I went out on the patio this morning and I noticed that some of the leaves have started to turn brown. “Here comes the fall” I say to myself, and I am there waiting for that well known emotion of the last days of summer, before school started, when leaves were falling and plums started to invade the farmers markets together with their friends the grapes, the walnuts and the pumpkins for pie. And the mornings were chilly and Mom was looking for notebooks for school and blue plastic covers. School started here in California, quietly, with no signaling, with no emotions, with no kids running around carring huge school bags, with no aroma of autumn. Kids got to school on a Wednesday, in big SUVs, pushing backpacks on wheels and sharing vacation stories with no flavor of childhood. School started here but autumn didn’t come. And it probably won’t come any time soon, no matter how many leaves will change their color.
Romanian food vs. American food
A friend has recently asked me whether I cooked here in America. I told her I did. Every now and then. But not very often. I don’t know if this makes me a modern woman or, on the contrary, throws me under the “no good housewife” category, but I know for sure that no matter which I would be, I don’t care. If you ask my Mom, she would definitely appreciate this as “no good” and her face would get sad thinking of all the recipes she carefully packed in my luggage, recipes of savory food that were meant to be reproduced in the kitchen over the ocean.
Well, it wasn’t meant to be! Those recipes entered a new world where there are always more important things to do than stirring ingredients into a pot. Of course, I sometimes feel like I would have our traditional ciulama or a piece of cozonac, the authentic Romanian sponge cake, but I quickly manage to annihilate my cravings with some delicious entrees from here.
Now, there will be lots of strong Romanian advocates, pleading for the traditional Romanian food and its superiority over everything else on the planet, who would be happy to jump at my throat and fight for their strong belief. Well, madams and gentlemen, with all due respect, let me tell you you’re wrong! It’s no doubt, our food is delicious because it’s ours, but once you get through the Japanese, Vietnamese, Indian, Thai or other kitchens, you start reconsidering your position towards the time-honored, long-established sarma and start to be happy that you could offer your taste buds flavors and aromas of different brands.
Some people in Romania get very upset when somebody dares to compare the Romanian food with the food in America. I’d say it’s not the American food that gets into competition with the Romanian cuisine, but the food here in general, in its variety. In my opinion there is no such thing as the American kitchen. There is this sort of culinary pornography that takes place under the American label, where there are dressings and gravy dripping and splashing all over, sizzling oils, honey having an affair with ham and chocolate having an intercourse with bacon, fruit dipped into hot oil and then dragged and smudged into sticky syrups in an orgy of taste ending with an orgasmic finale, and heart attacks. Comparing the Romanian food with this, yes, we detachedly win the first prize! But if comparing the Romanian food with the variety of dishes and recipes that happen on this land, I need to consider if we can even get a place on the podium.
At the seaside or at the ocean?
This summer I seriously decided to take advantage of my status as the occupant of a place 10 minutes from the ocean. So far I have managed to go to the beach about 5 times. More than in other summers. I don’t ride a bike there, it’s hard to find a place to park your car and it’s impossible or innapropriate to just walk. It’s not that I have turned into a person full of airs, it’s just something you don’t do here. It’s a sort of an unwritten rule that you start to follow soon after arrival, as you don’t want to stand out. And, why shouldn’t I admit it? It’s comfortable!
It’s just that, because of this, during the summer, the ocean is inaccessible. And for the same reason, I’ve started to wonder: Where is it better? At the ocean or at the seaside?
“At the ocean, of course!” I tell to myself quickly. It’s right here, it has palm trees and piers, the beaches are wide and not crowded, there are surfers, and it’s clean, as nobody spits out sunflower seeds shells and the air is not phonically polluted by the guy next to your towel who turns the music up in an attempt to draw everybody’s attention to his shiny, 2 finger thick golden necklace.
Maybe this is no longer the reality at the seaside, the reality I experienced when I used to spend my Summers there. I don’t know how much things have changed or if they’ve changed at all, but I still like to remember the mici on the terraces spread all over the beach, the tacky minute made photo with the monkey or the camel loaded with summer memories, the craziness of Costinesti and the stabilopozi. I know it sounds crazy, but I miss climbing those monsters and losing myself in contemplation while watching the sea playing hide-and-seek. And, to be perfectly honest, I also miss the algae and the sand full of shells and the lady with doughnuts and the beach that doesn’t close at 10pm. I don’t know where it is better. I don’t even know whether the seaside, the way I remember it, is still there, but I know that as long as there is this projection in my mind, the ocean has no chance to reach the status of the perfect place, as there will always be something richer in my memory to compare it with.
