place2place

interesting path

I don't know if it's because it's where I "lived" overseas for the first time, or because I got to teach fabulous students with a bunch of my friends there for a summer-- but for me, the town of Leysin, Switzerland exudes a powerful, benign energy. The light, the air and the water seem scrubbed clean by the snow-covered mountains and high altitude. No wonder people thought they could be cured of incurable diseases here, the place itself is intoxicating. In 1994, on my last day there, I went running on one of the many paths that wind around the town and cried real tears about leaving.

Camille has decided that she would like to go to boarding school. We are in the process of doing searches and making visits. We visited one school near London that wasn't quite perfect. I've never forgotten the Leysin American School, sister school to the one where I taught, and its great reputation. Every source I could currently contact praised the school.

So, this last week, I found myself being hauled up the mountain by the same cog-wheel train that was quaint and old-fashioned nearly 20 years ago.

As we rolled our suitcases out of the Leysin Feyday train station, looking for where we were staying, a stunning turn-of-the century building sparkled over the town. "Is that the school?" asked Camille. I stopped and looked up at it, massively wide and cupola-d and lit up like something from the Great Gatsby. "No, that must be a resort." I said.

With the help of a series of strangers, we found our funny little guest house with a big sign at the front door telling us in all caps to take off our shoes.

A Russian family built the house around the turn of the century hoping Leysin's air and light would "cure" the daughter's TB. When not visiting the school, Camille and I lounged around in the sunroom, in the clouds, like Russian invalid princesses ourselves.

I loved it that the house had a kitchen we could use--we didn't eat out at all except for one afternoon when we wandered down to the Croissanterie, one of the other things, like the train and the ancient Nicca camera shop, that haven't changed.

Up the mountain, that incredible "resort" turned out to be the Leysin American School's new IB campus. Camille found the school full of potential for a great social and academic life. The school's vibe suited Camille, especially the $1 million art studio.  We will apply and see what happens.

This photo from their own website: the view from the LAS art studio balcony.

The grocery store is still devoted to yogurt and chocolate. The mountains are still there too. Why am I surprised?

Applying for boarding schools has taken us down an interesting path. I didn't expect it to be one I loved running on almost 20 years ago.

visiting vermeer

Because of some testing Camille and I find ourselves in London. One afternoon we visited the National Gallery. Oh my god the drapery. And the exteme pleasure of seeing not one but two Vermeers.

I use to say the V&A was my favorite museum, but now I've changed my mind. The V&A still holds the prize as Mother of All Museums, but I swoon more at the National Gallery.

second semester

The guard at the door of the art building always wants to know why I'm coming in the building and yesterday when I said, "Sunt student aici." (I'm a student here) she said, "Domnavostra?" (You?! Only formal, like Vous?!) "Da, eo." "Yes, me." I said happily, and maybe grammatically incorrectly, and then I ascended the three flights of stairs with a key on a chain around my neck for the painting studio.

i thought everything on tv was true!

Last night Stefan and I watched an TV episode of White Collar--actually we watched four episodes, because we are sort of obsessed like that--one particular episode involved a State Department family. The son had committed a crime and was being held in prison in Burma. In a video clip from prison, he was spelling a message using secret hand signals.

One of the characters said, "In case of danger, diplomats' kids are trained to use hand signals."

I looked at Stefan and we laughed. "In case of danger, have you been trained to use hand signals?" I asked him. He pounded his heart twice and flashed a peace sign--the peace out gesture.

"Okay, what's that one gonna mean?" I asked.

"I'm in trouble! Come and freakin' get me!" said Stef.


Diplomat's kid flashing the well known "My-mom-brought-me-all-the-way-to-Romania-and-then-she-took-my-picture-by-a-rock" secret signal.

at least i've got my friends, friends, friends, friends got my friends friends friends

In Moscow we heard the radio in cabs and blaring over the loud speaker from the skating rink out our bedroom window--Mageec eeeeeef eeeeeem--but I didn't hear the same songs enough that any became familiar.

Like cigarette smoke, Romanian pop music constantly wafts through the air. And like the cigarette smoke, I've gotten use to it and sort of enjoy my new addiction.

Top 40 radio, or more like Top 10-at-Most radio, accompanies us constantly: in the car, at the grocery store, at the dentist, and playing on my co-worker's computer as I walk past her office. On the school bus the kids are exposed to second-hand songs. Our hatred of Broken Angel unifies us.

O stea They don't play this song O Stea enough, (click the gray bar to hear! it's good!) even though it's number 8 this week. During Ceausescu times songs had to be in Romanian, so as a backlash Romanian songs are sometimes in English. I like my Romanian pop in Romanian.

Apa (feat Cabron) If I make a Bucharest video this number-one-song-this-week will be the score, since I can picture the Arc de Triumf, Herstreau Park, people making left hand turns from the right lane and Bucharest going by frame by frame. For a while these posters of the singer plastered Bucharest. Guess we missed hearing Apa live.

