JUST BREATHE

A partir de hoy voy escribir en la lengua que hablan mis pensamientos en el momento.

Camino junto al Atlántico, hay una luminosidad especial, que precede o sigue la lluvia, sobre el mar una mezcla de azules y grises claros, debajo el agua como un vidrio verdoso, casi fosforescente, en movimiento. Camino por la ciudad y me siento como ahogándome en mi globo de cristal. Me siento caminando por una pecera, atrapada, incapaz de comunicarme. No hay mañana, hay sólo hoy, implacable, mañana no sé por donde empezar. Como un personaje de Kafka, o como llegar a una estación en medio del campo sin saber cuando llega el próximo tren para llevarte a cualquier otro lugar que se puede nombrar. Mi puesto de trabajo, donde sigo desde febrero, está anunciado oficialmente como disponible para quien quiera presentarse, desde hace dos días. Yo no recibí ninguna noticias, pero sé que vendrá, como sabes que una roca que empezó a deslizarse por la montaña te aplastará si no te apartas de su camino. Siento que ya no puedo respirar hondo. No sé cuando recibiré el aviso para salir de aquí, de la oficina y el apartamento. Otra vez cajas, otra vez en el camino...hacia donde?

Camino y cuando paro, en el tren, o para comer,  continuo leyendo "La viajera" de Karla Suarez, un  libro que sentí que necesitaba leer, tan solo por el nombre que llevaba. La viajera es una mujer que cambió mucha veces de ciudad: La Habana, Sao Paulo, México DF, Madrid, Paris, Roma...y continua. Pretende buscar su Ítaca, porque en ninguna de estas ciudades no se sintió en su casa. Para, respira hondo, siente la ciudad, vive, trabaja, se enamora, hasta tiene un hijo, pero no se queda. Un poco como mi historia, me fui de Montréal porque la ciudad no me hablaba, de vuelta a Bucarest sentí lo mismo, una llamada para irme, y luego en Barcelona estaba bien cuando decidí que valía la pena venir a Lisboa para hacer el trabajo que llevaba tiempo soñando hacer. Y ahora es todo lo que tengo aquí. Y se me despiden, como te deshaces de un trapo viejo, qué? Para donde?

Portugal está mal, España igual, el puesto que dejé en Catalunya se ocupó, quedó libre y volvió a estar ocupado. Bucarest...allí solo tengo a mi familia y a unos pocos amigos, que se vuelven siempre menos. Me imagino en medio de un camino de donde salen otros mil tentáculos, hacia todos los países y las ciudades posibles,  con  todas mis cajas, sin saber como cargar con ellas, ni por donde coger. Cambié demasiados países estos últimos dos años (que ya van para tres), ya no aguanto más.

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita 
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura

ché la diritta via era smarrita.

Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura

5esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte

che nel pensier rinova la paura!

Y tiento recordarme como se respira. No entrar en pánico, pensar que hay soluciones, a pesar de estar sola al otro lado de Europa, en la orilla del Atlántico, con tanto horizonte abierto delante que hasta parece irónico. Irme no sería huir y huir y huir, una y otra vez? No sería más sabio tentar de quedarme y echar por fin algo como raíces?

WINTER TRANSIT IN ROMANIA - Jan 24, 2012

Bucharest, crows at dusk

Already one month since I reached the port without a sea...home. I can't say I badly miss Barcelona, for the time being I enjoy being close to my family and old friends, discovering and rediscovering the good people and interesting and fun places around my beloved city. No matter what, Bucharest is my city. I love the theaters here, some places in the old town, the parks, the 1900-1940 neighbourhoods, some of the old fashion shops and beyond any doubt the best and cheapest street food in the Western world (I guess we belong to it a little since we are part of the EU:) I discovered a great art gallery and new theatre spaces, happy also that some of the old spots like La Scena, hosting theatre, jazz concerts and tango nights in an old classic house, are still there.