Ten Days in the State of Aloha!
Day 1
At the airport in Kaua’i, we are welcomed by a pretty local girl who lays leis around our necks. I am surprised, but soon after that I find out Bebeloi ordered them in advance to surprise me, as I was disappointed the last time when we were here, because I had expected things to be the way I had seen in movies and they were not. It’s sunny, and I get to be friends with the typical warmth on the island pretty soon. The wind is blowing the way I like it, and it smells of… vacation.
Day 2
I wake up in king size comfort and say hello to the ocean that’s tapping at my window. Outstanding! Ocean view breakfast and a breeze that exceeds all my expectations.
Day 3
I don’t know what’s with this island, but there is something, a certain “Je ne sais quoi” that makes the word “beautiful” instantly lose its meaning. After we take our share of astonishing Hawaiian views, we hide in a Coffee Bean shop where we spoil ourselves with ice blended moccas.
Day 4
Sometime around noon, when the sun was strong, melting down my thoughts, we stop at Hilo Hattie to buy flip-flops. The air inside the store is nice and cool and it distracts my attention from the immensity of clothing display, vividly colored and appearing as a veritable Hawaiian flea market. An Asian woman, very friendly in voice and attitude, drapes shell necklaces around our necks, slyly trying to loosen our wallets. But, what to buy?! I quickly scan the whole store, even from the entrance and, “oh my!”, some rubber clogs my grand-grandpa would recognize as something to wear while plowing the fields. And nothing else! The Asian woman is decided not to let us leave without purchasing something so she leads us to a water filled bowl where there are few shells helplessly nestled. She is talking a lot but we don’t really hear too much. She hands me a sort of instrument meant to help me fish out a shell and then she rambles about a ritual in which I am to knock the edge of the bowl three times while uttering “Aloha!” before “diving” for my oyster. I am there ready to plunge in when she interrupts me and begins to manhandle the “situation” by telling me what shell I should pick. According to her advice, it must be the ugliest, hairiest, and most chipped one, as this will be the one to contain the most lustrous pearl. She’s the expert so, I obey. I pick the ugliest, most dented shell and: Surprise! She was right. The crustacean contains not one but two pearls. Pink and iridescent. I want to take my capture and leave thinking that 7 dollars was not that bad for two pearls, even if they were culture ones, but the Asian lady has already decided: “No! Let’s have them mounted.” By the time I want to open my mouth to express my disagreement to the mounting process, she has already drilled holes right in the middle of my beautiful pearls. “But I don’t want them mounted anywhere, I like them the way they are”. “I don’t wear yellow gold or pink pearls, I just want to have them naturally the way they are, if you don’t mind”. The nice lady gives me a long look and her face is transforming into something less pleasant, giving me chills like in a vampire movie. Her friendly, welcoming voice turns into a thunder and she booms: “7 dollars”!
Bebeloi says he’s taking care of everything and I head outside the store where it is nice and muggy.
Day 5
I have just started to relax, to no longer care about how my hair looks, or whether my pants match my slippers, or to frenetically drive all around to see everything. So now we sleep in late, we stop wherever we feel like, we do a lot of sightseeing without taking thousands of pictures, because we finally understand that the camera will never catch the wind, the smell, or that feeling of “wow, it’s too good to be true!”. Laziness and relaxation. Even the roosters wake up and crow at 11 in the morning as veritable Kaua’i roosters they are.
Sushi in Hanalei later.
5 days left…
Day 6
Today we planned to return to Wailua waterfalls where we left tons of admiring words on our last visit. I also hope to see that cutie dressed in tanned muscles who last time decapitated a coconut for me as quick as you say: “Mahalo!”
Then, back to the beach, maybe we can put on some color and not go back home looking pasty and white, as if we lived in California.