A friend who recently moved to Moscow really misses hearing the band Smiley on the radio. When we aren't living in Romania I will miss the soundtrack of Romanian pop hanging in my hair and clinging to my clothes.

As much as Moscow was about snow and ice rinks, and Niger was about going to see the giraffes, these songs are about parking on the sidewalk, buying freshly baked pretzels after class on Piata Amzei, the smell of turpentine, having an 11 and 15 year old, and life in Bucharest right now. Back then.

KissFM is here, if you want to hear what it sounds like to live here or in case it's been more than five minutes since you've heard Casablanca.

bucharestmas

Bucharest went full on this year with the Christmas lights.

Everywhere you turn, too-much-of-good-thing-is-a-good-thing sparkles, flashes, drips and runs along along a wire changing colors. Stars, boxes, balls of strings of lights, angel wings, scissors? maybe they are lollypops? garlands and my absolute favorite, along Aviatorilor for what  seems like miles, illuminated umbrella trees.

The Bu's most-loved bookstore's creaky wooden floors, window seats and book-lined stair cases remind me of Powells in Portland (sans the used-book option, sad face) complete with a cozy cafe in the cave serving pages and pages of different kinds of tea in adorable teapots. What the heck took me so long to get to the the extra gezellig Carturesti? 

christmas wishes

Peter's been in the garage with ten pounds of green coffee beans for the last 24 hours. We packaged up the freshly roasted coffee and delivered it to the neighbors tonight. Miss our friends and family back home, but oh how I love not traveling during the holidays. I'm trying to get Stefan to play his Christmas songs on piano for me, but he won't. Santa just took a u-turn, says Serge. 

I'm trying to knit a bonnet by tomorrow. Can it be done? By me?

how to not think about the election

Normally if I get a headache or have some pain, I take what Peter calls the placebo dose of Advil: one pill. I was taking the maximum dose, four pills every 6 hours and cheating and taking them every 5 and half hours, plus Tylenol in between and the pain was still so bad, I'd have to get out of bed and pace around the room, making the dog think I've lost something.

I like to have my dentistry done in the U.S. by my cousin, who is my favorite dentist not because he is my cousin or because he is a dear, sweet man but because he was number one in his class.

Then if I need a crown, I like to have my sister's lab make it, not only because she is my sister, but because hers is the crown I can't find in my mouth because it looks and feels so natural and beautiful.

So I'm up all night, the president may or may not be re-elected, and I'm doing school, drawing and painting in the evenings, and doing four events at work in two days. Peter isn't here to arrange a dentalvac and clearly, I don't have time to go.

Dr. Christina in the med unit has loaded me up, European-medicine style: medicine, a medicine to make the medicine not give me a stomach ache, a back-up medicine, a heavy duty-medicine, an antibiotic and an ointment. A full trick-or-treat bag of cures that don't help me sleep at night.

I decide to see the Romanian dentist.

She's nice and I like her name, Roxana Karin, and I'm kind of namist. The office is plain, but nice enough and it's clean. The instruments and equipment look just like at home, Dr. Karin wears gloves when she examines me. She does a panorama xray of my head and determines the potential problem tooth and then sends me out for another xray. I've never not just had bitewings taken at the dentist, but okay. I take a taxi across town.

I visit an xray clinic that operates McDonalds-style. A white-scrubs-wearing person takes your order. You take a seat on a green plastic chair. In about five minutes they mispronounce your name.

They lead-apron you up, take the xray and shoo you back to the green chairs. In two minutes they mispronounce your name again. You go to the counter pay 10 lei--3 dollars--and they hand you your xray in a to-go bag.

I took a taxi back to the dentist where she decided I needed a root canal. When I told a friend I was going to a Romanian dentist for a root canal, he said, "Are you a Scotch drinker?"

The worst part of the root canal was having to have to drive myself to an unfamiliar place at night--the appointment was at 8 pm. Dr. Karin did the procedure by herself, only using an assistant for about two minutes. She didn't suit up like I'm hazardous material in the way dentists normally do now, but she wore gloves and the assistant disinfected everything. Afterwards, she filled the tooth, no crown needed she said. 

Obama continues to be our president and Peter got home from Albania. An hour after I arrived at the dentist, I walked out with a numb face, went home and slept all night. 

The cost of the procedure: 200 lei, $75. Well, plus the $3 for the xray.

half in ruins. can i take it home?

A door going into the National University of Fine Arts in Bucharest, the inscription reads "Torture Chamber."

Half the buildings, which surround a tree-lined courtyard, have just had their guts torn out, awaiting renovation.

Easels, benches, broken pieces of glass, textile and ceramic projects and every other kind of unclaimed artwork have been dragged out of the building. You can imagine what a hard time I had not walking away with everything on the street.

On the renovated side of the courtyard, new windows, plaster and mosaics adorn the alma mater of Constantine Brancusi.

A few rough patches still show on the fixed-up side, but it's more than half way to beaux-arts beautiful. I wish I knew when they were getting rid of that door.

some people I met in romania

Marian
Doris
Cristy (say it with a Romanian accent: Krrrrrreeeeeesti)

All men.