It finally snowed by the end of January, and I enjoyed it, with the sun shining bright and the million sparkles all around, covering the grayish parts, the garbage, the dog shit. There is a cold dramatic beauty, made of contrasts, tree branches reaching the up the sky, black and white, crows at dusk, kids with colourful clothes in the white park, with their sledges or walking clumsily around, wrapped up in heavy jackets.

The down part lays in the terrible traffic conditions once the snow has settled, the metro is the only decent way to move in town. And I had to move a lot, running through different offices for my future job and trying to solve administrative problems related to the place I own. A full energy draining programme.

Two weeks of vacation in the French countryside, Rome, Naples and a bit of Tarquinia and Tuscania lessened the weight. I've learned some tricks about keeping the wood fire alive in the fireplace, played with three lovely boys and walked around the frozen pound, trying to laugh when we would wake up in the morning and find out that there is no hot water because the pipes were frozen solid. Roma keeps being the most beautiful city I've ever seen, Naples still has the most impressive bay and sea views (plus MADRE, a fantastic contemporary art museum), the Terme dei Papi were pure bliss in the middle of the snow and, above all, my Italian friends are still the most amazing, warm and hospitable people, God bless them!

Napoli, Posillipo, Palazzo Donn'Anna

P.S. I finally got to leave on Feb. 24, exchanging a gray winter, with icicles threatening to fall, water dripping from every roof around, huge puddles and mounds of dirty snow for a burgeoning bright spring. Fulfilling my dream and start working in cultural management. Feeling extremely lucky and grateful.

GENTLY SETTLING AND DRAWING LINES

A few months more since my last post and there are so many changes I contemplate now from a short time distance.

No. 1: I managed to get a stable job, after a one year not-easy-to-live-with gap. I work in a park inside of a palace, with a big window that lets in the sun, the chirping of the birds, the smell of resin in the heat. When I look outside I only see the various shades of green of the many types of pine trees trying to reach the sky. At lunch time I can have a half an hour break reading in the shade, eventually looking at the cotorras argentinas or the urracas. The ducklings I saw a few months ago swimming in the ponds and fountains are now as big as momma duck. My fellow workers are fun and kind, almost all of us get along nicely and I get to use almost all my languages on a daily basis. At the beginning of July I had to organize a reunion of about fifty government experts coming from 21 countries from Europe, North Africa and Middle East, everything went very smoothly and my department head thanked me in front of everyone at the end of the meeting. My writing skills were also put to work for the final public information text. So all together I feel useful and well treated. I was never extremely ambitious and the more I grow inside, the more I learn how to enjoy and be thankful for the good side of things in my life.

No. 2: My stand-by relationship got to a very inglorious cold end after my Cuban (future) ex paid me a one week visit enclosed in a six weeks trip to Spain. We started talking about marriage and a common future here and somehow on the way I realized that for one whole year I was floating in a beautiful and fragile soap bubble that suddenly broke and let me fall on the hard evidence that after all distance and time torn us apart. We were and we are very different, in terms of background and lifestyle, and this year our ways split to the point of no return. It was an emotional break for me, that I had to cope with after he left, that very moment was very short and I didn’t realize what was happening, that it was the last time we were seeing each other as a couple. When I left Canada and we said good-bye in the airport, there was sudden pain and many doubts about doing the right thing or not. It was a separation between two people that were in love and shared a home. It still hurts to know that the three years we were together and the one year of waiting and hoping were reduced merely to memories in no time. But at least I know there is no other way, it was a fine, sharp and clean cut, I can almost imagine a steel blade, guillotine style that suddenly falls and leaves no shreds.

No. 3: I managed to move from my cage aux folles, the Romanian run home, crowded and filled with cigarette smoke and too many times with strong cooking smells. My room was nice though and they were good people, but living in a different bubble. Now I stay in the same Sagrada Familia neighbourhood, on a street that bears the name of one of my favourite cities and above my tree level balcony there’s a blue metal plate that reads “La Ciudad de Buenos Aires”. I share with a nice Catalan girl who’s almost like a younger sister to me, and her dog, Ganja, a lovely half-blind and extremely affectionate cocker. The sitting room is big enough to be able to invite people for dinner again. When I wake up in the morning and I open my door, instead of cigarette smoke there’s Ganja happily wagging her piece of tail waiting to be cuddled.