Day 7
Early in the morning we start driving to the Waymea Canyon. We leave early as we want to get there sooner rather than later and it’s about 3 hours of driving to the northwest of the island. Once we get there, we take the tour of all the lookouts, we take pictures and movies of the beautiful, so overwhelming scenery, we raise our arms in a gesture of embracing the wind and the grandiose nature displayed in front of our eyes, and eventually go back to the car full of all sorts of sensations and emotions, vibrating under the influence of the intimidating experience. Next to our car – Romanians! A lot of them! 2 or 3 families. Exuberant, happy and noisy, full of joy and that special feeling given by a vacation in a place far away from home. A lady comes out of the car and makes a loud announcement in Romanian, of how she possesses pate sandwiches. Shocked that no one from her group clamors over them, she repeats herself more loudly so that everyone in the parking lot can hear her, Romanian speaker or not. The pate issue slowly fades out being replaced by a cacophony of slamming doors, yelling children, clicking cameras (huge ones!) and personal little stories shared at maximum volume. With this occasion I learn that a lady named Georgica has a rash so she couldn’t be there enjoying the marvelous moments together with her family. Such a pity! They eventually climb to the viewing area and the noise diminishes as they move further away. I am there left in contemplation, thinking that I would have said “Hello!” to them but they just didn’t leave too much room for that.
Day 8
Luau in Lihue. Quite boring as we had already experienced it. We just hoped it would be different this time but it was not. We enjoyed the Kalua Puaa, though. You take the pig, introduce it in a whole in the ground, and let it roast in lava rocks for few hours. The result is a culinary deliciousness, so we just couldn’t resist.
Day 9
We decided! We won’t go back home! We are woken up to reality by the rain. Not the Hawaiian sort, the one that drizzles a little bit here and there and then lets the sun take over. No! This time it is the serious, authentic, almost londonesque kind. It’s pouring harder and harder, going beyond the sprinkling Hawaiian standards. There goes our beach day. Ok, time to go and eat! A cute booth on a terrace with a panoramic view of the little town of Kapa’a. Of course, right when we comfortably take our seats, the sun comes out, accompanied by a vaporous Hawaiian rainbow!
Day 10
We stop at a fresh fruit stand where the fruit was … amazingly fresh and, as a bonus, locally grown. We buy some pineapple, coconut (crunchy for me, softy-ish for Bebeloi), some apple bananas (with flavor of apple, bananas and something else that we can’t detect). My eyes are caught by some little brown balls, not very appealing at a first glance, but interesting enough to arise my curiosity. The woman selling them invites me to try one. Yummy! We buy two bags and find out their name is Longan or The Dragon’s Eye. Something to remember!
Tonight we take the Red Eye to fly back to California and I already miss Hawaii…
(more pictures in the gallery)
Answer
Lie to yourself
Search
Forgive
Run
Count wonders
Pretend
Gather
Ask yourself questions with lots of question marks in the end
Think
Cry a tear
Smile to the night
Search for yourself
Ask around if anyone has seen you
Feel
Too much, too intense, too real
Nobody has seen you
In a long time
Who?
Appear
Exist
Small and mediocre
And empty
And with no access
To the tale of life.
Question
What do you do when there is nothing else left to do?
A story of the original loved cat
This time the loved cat in the story has beautiful black fur, with an adorable purrfect cat nose, a first prize winner of a cat beauty contest, if there was such a thing, and a pair of eyes that make all your worries melt away. I got Maca from an ex-colleague, back when cats were not necessarily my favorite animals. The colleague had 4 newly born “meow”-ers and didn’t know what to do with them. So she started asking around whether there was somebody interested in becoming the owner of a cute, naughty kitty. I wasn’t! It was just not on the list of my priorities then, so I skipped out on it until we got a deal: Only for one week! I went to pick my one week guest from that colleague’s house and when I entered, from the bunch of 4 furry balls, one came to me. She had half of a tail, not even straight, dusky and noisy. She quickly climbed my legs and started to lick my hands. I was there feeling that a thin layer of indifference to the furry situation had just melted down and maybe we could make it two weeks. It’s been 6 years since then, and if I hadn’t chosen to become a transoceanic dreamer and traveler, I would still be sharing love with Maca, in front of the TV, scratching her behind the ears, pleasantly accompanied by her purring and the love in the air. Longing for going home, I visited with Maca for 6 weeks last summer (she’s living with her grandparents, now) and we spent time together, in my old apartment, just the two of us, enjoying each other. I miss my “tufletel”. So much…
Who wants an Oscar?
