warning against the spice.  Our interest was piqued, so of course we bought it.  I am not exaggerating at all when I tell you these chips were about as spicy as a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.  We have found a bottle of Sriracha at a spice store and a bottle of Tabasco.  The variety is terribly limited.  Finding chili peppers is an endeavor comparable to Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the mountain. There is one variety that is native to the region.  I would classify it in terms of spice somewhere between a banana pepper and a poblano.  I end up buying several of these and making my own concentrate for use in recipes.  Also, cilantro is impossible to find here.  I have been able to find coriander (cilantro once has flowered and seeded so the flavor is very differnt). It is my intent to include this into my herb garden now that the weather is warming up a bit. It's practically impossible to make an authentic taco without cilantro.  So check with me in about two months to see how the crop is coming along.  Same with chili peppers, assuming I can find the seeds at the gardening warehouse.  

Which leads me to the various markets:

The Farmer’s Market or Agroalimentară in Romanian; A taxi will get you there by saying Piața agroalimentară Grigorescu,  Here it is on Google earth.  https://www.google.com/maps/place/Piața+agroalimentară+Grigorescu,+Strada+Paul+Ioan/@46.7656929,23.549603,260m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m2!3m1!1s0x47490e5f43aa4aeb:0x7e9fc3945177f397

This place is staffed by people who sell the goods for local farmers.  They only accept cash.  I highly recommend buying your eggs here.  They are ENORMOUS.  You need to take an empty egg carton with you; otherwise they will place them loose in a plastic bag.   They cost 5 lei per 10.  Also sold here are homemade pickle cabbages (great for stuffed cabbage recipes) and horseradish.   The store-bought horsheradish is excessively sweet.    

Profi: This is a discount market and is located right next to the farmers market.  It is a great place for buying staples but like all of the chain grocers, most of the produce is imported.  The selection is also more limited than the larger markets.   There are several Profii and Profi City outlets throughout Cluj.  The “City” in the name of the market denotes it as being a smaller outlet  with a smaller selection of whatever chain it is associated with.  https://www.google.com/maps/place/PROFI/@46.7667047,23.5492086,1005m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m7!1m4!3m3!1s0x47490e5b3570070f:0x88922ae983e8d108!2sBulevardul+1+Decembrie+1918+142!3b1!3m1!1s0x0:0x62420171d519a664

Cora:  This one is actually my favorite (Do not confuse with Sora.)  It’s pretty easy to get in and out of.  They have a taxi stand where I have never had to wait once finished my shopping.  The bus also runs here.  Unlike the other hypermarkets the isles are actually wide enough to be comfortable.  I value my personal space and it seems that while shopping, the locals have very little spatial awareness.  Also, this one doesn’t leave pallets of stock lying in every isle.  It’s just cleaner.  Think Target vs Wal-Mart.  There is a drycleaner inside this shopping center along with several other shopping outlets.  The bakery is excellent; they have a wide variety of produce and a large selection of fresh fish.  This is also the place with the turkey.  This is the ONLY place that sells applicator tampons that I have found.  They also sell housewares and cleaners and pretty much everything a Wal-Mart would.

Edit:  I have been looking for brown sugar for baking for several weeks now.  I can confirm that Cora has it in both dark and light varieties.
https://www.google.com/maps/place/Bulevardul+1+Decembrie+1918+142/@46.7588802,23.5422758,522m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m7!1m4!3m3!1s0x47490e5d8ae0bc25:0xc5257d62611af103!2sCalea+Flore%C8%99ti+56A!3b1!3m1!1s0x47490e5b3570070f:0x88922ae983e8d108

Billa Penny Market:  This is more of a grocer than a hypermarket.  The produce is of good quality and the selection of groceries in general is large although not as large as some of the hypermarkets.  Billa is always less crowded than the others which makes for a more enjoyable shopping experience. 

