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.