No. 4: Last but not least, I managed to start moving around (one of the main reasons for coming back to mother Europe) and go visit friends in Lisbon and Toulouse that I have not seen for 13 and 15 years respectively. I was received with the utmost generosity, more like a long lost parent than like a friend that’s been away. Their home was my home and I was moved to tears to find out once more that friendship after all is probably the most beautiful and deep thing in my life.

Lisbon was celebrating the national day and Santo Antonio, the streets were blooming with colourful decorations and the smell of grilled sardines filled the hot air. On Saturday night I went alone to a fado concert set inside the Sao Jorge castle on the hill, overlooking the Tejo estuary under the stars. Besides, the city is as beautiful as ever and I got to visit other spots in this small and charming country by the ocean: Alcochete, Montemor-o-Novo, Evora, Cabo da Roca. Fabulous blue, green and pink (roofs) landscapes, great food, not to mention the company…so I’m going back in August, to spend more time with my Portuguese soul sisters and keep discovering the Lusitanian hidden treasures.

Toulouse, la ville rose aux bords de la Garonne, en plein Midi, with amazing Gothic buildings still standing up, especially le Monastère des Jacobins (I have a special weakness for cloisters) and the scrumptious French desserts. Not far, on the shores of the Tarn, there's Albi, home of Toulouse-Lautrec, dominated by its high episcopal palace and the Ste. Cecile cathedral, masterpieces of pink brick Gothic, so far from the cold gray stones that usually served as building material.

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I am at a point in life where I dreamed and wanted to be ten years ago, is it still the same, am I able to enjoy it and appreciate as much as I would have then? I won some things and lost some things on the way, I’m a little stronger, a little emptier, a little wiser and even bitterer and less ready to believe in the beauty of things and expect the unexpected. But the sense of balance is here; my life is in Barcelona now. Although, after changing places quite a few times, I know nothing, no one and nowhere is for life, there´s no real security in anything, and that’s probably close to the Buddhist teachings about accepting change and transiency as unavoidable. I feel peace, there's only love missing.

Between 2010 and 2011

Barcelona (Montjuïc)


Bucarest (from the plane)

I had a two months break which haven't brought many news. The winter cold joined to the lack of general heating in most Barcelona homes tempered my initial enthusiasm that gave way to reason and pondering. Against all odds my good mood stands still, facing the gloomy situation. I live with little, but enough for housing, food and going out every now and then. I suffer for having lost my routine, soon there will be a year since then. Mornings are terrible, I stopped enjoying having them to myself, I need to be active, to have something to do, somewhere to go to , that's not the library or the seaside. Nevertheless, I can't stop enjoying Barcelona, disfrutar is a good word. Just the way you enjoy an exquisite meal, Thai for instance, every bite it's an opportunity to savour the different flavours reaching perfection.

Luckily enough, I go on with my Catalan classes three times a week and my poetry group performances, which got great press coverage lately, partly due to my efforts to get in touch with the local newspapers and people interested in poetry. I keep meeting fantastic motivating people and this keeps me convinced that I made the right choice, even if my job search seems a neverending job itself.

Even the apartment I live in now it's a life lesson per se, I found an announcement in the Romanian goodies shop. I love my room, it has a balcony , the light I was longing for and enough space for a desk, beside the big bed and the huge closet (plenty of place for all my skeletons). My roommates are the most unusual I've ever had, they belong to the Romanian working class and came here from different smaller cities, like many others, to make money they invest in housing in our beloved country that we don't live in. Or to bring half of their family here, if it's the case. So they don't care much about going out or doing things, as they care about saving to the limit. Enjoying life is a strange concept to them. They're people I had very tiny chances to meet anywhere else but here and now. It's touching and a bit scary at the same, to see how different we are, and to notice that I am so lucky after all to have studied and traveled the world. Having enriching friends and relationships and good interesting jobs on top of it.