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Calea+Flore%C8%99ti+56A/@46.7601857,23.5504442,513m/data=!3m2!1e3!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x47490e5d8ae0bc25:0xc5257d62611af103

Auchan: Located in Iulius Mall.  It is a really large French owned hypermarket with a very large selection of wine and spirits.  The bakery is good.  I can confirm they have soft taco shells next to the soy sauce.  I generally only visit this one when I have business on that side of town.  It’s not bad; I just don’t like it as much of the others.  It is always overcrowded and has pallets on every single isle.  It makes navigation a pain in the backside.  https://www.google.com/maps/place/Auchan/@46.7732895,23.628378,513m/data=!3m2!1e3!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x47490c6b1048e2f3:0xdb88dc48781a0176

Carrefour : Another French owned hypermarket .  Again, the bakery is excellent; I bought a full sized baguette here last week that was out of the oven 10 minutes prior for about 25 cents.  It almost didn’t survive the Taxi ride home.  Easier to navigate than Auchan but it is still overcrowded after 5 pm and all day on weekends.  This is the only place I have found peanut butter to make granola bars.  The Carrefour brand of olive oil is the real deal.  I had to buy 3 bottles at various stores that said, “olive oil” but was actually blended oils. 

https://www.google.com/maps/place/INMEDIO+Carrefour+Cluj+-+Polus+2/@46.7513602,23.5310739,1027m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m6!1m3!3m2!1s0x47490e47689260ed:0x941b29241ee14710!2sPolus+Center!3m1!1s0x0:0x211cf24668dc7d1b

Kaufland:  This place has a little bit of everything and a few shops located inside its door.  It consistently has avocados.  I needed a tube of mascara but they only sell one brand (not a very good one) of cosmetics.  Checkout here feels like you are cattlek being driven through a stockade. 

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Kaufland/@46.759477,23.5616781,988m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m5!1m2!2m1!1skaufland!3m1!1s0x0:0x5c57fd5fe7750c78

Bottegga Italiana:  Italian Specialty store located near the hypermarkets in both Polus Center and Iulius Mall.  They have a driver that goes to Italy once a week and brings back stock for their store.  You will not find a better prosciutto or pancetta in this city.  I also recommend getting all of your pasta here.  The pasta they sell, although dried, is not the processed stuff you find everywhere else.  Furthermore, if you like olives, get them here.  You can buy olives from every deli in every market; however, they are but a pale comparison to what this place sells.    http://www.poluscentercluj.ro/en/store_detail.php?client_id=462

The Chicken Dance

Since moving to Romania, our diets have changed dramatically.  There are many differences between our two food cultures.  The most obvious is the lack of processed foods.  But other differences exist as well.  The food and the people are always surprising me. (Almost always for the good!)  For example, today I bought two whole chickens.  Just like at home, whole chickens are generally cheaper than their already cut up counterparts.   When you purchase a cut up chicken you also usually do not get the backbones. 

I absolutely love the back bones of chicken.  They are wonderful for making chicken stock and there is a surprising amount of meat of them.   A store bought broth or stock simply cannot compare to the tasty richness that is a homemade stock.   Throughout the week when I am making dinner, I toss the ends of vegetables (onions, carrots, bell peppers etc.) into a bag that I keep in the freezer specifically for stock.  Then when I am ready to make stock each time I purchase a chicken, voila, all of the ingredients are ready to go.  All I need to do is cut up the chicken, add the backs to the pot, toss in some spices and I have homemade stock by the bucketful. 

Surprise!  No Giblets: Only feet and head

This post today however, really wasn't supposed to be extolling the virtues of homemade chicken stock.   The purpose of this post is tell you about the surprise I received after purchasing my whole chickens.  As you can see here, I purchased normal everyday whole chickens.  I went to remove the giblets and inside my chicken, I found no giblets.  Instead, there were the chicken’s feet and it’s decapitated head.  

Making the Stock: Chicken Parts
& Vegetables 

While I am unaccustomed to my chicken bought at the market to look back at me, I just rolled with it.  I've never cooked with chicken feet before, but I figured what the heck!  It’s just going into stock.  So I threw those babies into the pot with the backs.  I am however, a tad queasy about using the heads.  I am not ashamed to say that I did not use them, instead, I wrapped them in plastic along with the trimmed fat and placed them in the garbage outside of our building.  The backs and chicken feet made one of the best pots of stock I have ever made.  The soup that I made with the stock made Mr. Dowd one very happy man.  

Finished Product: Don't Worry! The
Feet and Bones Were Strained Out

TLDR: Chicken feet make great chicken stock.  Which in turn makes excellent soup.  

Living high on the hog

This is part three of the story about our amazing weekend. Check out Its not a party until somebody kills a pig (part 1) and Wine, History and Magic (part 2) if you missed them.

