Jan '05 - Jan '07
...or anything else.
Though I am only less then two weeks at home, I don't feel like having been away for 6 month. I guess that is why they call it home.
We flew in a small village, at the vacation house, where I spent most of my summers since 92. I feel more connected to this house then to the apartment in the city. I tried to take a pic of it, but quickly realized it is impossible. A picture could never capture the ”˜spirit' (I'm stranded in clichés once again), but this house is all about the what the walls have seen and not about the objects it contains.
From 40+ degrees I landed in a rainy mountain climate. This turns you towards 2 possibilities: staying in bed, under a blanket( btw, the chance to cover yourself up again while sleeping is great!!!), starring at the rain through the window / or movies and 2. playing cards, telling stories etc. in the kitchen, by the heat of the stove... The autumn atmosphere is betrayed only by the anywhere present green vegetation.
There are very few things that have that calming effect like walking the dog through the forest.
Disconneting... ”˜Unfortunately' there is an internet café in the village. They have 2 computers that are almost competing with the age of the village itself.
I am fooling myself I don't have anything to worry/think about, but the visits at the netcafe are prooving me wrong.
Hey, but at least I have found my prince...
About the village. It used to be a german village, the inhabitants didn't speak any other language but a german dialect (they initially came from a region somewhere between Germny and former Cehoslovakia). After 1990, the young ones ran to Germany. The parents followed and the grandparents didn't have any other option but to sell the houses and move to what was to them a foreign country.
They were damned to die away from their natural habitat (sounds a bit too dramtic, sorry for that!) and you could see the silent suffering on their faces. They miss all the disconfort life in the country implies and working their own land. They had never before bought any food, they didn't had to. Suddenly they woke up in an artificial environment, that had nothing in commun with what they knew about life.
In less then 4 years after the revolution, out of 230 houses, maybe 40 were still inhabited by locals. Today there are maybe 10 families. Part of the houses were bought and are used as vacation homes. The owners of the other part have refused to sell them, so the houses are silent testimonies of what the village used to be. And this is a happy case. Another nearby village used to have for several years one single inhabitant. Ironically, it is said he was hit by a car and died when he went to the town.
I first came here with 8 years. Comparing it with the steril environment of the city, we were in heaven. I love the fact that all houses are painted in white with green and black details. Also, the are no fences between the gardens and there are doors that connect the neighbours courtyards. It is nothing like romanian villages.
Now, during weekends it is noisy and crowded. There are two festivals (jazz and folk), 9 motels, houses for rent and a new ”˜neighbourhood', with an awful architecture.
The village is recognizable only out of season.