Christmas home was delightful, after 6 years of absence at this time of the year. And still, the gray Bucharest, the general feeling of laisser-aller that reigns in the streets and most public spaces filled me with sadness and disgust. Even the Health Insurance Bucharest headquarters were a shameful mess, bordering an area of dull apartment buildings and humble houses where street dogs still roam dangerously free. On the other side the first shopping mall that opened in 2000, Bucharest being the same patchwork of miserable baroque post-communist post-modern post-civilised world. I managed to feel the season's joy only by leaving the outside behind the closed doors, sharing with very special friends and close to my family, now richer with my sister's new born son. Although I don't have a home there in Romania anymore, our home is now rented and I had to run between four houses at some point, looking for my winter clothes, staying over with mom and visiting my sister and the baby. In a way it's better to know that somehow I cut my way back, didn't I always wanted to live by the Mediterranean, cradle of European civilizations and cultures? Well, here I am, now I have to live up to it, or better said, to work out my place here.

Waiting room overlooking the Mediterranean

The Germans have a saying: Alle Anfang ist schwer - all beginnings are hard. Starting over for the umpty umpth time at almost thirty six (well, one day away by now) is certainly hard for me. And I wonder how smart it was to stay home in Bucharest for five months, as it broke my heart leaving the house I grew up in, that in end I was sharing with barely my cat. Certainly, I have a strong affinity with Spanish culture, I am eager to learn more about Catalunya and I've always dreamed to live close to the Mediterranean, this space where cultures met, clashed and eventually mixed. The trendy and touristy Barcelona certainly doesn't attract me at all, but I am fascinated by its long history and beautiful imaginative buildings. Besides, it's a very functional city, where transports and cleaning work pretty well, and so far people seem to be very nice and helpful, from the bank clerk who gave me visitor information when I went to open my account, to the people who explained me thoroughly the annual celebration - Festa Major, of the sea town Sitges.

I have a strange feeling of being in the right place at the right time, although the job market is a mess, and at the same time I can tell I won't be staying here forever, my guess is that I will move further South, in Spain or another country. But for now I have to stay and learn some new life lessons here. The six months since I left my last job start to weigh on me, I need to keep myself busy, and not exactly entertained, that wouldn't be enough, and it requires money too. Since I came three weeks ago everything has fallen into place, except medical insurance, which depends on my social status: student, worker or no income person. The PhD programme won't start until October and jobs are hard to get, there are many Spaniards and Europeans in competition, although my knowledge of languages and international studies and experience are good assets.

I miss my cat, I wish I could bring her over as soon as possible, but my roomie, who happens to be nice, is allergic at animal hair. At least it's easy to make new friends, I tried the Meetup groups of interest and they work well here too, I can't wait to go hiking this Saturday and the next whole week-end. Nature and art are my best friends when the dark thoughts overcome my enthusiasm.

The in-between

I am kind of settled now in an intermediate state, about three months after landing again in the land of unaccomplished promises, so full of resources and resourceful people, seemingly unable to stop going from bad to worse. I wonder how much is this the fault of our inability to get rid of Ceausescu's camarilla, the very same people that took him down so they can get more comfortable contemporary design armchairs under their butts. After all the two parties that are now disputing the power: PD-L and PSD derived both from the National Salvation Front, to me it looks like a two- headed dragon. We have no real civil society to stand-up against them, our intellectual like their own comfort more than anything, and even if they chose the hard way, who would join them?

Of course I am glad to see the positive changes, a cleaner, cuter city, more flowers in public areas, nicer taxi drivers and sales people in small shops and fruit/veggies stands. As for the restaurant services, they are as lousy as ever, the waiters don't seem to know what the word service means. There are some recycling procedures in place, but not everywhere, in my area for instance I saw just a few very small containers and the population couldn't care less about it. There are cycling lanes in some places, but few people respect them. In general there is a carelessness about what goes on out of the someone's personal area, no awareness of the public space and goods. The roads are terrible, including the sidewalks, some places seem to have been bombed recently, there are streets full of sand since I came, but for sure one of the reasons is that nobody complains, nor tries to find out what's going on. Romanians are used to be disconsidered and treated like shit and they respond in the same manner.