We got back to the camp just before lunch (yes, all that Wine, History and Magic happened before lunch) to find that the pig had already been butchered and laid out into a beautiful array on a table outside the dining hall and that sausages were already being made in the kitchen for tonight's dinner. The musicians arrived at the same time, a violinist (or more accurately, a fiddler) and an accordionist.  They played through lunch (and kept going straight through till midnight).  Honestly, lunch was a bit of a blur because of the wine and Pálinka.  I remember that Imra told us that we would have soup for lunch, which was fine I thought, but I thought I should eat quite a bit if that's all we were having. Just as I was finishing my second bowl, he suggested I should save room for the second course. Second course!?!? It was too late for me to save room, but there was no way I was going to miss out.  Crystal was wiser than I was and elected to stop after the soup and go take a nap.  I stayed and completely stuffed myself on the best pork dish I think I have ever tasted.  While at this point the haze from the wine had subsided, by the time I finished my second helping of the second course I had taken on a different kind of intoxication.  Crystal has chosen to call it "high on the hog".  I stumbled back to the cabin rubbing my swollen belly and fell asleep.

It must have been a deep sleep.  I woke feeling completely refreshed, like I had slept for a day, even though it had only been a short nap. Crystal was getting ready for the night's party, so to get out of her way I took a walk back to the hall to see what was going on.  The number inside had grown.  Children were running around both inside and out in the yard.  It was unseasonably warm, so a light jacket and a soccer ball were all they needed.  The party was Carnival themed (like Rio or Mardi Gras), so everyone was to dress in costume and many of the new arrivals already had.  I decided I should probably get back to the cabin to get ready myself.

Of course we didn't really have costumes.  We had only been in the country for a couple of months and party costumes were not terribly high on the list of things to pack and bring with us.  Crystal, though, is a master with the makeup, so we decided to paint masquerade masks on our faces and leave it at that.  Crystal looked fantastic and I, of course, looked silly, but it was great fun to join in and be a part of something so decidedly silly and to feel like we fit right in.  When we arrived back at the hall, the festivities had already begun.

The party started off with a costume contest.  We watched as one after another, folks would come to the center of the room to present their costumes to the judges.  They weren't just presenting costumes though, they had put together whole acts.  One couple had dressed up as neanderthals. They had included rigging in her costume so that he could drag her by her "hair" into the hall.  Another couple had dressed as a wine and a Pálinka cask, complete with strategically placed working taps from which they poured samples for the judges.  It was all great fun.  After the awards were handed out, we all milled about, chatted, and sipped on more wine and more Pálinka. Then came dinner.

Oh, what a fantastic dinner.  We had the sausages made earlier that day, fresh bread, mashed potatoes, and polenta, the European predecessor to southern style grits.  It was all so good, I can't even put words to it.  I've never had sausages so fresh or a meal so perfectly matched to its occasion.  It was like a Christmas or a Thanksgiving dinner except that, other than the meal, the only occasion was that the family was coming together.  They simply came together to celebrate this meal and each other.  I felt like I was getting away with something. Like I had sneaked into something truly sacred and special, only to find myself welcomed with open arms.  I guess that's kind of how I feel about Romania as a whole, really.  It's as if we somehow managed to con our way into a place we shouldn't be allowed, the place where they keep the truly wondrous and incredible secrets tucked away.  And now that we're here, we're finding out that these are not really secrets at all, and that we are so very welcome.  How could you not love a place like that.

Friends New and Used

Selling/giving away the vast majority of your earthly possessions can be a daunting proposal.  This, however, was not the scariest part of moving overseas for me.  I was absolutely terrified of leaving behind the wonderful friends and family that Mike and I love so much.  We have, over the years, gathered around us some of the most engaging, intelligent, funny and loyal friends a person could ever desire.  I miss them all dreadfully.   What I am learning, however, is that friends are not a finite resource.  As much I miss the people I love from home, there is a whole world of amazing new people just waiting to be to be found. 

The Birthday Boy

I have been stunned by the outpouring of generosity and hospitality by many of the people in our adopted country.  We are truly blessed to be in the company of such thoughtful and caring people.  Mike has talked in depth about Imre and his wife Zsuzsa and their remarkable family, so I will not say more here. However, I will state that everyone needs an Imre and Zsuzsa in their life. 