I’ve seen the recently oscar-ized *millionaire* movie. The generous act of calling it to attention made me feel like I wanted to go and see it but, on the basic principle “Don’t count your Oscars before they hatched”, I didn’t expect a real cinematic performance. It was good, though. I’d say it was very well put together. The person, who cut & pasted scenes knew exactly what to do and did it well, or well enough to obtain a motion picture with personality. The subject of the movie? Unrealistic!!! With a capital U and three exclamation marks. The tough reality of an Indian suburban life was extrapolated to give more credibility to the fiction (to be read “nonsense”). It just didn’t work, as at some point you feel the movie slowly swerves off of the road and what’s happening on the screen appears to be from another story.
Small talk
- I understand a kid would jump in a latrine to get the desired autograph of a life time; I just can’t understand how he comes out wearing a poop mask, perfectly contoured around his eyes and mouth, giving you the feeling that the only thing missing to make this picture perfect would be two fresh cucumber slices applied over the eyes.
- I wonder, ”Where did the kid learn Shakespeare’s language so well?”, because I didn’t see him really attending school or having a tutor. Smart kid, no doubt, but the unreasonableness stands out like a white sewing on a black shoe.
- Now, this is something, I’m sure, every contestant at “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” would like to experience – a break between the question and the moment they need to give the answer. Not too long, just a little time, enough for a visit to the bathroom, a coffee or a phone call, to see how mom’s been doing lately…
My Failure to Remember
I’ll soon add a new year to the row of the other ones and, as some people say, this is an important one for a woman (or for a man; I don’t want to be a misandrist). As this is the way it should be, I started to weave nostalgias and sum up the things I’ve never done but I wanted to or the things I forgot to do, for reasons even I am not aware of.
I forgot:
- to forgive, not just to say that;
- to pack a sandwich and a bottle of water and lose my steps
somewhere in a park for hours;
- to talk to the ocean and ask him if he ever feels lonely;
- to crazily dance and laugh when I actually feel like crying out my
thoughts;
- to go to the store and look for some joy on the shelf;
- to look into somebody’s eyes and be able to see that it is actually love
there;
- to close my eyes and wake up on a green wheat field, murmuring its
anxiety that the clouds are gathering and the wind won’t shut up;
- to expect unrealistically little;
- to understand and accept without “but…” or “well…”;
- the moment, and I idiotically chose the hours;
- the words but I chose to speak;
- to take a deep breath and feel lucky because I can do it;
- that a lot means very little and everything means nothing;
- the snowdrops;
- that I don’t belong only to myself;
- to kill number 2 and replace it with 3;
- to put the Moon and stars on a night sky;
- to see with my own eyes;
- the fresh green and I rushed myself to color in grey;
- to smell tulips;
- to listen to sounds and I chose the unfinished symphony of noise;
- to just sit somewhere and simply don’t care;
- to fall asleep hugging myself;
- to widely open the window until all the coldness gets inside;
- to badly sing a song and burst into laughing;
- to learn about small things and feel like I did a big thing;
- to pick some wild flowers and give them to someone who doesn’t like
me;
- to have colored dreams;
- to print out one thousands copies of “who am I?” and spread them
around;
- to put a snail back in the grass and apologize because he might not
have wanted to end up there;
- to enter an ugly room and feel like it’s the Louvre just because
somebody calls it “palace”;
- to write something in the sand and quickly delete it after that because
it’s my secret;
- to ask and wait for the answer;
- to see people giving each other heart shaped gifts and feel happy for
this;
- to be the only “YES” in an ocean of “NOs”;
- to count memories up to one hundred;
- to call a dear person just to listen to her;
- to care today about what I ignored yesterday;
- to remember that this moment, this one right now, will never come back;
Somebody said that if you can’t go back to yesterday to start a new beginning, then you should start today a new ending.
The curiously long case of Benjamin Button
I didn’t see the Oscar Ceremony because I was at the movies last night. I saw “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”. Pretty good, I’d say. I give it about three stars, if anyone asks me. Good plot, interesting idea, well done special effects, a little too long (was it because of that clock running backwards, I wonder?). I liked it and I’ll file it under the I’D NEVER SEE IT AGAIN BUT IT IS WORTH SEEING IT cathegory. Now, I also understand the parallel between Button and mister Forest Gump from the movie of the same name.
Note: I stole the title from my husband’s blog, because I liked it. He also thinks that the sequel will be “Benjamin Button 3″ as the first … two happened last night.
romana
english