My trip to Spain was really pleasant, seeing ancient comrades from the cruise-ships times and two of the women poets I met in la Sierra Mixteca in 2007. I liked Madrid, but I didn't have a crush on it, Valencia impressed me more with its variety of life stages: old city, beach, the ancient river bed that became a park and the airy City of Arts and Sciences by the one and only Santiago Calatrava. I think I got a better, more balanced idea of Barcelona, with its good and bad sides. I would definitely like to live there, assuming all the unavoidable risks. Sheri-D and Éliz enlightened my stay bringing it a new multicultural dimension, beyond the poetry that brought us together. Canada, what I learned and what I lived there, will always be from now on part of what I am. The Great North and the Inuit culture still make me feel regretful for not making it up there.

Right now I consider trying my luck in Catalunya, I just applied for a PhD and already got a one-way ticket. I have no clue about what's in store for me, I am taking it one day at a time, cleaning the old house of the lot of crap that got accumulated here over the years, by four generations. Sometimes the sadness paralyzes me, I cry and I despair, I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel, I miss my dear departed ones and I feel lonely like a street dog on an empty alley at night. But it is a mandatory period, in a waiting room, I needed to stay home for a while, spend time with my family and friends and figure out things. After so many years living and working with people from different countries I feel estranged in Bucharest, I have to be in a city of more cities.

Home strange home

It's been almost two years since last time, meanwhile Bucharest got better at some points, and worse at others. Some parts look nice, restored and cleaned up, others are dirty and falling apart, with certain areas that fall just in between, like the one where I happen to stay. There is a seriously hideous building, sitting on the spot where there used to be an open air cinema. I feel like home...at home, in my old room, a yellow/green aquarium, as I cannot pull the curtains apart so the gypsies who are squatting across the fence won't see inside. Toshka, my young black cat is here, sleeping on my big red and dark blue suitcase, you'd say she never lived on another continent, in a different house. I didn't quite unpack as I am not too sure about the end of this road, or rather about the next destination.

My VIM (very important meeting) about a job ended up in the air, maybe there is something and maybe I'll hear about it in May, the earliest. There are no jobs, there are no money, only expectations and hopes, mostly followed by disillusionments. While waiting for my Romanian residence ID I'm trying to set up a presentation about my thesis research in Uruguay with their Embassy, I want to take one to one salsa classes with a cubano and most probably I will be in Barcelona/Valencia in May, seeing friends and joining a couple of poetry/spoken word nights with two Montréalers. Canada seen from here is almost exotic, and I'm quite surprised I don't miss it yet, maybe it's too early as I'm still enjoying the embrace of the familiar. My friends surprise me with nice messages inquiring about my arrival and my stay, I must confess they touch me deeply, as their care crosses the ocean and so many countries and reaches me hiding behind my laptop and the green curtains, hearing the spring birds chirping and enjoying the sight of the buds, as much as I can see through a narrow opening.

The magnolias and forsithya are in bloom and I'm absolutely thrilled by the small violet carpets in the nearby park - dark purple, lilac and white. Viola odorata, so delicate in shape, so strong in colour. Our street is quiet at night, and the soundproof windows are of great help. I feel quiet too, waiting but not breathless, enjoying the cultural life, staying with my family, meeting my lifelong friends, like Adriana, that I've known for 29 years and my new ones whose blogs I've been following. It's a real pleasure to recognize a person from their writing. I have a little time to sit and wait, do little things that I really want to do, that you never find time for. My man is also in a stand-by mood, wait and see, maybe we'll last, maybe we'll break, and there will be just you and me, again. Things can only get better, I say to myself.

E la nave va

So I want to leave Canada and go live in an European city of my choice this time, close to the sea, not too far down South or up North. Oh yes, the crisis is still ravaging the business and consequently the job market. By the way, I'm also 35, a little past the age of looking for my own true self around the world and back.