Most of the friends that we have thus far were made through Mike’s job.  He is fortunate to work with some extremely talented and thoughtful people.  We relocated to Cluj just a week or so prior to Mike’s birthday.   I don't want to rat him out by throwing out a number, but suffice it say, he is old.  But his firmly entrenched status as “over the hill” is not the point of this story.  The point is that in just over week, the people that we had met a short time before gave Mike a welcome to Cluj/ Birthday party that was replete with presents!  We had at this point in our home, very little in the way of kitchen necessities.  And let me tell you, cooking dinner when all you have to slice an onion is a butter knife is a load of fun.  These people already know us so well, they gave us the most wonderful gift possible:  wine glasses and a bottle of especially tasty wine.  We were also gifted a beautiful poinsettia that brings me pleasure every day when I gaze upon it on my window sill.

It was a wonderful night, filled with laughs, conversation, and a few glasses of wine.  This was my first time meeting Cornel.  He is a friendly and fascinating chap.  He told us all about his family’s tradition of making Țuică and pork production.  After expressing some interest in both of these subjects, would you believe that later in the week Cornell brought us several items produced by him and his family?  There were three types of Țuică, a bowl of meat filled gelatin (which is surprisingly good) and other various items that you just can’t buy in a store.   There were so many items in this goody bag, Mike was unable to walk home from work and had to take a taxi.

Mike enjoying his present
with help from the girls.

During the party, I mentioned to Oana that we were in need of a veterinarian for our two dogs.  Instead of just giving me the information on the vet that she uses, she went out of her way to pick me and my canines up later in the week, and drive us to the office.  She then proceeded to introduce me to everyone and facilitate a great working relationship with my vet and his staff that in my life, has had no equal. 

The things that I mentioned above may seem inconsequential, but to me they mean everything.  The people that we have been so fortunate to meet are proving to be freakishly nice.   As I mentioned previously, it is hard being so far away from the people that you love.  However, if it were not for the distance between us, these new relationships would not have the opportunity to grow.  

Wine, History, and Magic

This is part two of the story about our amazing weekend. Check out Its not a party until somebody kills a pig if you missed it.

On the way to the wine cellar, Imra explained to us that the place was not finished, but his brother in law and father in law were building it to be a resort where people could come to experience the Romanian countryside and the unique beauty that it offers. The wine cellar was actually part of a very old building that was acting as the foundation for this new pensiune. After the 30 minute drive down (mostly) paved roads, we arrived to find that the vintner was not there. Imre's sister in law had called to make the appointment, so we called her to make sure that we weren't early or terribly late. She said that she would ask her husband to call, because apparently this particular vintner felt that wine was men's work and that it should be a man who makes the appointment. He had obviously never met Crystal.

We walked around the grounds and joked about chauvinism in wine while we waited. When he finally did pull his Dacha 1310 into the parking lot, we went straight to it. He led us to a set of double doors and through the archway into the most beautiful basement I think I have ever seen. It was filled from one end to the other with huge barrels painted black and red. It had arched ceilings made of brick which had taken on the white of the minerals that had grown over the centuries to encrust the entire chamber. It had the smell that only age can give a place, as if the brick, the wood, the wine, even the air was just an extension of the Earth. This place definitely had magic in it. Magic and lots of wine.

He pulled out two glasses and set them on the table. Imre and I shared a sideways glance, both of us wondering if the chauvinism would go so far as to exclude Crystal from the tasting. Both of us knowing that would not end well for any one. Thankfully, it was our driver, Imre who did not get a glass, which makes a lot of sense when you consider Romania's absolute zero tolerance for drinking and driving. Our new favorite vintner picked a glass up from the table and handed it to Crystal and pointed at me to pick up the other. He used a mallet to knock the cork loose from the top of one of the enormous casks and pulled a siphon hose down from the wall. By siphon hose, I mean just a hose (or hose pipe, for those readers in Eastern NC), not some new fangled thing with a hand pump on one end so that you wouldn't need to use your mouth to suck the contents of the barrel into the hose. No sir! Not here! But that's the old way, right? Besides, it's wine; what's the harm?

Our new favorite vintner

He filled each of our glasses in turn for a taste and then started filling the various plastic bottles we had brought with us. For those who didn't catch that, this is just a tasting and he filled our glasses. Any bar I've ever worked at would have reprimanded me for filling a paid glass that full, and these "tastes" were free! We "tasted" several wines, including a semi-sweet white, a dry white, and a strong semi-dry red that we were told clocked in at about 15% alcohol. We bought a liter or two of each. He also allowed us to "taste" some small batch pet project wines that were truly exceptional. I should mention that the wine we bought was amazingly inexpensive. It worked out to 7 Lei per liter, or about $2.10 US for wine made from the grapes growing less than fifty feet from where we stood. One of the best things about Romania is that the distance food travels from the ground to the table really isn't much more than the distance from the ground to the table. Together, the three of us bought a bit more than 30 liters. Some to take home, some for gifts, and some for the party.