Oh, no! What a crazy idea living this cozy comfy existence of mine, my boyfriend (who can follow me if he chooses to do so), a nice apartment (that I rent anyway), my cat (that I can take with me), this secure and safe job that bores me to death, the many friends of many cultures that I've known for only five years maximum and have to deal with their own lives anyway, like anyone else on this planet. Five years were not enough to grow roots here, and a passport doesn't buy any feelings of belonging or being home. Of course I will miss some people, but being here I miss my friends back home and in other countries. The balance is never even.

Yes, it is a risk, but it occurred to me last night that this is not a one time decision. A while ago I decided once and for all to take risks, to swim against the current, to draw my own path, regardless of what did Mr. X and Mrs. Y. I took a risk when I went to Lisbon in 1997, fresh from university, to work in a Duty Free Shop. Then to Turkey as a waitress on the very pretty island of Büyük Ada, across from the fascinating city of Istanbul. About two months later I was in Athens for the whole of November and I managed to see the Minoic Knossos palace, an old dream of mine. In 2001 I left a career that just started to blossom and I stepped up on a cruiseship and became a qualified seaman aka foreign languages sherpa at sea and on the Caribbean islands.

Canada followed in 2004. I have never been here before, but it was one of the few countries that received immigrants based solely on your request and background. It didn't work out, I'm not fit for North America which is not fit for me. And it doesn't mean Montréal is not nice or Canada is not a beautiful country. It is a marriage that was simply mismatched, also because it was a long distance decision. So I want to try to settle in an European city that this time is not the first opportunity that arrised, but a conscious choice, why should that be bad? How many Romanians left Canada to go to Barcelona? Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar says one of my favorite poems. Maybe it is not the way, but it is MY way and I have to try it, no matter what. As long as there's no matter of life an death, what's the matter?

NOVEMBER 19, 2008 - MY LIFE SERIES

85 days ago

Yesterday at my milonga class (one of the classic tango types of music: faster and merrier) my partner happened to be an older Romanian gentleman - the perfect kind, who would kiss your hand after the dance. He told me he came to Canada in 1991, that was shortly after the fall of Communism in december 1989. His life basically is divided in two big lumps: before and after, here and there, capitalist Canada and communist Romania. I started thinking about how many big slices my biography had. This morning I happened to read the blog of a kindergarten fellow of mine and strangely enough he was making a balance of his life too.

So I decided to count and tell about the several series or seasons I lived through, that range around regime changes and travels.

SERIES I
COMMUNIST ROMANIA

There was a before 1989 until I turned 15. Even if my mother divorced when I was two, I was a child and teenager surrounded by love but harassed by all kind of shortages imposed by the communist coercive system: food, clothes, entertainment; power, water and heating cuts whenever they pleased. Classrooms were many times cold in winter and I remember that at home the four of us: grandma, my mother, my sister and I were sleeping in the same enormous bed at some point, so we can heat well at least one room. We also had to use a camping stove for cooking during the coldest times of winter. The final blow came when my grandma left in 1987 to West Germany and died two years later, just six months before the big political changes.

SERIES II
TRANSITION ROMANIA

Up to 2001 I lived amidst the contradictions and confusion of a transitory period, that still continues. We were all struggling to figure out a new way of life, after the euphory of what we thought was freedom. But freedom also brought indecision, doubt, too much perspective and not enough knowledge to fill it up. I went to study journalism at the university because I failed my cinema direction exams. Probably today I won't. While a student I worked as a translator, tourism guide and events (political and commercial) hostess, I also experienced a bit of press, radio and TV. When I finished, in autumn 1996, I ended up with a secretatry job that I deserted in January 1997 - that year I was mostly out of the country, somehow I managed to get small jobs in Lisbon, Istanbul and Athens, without planning to do so. This way I managed to learn Portuguese and a bit of Turkish. Somehow that year, as I've been going through hard times and rewarding moments, I grew up more than ever.

When I got back, my professional life really started in December 1997, first with Ludgate Woodstock, a temporary joint venture between two British PR agencies specializing in financial communications. We worked mostly on a national information programme about stockmarkets. I had a great time travelling throughout the country and meeting local press, radio and TV journalists: Iasi, Deva, Hunedoara, Drobeta Turnu-Severin, Targu Jiu, Slatina (the saddest city I have ever been to), Pitesti, Ramnicu Valcea. I got to see parts of the country I would have missed otherwise. It broke my heart to see how hard people lived in certain cities - Slatina, Turnu-Severin, Hunedoara for instance, especially because they were receiving us very nicely. Later on the company name changed to Woodstock Leasor and then they left Romania. I still keep in touch with Stuart, my first professional manager, an amazing person who taught me and encouraged me a lot.

A few months after I landed at Athenee Palace Hilton as their first PR Coordinator, in july 1999. It was quite exciting to work for a five star hotel, with advertising agencies, photographers, glossy magazines, VIP's, even foreign journalists sometimes, talking French and English at work. I was creating and organizing events, writing press releases and managing press conferences, taking care of all advertising and external promotions. The best encountes were with Franco Zefirelli and Fanny Ardant. But the pay was not too good and after two years I felt there was nothing more I could learn there, my job was really the one of a PR Manager, without the recognition. I was dreaming about going to Italy and study for a master degree - Communications for and with Immigrants and Refugees, at La Sapienza, Roma. I spent all my vacations nel bel paese in 1999, 2000 and 2001, but I lacked funds. And then another story started.

SERIES III
CRUISING THE CARIBBEAN SEA

I ended up leaving the Hilton for Carnival Cruise Lines, based in Miami, the biggest cruise company and cruise industry corporation. I started living and working on a boat on the blue tropical seas as a Purser, a combination of receptionist, concierge and client relations. I hated dealing with complaints, everything needed to be thoroughly documented and followed up. I managed though to come back on my second contract as International Purser, working with foreigners: Quebecers, Latin-Americans and Italians. God, that was good fun!!! I was using and perfectioning all the foreign languages I know, making amazing progresses especially in Spanish and Italian.

The people I worked with belonged to all imaginable races, nationalities, religions and social classes. Most of them, of course, were not from what is called the "1st world". I was living in a mix of Babylon and United Nations, learning so much every day. On the other hand I also learned from the countries, the islands and the cities: Mexico, Belize, United States, Barbados, Puerto Rico, US Virgin Islands, Aruba, Martinique, Jamaica, Grand Cayman, St. Maarten - Tampa, Miami, New Orleans, San Juan, Fort de France, Playa del Carmen, St. Thomas. One of my dearest dreams came true: observe marine life with my own eyes in its natural environment. I still miss the coral, the fish and turtles. I ate flying fish and breadfruit, cactus pears and fresh red snapper, I picked mango and papaya with my own hands or bought them from local markets.

The Italy plan didn't worked out, it died asfixiated by both Romanian and Italian bureaucracies, going back to Romania after the cruises looked like failure to me, so I decided to immigrate to Quebec, Canada. I sent the forms I had downloaded from the Internet to the Immigration office in Vienna, from St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands. They got accepted, then further steps went smoothly, until september 2004, when I crossed the Atlantic once again, to start from scratch on my own, right after I turned 30.

SERIES IV
A LANDED IMMIGRANT IN QUEBEC

I started building on my new life a bit more than four years ago. I cried, I cursed, I wanted to go back so many times...but I stayed, waiting for better times to come. My master in communication is a good reason - it was so enriching, the teaching system is so different from ours, I learned more than I imagined it would happen, I discovered new favourite authors like Marc Augé and François Laplantine. The Communication and development course changed dramatically my vision of geopolitics. I got a mobility scholarship and travel support to go to Uruguay and study the amazing world of murga - the open air musical theatre of the longest Carnival in the world.

Here in Montreal I have friends from all over the world, the opportunity to listen to any kind of music and taste any kind of food it might occur to me. I take tango lessons and occasionally practice my samba skills. I learned a little about Inuits and other First Nations, read a couple of books, saw some movies and a few pow-wow's - there is so much to know about them, knowing deeply about life and humans this way.