The view from the doors of the cellar

Imre and our favorite vintner (that is now his name, by the way) talked at great length about the history of the place and many other things, all in Hungarian. Imre kindly translated for us throughout. We learned that while no one knew just how old the original building was, a wine from this place had won gold in a Paris wine competition in 1829. That was before a disease of some sort had ravaged all the grape vines across the entire region. It's only recently that folks like our favorite vintner have been able to plant new vines from a species similar to the one that used to grow here, imported from South America if I recall correctly (this was during or second or third "taste" so my memory is a bit fuzzy). We also learned that this wine would not give us a hangover, to which I promptly called bullshit (this was during or fourth or fifth "taste" so my mind to mouth filters were not working properly). Imre told us that he was electing not to translate that part, he did however share with our favorite vintner that we enjoyed his wine very much and we looked forward to testing his assertion. We gathered up our our hodgepodge collection of make shift wine bottles, each filled to the brim with wine, history and a little bit of that magic, and we headed back to the camp.

Still more to come...

Its not a party until somebody kills a pig.

Long before we moved to Romania, Crystal and I watched a show called No Reservations in which one of our favorite celebrity chefs, Anthony Bourdain traveled to Romania with his Russian cohort Zamir Gotta. The trip seemed to be a disaster from Anthony's point of view, with touristy destinations, not too interesting food, and bad planning on Zamir's part. That is, it was a disaster until they got to their last destination where Zamir hurt his back, took a few heavy duty pain killers then proceeded to get very drunk on Țuică, and finally got carted off to a hotel to recover. Don't get me wrong, that wasn't the good part (well, kind of). It was just the comedic back drop for Anthony getting to join in on a family weekend where three or four generations had come together to slaughter and prepare a pig for a feast. It was that part that I think left Anthony with a good impression of Romania and it was that part that I have wanted to experience for myself ever since. This last weekend, we got the opportunity to do just that.

A friend of mine from work, Imre (pronounced kind of like another famous celebrity chef, Emiril, only without the "L" at the end) and his wife Zsuzsa (Pronounced like Zsazsa Gabor's first name, except the first syllable has an "oo" sound) invited us to join them and their two kids for a weekend with Zsuzsa's extended family, comprised, in part, of three generations of butchers. The plan was to go to a small village in the foothills of the Carpathian mountains where we would sleep in cabins, drink until the early morning and eat lots and lots of pork. How could I possibly say no?

Our experience was slightly different than the televised depiction Anthony presented in a couple of ways. Zsuzsa's family is ethnic Hungarian, as is Imre's for that matter, so everyone at this little get-together spoke Hungarian, not Romanian. That's one of the great things about moving to Transylvania. You get two cultures for the price of one. While Transylvania is part of Romania now, between the 9th and 18th centuries, this region was, in one way or another, under Hungarian rule (it's much more complicated than just that, but this is not a historical document), along with Hungarians making up about 20% of the current population, so there is quite a large Hungarian influence here. In fact, in the particular area we visited this weekend, the majority of the population is Hungarian.

The bottle of Pálinka had
plums in the bottom.

Also stemming from this Hungarian influence, we were drinking Pálinka, not Țuică, which to the untrained (me) is exactly the same thing. We drank it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We drank it until it ran out. Even then, when the Pálinka was no more than a blurry memory, no one there was interested in the Țuică we brought, so apparently there is a difference. We also drank wine at every meal and in between. We also drank that until it ran out... and then we got more, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

We got there Friday evening, were introduced to everyone and found the cabin we would be staying in. We got settled in and then walked down to the central dining hall for a dinner comprised of sausages, cold cuts, cheese, and several types of spreads for bread. The spreads really stood out as exceptional. My favorite was eggplant with cottage cheese, garlic, and I don't know what else mashed into a smooth paste that was similar in some ways to Baba ghanoush. Crystal's favorite was introduced to us as "pig parts" and was made up (we gathered later) of cracklin that had been mixed with spices and boiled until it too was a spreadable paste. They were both really good and I might be lying about which was who's favorite. Of course, we drank local wine and the Pálinka that one of Zsuzsa's uncles had made.

One of the Marys
unwrapping garlic.