For the first time in my life, since July 2008, I live with my boyfriend, a charming, socially awkward and extremely imaginative Cuban draughtsman, maybe we'll even form a family soon.

I made changes, I know this had to happen, but somehow I miss something, and it's not only professional frustration that makes feel like this, nor missing my mother and sister. Deep inside I love Europe and its many ways of life, North America never really appealed to me. Probably another big step will follow...SERIES V, when, where, I don't know yet, but soon and somewhere else.

NOVEMBER 14, 2005 - INSIGHT

1186 days ago

Trying to tell somebody today where I'm coming from:

"Bucharest is a city of substance, a very dusty city I would say, former garden city, many houses with yards. There was no serious urban plan and the city developed pretty much at random, a mixture of everything. Some beautiful areas and many dull ones. Old buildings falling apart, gypsies squat in some, city of confusion where stories and histories get confused and confusing.

Romania is a mixture of cultures, Transylvania under Austro-Hungarians, strong German (Saxon) influence too, northern Moldova influenced by Polish and Russians, South and East by Greeks and Turks - crossroads. So our cultural identity is hard to define. It became more European after 1800. Up to then our aristocracy was still dressing in long robes and big hats, according to the Oriental fashion. And we started having great writers and painters, keeping the pace with the West.

And after 150 years communism came. And we're trying again to catch up. Or run away, like me and try to define yourself according to some Romanian and some inner values, acquired through books, when a teen, travels later on."

The rest is silence, or a sum of question marks, every new answer brings up other questions. And so goes life.

August 15, 05 - summer starts to fade away, changes are about to come...

1276 days ago

Still had some gorgeous Saturdays out of the city: in the mountains in Adirondacks, USA, on July 23 and 30, 6 of August in Québec city and nearby Montmorency water falls, two days ago on the shore of lake Monroe in the beautiful secteur La Diable of the Mont Tremblant parc. Hiking, swimming, lying in the sun, oh, who could ask for more? Mountain paradise, after the tropical Caribbean one.

Saw another great, nevertheless depressing film: Saraband, by my beloved Ingmar Bergman - anatomy of the complicated fibers of human soul: love, hate, selfishness, dependence/independence, involving a man in his 80's, his ex-wife who's 63, his son being 61 and his daughter 19. Three generations, two men, two women, intimate cinema, naked souls, it torn me apart, but sometimes we need it.

It just occured to me that I'm some kind of grown up little mermaid, knowing the ways of the world, unable to stop being myself, even if I know it's gonna hurt.

How can a woman who's 60 still believe in the man who cheated on her 30 years before? How can she still be there for him and ready to give it another try? Where does she find all that tenderness, patience, forgiveness? And how comes that after all these years he still haven't learned? The film maker himself is in his 80's, so he knows what he's talking about...and like a critic said, the very last image: Written and directed by Ingmar Bergman leaves you with a bitter taste...maybe you'll never see this again, on a new release.

So much about this...also to be seen "Me and You and Everyone We Know" - an independant American film that's excellent: bittersweet, tender and sincere. All here and now.

As about changes, tomorrow I'll go pick up my keys from the new appartment...I'll start moving a few things myself, then the big MOVE will take place August 27. I've been by myself since July 9, when my roomie went to Romania. In the summer you hardly feel it, always out doing something. I need to live alone, to get my life organized, paying the bills and all...time to grow up a little more. A little more bitter also, without diminishing my natural state of enthusiasm, I can be enthusiastically sad or depressed too.

Going back to "Saraband" - I'm so tired of this people that don't know how to express themselves, who are afraid of feelings, because they might hurt and grow old and bitter and selfish, and are awkward when they try. They might reach out for a moment, get a bit of human warmth then go back to their cave again - how pathetic. I like to leave my emotions to the bottom of the glass, burn it to the end, why would we have a soul then? Modern people invented extreme sports and rave music excitement because of poor emotional life.