Preparation for the festivities of the next day had already begun, so after dinner we helped to free garlic from its paper and decorate the hall with balloons. While it's true that we spent a good deal of time listening to stories we didn't understand and laughing when we felt we were supposed to, we never felt like outsiders. Even this early in we were made to feel like part of the family. It's also true that several there spoke a little English, so whenever it was possible, they would offer translations for us, taking a bit of the burden off of Imre and Zsuzsa. At one point, the trio of matriarchs (Mary, Mary, and also Mary. I shit you not.) were talking and laughing while I stood by. After a brief pause in their conversation one of the Marys turned to me and said "We were just talking about how 20 years ago... we were so much younger." I laughed and said "So was I."

Breakfast on Saturday began at eight and was essentially the same as dinner the night before. Hard sausages, cold cuts, cheese and spreads with the fantastic bread that it seems can only be found in Europe. A new spread was added to the menu this time though that took the place of Crystal's favorite, made with beans and garlic and I don't know what else. There was always butter on the table for the bread, but only the children used it. When butter becomes a second class citizen on your bread, you know what you're eating is amazing. Of course, we drank wine and Pálinka (and a little coffee).

The pig arrived while we ate and by the time I went out to see it for the first time, it had already been stuck. Two guys from the family's processing plant had come to prepare the pig and they wasted no time. They covered the pig with hay and set it alight several times to remove the hair, using a blade to scrape the skin each time. Once an area had been cleared of hair, they would smear mud over it to protect it from the flame. When one side was complete, they washed the mud and soot off with water, turned the pig over and started on the other side. All the children chipped in to help spread the straw and keep the fire going. The bottle of Pálinka sat on a table nearby with several glasses and frequent visitors. It was about this time that Imre came to me and said that he was leaving to go to the wine cellar to get more wine and asked if we would like to join him. How could I possibly say no?

This is just Part 1 of the story of our amazing weekend.  For more, check out Wine, History and Magic.

So, this is your first time?

We decided we wanted to move overseas quite some time ago.  I can't remember if it was just before or just after Crystal and I got married, but either way, this move has been in the works for several years.  In fact, it was our marriage that interrupted Crystal's plans to move to South Korea. She had intended to continue her work on her Masters degree by teaching English as a second language there.  Then I popped the question and screwed the whole thing up, so I guess it was already decided that we would be moving. Perhaps I just didn't know it yet.

The company I work for contracts with an on-shore/off-shore software development firm that has an office here in Cluj-Napoca (It's pronounced Klooj Nah-Poka.  Most call it Cluj, for short).   About a year ago, I started sowing the seeds that it might be a good idea for me to travel to Cluj to meet the team who writes our software face to face.  I wanted to shake their hands and get to know them a little better, since I'm the one in charge of the whole software thing.  We got here in late June and stayed for about 10 days, arriving back home in Greensboro, NC on the fourth of July, just in time to watch the city's fireworks in the distance while we waited for a friend to take us home.  It was a fantastic trip and before we got on the plane for our return flight, I was making plans to pitch the idea of our moving here.

Needless to say, the pitch was successful and we arrived again in Cluj a just few days before Halloween. I'm still a bit amazed that we managed to pull it off.  We sold or gave away almost everything we owned including two cars, a whole bunch of furniture, and lots of kitchen stuff.  We rented an apartment here that we had looked at on a whim during our first trip, booked our flights, planned a really big going away party and a whirlwind trip to catch up with family and friends before we left, and, believe it or not, we got our two dogs certified as healthy by the USDA.  Yep, that's USDA Certified dog.  When you consider that Crystal and I both continued to work full time, I think you would agree that it was a pretty busy four months.

This is what happens when they do maintenance. Had the
notice been in English, we might have known.

So, all of that was before we got here.  It was all, relatively speaking, smooth sailing.  Despite the fact that much of what we were doing was new to us, we still had a pretty good idea of how it was done.  We knew how the systems worked (yard sale, banking, travel, lawyers, USDA!?!?) and we could use them pretty easily to make a bunch of big changes happen fairly quickly.  Since we arrived here though, things have changed a bit. We have had adventures, hangovers and surprises both good and bad.  We've tried new foods, new drinks, new ways of thinking, and tried to introduce a few new things of our own.  All the while, we've been flailing. Not wild, gangly, every-one-is-afraid-to-come-anywhere-near-us flailing, but that "Oh shit! This water is deeper than I thought it was" kind of flailing.  And I suppose that's what we'll keep doing.  At least for a while.

We are flailing expats.